#Aemond Targaryen au

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

My Fair Lady's Maid (Regency!Aemond x Lady's Maid!Reader)

Part 3: With a Little Bit of Luck

Frustrated with his grandsire's tedious and thorough process of choosing him a "suitable" bride, Aemond makes a declaration that a lady's maid could be indistinguishable from a true noblewoman so long as she was sufficiently dressed and educated in embroidery, conversation, and the like. Otto takes this as a challenge, and gives Aemond four months to turn one of Helaena's lady's maids into a noblewoman.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: none

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: Finally had a burst of inspiration for this last night, and here we are!

With a Little Bit of Luck

Miss Doolittle stood at the base of the stairs in her little basement apartment. It wasn’t really an apartment, even if she’d lived there for nearly three years. In truth, it was a cellar. The owner of the house above had graciously put a small bed in it when she first rented it, but he also continued to keep his winter stores and several chests of assorted junk there, taking up nearly half the space.

Still, it wasn’t so bad. Back then, when she hadn’t wanted to go out, see anyone, or do anything, those chests of junk had entertained her. And she loved the smell of the dried apples. Even if it was small, it was cozy. There was enough room for everything she owned in the world, which, admittedly, wasn’t much.

All of it was now stuffed into her rucksack; still, the bag wasn’t full. It likely would have been if she’d been able to buy that clock at the market yesterday, but she didn’t want to think about that now. She was already too sad.

It didn’t make sense, her sadness. She was leaving this cave to go and live in a manor house. She would never be woken by rats again, and she would have enough money to buy a hundred clocks. But this had been her home for the past three years.

She squared her chin and adjusted the strap of her rucksack. She’d started over before. It was how she ended up here. And this time… this time would be easier, she knew it.

So, she walked up the stairs and out of that little basement, hoping she had enough time to run one last errand before the cart from Kingswood came to take her to her new home.

The village green, like her apartment, could not truly be called its name. Not since the village council decided to put gravel paths all over it and plant all kinds of trees, bushes, and flowers in most of the blank spaces between the paths, while others were left empty for vendors to set up for market day. It was pretty, but it made crossing the green and finding the person she was looking for even harder.

Luckily, he seemed to be in a good mood today. All she had to do to find him was follow the sound of his fiddle.

“Egg?” she called when she came to a patch of trees and bushes that were now big enough to obstruct her view. She knew he was somewhere in there, but she couldn’t see him.

His bow scratched against his fiddle before falling silent. “Is that you, Little Girl?”

She wanted to protest the nickname but didn’t. He’d been calling her that since she was a little girl, and he was a vagabond teenage boy who played the prettiest music she’d ever heard. “It’s me.”

The bushes rattled, and a moment later, the man Miss Doolittle knew as ‘Egg’ burst into the open and hugged her so hard she nearly fell over.

“God, am I happy to see you!” He started spinning her back and forth, and several trinkets spilled out of her bag. “I thought I’d missed my chance to say goodbye!”

She finally gave up resisting and smiled as she hugged him back. “Not yet. They aren’t picking me up ‘til noon.” Which left them a little under a quarter-hour to catch up before she had to meet the Kingswood coachman in front of the church.

Egg finally set her down, running a hand over his shaved head. She’d never actually asked if he shaved it, but he was too young to be bald, and she’d seen several nicks on the back of his head that looked like they came from a razor. He immediately bent down to pick up the knick-knacks he’d accidentally forced her to spill. “If I’d known you were leaving Rosby, I would have come back sooner. Why didn’t you send a letter?”

“Where would I send it? You only stay in the same place for a week at most.” Besides, she didn’t have much spare money to spend on sending a letter. “You leave as soon as your bar tab gets too high.”

“True,” Egg admitted. He finally finished tucking her trinkets away, then strapped his fiddle to his back and offered his arm. “And it seems I’ll have to add Kingsgrave to the rotation if I ever want to see my Little Girl again, even though it’s quite far.”

She looked over at him, confused. “I’m not goin’ to Kingsgrave. I’m goin’ to Kingswood.”

He stopped suddenly, tugging on her arm hard to get her to face him. He wasn’t smiling anymore. She didn’t know if she’d ever seen Egg not smiling before. It unsettled her.

“You’re going to work at Kingswood?”

She nodded.

“What position?”

“I’ll be a lady’s maid.”

“To Lady Helaena?”

“Yes.”

He bit his lips. He wasn’t just not smiling. He was angry. His eyes had grown dark, and his brow furrowed.

“Is that bad? Have you heard bad things about Lady Helaena? I know they say she’s odd, but I haven’t heard anyth – ”

“I have no quarrel with Helaena, no. I just…”  He again ran a hand over his head, his fingers digging into the skin in a way Miss Doolittle was sure was painful. He tucked his chin in for a moment and took a deep breath before looking back up. He was smiling again, but it was strained. “I’m just worrying about my Little Girl. Ignore me. Helaena is very kind.”

She sighed in relief, slumping into his side as they began walking again. “That’s good. I’ve been lookin’ forward to this for so long, I’d hate if it ended up a nightmare.”

Egg looked at her with a brow raised. “You’ve been looking forward to this?”

“Well, yeah.” His tone sounded doubtful. Did he not think she could do the job? “I know I’ve never had an actual job before, but I do now. I’ll work real hard, I swear it. I’ll be a proper lady in no time, you’ll see.”

“I’ve no doubt you can be a proper lady,” Egg said while ruffling her hair. “I just don’t know if I want you to be. I like you very well, just as you are, I’ll have you know.”

She liked herself too, mostly. Sometimes she wished she was taller or had prettier hair. Every once in a while she took a dislike to the color of her eyes, but it usually faded. Whenever she had to decide whether to pay rent or buy a nice warm meal at the pub, she wished she was someone else entirely.

But if she were taller, it would have been hard to climb down the small staircase to her cellar. If her hair was different, Harry wouldn’t have told her how much he liked it almost every time she saw him. And if her eyes were a different color, she wouldn’t be reminded of her mother every time she caught her reflection.

“I’m not going to become a whole new person,” she declared. Egg looked dubious as he led her to sit on a stone bench across the road from the church. “Just… more refined. Now stop griping at me and talk about something else!”

Egg threw his head back in a great, wide smile as he laughed. “Only since it’s your last day in Rosby, Little Girl. What do you want to talk about?”

The first topic that came to mind was the two men from yesterday, the kind one and the brute. But that was too maddening. “You know about Lady Helaena, right?” He nodded. “Then tell me about the rest of them?”

He hesitated for a long while before he bit his cheek and began. “They’re the same as all the others. The lord of the house has a stick shoved so far up his ass he can’t bend over. The grandfather is a desperate social climber. The th.. second son is something of a rake, but good-hearted. Helaena though, she’s a good girl. Strange, but good. She’s very kind, like you. I think you’ll get along. … How do you feel about insects?”

Miss Doolittle laughed. “I’ve lived in a dirty basement for three years. Why?”

“Just wondering,” Egg said with a secretive smile.

God, she was going to miss him. His humor, his music, that smile. It had been very easy to fall in love with him when she was a girl, though she’d since grown out of it. He was one of her dearest friends, but far too… Egg for her to ever truly love or marry him. Still, she was envious of how happy he always was, even with no money in his pockets.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” She dug through her knapsack to find the little coin purse she’d made from a beautiful curtain Mrs. Cunningham discarded when it was torn. She extracted the two crowns and one half-crown she had left over from what that horrible man had thrown at her the day before. “These are for you.”

Egg’s blue eyes went wide. “Where the hell did you get that?”

She thought for a moment how much to tell him before deciding on simply, “A customer.”

His surprise melted into mischief. “What kind of customer?”

“What, exactly, are you implying?”

“Nothing! Just wondering if you’d decided to sell something other than flowers, and if so, how much you charge? Because I’ll give these right back if…”

“You’re disgusting!” she shrieked as she hit him with her bag over and over until he finally held his hands up in concession.

“You have my sincere apology.” He righted his mussed clothes, then looked at her. “But really, Little Girl, why are you giving me these?”

Because just looking at them makes me want to vomit. She sighed. “Because I don’t need it – I’ll be making my own money soon. You need it, though.”

Egg’s eyes turned thoughtful and soft. It was the kind of look she would once have swooned over. “You’re too kind. I worry you’ll lose that at Kingswood. That place and those people will wring it out of you if you let them. Promise me you won’t?”

“I promise,” she whispered, dropping the coins into his outstretched hand. She wrapped her hand around his, closing his fingers around the money. “If you promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

He laughed, shaking their joined hands. “I’ll do my best. But with a little bit of luck, I’ll always have people like you around to help me out.”

She started to chide him, to warn him that he’d eventually need to learn to rely on himself, even if she knew he’d only laugh it off. But a sharp whistle and the crack of a whip sounded from the end of the street, and both their heads turned to find its source.

A two-horse cart had turned onto the main road. Not an unusual sight in itself, especially for a market town. But it wasn’t market day. And it was no ordinary cart, but one she’d only ever seen in illustrations in books. The cart of daring gentlemen and rakes. Its back wheels were twice the size of those in the front and carried seats made of green-painted wood and black leather that gleamed in the sunlight.

“Of course, they sent the fucking phaeton,” Egg murmured, giving a name to the vehicle. He stood quickly, pulling her up with him, and embraced her tightly. “Good luck, Little Girl. I’ll miss you.”

Then, he left. Releasing her from his grasp so swiftly she stumbled back a step. By the time she’d caught her breath, he was gone, without even the music of his fiddle to hint at where he’d gone.

“I’ll miss you too,” she whispered to the wind, hoping it would carry her words to him.

Only a few hours later, she was stepping out of the cart and onto the gravel drive of the Kingswood Estate.

The estate itself sprawled across half the woods, according to the coachman, Arryk, who had informed her when they officially crossed onto the property miles ago. The house, a term which seemed to Miss Doolittle to be a massive understatement, was near the center of it, within a smaller, but still enormous, gated park.

It was beautiful, with pale stone walls coated with ivy, gleaming glass windows framed with iron, and surrounded by flowers of every shape and color. And it was to be her new home.

Well, she was to be one of its servants. But still. Servants could call it home, too.

But what servants could not do was enter through the main doors. Instead, Arryk led her around the side of the house and through a smaller, much dirtier door into a stiflingly hot kitchen.

A woman who appeared to be around two hundred years old – the cook, presumably – barked orders at several kitchen maids with such ferocity it was a wonder that fire spewed only from the oven and not her mouth. As young men in fine suits filed into the room and began picking up silver trays laden with steaming food, the woman took a deep breath and started yelling at them instead.

Arryk leaned closer to Miss Doolittle. “Don’t do anything to get on Cook’s bad side,” he whispered, what sounded like genuine fear wavering in his voice. “She’ll roast you alive.”

As if she had heard him, the cook whirled around on him, her warm brown eyes blazing like hot coals. “What are you standing around for, Mr. Cargyll?” she bellowed. “And who’s this little waif?”

“Lady Helaena’s new maid.” His voice cracked like a boy’s.

The old woman huffed as those burning eyes examined her intently. “Put her in Mrs. Rivers’ sitting room and get out. I’ll not have you tracking horse shit in my kitchen.”

Arryk nodded hastily, the movement like that of a soldier accepting a command from his general. He took two steps forward, indicating Miss Doolittle should follow when he and everyone in the kitchen froze where they were.

Miss Doolittle followed their stunned gazes to the base of a narrow staircase and the two people who had just descended.

The first was a woman, neither old nor young, with deep black hair that flowed down her back in a long, silky sheet. Though she wore the dress of a servant, the keyring hanging from her waist indicating that she was likely the housekeeper, there was a certain power in her green gaze that made Miss Doolittle think the woman had been a queen in some other life.

But the thought did not last long, for her eyes drifted to the man standing just behind the housekeeper.

Shit.

The finest man she’d ever seen. With silver hair, one eye of crushing blue, one a milky white, and an angry red scar running across his face.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

She hadn’t even met Lady Helaena, and she was about to be sacked.

Or, judging by the wicked delight in the man’s eyes and his crooked smile, perhaps she was about to be eaten alive.

The housekeeper turned to face the man, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Lord Aemond, do you know this girl?”

Lord Aemond.

Forget being sacked or eaten. He could simply have her executed. It may even be a mercy, to spare her the humiliation that burned within her like a thousand raging bonfires.

He turned to the housekeeper, the movement too graceful and smooth. “I’m afraid I do.” He looked back at Miss Doolittle. No, he looked past her. “Mr. Cargyll, I will not be needing you to take me to Rosby tomorrow, after all.”

Then, he did look at her, and the cold in his eyes felt like an icicle shoved through her heart. She wanted to run. To scream. To shrink into nothing just to escape him. She wanted to run all the way back to Rosby, find Egg, and beg him to take her far, far away from here.

But she remained where she was, under the hateful gaze of her new employer, unable to so much as blink as he smiled a ruthless, joyless smile. “I’ve been hoping to see you again, flower girl. I have a proposition for you.”

Egg’s joyous, carefree voice echoed in her mind.

With a little bit of luck.

He’d never specified whether it was good luck or bad luck.

[endless-ineffabilities]

National Anthem

President Aemond Targaryen x f!reporter reader

synopsis : a reporter finds herself entangled in an affair with Aemond Targaryen, the President of Westeros.

themes/warnings : smut (18+), infidelity, mutual pining, unequal power dynamic, the reader is the other woman, sex in official places, unseemly involvement with a politician, scandals, intrigue, jealous ex mistresses, Vice President Criston Cole, old money political elite Targtowers

taglist open - To be tagged in this and ALL other Aemond works, refer here. To be tagged in ONLY this story, comment on the latest chapter.

main masterlist ▪︎ moodboard #1 - #2

�� in the land of gods and monsters... 🍒

Intro: Official Business

Chapter 1: Say Yes To Heaven

Chapter 2: Diet Mountain Dew

Chapter 3: Money, Power, Glory

Chapter 4: The Other Woman

Chapter 5: Chemtrails Over the Country Club

Chapter 6: Tomorrow Never Came

Chapter 7: National Anthem

[female-hysterics]

Imagine...

A Modern/Magical AU where Aemond Targaryen is a shifter who turns into a white cat with a missing eye. He falls helplessly for the kind human woman who "saves" him from a rainstorm and he then decides to keep up his cat form to continue to receive affection and be dotted on. Something he isn't used to and soaks up all the love while being ferociously protective of her...

[sstan-hoe]

𝑷𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒛𝒊

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓��𝒏𝒈 — actor!aemond targaryen × fem!reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — life with aemond is always risky...but not just because of his status in society. No, more because he likes doing risky activities...

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — smut, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, getting caught, public sex

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — well, what more can I say besides the fact, that the new trailers awaked something in me? Team black forever, I'll just take aemond as a prisoner

A happy sigh left your mouth as you leaned your back against Aemond while his fingertips graced along your arms.

He had found a cinema with the opportunity to watch a movie while laying comfortably in your seat and god was it amazing.

And another plus point, the cinema was rather outside the city and as a result not as crowded, meaning no paparazzi or fans were around.

You and Aemond were in the last row, giving your man enough privacy to trail his hand from your arm down to your sweats. “Aemond!” You whisper-shouted trying to slap his hand away but instead he gripped your wrist with his free hand, caging you in between his arms.

“Come on love, live a little…” He chuckled, his lips lightly gazing your cheek.

You rolled your eyes at his words, Aemond lived for those risky sex moments. While you did enjoy them, you often come too close to getting caught.

“Aemond, we almost got caught last time!” You complained as his finger slipped into your panties, and that gods forsaken pussy of your betrayed you once again by getting wet just from his voice.

“Quite a tone you have there...you are really serious huh?” He asked with amusement dripping from his voice.

“You’re soaked for me, my little whore is turned on by getting caught,” Aemond drags his fingers through your folds, rubbing your clit gently. A whimper left your lips as he put pressure into his movements.

Suddenly a white light filled the cinema and it surly wasn’t the movie.

Aemond looked around, his eye scanned his right side and locked with the ones of a paparazzi. The actors face was filled with rage, he pulled his hand away from you and gently pushed you to the side.

“What the actual fuck man? How much of a perv do you have to be, taking a photo of my girl and I? You better get your ass out of here before you don't feel your face anymore, sick fuck!” He yelled at the paparazzi who scrambled out of the theatre.

“Come on, we’re leaving and tomorrow we will go to the police, and I will call my agent.” Aemond promised you softly, taking your hand to help you stand up.

Tears threatened to leave your eyes as you walked out of the cinema. A crowd of paparazzi were waiting outside, all of them making photos of Aemond and you. “Shut those fucking cameras off!” the blonde snapped at one of them who held the camera close to your face.

You could hear them ask questions, but you didn’t know what they said, too focused on getting out of there.

When you were finally inside the car you took a deep breath, though your exhaling was shaky. Aemind grabbed your hand giving it a gently squeeze before starting the engine, “we will be home any second love, I promise,” he whispered while stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

You nodded at him to let him know that you were listening. He always wanted to here you say that you were with him in situations like this, however at the moment was all you could offer him.

The car came to a stop in front of your apartment, Aemond walked over to your side and opened the door for you helping you out of the car. “I’m gonna make you a hot chocolate, how does that sound?”

His thumb graced over your cheekbone as he smiled at you. You didn’t answer his question, instead you slowly realized what happened. “They saw us…that man took a photo of us, while you had you hand in my pants…oh god they caught us! What are we going to do?”

“Tomorrow I will go to the police, make an indication, call my agent and we will sue them yeah?”

“But what if they use it against us? I don’t believe it's allowed to do that,” your eyes were filled with fright as your mind imagined all the possibilities, on how this could be used against you.

“Maybe, but what that man did was far worse than our little adventure and even if they use it against us do you know how many people are on our side? Aegon, Rhaenyra, Daemon, Haelena and those were only a few!” He tried to reassure. You wanted to believe him so bad but a voice in your head told you the oppisite.

“And they won’t think I’m a…slut?” “Oh, god my love no! You are not a slut, it was my fault we got caught, okay? I made you do this, it's all my fault.”

His large rough, but gentle hands cupped your cheeks as the tears you tried to hold back streamed down your face. Aemond lead you to the couch and brought a tissue up to your cheeks, drying your tears.

“It's you and me against the world, yeah? We did that and it was okay, you are not a slut, and that man is a sick perv who will get at least liberty punishment and with our lawyer he will end up in prison.”

The tears slowly stopped, your vision was still blurry, but you could make out how Aemond looked at you, with so much love and care. “I love you and I’m sorry we got caught my beautiful girl,” he whispered against your lips.

“I love you too,” you replied sealing your lips in a soft, slow kiss that was filled with passion.

“I’m going to make sure that paparazzi gets what he deserves,” Aemond promised you as he carefully pulled away from your soft lips, giving you one last kiss before he stood up.

“Hot chocolate?” “With marsh-“ “Marshmallows I know,” he gave you a cute smile before vanishing in the kitchen.

He knew that by tomorrow the whole internet would be flooded with the picture, but with you by his side he knew that he could go through hell and back, with smile as if you just told him, you loved him.

[sapphire-writes]

Running On Sunshine (hospital AU)

Do No Harm part 3 || masterlist || previous part || next part

pairing: doctor!Aemond Targaryen x doctor!Reader

summary: You haven't spoken to Aemond. Tensions rise between the two of you and come to a head at the arrival of a disruptive patient.

word count: 6.1k

warnings: NSFW mdni medical terminology, use of needles, discussion around addiction (specifically alcohol, rehab, recovery), fighting, blood, punching, explicit sex (p in v) fingering, oral (fem receiving), creampie, praise, dirty talk, spanking, language

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

note: here it is! long-awaited, thank you for being so patient as my brain jumps around 😂 hope you enjoy it!!

disclaimer: yall, I am not a doctor, I am simply a Grey's Anatomy stan. If something is off or incorrect please just suspend your disbelief! I am trying my best to make it as accurate as possible but its just for fun!!

It’s been a few days since your ultimatum with Aemond. 

No texts. 

No calls. 

You pass each other in the halls and avoid eye contact, brushing past him close enough that if you extended your little finger you’d be sure to brush against the back of his hand.

You weren’t going to chase him. 

You’d told him what you wanted. Told him you’d wanted him. And he had stayed silent. If that was the end of you and him, so be it.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t killing you inside. Watching him day in and day out walking through the halls of Citadel General in those stupid blue scrubs that he somehow wore like he was strutting down a runway not the hallway of a hospital. 

It didn’t help that observations often included surgeries he was a part of. Aemond was a model resident, often asked to assist the attendants. And he was hard to miss, always wearing his signature scrub cap with little dragons peppered all over it, mid-flight. You’d catch him glancing up at the viewing gallery, peering up over his mask every now and then. You never caught his eye, he was much too quick for that. 

“Switch with me,” you’d begged that afternoon after Baratheon had informed you of the plan to observe Dr. Cole’s surgery. There was no way Aemond wouldn't be there, Dr. Cole had chosen him as an obvious favorite. 

You’d been catching up on notes with Cory for the past ten minutes, the pair of you both trying to shove food in your mouths before your pagers inevitably went off. 

Labs. Observation. Notes. Scut work.

The never-ending revolving schedule of your internship. 

Cory reaches into her bag of salt and vinegar chips, clicking her mouse furiously, her brows pinched together in concentration. 

“I can’t,” she says through a mouthful, “Besides, you’ve already done this lab. If I don’t get these hours by the end of the week I’m about to take Jace’s place as Baratheon’s least favorite.”

You groan in frustration, letting your head rest against the keyboard of your computer. Nettles pops her head into the room, frowning at you both, “What’s wrong with her?”

Cory shrugs and you turn your head to face Nettles. 

Beep beep!

Cory groans, checking her pager, “Shit, I gotta go,” she says, crushing her chip bag and logging out of the computer before heading out of the room, “Sorry again, Y/N!”

You mumble something along the lines of don’t worry about it just as she disappears from sight. Nettles raises her eyebrows.

“McDreamy?” she asks, and you continue to pout, “Damn. Dick is so good we should change his name to McDick.”

“You suck,” you tell her, but you can’t stop your smile, “Definitely not your best work.”

“McOrgasm? I’m still thinking of one that truly encompasses the distress he’s causing you. Dr. Cum?” she makes a face, “Okay ew. Definitely not Dr. Cum.”

You groan, putting your face in your hands, “What am I going to do?”

Nettles walks towards you, slapping the back of your head. You lift your head, mouth open in shock, palming the place she slapped.

“Hey! I was recently concussed!”

“And apparently it scrambled your brains more than we thought!” she snaps, “See what you’re not going to do is spend your days moping over Dr. Sexy. I don’t care how good his dick was. You are a doctor. You are an insanely smart woman and you are in your internship.”

Nettles lowers herself to your height, taking your hands in hers. 

“He is very dreamy,” she says, her brown eyes empathetic, “But this is your time to shine. Not his. He’s not this important.”

It hurts---gods does it hurt---but she’s right. And you know it. You’ve been through situations like this before. You’ve gotten through things like this, and worse. Smiling at Nettles you squeeze her hands.

“Thank you.”

“Mhmm,” she says, smiling, “Always here for a reality check. You’re the sun, babe.”

You smile back at her, “I’m the sun.”

“Damn right,” she says, chuckling, “How’s Cece doing?”

“She was discharged this morning,” you tell her, beaming with pride, “Just finished her last round of antibiotics and her labs are clear. I’m working on her note now.”

Nettles plops down in Cory’s seat, reaching into the chip bag she left behind. Her hand comes out empty and she frowns. 

Jace opens the door, looking rather sweaty and discombobulated. He’s been running around the most, trying to get on Barartheon’s good side. 

“Hey,” he says, out of breath, “Can you guys help me in the pit?”

“No can do,” Nettles says, “We’ve got observation soon.”

You nod agreeing, but become curious noticing Jace’s panicked expression.

“Why what’s wrong?” you ask.

“Just…five minutes,” Jace says, “Please, I need someone. And I can’t find Sara and Cory--I just need someone, please.”

You turn to Nettles.

“The pit?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at you, “Really?”

“Tell Baratheon I’ll be there as soon as I can,” you tell her, “Besides, maybe it’s a good case.”

“Girl,” Nettles says, sighing and shaking her head.

“I just really need your help,” Jace says, leading you through the emergency room, weaving between nurses and patients, “It’s just that…I mean I didn’t know the other day but now…”

“Didn’t know what?” you ask as he stops outside a curtain.

“-- he’s back again and family members--,” Jace says, brown eyes wide, “We’re not supposed to work on family members.”

Your eyebrows concave together in confusion when suddenly the curtain pulls back. A man is lying in the hospital bed, a halo of platinum hair cascading onto the pillow he lays on. His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, a lazy grin appearing on his face as he gives you a once-over.

“Nephew,” he sing-songs, giggling, “You brought me a present!”

Jace sighs, pulling the curtain from his grasp. Wait a minute. Nephew? Your eyes scan the giggling man as Jace snaps something at him. The silvery hair, the violet eyes. Seven hells.

How many Targaryens are there?

“Excuse me?”

“He’s kidding,” Jace says, forcing a smile and turning to his uncle, “You’re kidding.”

His uncle shakes his head, lower lip jutting out in a pout, “I’ve never told a joke in my life. She’s pretty Jacey, well done.”

Your cheeks burn at the compliment, at the way his eyes cascade down your body. You’ve never felt more exposed in simple scrubs. 

“Stop calling me that,” Jace snaps, cheeks reddening.

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Jacey boy,” he croons, “Thought Baela had taken your balls when she dumped your ass--”

“Funnier every time I see you, Aegon,” Jace interrupts, closing the curtain once more. 

Aegon’s mouth drops open in surprise before he’s hidden from sight. You raise an eyebrow at Jace, folding your arms across your chest. 

“He’s harmless,” Jace assures you, “Please, please just help get him out of here as soon as possible.”

“Well, that’s sort of difficult when we don’t know what’s wrong--”

“I know what’s wrong.”

You frown, raising an eyebrow at him, “You know?”

“Yeah, he’s fucking drunk. He’s always drunk. Just give him a banana bag, let him sober up, and get him out of here,” Jace instructs.

“How do you know he’s drunk?”

“Considering the fact he hasn’t been sober since I was eight years old, it’s not hard to guess,” Jace tells you, “He’s been to more rehab programs than I can count. Trust me on this.”

“I’m still going to have to do some labs,” you tell him, not willing to go against protocol.

“That’s fine, do what you have to do just…keep him out of the way,” Jace pleads, eyes widening as though he’d just remembered something very important, “And don’t let Aemond know he’s here.”

Your gut tightens at the mention of Aemond.

“Why not?”

“Just don’t. It’s better for everyone if no one knows Aegon is here,” Jace finishes, “Thank you, I owe you big time.”

“Yeah you do,” you confirm, and then Jace hurries out of sight, eager to escape the pit.

The curtain opens once more and you turn, meeting the curious gaze of Aegon Targaryen. You try to stop the scowl that threatens to overtake your face as he grins widely, a mischievous look in his eyes. 

“Ow!”

“Will you hold still!”

“You’re killing me!”

“Stop being so dramatic!”

“It hurts!”

“It won’t hurt if you stay still, Aegon!”

Aegon throws his opposite arm over his eyes as you attempt to find a vein for the third time. He’s too squirmy, too anxious that as soon as the needle pierces his ivory skin he’s flinching away and howling. 

“I’ve seen children do better than you,” you grumble, and he gasps in feigned shock.

“They let you torture children?”

“Hush!” you insist, and to your relief, he’s able to stay still as you start the IV, “There you go. See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Aegon peaks over his arm, glancing down at the tubes as you assemble them properly, making sure the drip is even. He frowns as you release the tourniquet. 

“I bruise like a peach,” he mumbles.

“Sounds like you need more iron in your diet,” you tell him, walking to the other side of his bed. You need to take his blood pressure and begin wrapping the band around his arm. 

“Can I have something for the pain?” he asks.

“No, you may not.”

“Not even Tylenol?”

“No.”

“Hells,” he mumbles, “You should know, I enjoy it when women are mean to me, it turns it on.”

“Of course it does.”

“Mhmm. I eat that shit up.”

You’ve been trying not to look at his face for too long. If you look at Aegon, you’ll start thinking about Aemond. 

You’ve been trying very hard not to think about Aemond.

They don’t really look alike, despite the matching hair and eye color. Though he’s sitting down you can tell Aegon has none of Aemond’s height. He’s soft whereas Aemond is sharp. Their mouths may be the most similar thing about them, both awarded beautifully pouty lips made to be kissed. 

“What’s on your mind, doc?” Aegon says, eyes narrowing.

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying, I’m very perceptive,” Aegon insists, “Come on tell me. What is it? Doctor drama? Boyfriend drama?” Your face must give something away when he asks, because his eyes light up, “Boyfriend drama.”

It’s no use, you can feel your face heating up, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Fuck off.”

Your head snaps up at him, and you remove the blood pressure sleeve. Discarding it in favor of your stethoscope you place the end against his chest.

“Breathe in.”

“D’you have a girlfriend then?” he relentlessly continues.

“No.”

“A fuck buddy?”

“Hells,” you mumble in frustration, trying to listen to his heartbeat. 

“Please tell me it isn’t my nephew,” Aegon says, making a face.

“What?” you answer, far too quickly, “No! Seven hells, Jace and I are friends! And I do not sleep with colleagues.”

“Everyone sleeps with colleagues,” Aegon argues, “How else do you meet people?”

“That working well for you?”

“Oh I don’t work,” he answers, “That’s boring.”

You choke back a laugh. The man truly is ridiculous.

“Alright then. Well, you’re all set once you’re done with your fluids we’ll check your vitals again and send you on your way,” you tell him, making a note in his chart, “I can have the nurses reach out to some detox programs if you’re interested.”

“I’m not.”

“Look, I understand a bit of your history from what Jace shared. But you should know, recovery isn’t linear, and relapse is completely normal-”

“I haven’t relapsed.”

You blink. 

“Your BAC was 1.06,” you inform him, “That’s more than a little buzzed.”

“I haven’t had a drink since Nyra birthed her last gremlin,” he insists, not elaborating on who Nyra was, “I’m just like this.”

Your eyebrows knit together. He could be lying, you know that. Addiction is one hell of a disease. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he groans.

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t believe me.”

You’re silent for a moment, just staring into his violet eyes. 

“Your blood--”

“Fuck the labs,” he groans, “They always come back like that. I haven’t taken anything. I haven’t drank anything. Believe me, I’d be much more obvious.”

“How so?”

“Well for starters, a pretty little thing like you wouldn’t be so far away,” he comments, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin, “I don’t know why this happens. I think my body got so used to being fucked up, it just does it on its own now.”

“You’re being serious,” you comment, and he nods.

It goes against everything you’ve learned in med school, and in residency thus far. Your pager beeps and you glance at it. It’s Nettles. You’re supposed to be joining her soon. 

When you hear hooves, think horses, not zebras. 

You chew your bottom lip. Aegon raises a brow, already looking better with the intake of fluids. 

Fuck it. 

You quickly page Nettles, and let her know you’re needed longer in the pit. Hopefully, Baratheon doesn’t kill you for this. 

We’re going with the zebras. 

“Okay so I’m going to send the sample to the lab and see what comes back,” you inform Aegon, “And if you’re being honest with me, we should have some answers for you.”

Aegon swings his legs over the side of the bed. 

“Why would I lie?”

You want to roll your eyes, but you’re sure if you do in his presence once more they’ll fall out of your skull. He gives you a cheeky grin as he notices your exasperation. 

“People lie all the time,” you tell him.

“To you?” Aegon asks, snatching your hand is his, “Never, princess.”

You hear Nettles suddenly, her voice flowing through the ER and your stomach turns. Surely, it's Dr. Baratheon coming to reprimand you for missing observation to spend time in the pit ‘trolling for surgeries.’ The curtain opens then, and to your horror, it’s Aemond who has discovered you rather than Dr. Baratheon. 

His eyes fall to your face first before he turns to Aegon. His gaze drops to your interlocked hands. Something washes over him, his expression cold and calculating. 

“Out,” he says, voice quiet as death. 

Aegon chuckles, but you can hear the nervousness he’s trying to hide. You can see it in the way he wets his lips, the way he pulls his hand from yours.

“Bro…”

“Out, now,” Aemond repeats, “Don’t make me drag you out in front of all these people.”

“Careful now,” Aegon says, standing, “you know how mummy feels about you getting your hands dirty--”

Aemond steps forward, hands fisting Aegon’s shirt and dragging him forward. Your eyes widen in shock and Nettles yelps as Aemond pushes past her, dragging Aegon with him. 

The display has gathered the attention of several nurses and patients as Aemond continues to drag him through the ambulance entrance and out the automatic doors. You and Nettles remain closely on their heels as they exit the hospital.

Aemond releases his hold, sending Aegon stumbling into the road. 

“Seven hells!” Nettles says, a shocked expression on her face. 

Aegon laughs maniacally, bending over with his hands on his knees. He shakes his head several times, like a dog before looking up.

“Go home,” Aemond says, flexing his hand.

“Where’s that?”

“Wherever you’ve been staying I suppose,” Aemond quips.

Aegon is panting, staring at his brother.

“I’d like to see Helaena.”

“That’s not happening.”

“Helaena!” he yells at the sky, “She’s my sister, I know she wants to see me.”

“You’re not shaking her down for any more fucking money,” Aemond says, his voice louder this time, making you flinch, “Go home, Aegon.”

Aegon wets his lips, running a hand through his hair. His eyes meet yours. 

“You’ll call me? With the results?” he asks, and Aemond snorts.

“Another STI screening?” Aemond snarks. 

Aegon’s tongue pokes his cheek, an angry smile on his face. 

“Gotta make sure I’m all clear before saddling up with a fit bird,” he taunts, eyes falling on you as he says it, grabbing his crotch for emphasis. 

Aemond lurches forward his hand connecting with Aegon’s cheek. Nettles and you both scream as Aemond jumps back, Aegon spitting a mix of blood and saliva on the ground. He laughs again, smiling with bloody teeth. 

“Get him cleaned up and get him out of here,” Aemond instructs Nettles, before heading back inside and leaving the three of you standing there.

Aegon’s lip is split, along with a cut on his cheekbone. He spits again, wiping his face and nodding at you.

“No boyfriend eh?” he says, grinning. Your face flushes. 

“I wasn’t lying.”

His grin widens.

“One of us is,” he says, referencing your earlier conversation, “Guess we’ll find out who.”

Nettles approaches him, and he winces. She turns to you.

“You should go see if he’s okay,” she says, nodding to the doors. 

You run back inside leaving Nettles and Aegon, your eyes searching for Aemond. Hurrying to the nurses' station, they inform you which direction he took off in. A nervous sweat breaks out on the back of your neck as you hurry down the hallway. You spot him then, taller than everyone else, watching as he ducks into an on-call room. 

Quickening your pace you follow him inside. It’s quiet as you close the door, besides the sound of a noise machine echoing white noise in the dimly lit space. There are two beds in this room; truly the on-call rooms are in such sorry states. Small twin mattresses with paper-thin sheets and pillows that may as well be pieces of foam. 

Aemond sits on the bed to the left, his head resting in his hands. You close the blinds on the door, flipping the sign that says “Both Beds Occupied” along with flicking the lock. You don’t think he’ll want to be disturbed.

“Aemond,” you say softly. He doesn’t move. The knuckles of his right hand are bloody. 

Taking a step closer, you watch his shoulders rise and fall with the deep breaths he’s taking. Anxiety churns in your stomach, and you take a step back, placing your hand on the handle of the door.

“I’ll just leave you--”

“Don’t,” Aemond speaks quietly for the first time, raising his head. His gaze softens, his eyes somewhat glassy. “Please don’t go.”

Your heart starts to race, but you nod, stepping back toward him. Sitting beside him the bed creaks; you cross your ankles and place your hands on the edge of the bed. Aemond rests his chin on his hands, arms propped on his knees. The pair of you sit in silence for several moments. It begins to rain outside, fat droplets of water beating against the window. 

“You should get that looked at,” you finally say, nodding at his hand. 

Aemond merely hums in response, flexing his fingers. 

“Seriously, you’re a surgeon,” you continue, “What are you thinking, throwing punches like that?”

Aemond glances at his hand, curling and uncurling his fingers, “He brings out the worst in me.”

“Your brother.”

“Mhmm,” he answers, shaking his hand. It’s not as bad as it looks, thankfully. He could have done some serious damage.

“I’m sorry. Jace told me…well I’m just sorry.”

“It’s alright. Someone has to treat him. I’m sorry if he was inappropriate to you.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him, “We don’t get to choose how patients behave.”

“Aegon can be a lot. Take it from someone who knows him rather well.”

“Noted.”

You sit in silence some more. The sky outside has begun to turn dark as clouds roll in, the sound of thunder audible in the distance. A storm is looming.

“I’ve missed you,” he says so softly you almost don’t catch it.

Your hands dig into the side of the bed, your heart pounding against your ribs making your chest feel painfully tight.

“Don’t-”

“Y/N..”

“Please Aemond,” you cut him off, eyes watery, “Please. Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I do mean it,” he insists, turning his head toward you, “It’s just…Y/N that day I didn’t give you an answer. And you deserve one. I like you. I like you so much. You’re an incredibly intelligent person, funny, adorable, and…” he trails off, shaking his head slightly as he chuckles to himself. 

“And what?”

“And that scares the shit out of me. I haven’t felt this way in a long time. I wasn’t expecting you. When I moved here I just planned on keeping my head down and then….then there was you,” he looked away, his eyes lit up in wonder, “I saw you in that bar, and it was like the sun came out.” 

Your lips part, your stomach flutters pleasantly at his words, and goosebumps erupt on your skin. He glances at you shyly, the tips of his ears tinged pink.

“And then I saw you here and you’re an intern, at the beginning of your residency I just….I mess things up. I don’t want to mess things up for you. Or with you.”

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers through his, “Okay.”

“But…I miss you. I miss talking to you, kissing you,” Aemond continues, the top of his cheeks turning pink, matching his ears, “You asked me if I’m in or out. I didn’t answer, and I should have. I’m all in.”

“Aemond…”

“If you’ll have me,” he adds, “If you…if you want to give this a try.”

You smile at him softly.

“It’s all I wanted from the start.”

Aemond smiles, leaning toward you and connecting his lips to yours. You sigh against his mouth, as his hand snakes around the back of your neck, keeping you from going anywhere. His tongue runs along the seam of your lips, and you part them eagerly accepting the warm muscle into your mouth. 

Your hands bury themselves in his scrubs as he turns his head, deepening the kiss. His opposite hand reaches for your waist, sliding down to rest on the meat of your thigh. He rubs soothing circles there for a moment, before gripping you hard and pulling you on top of him. 

You straddle his waist as he scoots backward, pressing his back flat against the wall. He breaks the kiss for only a moment, tugging your blue scrub top over your head, before desperately chasing your lips once more. Shivering in the cool air, your nipples harden in your bra. You almost wish you’d worn something a little sexier, the plain black bra making you feel underdressed. 

Aemond eyes your tits like a madman as his skilled hands eagerly unclasp your bra, pulling it from your torso. 

“Should we be doing this--” you gasp, grinding against the hardness between his thighs. 

“Yes, yes we should,” he says, kissing you once more before pausing, his eyebrows knitting together, “Unless you don’t want..”

“No! I mean--fuck, yes, yes we should and I want to,” you whimper as his teeth graze against your neck, “But I mean, here…” Aemond continues his attention to your neck, his perfect mouth nipping and sucking the sensitive skin.

“No one’s coming,” he murmurs, “You locked the door, yes?”

You nod, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, groaning as you clench your fists, tugging at his hair.

He catches your lips once more and you arch your back, pressing yourself against him trying to get as close as humanly possible. Moaning against his mouth he chuckles softly, the sound reverberating against you. 

“Shh,” he croons, brushing some hair from your face, “You have to be quiet.” He nips your lower lip as he says it, smoothing his tongue along where he bit, “Something you have trouble with, I recall.”

Your cheeks warm at the memory of your first night together, the puddle he’d turned you into with such little effort. Lashes fluttering, you look up at him as he admires you.

“You’ll have to remind me,” you tease, earning a growl from him as he flips you onto your back beginning to pull your scrub pants from your body.

Eager to assist, you kick wildly trying to get the soft material off. Aemond catches your right calf in his large hand, trying to avoid being kicked.

“Careful,” he chuckles, pressing a hot kiss to your calf, helping you out of your scrubs, shoes, and underwear. 

“Sorry,” you manage to say through your giggles as he tosses the ball of clothes toward the opposite bed, “We’re a bit uneven now, wouldn’t you agree?”

Grinning, Aemond pulls his scrub top from his body as thunder crashes outside. The sky has darkened considerably and lightning flashes, illuminating the room. Aemond’s hands travel up your calves, hooking against your knees as he cocks an eyebrow at you. 

“Better?”

Your eyes trace down his exposed front following the planes of his chest, the chiseled outline of his abdominal muscles. You swallow, feeling yourself clench as your gaze rests on the outline of his hard bulge.

Nodding, you take your lower lip between your teeth, dragging your gaze back to his face. Aemond’s breathing is heavy as he sits on his haunches, eyes raking down your naked body.

“Fuck you’re beautiful,” he breathes appreciatively, “Gods…” He lets one hand move up your body, fingers dancing against the skin of your waist, up the side of your ribs to your breast. He explores higher and higher until with a desperate whine you reach up pulling him toward you.

You could kiss him forever.

You want to kiss him forever. 

The hand that rests on your leg curls inward, stroking the soft flesh of your inner thigh before inching higher. Your breathing has started to turn to pants as Aemond lets one of his long fingers part through your silky folds, spreading your arousal. 

“Seven hells,” he groans, swirling his finger against your clit, “All this for me?”

“Mhmm,” you tell him, biting your lip and trembling against him already.

Aemond only smirks, that familiar look of confidence in his eye, “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes,” you tell him, as the tip of his finger sinks inside of you, “Fuck-- just for you.”

“That’s my good girl,” he praises, pushing further inside of you, stretching you out on his forefinger. A second finger soon joins and he scissors the digits against your fluttering walls.

You’re trying to be quiet---really you are trying--- but it feels too good. He’s too precise with his movements, too insistent on bullying that sensitive rough patch that causes your eyes to roll back in your head. “Aemond…I can’t--”

“Shhh baby, I know, it feels too good to be quiet, huh?” he says, voice full of mock sympathy, “Don’t worry, I’ll make you cum really quick, let me take care of you, yeah?”

You nod furiously, a choked moan escaping you as Aemond presses a tender kiss to your forehead. Moving away from you, he keeps up his relentless pace with his fingers as he slides onto his stomach on the bed. Your eyes widen as Aemond glances up at you from between your legs, a cheeky smile on his handsome face. 

“Aem----oh fuck!” your concern is short-lived as Aemond presses his mouth against you.

His tongue traces lazy circles over your clit, groaning, “Hells, I missed this sweet little pussy,” he mumbles, taking the sensitive button between his lips and suctioning around it. 

Throwing your head back against the pillows, your back arches, and your mouth opens in a silent scream. The rain continues to pour outside, the drumming against the window matching that of your racing heart. 

“Oh yeah, I know that’s so good, huh?” Aemond mumbles between licks of your clit, his free hand snaking upwards to grope at your breasts, “Fuck you look so pretty…all whiny and desperate.”

He curls his fingers as he says it, massaging the tender spot inside of you causing your pussy to spasm against his fingers. His tongue traces nonsensical patterns around your clit, his lips sucking and releasing causing lewd wet noises to echo through the room.

“Next time,” he murmurs a quiet promise, “Next time, when I’ve got lots of time…we’ll see how long I can keep you like this.” His fingers pinch your right nipple, tweaking it harshly.

Your belly tenses, muscles constricting against his fingers as he returns his sweet torture on your clit, and you finish with a muffled sob as you turn your head, pressing your mouth against your shoulder. Aemond murmurs soft praises, talking you through your orgasm as your legs shake around him. 

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” you hiss through your teeth as he slowly pulls his fingers from your fluttering pussy, bringing them to his mouth. 

You watch, wide-eyed as he sucks the lengthy digits, moaning at the taste of you.

“Turn around baby,” he says, sitting up, “Put your face in the pillow.”

Shakily, you turn on your hands and knees, before letting yourself fall to your forearms. Aemond slides his hand down your back, admiring the curve of your spine, spreading your cheeks wide. 

“Goddamn,” he murmurs, slapping your cheeks, causing you to yelp, “Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

“You’re an ass man?” you tease, looking back over your shoulder.

“I’m a ‘you’ man,” he argues, grabbing his length and sliding it against your folds, “Now be a good girl, and let me take care of you.” The fat head of his cock pokes at your entrance.

“Please,” you breathe as he starts to slide in. Aemond pauses, groaning slightly.

“Fuck baby, you can’t say that all sweet right now,” he growls, “We don’t have time.”

“Please, put it in,” you whimper, cheek pressed against the pillow, drool forming a wet patch under your cheek.

Aemond’s hand cracks down on your ass once more, “Be a good girl you little brat.”

You whimper, your begging ceasing as he slides fully inside your tight, wet heat. The stretch of his fingers was nothing compared to his thick cock. Your walls tense around him, pulsating around his thick length as he bottoms out. Rocking backward, he slides nearly all the way out before thrusting back in. 

Electricity bursts through your veins, pleasure crackling through your limbs like the lightning outside of the window. The force of his thrusts sends your face deep into the pillow, muffling the sharp cries of pleasure you emit. You couldn’t stop if you wanted to, it feels too fucking good, the head of his cock rubbing ceaselessly against your g-spot as he ruts against you; he’s grunting softly, muttering praises all the while, his fingers digging into your hips. 

“Fuck,” he gasps as your knees slide down, legs shaking so bad you’re unable to keep them upright, “It’s okay baby, just relax I got you.”

Your legs bend against the mattress, thighs splayed, hip flexors burning with the deep stretch it awards you. Aemond never relents, just continues to slap his hips against the softness of your ass, his cock sliding effortlessly in and out, in and out.

“Aemond,” you moan, “Fuck it feels--”

“Yeah?” he groans, “How’s it feel baby?”

“S-s’good, Aem, fuck, it’s so good,” you whimper, hands fisting the sheets, the bed shaking with every harsh thrust. 

The bed grinds against your sensitive nipples and clit sending sparks of pleasure burning through you.

“Gonna make this pussy feel so good,” he says, leaning some of his weight on top of you, his face next to yours, “Gonna take you home after our shifts, you’d like that, yeah?” His arms hold him up, propped on either side of your head. 

“Yes, fuck please,” you agree, turning your face, and feeling him press a kiss to your shoulder blade.

“Gonna have you ride my face,” he promises, dragging his nose between your shoulder blades, “Wanna make that pussy feel so good, till you can’t fucking take it anymore.”

“Fuck Aemond,” you shiver with delight at his filthy words, at the promise of a repeat of the first night you’d been together. A promise of more. 

“Missed you too much,” he murmurs against your shoulder, sending warmth pooling in your belly, “Need you close to me.”

“I missed you,” you whimper, “Fuck, need you so bad.”

“I’m all yours,” he says, nearly whimpering himself, “Fuck baby, you’re so tight, feel so good clenching around my cock.”

“Yeah?” you ask, lifting your head slightly, and glancing back through hooded eyes.

Aemond maneuvers himself, leaning to capture your lips in a sloppy, heated kiss as he continues to pound into you. 

“Fuck….c’mon baby, one more time,” Aemond encourages as heat winds a tight coil of pleasure in your belly, “Can’t have my baby only cumming once, now can I? Come on, that’s a good girl.”

The pitch of your cries increases and you slam your face against the pillow to muffle your strangled cry as your whole body tense, pussy constricting like a vice around his cock as you come. It’s intense, it burns with a brutal passion that paints stars behind your eyelids. 

Aemond’s thrusts become sloppier and with a few more slaps of his hips, you feel his cock pulsate inside of you and the warmth release of his cum filling you up. You turn your cheek from the pillow, your body tingling with the remnants of your orgasm as you suck in a breath. Gently, Aemond pulls out of you, peppering kisses down the length of your spine as he does so. 

You hum happily as he slides out, placing his hands under your thighs and maneuvering you out of the frog-like position you were previously in. Your hip flexors ache, but it’s a good pain--well worth being fucked into the mattress. Aemond turns you on your back, brushing some hair from your sweaty forehead. 

“Hey there,” he says softly. The room is quiet, the rain has stopped. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever walk right again,” you tell him with a content sigh, “but that aside, I’d say I’m more than alright.”

Aemond chuckles, thumb smoothing your cheekbone, making you lean into his gentle touch. 

“Hold on,” he murmurs, standing up, walking to the adjacent bathroom, and flicking on the light. 

You watch him walk away, admiring his ass. He’s got a rather nice one. You hear him turn the water on and a moment later he returns with a washcloth. Not trusting yourself to stand, you simply spread your legs and let him clean up the remains of your combined releases. Your hips jerk as he carefully brushes against your swollen clit causing him to release a breathy laugh.

Beep beep!

The noise snaps you both out of your post-coital bliss bubble and you hurry to find your clothes. Aemond reaches for his pager, desperate to get his scrubs on. 

Beep beep!

It’s your pager this time. Shit, Baratheon must be pissed. 

Both of you scramble, switching scrub tops as Aemond accidentally tries to put on yours, causing you to erupt into a fit of laughter that is only stopped when he grabs you by the waist and pulls you in for a heated kiss. 

“Stop, stop,” you beg, pushing against his hard chest, “Shit we have to go.”

“One more--”

“You’re insatiable--”

“Oh I’ll show you insatiable,” he says, lips tugging upwards in a smirk, “You just wait until tonight.”

Your cheeks burn as you yank on your bottoms, fixing your hair. Sex hair is not an option, not when Baratheon will be up in arms about your disappearance. Glancing at your pager, you read what it says before clipping it to your waist. 

“Okay, I gotta go,” you tell him, shoving your feet into your sneakers.

“Meet me in the lobby? When you’re done?” he asks, unable to hide his smile as you walk to the door on trembling legs.

“Okay,” you tell him, leaning forward, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, “And we could get dinner?” 

“Anything you want,” he says, cupping your cheeks and kissing you again, “Anything” another kiss, “At” and another one, “all.”

You hum happily, placing your hand over his, your entire body warming with his affection.

“I’ll see you then,” you tell him, unwillingly pulling away and unlocking the door.

You leave first, Aemond leaving a few moments later. Watching as he fixes the collar of his scrubs, you find yourself beaming. Aemond turns, catching your eye before turning down the hall, a small smile playing on his lips.

Gods, this is going to be a long shift.

note: hope you liked it!! LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!!

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[elaratyrell]

Jealousy {Modern! HOTD x Fem! Reader}

Includes Aemond, Aegon & Jacaerys

*All images found on Pinterest* *Divider from firefly graphics*

Warnings: Darkish themes, possessive behaviour, fears of cheating, teasing, edging, public sex, hair pulling, Aegon gets handsy

*Not proof read*

Aemond

Aemond trusts you and the love that you have for him. If you manage to break down his walls, earn his trust and his love, then of course he's not going to doubt you and your intentions.

However, he still has his insecurities. You constantly assure him that he is the most handsome man you have ever met, but he still often views himself as a monster. He finds himself thinking that if you met someone who did not have his hang-ups, his scarring... if you met someone better, that love you have for him could be put into question. He didn't want to have these thoughts, but he couldn't stop it either.

Despite Aemond's rather stoic demeanour, he also has an incredibly volatile temper, one that can erupt to the surface at any moment. So when he sees some perfectly handsome guy with a great smile, a relaxed demeanour and two perfectly functioning eyes flirting with you, it's only a matter of time before he... snaps

He observes from a distance at first, watching how you react to the man's advances, straining to hear what he's saying to you, how he steps closer to you. If he lays a hand on you, Aemond will be at your side in an instant

As he watches the man's poor attempt at flirting with you, his frustration will grow, and he'll eventually walk over you both, standing behind you with his hands clasped behind his back, staring down the man with a burning gaze. If that doesn't deter him, he'll make several cutting comments about him, ignoring any disapproving frown you send his way. He'll intentionally refer to you as his girlfriend rather than your name, his chest pressed right against your back.

If your unwanted admirer still doesn't back down, well, prepare to be dragged to the nearest bathroom stall. Usually Aemond would prefer a little more privacy, he's not as shameless as Aegon and thinks of himself as having a little more self control, but when it comes to you? That all goes out the window.

He'll have you facing the wall, your palms pressed against the cool tiles as he hikes up your skirt and roughly pulls your underwear down to your knees, circling achingly slow circles on your clit. He wants you to beg for him, wants the idiot who flirted with you to hear you, to know who you truly belong to.

He'll draw you to tears with the number of times he'll draw you teeteringly close to the edge before pulling away, leaving you soaked with desire for him and pleading with him to give you that release you're yearning for.

When he's satisfied with your begging, he'll fist one hand into your hair, the other clamped down on your waist, holding you in place as he sheaths himself into you. He won't be gentle, thrusting into you at a relentless place, not bothering to cover your mouth to muffle the string of moans and gasp that'll slip through your lips as he brings you closer and closer to the edge, your scalp almost burning at grip he has on your hair.

His hold on your waist will be bruising, occasionally sliding upwards to roll a hardened nipple between his fingers through the fabric of your dress or downwards to toy with your clit again. When you eventually do cum, he'll hold you securely against him, revelling in the way you tremble against him, your body covered with a thin sheen of sweat, makeup slightly smudged and chest heaving with deep breaths.

He'll smirk, simply pulling your panties up and your skirt back down, lips tracing feather light kiss along your shoulder and up your throat before coming to rest against your ear. You can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he speaks.

"Don't think this is far from over, love. I'm just getting started..."

Aegon

Aegon's jealousy stems from his insecurity of feeling unloved and unwanted his whole life. He was the fuck up of the family after all.

He doesn't think you can do better than him, he knows you can do better than him, that it was entirely plausible for someone to come along and sweep you off your feet.

He won't show these insecurities. Not in front of the other guy, that is. That's something to discuss with you later... maybe...

The length to which Aegon will go to deter this person will vary depending on how much he's been drinking. If he's feeling jealous, it's likely to be a decent amount.

If he's in the early stages of the relationship with you, he might try and little tit for tat, flirting with the first girl he sees and constantly looking over to see if you've noticed. It'll escalate into a fight, likely, one that he shrugs off to mask his fear of losing you.

If you're a little further into the relationship, he'll walk- or stagger- over to you, tossing an arm over your shoulders and pressing a rather over exaggerated kiss to your neck and cheek.

He'll get a little handsy, his hand grabbing your waist, your hip, your ass. He'll even grope at your tit if he's feeling shameless enough.

It'll likely escalate into a full on make out session in front of whoever's flirting with you, hands groping your ass as he pressed you against the bar counter.

His inappropriate behaviour and intoxicated state resulting in you grabbing his hand and dragging him outside to take him home. He's in no state to talk that night, but will be tugging at your clothes and pressing a line of sloppy kisses down your neck as you unlock the door to your apartment.

If he's drunk enough, he'll slur out his feelings, his jealousy, his insecurities. He wants to be loved, but he's never truly experienced it before.

Just stroke his hair and take care of him. He will still try to get handsy with you, creeping along your thigh and under your skirt.

Tomorrow, sit down and talk with him. Assure him that he's who you want, who you love, and that he's worthy of that. And hey, if it ends with you straddling his waist, your hips rolling against his and hands threaded through his platinum tresses as you show him how much you love him, what's he to complain about?

Jacaerys

Now Jace here is the one you need to watch out for the most. He trusts you completely, but that's not where the issue lies. Because while he's not as insecure as Aegon or as cruel as Aemond, but he has got a temper. And he's protective as fuck.

It borders on possessive, how he watches you like a hawk. In his mind, he watching out for you like your knight in shining armour. He doesn't trust the people here. What if he turns away and someone tries to take advantage of you?

He, like Aemond, may watch from a safe distance at first, but Jace lacks the patience to stand there idly, and he'll be beside you soon enough.

He'll glare at whoever's flirting with you, his jaw clenched and hands balled into fists.

He'll tell the guy to back off, to realise you're in a relationship. He won't be as cutting as Aemond with his words, he'll say it politely enough (at first), but there'll be a slight strain to his voice as he speaks through gritted teeth.

The best thing to do is take his hand in yours, or rest a hand on his arm. Your touch immediately relaxes him somewhat, reassuring him that you're there for him. It might also encourage him to try a little more to keep a lid on things.

He's the most likely to get physical against the other guy. You saw how he was with Baela and Aegon. He will swing a punch if the guy refuses to respect you, your boundaries or your relationship, and he won't hesitate or think twice about it.

Despite being the most likely to lose his temper, he's also the easiest to resolve things with since he's so secure with you. He doesn't need reassurance that you won't leave him, just that you're there for him in that moment.

You'll pull him away to somewhere more quiet and private so he can cool off. Even if he doesn't punch anyone, he's going to be riled up and needs to calm down.

As you hold him, your fingers running through his curls, he'll slowly relax. His breathing becomes less ragged, his trembling will cease, your touch calming him down.

He'll probably be the only one out of these three to willing talk about how he's feeling without being prompted into it by you. He promises that he'll try to keep a better control of his temper, and he will try, but it will happen again.

For now, the argument's settled, and he can enjoy spending the rest of his night with you, whether that's heading back to his place to enjoy it in privacy or head back into the party, his hand firmly planted on your waist as you hang out with Cregan or Rhaena and Baela, a small smirk on his face at his triumph over the stranger.

More often than not, you'll end the night pinned beneath him on the bed, your head thrown back in pleasure as he shows you exactly why you're with him, the flirtatious stranger from earlier all but a forgotten memory in your mind.

Tag List:

@watercolorskyy @jacesvelaryons

If you wanted to be added to the general HOTD taglist or taglists for specific character/s, just let me know

Masterlist

[dedicatednotobsessed]

Starlight, Star Bright Series Masterlist [Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader]

Other HOTD stories

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Summary: After your father had gotten a promotion, you had to move from Harrenhal's Hoare Academy to the capital's prestigious Blackfyre Academy. Your family name is known to have a reputation, and you quickly find out how hard it is to fit in with an already bad reputation.

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• PART I

Tagged readers: ✨ @mrsdaemontargaryen ✨ || @barnes70stark || @isnt-itstrange

[farity]

Guardian

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x you

Summary: College AU bar shenanigans

Warning: Smut

.

“Aemond!”

You were surprised to see your friend at the bar.  He turned, the corner of his eye crinkling as he smiled at you.  He’d told you all about how he lost his eye when he was younger, then caught you Googling Lucerys Velaryon but stopped you before you could drive to his house and murder the little shit.

“He’s not worth it,” Aemond had said, adding that the bionic eye he had gotten was just fine by him.  

“That’s not the point,” you’d replied, “he cut your fucking eye out, Aemond, and didn’t even get a slap on the wrist.  If I ever run into him, I will take out one of his balls.”

Aemond had wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head.  “Ah, my guardian angel.”

“Not feeling very angelic about it,” you grumbled in response.  You felt protective of him, not just because of the eye and how his father had done nothing about it, but because from what he’d shared over the years, it seemed that other than his mom, his family his family didn’t appreciate him much.  He didn’t complain about it, but you’d gleaned bits of info here and there, and when his family made it to his high school graduation, you saw the dynamic up close and personal.

His father, first of all, didn’t even show up.  He was visiting his daughter from his first marriage, and couldn’t be bothered to see his son give the valedictorian speech.  His mother was proud and thrilled, taking a thousand pictures of Aemond.  His brother Aegon seemed bored, and maybe drunk, his younger brother Daeron was on his phone the whole time, and his sister Helaena spent the time with her headphones on, doodling on a little notebook.  Aemond had told you about her, he loved her dearly and she loved him back, but her autism made her spend most of her time in her own world.  

“Is this your girlfriend?  She’s very pretty, Aemond.”

You smiled, shaking your head at his sister, who was looking at you with a big smile on her face.  

“Hel, she is my friend, remember?”

“Picture of you both!” his mother said, and you stood next to him, both of you holding up your diplomas.

Dinner was an awkward affair, but you did your best to keep Aemond entertained, including throwing tiny rolled up bits of napkin at Aegon’s hair when he wasn’t looking.  

Now Aemond took a spot at the end of your bar, and you wondered what on earth had brought him in.

“What can I get you and why the hell are you here?”

Aemond laughed.  “I do get out sometimes,” he replied, scanning the board high up behind you.  “I don’t know, surprise me.  You know what I like.”

You nodded and turned to the row of bottles.  You did know what he liked.  And vice versa.  And sometimes, you did wonder, but the thought of wrecking the friendship, the relationship that was the most important to you, kept you from saying anything.  Neither of you had dated anyone in college, and the mere thought of going to bed with anyone made you wince.  

Anyone but Aemond.

You added a few ounces of this and that to your shaker, closed it and then tossed it behind your back, making it twirl in the air before catching it in your other hand.  The patrons began to clap and you laughed as you shook it a bit more before pouring it into a glass and adding a slice of orange as a garnish.  You placed it in front of Aemond and clasped your hands daintily in front of you.

“Drinks and a show,” he smiled, taking an experimental sip.  “Oh wow, this is amazing, what’s in it?”

“I’ll never tell,” you said saucily over your shoulder as you went to serve another guy.

* * * * * 

Aemond watched her walking away and smiled into his drink.

“Lucky man,” the guy next to him said.  Aemond met his eyes and the guy nodded towards the pretty bartender.  “How long you been together?”

“We’re not,” Aemond said, “just long time friends.”

The guy looked at him as if he had three heads.  “Uh-huh.”

A group of three guys came in, already drunk from the looks of them, and planted themselves at the other end of the bar.  Aemond watched as they began whispering among themselves, looking at his friend the whole time.  One of them leaned in, getting her attention and she turned to grab the pint glasses for their beers.  The guy who’d leaned in kept his eyes firmly on her ass the whole time and Aemond began to really, really dislike him.

“Want another?” she asked when she came over to check on Aemond.

He had a feeling a clear head would be the best choice given what he could see brewing at the other end of the bar.  “I’m good, thank you, those guys come here often?” he asked, nodding towards the group.

She rolled her eyes.  “Thank god, no, they’re not locals, they’ve been here a couple of times and they get so trashed and obnoxious.”  She smiled at him.  “I’m so glad you came in.  I feel like I’ve barely seen you this week.”  She squeezed his hand before going back to serve some more drinks and beers.

“Just friends, huh?”  The guy sitting next to him said, and when he saw Aemond give him an irritated look, he put his hands up in surrender.  “All I’m saying is, the way she looks at you, maybe you’re not as smart as you look, bro.”  The man left before Aemond could respond.

He’d thought about it.  Of course he’d thought about it.  She was sweet, funny, and had gone from a girl ready to throw a punch in his defense to someone he couldn’t imagine living without.  And she’d still throw a punch for him.  He’d felt a frisson of fear down his spine whenever he’d seen her laughing  with some other guy.  Was this it?  He’d ask himself.  Was this the one who’d capture her heart?  

It was inevitable, he thought, sooner or later she would find someone and he’d be happy for her and wish her the best.  

* * * * * 

You had kept tabs on Aemond for the past hour and his mood had definitely gone down in the last few minutes.  He kept stirring his empty cocktail glass and you wondered just what had happened.  The bar had emptied except for him and the three at the opposite end of the bar.

Speaking of them, they were getting on your last nerve.  Clearly, they thought you couldn’t hear them whispering about you, and as they got more and more drunk, their voices got louder and louder.  You wished Paul, the owner, were here, he was a great father figure who’d soon put those assbutts in their place.

“Hey honey, we want another round!”

You sighed, exasperated, because this wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Sorry, boys, you’ve all had enough.  I’ll close up your tab.”

“I want another fucking beer, I’m paying for it!”

You pointed to the sign on the wall.  

We reserve the right to refuse service to any patron for any reason. 

“What the fuck?  You just work here, honey, we pay your wages.”

You continued closing the tab on the computer, and it printed out the signature form.  “Here, sign this.”

“Fuck you, don’t you know who I am?”

“Someone who needs to sign this.”  You tapped on the printout and placed a pen next to it.

You were tracking Aemond’s movements out of the corner of your eye.  He’d stood quietly once you’d denied them more drinks, had slowly walked down the length of the bar, and was now standing, empty glass in hand, leaning against a pillar about ten feet away from the three assholes.

Asshole #1 grabbed the pen and threw it at your face.  He didn’t do any damage, you turned away and it hit the back of your head.  When you turned back around, he wasn’t there, and his two buddies were looking toward the floor, where you heard a sickening crunch.

You checked the last place Aemond had been and he was gone.  

Oh shit.

You went through the side door of the bar to find Aemond straddling Asshole #1, who was grabbing his nose and moaning in pain.  Aemond had his fist pulled back, clearly ready to strike again.

“Get out,” you shoved one of the other two out the door.  “You, get the fuck out of here.”  You pointed at the other one, who left without checking on his friend on the floor.

“Aemond, stop.”

He didn’t move, fist still ready.  “Are you hurt?”  His voice was full of a quiet rage you hadn’t heard before.

“No,” you placed a hand on his shoulder.  “I’m fine.  Come on.  He’s not worth it.”

Aemond stood, slowly, pulling the guy up with him.  “Don’t come back.  Ever,” he said before throwing him out the door.  He turned, and you held out your hand.  “What?” he asked.  

“Hand.”

“I’m fine.”

“I didn’t ask if you were fine, Aemond.”  You kept your hand out until he placed his on it.  It looked worse than you’d figured, a bloody scratch that was still oozing, and various bruises on his pale skin.  “Let’s ice it.”

You wrapped some ice from the well in a bar towel and placed it gently on the back of his hand.  “I need to put some stuff on it, we don’t have it here.”

“I can clean it up at home.”

“You can, but you won’t, because you’ll get home and start checking the overseas markets and forget about your hand.”  You watched as he opened his mouth to reply but he realized you were right.  “Let me close the register.”

He grabbed the few stray bottles with his free hand to toss them in the bin, wiped down the bar while you closed up.

He drove the two blocks to your apartment.  Once inside you took out your first aid kit while he made himself at home.  He’d been at yours hundreds of times, studying, hanging out, or watching movies, but the sight of him kicking off his shoes and sitting down on your sofa warmed you.  There was an ease in your friendship, and the more you thought about it, the more you felt it had become a crutch, something you held on to so you wouldn’t have to go any further.

You opened the antibiotic gel, dabbed a little on his scratch.  “It’s stopped bleeding, which is good.  Let me get a bandage.”

“It’s fine, really,” he smiled up at you.  

You narrowed your eyes at him.  “When it gets infected and fills up with pus, do not come to me to take care of it.”

Aemond laughed.  “You love all those vet shows where they lance huge abscesses!”

You laughed along with him, but this time, it hurt.  Was this it?  Was this all you could have with him?  Until some girl with more guts than you came into his life and stole his heart?

“What is it?” he asked, aware of something going on in your head.

“Look, Aemond, uh, we’ve been friends for a long time, and I, uh, I just need to say something here.”

* * * * * 

This was it, Aemond thought.  Either she’d met someone or she was pissed off that he’d hit the guy.  She was steeling herself to say something and it just wasn’t going to be good.

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, “I mean, I’m not sorry I hit that fucker, but I am sorry you’re upset.”

“What?”

“Aren’t you angry?”

She looked at him.  “No, I’m not angry.  I mean, I’m angry at myself because I’m such a fucking moron, but no,” she cupped his cheek and brushed her thumb over his cheekbone, smiling at him.  “I’m not angry with you.  Thank you.  Which really makes this much more difficult.”

Nope, it’s not going to be good at all.

“We’ve been friends for a long time.”

“Good friends,” he interjected.  That had to count for something, didn’t it?

“Yeah, yeah,” she nodded.  “And in that time we’ve been through a lot, but sometimes, uh, things change, and change can be difficult, I mean, maybe only one person wants change and the other is just fine the way things are.”

The pool of dread forming in his stomach was growing colder with each second, with each word she spoke.  

She’s met someone.

She let out a long breath.  “Oof, okay, so I want you to know that however you want to take things is okay with me, I want you in my life no matter what.”

“I will take whatever you give me.  You’re the most important person in my life,” he said, “and whatever this guy means to you, I will respect-”

“Huh?”

“I will respect your relationship, and-”

“Aemond, I fucking love you.”

He stared up at her, the knots in his belly refusing to unwind.  “As a friend,” he said quietly.

“That, too.”  She looked terrified, “but no, that’s not what I meant.”  She swallowed.  “I love you.  I’m in love with you.”

He hadn’t heard right.  He had missed a word somewhere.  Some key word that changed the meaning of everything she was telling him.

* * * * * 

Oh shit, your worst fears had come true.  Aemond was staring at you like you were speaking in a foreign language.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“And, uh, I get it, you don’t feel the same, and I am not going to push or anything.  I treasure our friendship, and every-”

He’d stood and wrapped one arm around your waist in the blink of an eye, cradling the back of your head with his hurt hand.  His mouth found yours as he turned, pressing you against the wall.  You gasped and he deepened the kiss, his lips soft and warm on yours.

Tangled up in each other you made your way to your room as he removed his jacket.  You pulled away, seeking reassurance in his gaze.  Aemond smiled softly at you, taking your face in his hands.  “I love you, too.”  He pressed his forehead against yours before you pulled him back down to kiss him again.

In your bedroom, you turned him around so he sat on the edge of the bed while you removed your sweater, while he stared up at you.  He whispered your name as you straddled him, clad now in your thin t-shirt and work shorts.  “I have dreamed of you,” he said before he slipped his hands under your shirt and began exploring.  

You had wanted those big hands on you for a long time, fantasized about those long, elegant fingers, and as he roamed higher up on your sides you raised your arms to let him pull the shirt off.  He was so warm against your skin, the heat of him making your head spin.  He slipped one bra strap off your shoulder, kissing the indentation left by the strap on your skin before rubbing his cheek against it.  “So very soft.”

He repeated the process on the other side while you reached back to undo the clasp.  “I’ve always loved how your skin smells,” he murmured against your neck before he cupped one breast in his hand.  He lowered his head to take the tip in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.  You began to squirm and his hands went to your hips, keeping you still while he continued licking and suckling.  

“Aemond,” you breathed out, threading your hands through his hair.  Each swipe of his tongue sent a spike of pleasure between your legs, and as you rocked against him, you felt him getting harder.  “Come here, please.”

He obliged, crawling up until you could yank his shirt off.  God, he was gorgeous. You’d dreamed of sliding your hands all over his chest, his shoulders, feeling the muscles in his back under your fingers, and now you explored every inch you could.  You reached down to the waistband of his jeans and felt him shiver as your fingertips began working the button and zipper.  

“Fuck,” he muttered.

You stopped immediately.  “What is it?  Do you not want to-”

“Yes, of course I want to.  I don’t have any condoms on me.”

You reached up, pushing his hair out of his eyes.  “Aemond.  You’re clean, I’m clean, and I’m on birth control.  We’re good.”

He grabbed your hand, kissing your knuckles.  “Are you sure?”

“Aemond, I swear to god-”

“Okay, okay, making sure,” he leaned down to kiss you as he shoved the rest of his clothing down his legs.  “Your turn,” he said as he began undoing the fastening on your shorts.  You let him pull them and your underwear off, now wishing you’d worn something fancier, lacier, smaller.  

* * * * * 

Aemond thought there was no more beautiful sight than the one before him.  He’d gone from despair to utter joy and now she was looking up at him like he was the world to her.  He kissed her again and again, to reassure himself this was real, this was happening, and when she reached down and began stroking him, he nearly came on the spot.  

“I want you inside me,” she whispered.  Jesus.  She was going to fucking kill him, but he’d die a happy man.  He guided himself between her legs and began pushing.  She was wet and hot and her hips were pulsing up, taking him deeper each time.  

He tried to take it slow, ruthlessly containing the desire to snap his hips so that he was fully inside her.  She was making little whimpering sounds and he would cut his own throat before he hurt her.  Slowly he filled her, and when he pulled his hips back, she moaned, wrapping her legs around him.

He couldn’t help himself, sinking inside her again, the feel of her a lure he couldn’t resist.  “God, yes,” he murmured, driving faster.  She reached up to kiss him, her hips rolling to meet his every thrust.  He felt her nails sink into his shoulders, and she whimpered again.  “Aemond, I’m- “ she managed before he felt her start clenching around him.  She let her head fall back on the pillow, swooning as the pleasure swirled inside her.  He let go, his resolve shot to hell as he let the orgasm overtake him, too.

* * * * * 

Damn.

You felt Aemond pull you to his side so he wouldn’t crush you.  That had been the most amazing sexual experience of your life.  His heart was racing beneath your palm as he cradled you against him.  

“Are you cold?” he asked, nuzzling your cheek.

You shook your head, safe and happy in his arms.  “Will you stay with me?”

You felt him smile.  “As long as you’ll have me.”

[sunfyresrider]

𝑪𝒓𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒓

Synopsis: In 1989 you're forced to go on another one of the Targaryen family vacations except this one is to a summer camp. Crystal Lake isn't renowned for its beauty and exciting activities. Instead, it's well known for murder and strange disappearances; this doesn't deter money hungry counselors from setting up here. The twins swear it's folklore, Aegon claims you're going crazy but ever since you stepped out of the car you knew, this summer was going to be one to remember.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x You T/W: dead bird, bad omens, nightmares, bullying, anxiety & paranoia, new friends, 80's slang, and all the bad vibes. A/N This is only kind of a Friday the 13th AU, I stole some names and lore but otherwise this is coming from my brain. Ive been listening to cruel summer nonstop hence the name. I really hope the first chapter got you as excited for the rest as I am!

Summer of 1989, you, your best friend and ride or die Hel, plus her army of obnoxious brothers are making your way to summer camp. Hel’s mother, Ali, she’s a sweet lady but her choice of family activities is never the greatest. This has got to be one of the very worst so far. 

To be fair, you would roll over and bark if she asked. She deserved it considering she basically adopted you like a stray cat after your family disappeared… That’s another story for another day where you aren’t trapped in the back seat with the biggest tool known to mankind. “Play this!” You scrunched up your nose, “No! Keep the radio on!” You reached to snatch the cassette from his hand, but he shoved your face back, “Hell no! I don’t wanna listen to Bananarama.”  

You shoved him back, “Shut up, Aegon. No one likes your music.” His eyes rolled into the back of his skull, “Shut up, Aegon. no one likes your music.” You huffed, “Stop mocking me!” He copied, “Stop mocking me!” You became desperate, anything to make him shut up. “Hellll! Make him stop.” With his obnoxious voice he continued, “Helllll make him stop.”

“Will you both shut up!” He turned the dial on the radio and began blasting whatever was originally on. The mood killer of all mood killers, Aemond Targaryen. The perfect student, son, and total stick in the mud. Granted, he did get his eye snatched out by his nephew. You’ve never heard the full story and don’t dare to ask but they don’t speak any more to say the least. 

There’re some good things about him. He has a super soft spot for Hel which sorta extends to you. That is why you’re listening to cruel summer instead of whatever shit Aegon had planned. He also barely speaks to you, almost like he purposely avoids you. In the years you’ve known each other there’s only been a total of ten conversations you remember. 

That’s fine with you, not everyone has to like you. That’s what you tell yourself to make yourself feel better at night. Your eyes drifted to the rear-view mirror, a perfect view of the man himself inside. In some lights Aemond truly was handsome, as if he was carved from marble. It didn’t help that his face almost always remained in a stoic position, unmoving and unwavering no matter the circumstance. The faux eye or eyepatch he chose to wear didn’t ruin his looks at all. In fact, it made him all the more alluring to certain girls.  

You’ve known him for years, lived with his family, basically a constant in his life since you were young, and he still remains a mystery. You enjoyed mysteries a lot, one of your favorite genres of books. You got caught, His good eye flickered to meet yours. Eye contact with Aemond made your breath hitch in your throat. It was intense, everything he did was intense. 

“Aemond watch Out!” 

Helaena screeched, a large black object landing directly into the windshield, cracking it. His eyes flickered back at the road as the car spun out of control. None of the three in the back had any seat belts on. Aegon grabbed ahold of you and the door handle, both of you screeching like little girls. The car made a god-awful noise as Aemond slammed on the brakes, shrouding the car in dust. In the very back you heard Daeron fall to the floor, waking him up immediately. 

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” Hel opened her door, leaping out of the car. Aemond quickly followed behind as the rest of you scrambled to get up. The dust from the road was finally starting to settle as you managed to pry yourself from your seat. “Ew.” Aegon murmured under his breath as he stood over the dead body of a raven. She was silently crying to herself as she bent over the lifeless thing. Helaena had always held an intense love for animals.

You peered at Aemond who remained completely composed, eerily silent as usual. He peered back at you, was this your fault for distracting him? You weren’t even doing anything besides staring! “Ravens are bad omens ya know… Great start to summer guys!” Daeron chirped from behind. “I’m going to the car,” Aegon said with disgust, brushing aside his sister's mourning. Daeron followed quickly behind, excited to go back to napping.

It took Aemond a few tries to get Helaena to leave the bird and return to her seat… She’s too gentle for this world. For some reason you were stuck in place. The second you stepped out of the car you felt eyes on you. You didn’t know where they were coming from, but they were there or everywhere. Instant anxiety coursed through you; this place had bad vibes in the first place. It didn’t help that you were watching a bird slowly choking to death on its own blood.

Bad omen

Bad omen

Bad omen

Bad omen

“Hey! We’re going to be late, get in the car.” Aegon’s screeching pulled you out of your trance, “Oh piss off!” 

The walk through of camp was rather boring. Immediately the girls were separated from the boys and to be completely honest, the girls' cabins were shit. They were wooden and lined with poorly built bunk beds. No plumbing whatsoever besides the showers which only ran cold water. A bug infestation was definitely on the horizon. The camp tshirts weren’t terrible, just a little ugly in design. The counselors were only a few years older than you, which teed you off because they were barking orders left and right. 

Helaena didn’t seem to mind any of it, lost in her head as usual. The dead bird definitely ruined her mood for today… You on the other hand couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. It came just as quickly as it went, and it fucking followed you… You were actually going insane. Or one of the boys was playing a long prank on you.

The tour was painstakingly long as you walked the grounds looking at the lake, the yard, the forest trails and the other buildings of importance. The recreation room, the dining hall and kitchen, the banned counselor area and finally the “special building.” It was where all the electricity came from and probably plumbing too. 

The events for welcoming day were as follows: settling in, tour of the camp, dinner, and the huge bonfire in front of the lake. It seemed simple and easy to digest but you couldn’t shake your anxiety. You didn’t like being around strange people, you didn’t like being far away from home and you definitely didn’t like that they separated your bed from Hel’s. Also, Daeron’s comment from earlier was making you paranoid. Little shit always has a way of getting in your head. 

“Aegon is already flirting with the girls from the other cabin.” You peered from across the dining room to watch him shamelessly chat up randos. Your face twisted in minor disgust. “Oh, gag me with a spoon… I don’t know how you’re related.” You slid down the line grabbing the food the “chef” had made. Without a doubt there was a few mystery meats and a hair lurking in the applesauce. Maybe you were being pretentious, but shouldn’t a rich camp afford better food? 

You took your seat after meticulously avoiding all of the possible bowel killing food and settled on Mac n Cheese. Even at camp the tables were separated by categories, freaks aka rebels, geeks/brains depending on who you ask, the jocks, the heathers aka bitches and the outcasts. Obviously, you the Targaryen’s stray cat and the weird girl obsessed with bugs aka Hel say with the outcasts. 

Aegon had wormed his way into the jocks even though he didn’t play sports. Daeron fit in anywhere because he was just sooo charming. And well, Aemond, was staring at you from across the room at the brains table. Gracefully avoiding direct eye contact when you glanced over. He always did that, ever since you were kids. 

A normal person might ask why or go and talk to him. You weren’t normal and unbelievably awkward when alone with him. It was just because he was intimidating and obviously didn’t like you very much. Or maybe he was madly in love with you and just couldn’t find the strength to speak to you… Of course, it was the former.

 “Hey!” A short girl with pretty curls took her seat in front of you both. Hel and you glanced at each other, shocked someone were talking to you. She was beaming, sunshine literally radiating off of her skin. A total surfer chick from the west coast. You learned her name was Rhaena, her twin Baela had ditched her earlier for a boy and she was trying to make new friends. 

“So, this is your first time here? That’s totally tubular!” Helaena spoke up,“You’ve been here before?” Rhaena propped her knees up on the seat, so she was basically in Hel’s face. “Yeah! Baela and I have been coming since we were kids.” Helaena smiled, eyes twinkling with something you hadn’t seen before.“That’s rad.” You paused, when has seen used slang before? “What about you? Have you been here before?” Her voice sounded muted, as if asking you was a total pain. “Oh no. This is my first time.” 

“Oh my god I can totally show you guys around and tell you all the secrets.” Helaena cocked a brow, “What secrets?” Rhaena smiled mischievously, “Likeee there’s this abandoned shack not too far away that everyone goes and explores. Apparently, it’s haunted.” You were nodding your head along getting lost in thought. 

“Oh, and the boys get all the hot water, and we don’t… and they only use knock off versions of food to save money… Don’t eat the Mac n cheese, I’m pretty sure it’s spoiled.” You dropped your spoon, apparently nothing was edible here…. Wait?! The boys got hot showers and you didn’t?! And there’s a fucking haunted house… You knew this place was fucking creepy. 

“Baela! That’s the twin I was telling you about! Come on, I want y’all to meet her.” She grabbed Helaena’s hand and gently tugged her in the opposite direction. “Hey, you coming?” There it was again! The feeling of your hair standing up and someone watching you. You froze in place, eyes scanning the area. Aemond wasn’t looking at you anymore, too preoccupied with Daeron. 

“She’s zoned out again… Bestie we’re gonna be right back.” No one in your peripheral vision either… Which means they were behind you. You jumped around in your seat, prepared to surprise whoever was there. 

Except, there was no one but an empty building. You spun around looking for any sign of life and found none… How long have you been sitting here? When did Helaena leave you? The lights turned off and you felt your heart sink to your ass… 

A masked figure emerged from the darkness of the kitchen holding a kitchen knife. He was soaking wet, as if he had just come out of the lake. You stumbled back in place, bumping into the table behind you. Your breath hitched in your throat; your heart began thumping rapidly. 

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck

You weren’t able to scream, your legs had turned into wet noodles that wouldn’t move. You were going to die; you were totally going to fucking die. It cocked its head to the side, “Run Rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run,” it sang in an eerily sweet voice. Not the fucking tune from the thirties! 

All of the sudden he charged; you squeezed your eyes shut preparing for the worse… You felt two hands shaking you, violently shaking you. 

“Mrs. y/l/n, please wake up.” The counselor shook you a few more times, “Hey! Rise and Shine sweetheart!” You jumped in place, gasping for air and startling the counselor. “We’re going to be late for the bonfire, please hurry up.” You looked around, the lights were still beaming, and the sun had only just started to set. There were still a few counselors around and your face was sticky…

You fell asleep in the fucking Mac n Cheese!  

“Hey.” You awkwardly took a seat in between Aemond and Aegon seeing as Helaena was being fussed over by the twins. “You only come to me when your girl gets stolen. Don’t worry babe, I can make you forget about her.” You shoved him into Daeron, nearly knocking him off the bench. “Can you be normal?! For like five seconds, please.” 

“Impossible, his brain is made of jello.” Aemond deadpanned, eyes burning holes into Aegon’s skull. You giggled to yourself, “The off brand Jell-O.” The camp counselor marched in front of the four of you, pointing fingers. “Hey! Don’t tell me you four are gonna be the troublemakers this year. I’ll have you know-“ 

“Ms. Dunn! I just saw a kid go into the electrical cabin!” Baela, you assumed, just caused a perfect distraction. The counselor went running in the opposite direction. She winked at you all and walked off to join her sister and your best friend. Aegon sat up, dead silent. He had that look in his eyes, the look of a boy who found a new boy. “He’s found a new conquest.” 

You peered at Aemond, unable to hide the smirk creeping onto your face. “Let’s hope this one has some standards.” The head counselor stepped up, clapping their hands together to announce their presence. Ghost stories, a nice welcome to a strange camp. It was tradition according to Rhaena, a weird fucking tradition. 

It took a minute for everyone to settle down, specifically Aegon who kept poking you in your side. He did this consistently throughout your life, teased you until you gave him attention. Aeg was like an older brother but worse and more pervy. Introductions, getting to know each other, and then finally the fucking story. The entire thing was unbearably boring. 

“Many years ago, a mad woman lived here with her son before her land was sold to us. It is said after years of listening to the campers next door she went insane. She butchered every single camper, except one who drowned her own son believing him to be the killer!” The crowd was silent, except the few gasps of some younger girls. You sat up in your seat, fixated on lore. 

“Not long after, a group of campers decided to explore the lake and the supposed haunted cabin. Of course, they were brave and didn’t believe in myths or legends. As they walked along the shore, they heard strange noises coming from the trees. Branches cracked, leaves rustled, and something seemed to be following them.” You weren’t easily frightened… but for some reason your nails were picking at the tips of your shorts. 

“They picked up their pace, escaping into the abandoned shack they originally thought to be safe. One brave boy ventured deeper inside, until he fell through the floor. An ear-piercing scream could be heard across the lake… He fell right on top of the mother’s remains!” Aemond wasn’t amused, he was far more entranced by the way the fire lit up your face. And the way your jaw hung with suspense at a silly ghost story. 

“They ran back to the main grounds, hoping to find safety! However, when they returned the camp was nearly empty. Not a single soul remained on this land. Ripples began forming in the lake below them, tree branches cracking the distance. They all began to panic, huddling in a circle… From the darkness of the lake emerged a looming figure, soaked head to toe with blood. He held out the machete in his hand and stormed towards them.” 

The outdoors became eerily silent, only the crackling fire provided comfort. You were on the edge of your seat, anticipating blood shed… “The next day the authorities arrived and found no trace of the bodies. No blood or weapons could be found anywhere in the vicinity. Twenty campers and counselors disappeared that night without a single trace…” You leaned back in your seat, that wasn’t an epic ending at all. It was like almost reaching an orgasm then being cut off. “it’s said every few years he comes back... He waits for the campers to get comfortable… to feel safe… Until-”

“Ahhhh!”

A dark figure in a black mask with a blood coated axe jumped out of the darkness. You screamed like a banshee, you jumped back in place, landing against Aemond’s chest. It felt like your eyes were going to pop out of your skull, or maybe your heart would explode. His arms wrapped around you lightly, you could barely feel them securing you into place. 

“Ahahaha! Ahahaha!  you’re so fucking jumpy! You’re like a little rabbit.” You stared at him blankly, then you stared at the people around you… No one else was screaming but you. Was the jump scare seriously not that terrifying to anyone but you. Aemond cleared his throat, “You good?” He didn’t mind you being close, he didn’t mind that you crushed his groin. In fact, he could stay like this for hours if there weren’t camp counselors staring him down. 

It was like an alarm going off in your head, you turned to look at Aemond for a second. Embarrassment quickly drowning all of your sensations. You slid off of his lap and back on the bench. No words were coming out, no thoughts being processed. Your cheeks were beaming red, this summer was going to be fucking hell. 

After the bonfire, aka your personal torment, your family and the new add ons Baela and Rhaena huddled into a lopsided circle by the lake. “I have an idea,” Aegon announced to the group. “Baela told me about the broken-down shack, and I think we should totally go check it out!” You looked around at everyone’s faces and they all seemed to be in agreement… “Haven’t you seen the movies? This is how everyone dies dumby.” 

Aegon scoffed, “Ok freakazoid, did you and Aemond switch bodies? ” He just killed two birds with one stone, or one sentence. Aemond was used to the slander, you however had a short fuse when it came to Egg boy. “Eat my shorts, Aegon!” He cocked an eyebrow, “Only if you ask nicely.” You faked a vomiting noise. Helaena made a sour face, “That’s grody.” You paused; Helaena never used slang before. Aegon chimed in, “Are you done being pussy?” 

You began bickering instantly, the sounds of your petty argument and Aegon’s obnoxious laughter obviously killing the vibe. Daeron pushed into the center of the circle. “Everyone take a chill pill! How about we go to the cabin, and you stay here as a lookout.” Aegon clapped his hands together, “Awesome! We gotta go now before the counselors wake up.” You took a step back watching the group disperse towards the forest. Rhaena took Helaena’s hand and started bouncing off, leaking excitement. “Hel? Are you not gonna stay behind?” 

She paused, glanced between you both. “I- I just want to check it out! I’ll be back in a sec.” Rhaena raised a hand to wave, “Don’t stress! We won’t die!” You watched silently as your best friend got whisked off into the darkness. She’s never left you behind before, she’s never done adventurous things. She’s calm, quiet, quirky and, and you don’t like this. You don’t like this one bit. 

“You look jealous.” You whipped your body around, nearly stumbling on the leaves behind you. “Aemond? I thought you were going with them.” He smiled, just barely, “Exploring abandoned shacks isn’t my forte.” He definitely wasn’t staying behind because you were. He especially wasn’t staying behind to be alone with you. “Oh…” you stared at him, not a single thought in your brain. Why were you so nervous? Have you always been so nervous around him? 

It might be because you had to crane your neck up to look at him. “I’m not jealous!” He stalked behind you with his hands behind his back. “Is that so? You’ve looked pissed the past few hours.” Your brows furrowed, “Pissed? What no. It’s just… ever since we got here, I’ve had anxiety out the butt.” Aemond paused his steps, “I’m sorry about the bird. I should have been looking but I-”

“It’s not the bird. I mean it is kinda the bird, but this place gives me the creeps!” You held your arms out wide and twirled in a circle. You were trying to make a point. Aemond smiled to himself, “I get it. It’s too calm, the perfect place for a monster to hide out.” Your mouth gaped in faux shock; your hand went to swat at his arm. “Don’t joke! I’m being serious, it has bad vibes.”

“Hm,” he nodded his head as if agreeing or thinking, you couldn’t tell. “You just need to distract yourself from the bad vibes.” You cocked your head to the side, “How?” Aemond sat down on the little beach, motioning for you to follow. “We could play a game.” You followed suit, sitting with your legs crossed. “Which game?”

He picked up a pebble and threw it into the water. “I was hoping you would know.” Who would offer to play a game then not even know what game! “Uhhh all I know is twenty questions.” He tossed another pebble,“Great.” 

He was always straight forward and maybe a little too quiet. You couldn’t tell if he was doing this out of pity or he really wanted to play with you… Aemond Targaryen was a confusing man. “You’re agreeing that easily?” He finally turned to look at you, sincerity gracing his features. “I mean, all we know about each other is from what Helaena says so I don’t see why not.” You tapped your fingers on your chin, “Okay… Why’d you choose Vhagar as a pet name.” 

He hummed to himself, “I was twelve and thought it was a cool name for a big lizard. What’s your favorite song?” The same song that almost caused a car accident earlier, you thought to yourself. “Easy. Cruel Summer by Bananarama.” Aemond smiled, a smile that could genuinely light up the world. “Ah, that’s why you almost fist fought Aegon for radio rights.” You clapped your hands together, “It’s a great song! And it totally fits the vibes. Next question… What’s your favorite song?”

“For Whom the Bells Toll. I can play pretty much every Metallica song on guitar.” Your eyes lit up with excitement, “You’re a metalhead and you play?! Aemond I never knew that!” You sat up and grabbed his shoulders, tugging at them gently. “It’s not that impressive.” He made eye contact for a split second before his lips curled into a tiny smirk. “Oh please! don’t be coy. You need to play for me sometime… If you-” 

“Of course.” A sudden sting of embarrassment rose through him as quickly as he said it. He didn’t mean to cut you off, or seem so excited… “What’s something you regret?” You stopped invading his personal space and sat back, criss cross applesauce. What was something you regretted? You could be completely honest and go for it or make up a lie. You regretted many things in your life, too many to count. The only one you could think of now, “I regret not getting to know you sooner. You're super cool, Aemond.” 

Aemond felt his heart rate pick up its pace and his palms were getting all sweaty. He always knew you were pretty but seeing you excited over him took it to a new level. The way your eyes sparkled and the moonlight reflecting off of the water perfectly illuminating your features. For a second, he swore he saw your lip's part. Did you want to kiss him? No, he avoided you for years, no way you’d be into him now. Unless… 

 “What’s your favorite memory?” Aemond paused, obviously he couldn’t say the day you moved in. The day you nearly bit Aegon’s finger off for shoving it in his face. The day you awkwardly danced with him at prom because no one else would… “I think I’m gonna create my favorite this summer…” He leaned in, slowly but purposefully. Your cheeks lit up bright red, eyes bursting out of your skull. Was he going to kiss you? Is Aemond trying to kiss you?

Why aren’t you pulling back? Why are you leaning into him! Aemond murmured under his breath, “…with you.” For a second, and only a second you thought you would kiss. You never moved this fast, was he always this alluring? Ever since you got here everyone had been acting strange. Helaena is using slang and ditching you. All of the sudden Aegon is a natural born leader. Daeron is going on dangerous adventures with Aegon of all people… And you are about to kiss your best friend’s brother whom you barely know! 

“Ahhhhhhh”

An ear-piercing scream immediately caught both of your attention. “Helaena,” you said in unison. Aemond shot to his feet first, you quickly followed suit. He sprinted towards the forest, fastest you’ve ever seen him run. This wasn’t the time for I told you so but, you fucking told them so! 

All you could hear was yourself panting, twigs breaking, and leaves being crushed beneath your feet. Why did everything go quiet?! It felt like you were in the twilight zone. It felt as if you had been running for hours when you approached the cabin. Though it didn’t bring you any relief.  

Your heart sank as you realized that the door was left open, which could only mean that they were inside. You picked up the pace, thinking that you were running out of time. Believing they might be getting chopped up by an axe wielding maniac. 

When you finally reached the cabin, you saw your friends huddled inside. Helaena, Daeron and Rhaena stood there pointing flashlights towards the floor, unbothered. They looked more spooked by you two crashing their party than anything else. “Are you guys okay?” Aemond asked.

“We’re fine,” Daeron replied. “Aegon fell through the floor, though. He landed on a pile of bones.” You walked towards the hole, searching for any signs of life. “Is he hurt?” you asked, in a voice that sounded too sincere.

“Ah sweetheart! I knew you cared about me,” Aegon shouted beneath the floorboards. You deadpanned, “I change my mind, die.” You reached into the darkness anyways, trying to help pull Aegon out of the floor. “Jesus have you always been so heavy.” He snickered, “You’re just a weakling.” You slapped the top of his head, “I’ll drop you and you can spend the rest of your night in the hole.” As you bickered with Aegon, who was taking his sweet time crawling out of the floor. 

Aemond looked around the cabin, something was off. “What types of bones were they?” Helaena sighed, “More animal bones but I think it was from a deer this time.” He tapped his foot on the ground, “hm.” His eyes narrowed as he scanned the cabin, “which one of you screamed?” The girls looked at each other, confused. “None of us screamed, Aemond.” The group fell into a heavy silence before Daeron spoke up. “Let’s get the hell out of here. I don’t want the counselors to find us.”

You all quickly exited the cabin, making sure to leave it the way you found it, and made your way back to camp. The closer you got to your temporary home the worse you felt. Were you slowly having a psychotic break why are you so anxious? No, it wasn’t paranoia, something was wrong. 

Something was missing, someone was missing. You counted, one for Aegon, two for Helaena, three for Aemond, four for Daeron, five for Rhaena, six for… You stopped walking, causing everyone to turn their heads towards you. “Where’s Baela?”

[hiatuswhore]

The Game — Aegon II Au

♡ A/N: Something I’ve been playing around with. Someone teach me how to write smut lol. This is currently just a one-shot and unedited so bare with me. Please give me feedback, I’m begging for it.

♡ SUMMARY: Just another fake dating PR stunt. Your job, fix the bad boys image. Easy right, not if Aegon Targaryen can help it.

♡ WORD COUNT: 1.7K

♡ WARNING: Harsh Language

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“What was it like when you first met?”

You smile politely at the question, not a single hair sitting out of place. The gaudy camera pointing at the two of you gleaming. Aegon wets his lips grinning to himself at the passing thought. The interviewer looks between the two of you, and the question lingers in the air.

“You want to take this one?” Aegon asks, looking at you with a fond glint. At least that’s what the camera sees, just as it sees how you bashfully look away from him and toward the interviewer.

“We met by a complete accident,” Your smile beaming as you recall signing up for high pay, low stakes acting gig. Even during the phone interview you were certain it was a load of crap. “A friend of mine who works at Westeros Incorporated forgot some of their work and asked me to run it over.”

“She comes in wearing these joggers and hoodie, in a building where all the suits look the same. I couldn’t stop looking at her she was all confused and clearly out of place. It was absolutely adorable,” A thrift store hobbit, that is what he had described your leisure wear the first day you had met. His mother, Alicent had nonstop scolded him as his sister Helaena offered a kind smile and his brother Aemond pretended as though you were not in the room.

“(Y/n) as you likely know Aegon Targaryen has been deemed the bad boy in the press. Hook ups, parties, fights. Tell us about the Aegon Targaryen you know,” Behind the camera crew stands Aegon’s mother and grandfather, Otto. Otto had been the final part of the hiring process. You were invited to the Targaryen Estate, not home—a fucking estate. There you met all of the family. No one had acknowledged your presence, only when Otto called you into his office did all eyes fall onto you. In there you signed never ending stacks of papers from Nondisclosure agreements to medical information releases.

If the checks were not so dizzyingly high and the contracts signed were not so nauseatingly terrifying your answers would likely be different. The Aegon Targaryen I know is a lazy narcissistic asshole who is, “so misrepresented in the media. The Aegon I know is nothing but kind and dedicated to whatever he puts his mind to. He just tends to put his mind to some not so productive things as times.”

You turn to Aegon, leaning closer him as you smile. The interviewers awes softly as Aegon kisses your temple and you both turn your focus back onto the journalist. You both leave the interview hand and hand, all giddy smiles and sunny dispositions until the cameras gone, the doors shut, and prying eyes leave the vicinity.

Ripping your hand out of his you cross your arms in front of you, glaring daggers at the roll of his eyes, “We didn’t say anything about kissing my temple.”

“Kind and dedicated. Might as well have tattooed we’re lying on our forehead. Since the way you dress was not obvious enough,” Aegon scoffs. Before you can get another word out Otto speaks sharply.

“Enough. Good job you two. (Y/n) for Aegon’s birthday we’re going to the lakehouse. We’re going to take the boat out on Blackwater, paparazzi always capture photos for that so we’re sending over some tasteful bathing suit options,” Otto explains sternly, nodding your head quietly you roll your eyes as Aegon huffs.

“I’m supposed to be partying in Dorne for my birthday!” Aegon whines. Otto dismisses, without skipping a beat you grab your bag leaving the conference room. You take the elevator to the second floor of Westeros Inc before taking the private elevator to the discreet door. Pulling your hood up you walk flagging down a cab.

Arriving to your new apartment the manicured trim of the walls and marble counter tops still knot your stomach. Before the ink dried on the paperwork Otto had you sign, you had a new set of keys and a paycheck with more commas than you had ever seen before. New money, new apartment, new boyfriend.

Scarily enough there it was, several shopping bags on your couch. The bathing suits. Your schedule for the day empty you turn on some music, digging into the bags trying on the bathing suits. The black one piece accentuating curves with a snug hold on your body. Pulling coils of hair into a ponytail you clasp your gold snake necklace while taking a look into your living room mirror. Taking out your phone you play around with a few different poses before your front door swings open. Aegon walks in texting away on his phone as he stops in the kitchen, he grabs one of your juices before sprawling out on the side of the couch without bags.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You exclaim, eyebrows knit while poorly shielding yourself behind the jeans you had been previously wearing. Aegon looks up from his phone, his eyes trace up your legs before meeting your gaze.

“Otto wants the leeches with cameras to see me coming over here. I promise I’d rather be anywhere else,” Aegon says, turning back to his phone.

“Do you ever tire of being an asshole?” Your questions earns chuckle, Aegon focus stays on his phone as he says, no.

“Do you ever tire of complaining?” Aegon asks. You scoff gathering the bags before stomping off to your room. His bedroom door right across, oh right, the apartment stipulation. The nice Red Keep apartment will be yours to own, after the successful completion of your year long contract, fix Aegon’s image and the paychecks and assets flow. A therapist couldn’t help that egotistic narcissist.

You slam your door shut, dropping the bags to the floor you change into gym shorts and a t-shirt. Folding the bathing suits, you put them away. Sprawling our on your bed you let out a long sigh. Eyes closed you sink into the soft mattress, more cloud than bed.

The week passes with the regularly scheduled outings. Restaurants, museums, social events. At the Stark foundation Gala, you make small talk with Cregan Stark and his sister Sara. Out of most of the socialites you have met, you deem them the most normal. Cregan nods along most of the conversation as you and Sara complain about the media. Sara does most of the talking as you sip on some fancy wine you cannot pronounce.

“I’m obsessed with your dress, it’s designer right. Don’t tell me, Cersei Lannister,” Sara says, her eyes narrowed with a playful suspicious glint. The silk dress hugs slightly at the hips as it stops at your mid-lower thigh. Your back completely exposed, biting the inside of your cheek you cannot help but notice how Cregan’s eyes outline your body. The elder Stark towers over, his gaze intense but compelling. From the moment you and Aegon arrived, Aegon disappeared and you found yourself drifting closer and closer to the handsome Stark.

“Joffrey actually,” You says softly, chuckling as you smooth out the dress. Sara gasps, she takes out her phone texting away.

“That stylish cunt. I told him to tell me when his newest designs dropped,” Sara says, walking off with her phone pressed to ear you giggle shaking your head.

“All of this must be a bit weird for you,” It’s the first time Cregan’s spoke, his gruff voice sending a tingle through your body. You shift in place taking another sip of your wine.

“That your sister has a member of the biggest fashion designing family in the world on her phone. Or that their relationship is so casual she calls Joffrey Lannister a cunt the way I’d playfully insult my best friend?” You say, earning a chuckle. Cregan nods sipping his own wine, your eyes stay on each others a moment too long. The intense gaze sends your mind to all the wrong places. His hands large hands roaming, tall stature domineering, tongue d— “So how long is your contract with the Targaryens?”

You snap back to reality, Cregan still wears the same reserved look to his persona. Looking around the room, others still mingle without care. Cregan chuckles, “We socialites are all the same. I’ve known Aegon my entire life, this good guy for the right girl act is pretty dull.”

“So don’t watch then,” You scoff rolling your eyes you scan the room for Aegon. Cregan chuckles his demeanor never falters while he speaks cooly, “But I want to watch you.”

Cregan’s eyes look over your body shamelessly, “I want to watch you in that dress, out of that dress in all kinds of positions.”

Your mouth gapes as you process the words he says so casually. Before you can respond a hand wraps around your wrist, Aegon walks you to a back wall. A giant glass wall to your left and the rest of your party to your right. Aegon eyes are bloodshot and he reeks of tequila. He presses his body against yours, one hand on the wall above your head caging you in.

“You want to fuck the mutt be my guest but first we need to convince the press this is real,” Aegon says, licking his lip revealing the tongue piercing. His dainty silver chain shines in contrast to his all black suit, he looks undeniably good. The rasp of his voice captivating, and his narcissism irritatingly sexy. You take a deep breath bringing yourself back to reality.

“You’re drunk and I don’t know how dry humping me at a social event is going to help us,” You push off the wall looking down at your heels, you step left avoiding stepping on his shoes. The feeling of his fingers gripping your jaw pulls a light gasp from your lips.

“I’m not suddenly a fucking saint because of you. My grandfather said we have to convince the public, and they know me. The photographers outside can see into here, can see us,” Aegon says holding your face closer to his as he grins down at you. His other hands rubs on your outer thigh, lifting your leg from under your knee as he nestles between your legs. “Kinda like you like this, you’re sexy when you’re not talking.”

“Fuck you,” You whisper pulling your jaw out of his hand he captures your lips biting your bottom lip as he pulls away. The kiss steals your breath and the chuckle that leaves his lips vibrates through your chest to your core.

Aegon bites his bottom lip as he brings his thumb up tracing your lips. You furrow your eyebrows at him. The flashes in the distance confirms the photographers capture the moment from outside. Aegon interlaces your hand in his, before you step out of the building he smirks whispering into your ear, “Play the game Cinderella and you just might win.”

[blakeswritingimagines]

Rockstar! Aemond having you as a groupie and fucking you before and after shows or writing some songs about you but never telling you.

Angel! Aemond watching over you until temptation becomes too much, and he gives in to lust and fucks you.

Superhero! Aemond flying around while holding you close to him or having sex as he keeps you both in the air.

Vampire! Aemond uses sucking your blood as a romantic way of being close to you until the taste of you becomes too much and he moves down in between your legs needing another taste of you.

Librarian! Aemond recommending you different books and having long deep conversations about them or him taking you to a more secluded area and placing his hand over your mouth as he takes you against the racks.

Artist! Aemond has you as a model for him in the nude as he acts like a hands-on learner or him posing nude for the class as he winks at you.

Villain! Aemond having you as his right-hand person who only he'll listen to or him taking you from the hero and showing you how good it is to be bad.

Taking Cowyboy! Aemond's hat with a wink in his direction as a way to let him know tonight is gonna be filled with pleasure.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

My Fair Lady's Maid (Regency!Aemond x Lady's Maid!Reader)

Part 2: An Ordinary Man

Frustrated with his grandsire's tedious and thorough process of choosing him a "suitable" bride, Aemond makes a declaration that a lady's maid could be indistinguishable from a true noblewoman so long as she was sufficiently dressed and educated in embroidery, conversation, and the like. Otto takes this as a challenge, and gives Aemond four months to turn one of Helaena's lady's maids into a noblewoman.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: none

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: We're only with Aemond this chapter, but Miss Doolittle will return in the next!

An Ordinary Man

Aemond stepped out of the carriage first, extending a hand to help Helaena climb out. He knew his sister well, so he knew her legs would already be sore from dancing all night and did not want her to stumble on the loose gravel drive.

“Did you see the fireflies?” she asked as she climbed out. Her cheeks were still flushed, but her eyelids had begun to droop. “They were insistent, were they not?”

In truth, Aemond hardly remembered there being fireflies in the garden of their host’s estate. He had not ventured outside – the ladies were outside, and he had no intentions of being dragged onto the dancefloor. Still, he smiled at his sister and nodded.

Daeron clambered out of the carriage behind her. His cravat was rumpled, and his hair ruffled, as he always seemed to be after an evening out. “They were! I swear the same one was following me all night. I simply couldn’t shoo him away for longer than a minute.”

“It was all the sweets on the table outside,” their grandfather, Lord Otto Hightower, added as he stepped onto the drive. “I wouldn’t eat a bite. Who knows what other manner of vermin lurked about.”

Helaena flounced through the open doors, smiling brightly at the footman. “Fireflies aren’t vermin, grandfather! They’re beautiful.”

“Forgive me,” Otto said, gently grabbing her elbow so he could kiss her brow. “Of course they are.”

From a distance, Aemond wanted to say, but he wanted to keep his sister happy more, so he remained silent as they all gathered in the parlor. He removed his gloves, dropping them on the surface of the sideboard before withdrawing a bottle of his favorite port, much needed after such a long night.

“Are you going straight to bed?” Daeron asked as Helaena moved toward the stairs. “You don’t want to talk to us?”

“I need my rest!” she called over her shoulder. “My new lady’s maid will arrive tomorrow, and I want to give a good first impression.”

All three men smiled to themselves, waiting until her footsteps faded to speak.

“What use is there in making a good first impression on a servant?” Aemond wondered.

Daeron sighed, rolling his eyes as he stepped up to the sideboard, grabbing a glass and a bottle of sherry before reclining dramatically on the chaise. “Servant or no, the new girl will be her closest companion. Better the relationship be friendly, no?”

He uncorked the port and poured a generous amount into his glass. “I suppose. And it is in her nature.”

“Did any of the young ladies catch your interest, Aemond?”

His hand froze, hovering over the stem of his half-full glass. He swore that if his grandfather brought up the question of a woman one more time, he’d banish the old man to the shabby cottage deep in the woods, where he’d never have to hear that damnable question again.

He had sworn the same the last time. And the time before that. And the time before that.

One day, he may actually follow through on it.

That night, though, he simply seized the bottle of port again, filled his glass to the brim, and downed it all in one gulp. The burn in his throat was far more tolerable than any of the simpering women at the ball.

The Tully girl with the lifeless eyes of a dead fish and equivalent intellect. The Lannister could do little else but bat her eyelashes and assault the ears around her with her tittering laugh. The four Baratheon girls, each utterly vexing in her own unique way. And many, many more besides.

“Aemond?” Otto asked again. The false joviality vanished from his voice.

Damn, he’d waited too long to answer. Perhaps he could still pass it off as being consumed in thought?

“Why even ask?” Daeron half-laughed as he swirled his sherry. He always had to swirl it around for several minutes before he deemed it acceptable to drink but gave no reason for it. “He only ever looks at them long enough to notice their flaws.”

Aemond filled his glass again – only halfway this time. “If their flaws weren’t so noticeable, I may have looked longer.”

“Every young lady there was well-bred and well-accomplished. Several of them were even charming, by my estimation. Any one of them would have made a perfectly suitable wife.” His grandfather leaned forward in his chair, steepling his hands together. It was what he always did when trying to use reason to get his way. Oftentimes, it worked.

But not with this.

“I have neither the need nor the desire to find a wife, as I have made quite plain.”

“Every man of our station is in want of a wife, grandson.”

Aemond huffed. “I have no true station. I am nothing but an ‘ordinary man.’”

The words were not his own. It was only an echo of his uncle’s cruel words after the House of Lords had passed the judgment that left Aemond with no more than what his elder sister had deemed acceptable consolation for losing the lands and title that should have been his.

Now, all he had to his name was an old hunting lodge for an estate and a courtesy title. Rhaenyra had not even granted him a pocket borough to allow him into Parliament – that was given to her fool of a son who only rarely attended his duties.

“Even without the title, you are still an important man in the county. Kingswood is a large and profitable estate, and you command great respect from all.”

The empathy in Otto’s voice grated at Aemond. He, too, was a second son who stood to inherit only what his elder sibling would give him. But he could not truly understand; their situations were far too different. Otto had never come nearly as close as Aemond did to the title. It had been so close he could still feel its phantom presence upon his shoulder.

He stared at his reflection in his glass, elongated and deformed by the curved glass. “I still fail to see what benefits a wife would bring me.”

“A proper wife, a wife of good breeding, would enhance your reputation, grant you new allies, and perhaps even expand your holdings.” His grandfather hesitated before continuing, the only indication of his nerves the tightness in his raised brow. “The right match may even bring a title for your children to inherit.”

Aemond set his glass down with such force that it shattered under his hand, shards digging into his palm. It was a welcome distraction. “Nothing I cannot obtain myself.” Save, perhaps, the title. But he knew better to hope for what was impossible.

Otto was silent a while, sipping on his drink. Daeron did not dare disturb the silence. He’d been witness to this fight before. Aemond knew that in only a few more moments, his younger brother would awkwardly raise a different topic, and they could finally move past this particular subject.

But it was not Daeron who broke the silence. It was Otto.

“If you will not accept a wife for advantage, perhaps you will consider the personal benefits?” He looked at his grandson with an affection Aemond had not seen in years. “This estate is in desperate need of a lady’s presence.”

“We have Helaena,” Daeron whispered.

“Yes, but she lives in her own world, and I have no desire to force her into a role she does not want.” He turned back to Aemond, who steadfastly ignored him in favor of picking bits of glass out of his palm. “But we would all benefit from that role being filled.”

Aemond wrapped his handkerchief around his hand, tying it tight enough to stem the bleeding.

“I am not asking you to love the girl, Aemond. Love in marriage is rare, after all.” Otto’s voice faltered. He had experienced love in his marriage, though he rarely talked about their late grandmother. It was better that way, Aemond told himself. Hearing those love stories made his stomach roil. “But would it not be pleasant to have someone by your side? To help manage the estate and ease the burden on your shoulders? She could read to you, sing for you, play that pianoforte that has been collecting dust for years. She could decorate the house, maybe even with her own art. The ladies we met tonight were exceptionally accomplished. They could do all that and more.”

Wishing he had not smashed his glass for want of more alcohol, Aemond finally faced his grandfather. “Is that supposed to impress me? That they have grown proficient in what they have been trained in their entire lives?” He smiled wickedly. “Even the most foolish girl could be trained to do the same.”

“Even that girl we met in Rosby today?”

With his question, Daeron had shattered the argument as if it were a plate of thin glass.

Otto stared at his youngest grandson, then at Aemond, then back again. “What in God’s name were you doing in Rosby?”

“That creature was more beast than girl.” Aemond clenched his fists as he recalled the pitiful thing sprawled on the dirty road, the horrible noises she made, and…

“She was scared, Aemond.” He had never heard Daeron sound angry, yet here it was. “You frightened her.”

“Yes, I am well aware of that.” Aemond dug a finger into the largest cuts on his palm, almost immediately feeling blood soak through the handkerchief. He remembered very well the way the girl had stared at him – at his ruined eye and horrible scar. It was as if she could not believe he was real. Like he was some terrifying monster that had escaped from a book of faerie tales.

Daeron set down his glass, still full, and crossed his arms. “Then you insulted her.”

“I made observations.” He doubted the girl would even perceive his comments as insults, that she had the necessary intellect to do so.

“You called her a wretch and a goose.”

Aemond clenched his jaw in frustration. Why should Daeron care about what he said to some varlet? “I never said she was a goose. I said she sounded like one.”

“A ‘strangled goose,’ if I remember correctly.”

“Semantics.”

“Cruelty.”

Otto slammed his hand into the arm of his chair and stood, his face red with anger and eyes wide with confusion. “Will one of you kindly explain what manner of creature you met in Rosby of all places? And what she or it has to do with Aemond needing a wife?”

“It was nothing,” Aemond insisted. “An unfortunate encounter that has absolutely no bearing on this conversation. Or any conversation.”

“At the market today, Aemond quite literally ran into a poor girl in Rosby who was selling flowers. She was thrown to the ground, her flowers were destroyed, and she was distraught, and Aemond did nothing but dismiss and insult her. He wasn’t even going to reimburse her for the cost of her lost wares.” Daeron stood from the chaise and approached his brother, arms still crossed and eyes hard. “You just declared that ‘even the most foolish girl’ could be trained to act like a well-bred lady.” “Why shouldn’t that be true for that flower girl?”

Aemond snarled, the left corner of his lips twitching upward into a sneer. “I never said it wasn’t. But as I said, she had nothing to do with – ”

��Prove it.”

Both young men snapped their attention to their grandfather, their own argument forgotten.

“What?” Aemond asked. His anger was quickly morphing into something like dread.

Otto approached. There was no longer a trace of anger or confusion on his face, only a delighted smugness that Aemond knew well to fear. “You say any girl can be taught to be a lady. I am asking you to prove it – with that girl from Rosby.”

Daeron barked out a laugh, returning to his sherry and raising it in a toast. “A brilliant idea, grandfather!”

“I can see no reason why I should do such a thing,” Aemond insisted. He was fighting to control his anger and indignation. His jaw was clenched to the point of pain. Perhaps it would shatter like his glass had.

“If it is a reason you are looking for, grandson, I will give it to you.” Though he had no need to, Otto tilted his head back to look down his nose at Aemond. “If you prove that even this pitiful girl you’ve described can indeed be trained to be a proper lady, then I shall never broach the topic of your marriage again. You shall be free to marry whomever you wish or to not marry at all. But only if this wretch from Rosby becomes a passable lady – and not only by our estimation. She must prove herself publicly. The Embassy Ball would be ideal, don’t you think?”

He stepped even closer, forcing his grandson to retreat a step. “But if you cannot, and the poor girl makes a fool of herself, you will marry. I will arrange a match with one of the many fine ladies we saw tonight, and you will marry her within the year. Without protest.”

It was too great a risk, Aemond knew. It was more than likely that he would end up married to a woman he did not love who would upend his perfectly peaceful life.

But there was a chance…

A chance to leave all the countless arguments over his marriage in the past, to never have to hear his grandfather’s nagging again. He could live his life precisely as he wanted, without having to sire heirs he did not want or worry about inheritance. Daeron would be his heir, and his children after him.

Otto knew it, too. He knew he was dangling a feast before a starving man only to lure him into a trap. It was that knowledge, along with the self-satisfied smirk his grandfather wore, that made Aemond’s decision for him.

 “Very well, I accept.” He extended a hand to seal the wager.

As his grandfather shook his hand, Aemond could not help but feel as though he had made the worst decision of his life.

[endless-ineffabilities]

Official Business

President Aemond Targaryen x f!reporter reader

a/n: I caved in and listened to the depraved gremlins in my mind. I hope you enjoy this official intro, you're welcome.

also, thank the gods for Rue (@peachysunrize) for creating the hottest gif of all time.

themes/warnings: language, barely-there smut, infidelity, unequal power dynamic, gross misuse of a fancy desk, getting involved with a politician (also gross)

main masterlist

Update! - upcoming series

President Aemond demands the company of his favourite reporter, whom he has been eyeing for quite some time.

You try to walk with your head held high, but your clammy hands and racing heartbeat betray your nerves.

“President Aemond wishes for you to grace his suite,” was all they said. They, being two imposing bodyguards in impeccably tailored black suits, occasionally touching their earpieces as if confirming orders.

“What does he want?” you asked, your voice coming out weak and tentative. More importantly, why you?

They only shrugged, impassive. Whether they didn’t know or didn’t care, it wouldn’t matter anyway. The President always gets what he wants.

You’d only spoken to President Aemond in your capacity as a reporter, part of the small circle allowed to amplify his words to the public. The first time was at the annual Westerosi Gala, where he arrived with First Lady Floris Baratheon on his arm. Your colleagues whispered incessantly about how the uncut footage showed his gaze barely straying from you, even with his stunning aristocratic wife beside him.

Your supervisor even had the footage edited. “You don’t need the media vultures swarming you,” he reasoned, trying to sound reassuring.

Now, after covering yet another event in Highgarden, it seems you’ve been summoned for an exclusive interview in the President’s suite. You hope that’s all it is.

After all, you can’t be another victim of President Aemond’s wandering eye. Socialites like Alys Rivers and Lara Lannister had been publicly shredded after being exposed as his mistresses.

You never understood his affairs. They seemed so juvenile, reckless even for the youngest President ever elected. Barely thirty and in the highest position imaginable. And yet, what truly baffled you was why Floris stayed.

“Ma’am, the Presidential Suite,” one of the guards states as he opens a set of ornate ivory doors for you. “The President is waiting inside.”

Your feet move automatically, sparing you from blurting something that would inevitably fall on deaf ears. But as you cross the threshold, you turn and ask, “Will you be waiting to escort me back to – ”

The doors shut behind you. Of course.

The suite is grand – no expense was spared for the President. A perfect blend of classic Valyrian architecture, all white marble and gold accents. It’s more impressive than you could have imagined, having marvelled at the Highgarden Hotel from the outside for years.

“Come,” you hear a voice command, smooth and authoritative, from the room to the left of the main parlour. 

You head in that direction, mentally steeling yourself. Just get this over with.

There he is, leaning casually against a wide desk, dressed sharply in a tailored blue suit and crimson tie. The moonlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows catches the scar across his left eye, the glint of his prosthetic eye giving him an almost sinister allure. The kind that draws people in despite themselves.

Maybe it wasn’t immaturity driving his affairs. Maybe he was just too beautiful to resist. You roll your eyes at the stupid thought, surprised with yourself.

“Something amusing?” His voice is tinged with laughter.

Gods, you just rolled your eyes in front of the President.

“N-no,” you stammer, immediately flustered. “I’m sorry, Mister President. It’s just... I thought of something funny. Not about you! I mean, I’m sure you can be funny, but - ”

“Relax, angel,” he chuckles, raising a hand to stop your rambling. The term “angel” lingers in the air, branding itself into your mind.

You quickly introduce yourself, fumbling through your full government name like a nervous schoolgirl.

“We’ve met before,” he reminds you, smirking. “Am I that forgettable?”

“No, I know we have,” you nod quickly, “just not in such a… private setting.”

The corner of his mouth quirks at your choice of words, and his gaze sweeps over you with an intensity that sends heat rushing through your body. He hums softly, and the sound settles uncomfortably low in your stomach. Gods, get it together.

“I was told you wanted to see me, Mister President?”

“Aemond,” he corrects. 

You nod, offering your nickname in return, but he only smiles, shaking his head slightly. “Thank you, but I think I’ll stick with ‘angel.’”

Weird, considering how this is your first proper conversation with him, you think, but nod regardless.

He gestures to the plush chairs in front of the desk. “Sit, please.”

You comply, smoothing your dress nervously. Thankfully, it’s modest enough – a safe choice that flows just above your knees.

“How are you?” he asks, his voice polite but edged with something else. Part of you wishes he’d just get to the point, but another part – one you’d rather not acknowledge – wants to stay, to drink in the sight of him. Aemond Targaryen, the most powerful man in Westeros, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“I’m doing well,” you reply, your smile faltering under his heavy gaze.

He hums again, eyes dipping to your lips. That same maddening hum that sets your nerves alight.

“You must be wondering why I asked for you tonight,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “I wanted us to get better acquainted. You’ve caught my attention, angel. I find you… intriguing.”

“But you don’t know me,” you counter quickly, heart racing.

“I know more than you think,” he says, eyes narrowing playfully. “You studied at the Casterly Rock Institute for Journalism. Top of your class, until your grades dropped in your final year because you were taking care of your ailing aunt. That says more about you than any degree.”

He continues, “You’re an only child. Estranged from your parents, especially your mother, after she remarried. You’ve moved city to city since, keeping your distance. Avoiding attachments, especially romantic ones.”

You freeze, his words hitting too close to home. There’s an amused lilt to his voice at the end, and you desperately want to respond with a defensive retort, but you hold your tongue. You like your job after all. He’s the President. One call and he could have you right back in the unemployment pool.

“Am I correct?” His lips curl into a knowing smirk.

You manage a small nod. Damn him.

“How do you know all this?” you ask quietly, stunned. You wonder if there are hidden cue cards somewhere in the room, informing him of the details of your relatively uneventful life. There is no way he actually made the effort to memorise all these details about you. But then again, he is the Commander-in-Chief of the country. He must have trained himself to know everything about everyone. You’re not special – just another face in his immediate vicinity. 

“I make it my business to know people,” he replies smoothly. “Especially those who interest me.”

He reaches out to take your hand, pulling you gently to stand before him as he perches on the edge of his desk. The proximity is intoxicating. “And you, angel, have caught my eye. You’re the object of my desire. Can you say the same of me?”

His words leave you breathless, the floor slipping from under you. You’re no better than the others, drawn into his orbit. “I’d be an idiot not to find you attractive, Aemond.”

He smirks. “I adore the way you say my name.”

“There’s nothing special about the way I say it.”

“There is,” he insists, his voice low and rough as his hand moves to smooth a stray hair from your face. “You’re so fucking beautiful, angel.” His expletive takes you aback, so unbecoming of someone of his status. 

“I’m not a fool,” you shoot back, forcing yourself to remain steady. “I’ve heard about your... doings.”

“My doings?” He raises an eyebrow, amused.

“You’re married obviously,” you say bluntly. “And you’ve had affairs. Women like Alys Rivers, Lara Lannister…”

He doesn’t flinch. “I’ve had lovers, yes, but my marriage is... loveless. Floris and I, we’ve always been an arrangement for political convenience.”

“That doesn’t justify anything.”

He steps closer, his eyes darkening. “I’m trapped. I can’t leave her. It would destroy my reputation. But she has her own lovers too.”

“And so you feel entitled to have yours?”

He breathes deeply, gaze unwavering. “Not just anyone. I want you, angel. Only you.”

You feel yourself dangerously close to giving in, especially when his gaze drops to your lips and he shamelessly licks his own. Desperate to stay composed, you ask, “Am I just another lover to add to your collection? I may be a lowly journalist compared to you, Mister President, but I have a reputation to protect too.”

“I know this, angel,” he whispers, his voice softer now, yet drawing closer with every word. “I’ll protect you.”

“Did you protect Alys? Or Lara? Or the others?” you challenge, though your voice falters.

“They orchestrated their own downfall,” he says coolly, his expression unreadable. “They used me for power. That was out of my hands.”

Oh. His words momentarily rattle your resolve, but you shake your head, trying to pull yourself out of the spell he’s weaving over you. “No, this is wrong,” you murmur, the words weak on your tongue. But his warm breath fans your face, luring you into the same madness he claims to feel.

“Is this wrong?” he whispers, his lips grazing yours – featherlike, teasing, barely there. Then, as if something shifts within him, he kisses you again, harder this time, his mouth pressing hungrily against yours. His tongue traces the curve of your bottom lip, sending a rush of heat through your body as you teeter on the edge of reason.

You cave, for a few seconds, letting your lips dance with his own in a battle for dominance. You elicit a growl out of him, and he picks you up and swaps your bodies so that you are perched atop his desk. 

“Gods,” he purrs, against the heat of your neck. “Sweeter than I imagined. You’re a fucking angel.” His gaze is arresting as his hands slide from your ankles to the hem of your dress, lifting it higher and higher until your moist panties are exposed to the cool air. 

You collect yourself as if hit by a dizzying wave of whiplash, pushing him away with a sharp shove. “Stop – wait, Mister Pres – Aemond…”

He stumbles, lips swollen and slick, his good eye darkened, pupil blown wide. “Right, sorry…” His breath comes heavy as he averts his gaze, and you smooth your dress down, feeling the weight of the moment between you. He straightens, his posture stiffening as if suddenly remembering who he is. “I didn’t mean to push you, angel.”

“You didn’t –”

“It was wrong of me to –”

“Aemond,” you cut in softly, your hand slipping between you to squeeze his in reassurance. “It’s okay. I wanted it too.”

A genuine smile blooms on his lips, innocent and sweet, but it fades just as quickly at your next words. “But this can’t happen again. We can’t happen.”

"Why not?" His voice is low, measured, but there’s an edge to it. "Why can’t we? You say you wanted it too."

“We both know why,” you murmur, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. You turn to leave, but hesitate just long enough to say, “Goodbye, Mister President.”

“Angel,” he calls softly, and it’s the only word he offers.

As you step out of his suite, the door closing behind you with a quiet finality, a thought begins to take root, unsettling in its persistence – he never actually said goodbye.

And deep down, you know this isn’t over. Something stirs in your chest, an uneasy certainty - while this is the first of these kinds of encounters, it won’t be the last. 

Taglists (refer here to be added)

vhagar - @gwaynehightowerswhore @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @hotdismylife @joyismm @itseunaimonia @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @zaldrizzes @all-for-aemond @ajantanijhum @darylandbethfanforever9 @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @anukulee @decaffeinatedparadisepost @iloveallmyboys @inesdiary96

Targaryen - @angel6776 @different-tale-student @binchissimo @teasweeter @raging-panda @rhaenys-nyra @gelacat0413 @simplymurdock @yariany02 @barnes70stark @stupid---person @lonan-hane @thescooponsof @donalesaa @rosey1981 @misssanzthings @urmomsgirlfriend1 @wabi-sabi1090 @girl-lost-not-found

Some notes in the margins...

Knowing me, this will inevitably turn into more than just a oneshot. Do bookmark this or my masterlist to keep updated! Or you may join the taglist using the link above ~

[amoranger]

tethered vows; aemond targaryen [1]

chapter i – the puppeteers' puppets

pairing—aemond targaryen x sansa stark genre & warnings—hotd/got au, angst, arranged marriage, strangers to lovers, anguage (swearing), alcohol mention and usage, sexual depiction, violence, incest mention. word count—6.7K summary—it is believed that a good relationship between the Iron Throne and the North was the key to a peaceful, prosperous, reign. The Hightowers, strategists seeking to secure the North's loyalty to the Greens, orchestrated an alliance under an arranged marriage between Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell, and Aemond Targaryen, the second son of King Viserys and Alicent Hightower.

Winterfell, nestled in the heart of the North, loomed with its ancient towers against the icy backdrop of winter. Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell, moved through the castle with the grace befitting her noble stature. Her auburn hair cascaded like a waterfall, a stark contrast to the snow-covered landscape. As Sansa wandered through the great halls, her footsteps echoed in the vastness of Winterfell. The chill in the air hinted at the relentless grip of winter, yet the castle exuded a warmth that spoke of the indomitable spirit of House Stark.

The fluttering of wings drew Sansa's attention as a raven descended, its ebony feathers contrasting against the snow-laden courtyard. Sansa extended her arm, allowing the raven to perch. The scroll attached to its leg bore the unmistakable mark of House Stark. Breaking the seal, Sansa's eyes scanned the words carefully. The message was a summons, not just for her brother but for her as well—a call to the South, to the heart of the Seven Kingdoms.

Sansa set forth to find her brother, Cregan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell. She traversed the winding corridors until she reached the lord's chambers. The door, adorned with the direwolf sigil, stood slightly ajar.

"Cregan," Sansa called out, her voice carrying a blend of urgency and curiosity.

The room, lit by the glow of a hearth, greeted her with the sight of Cregan Stark, a figure of Northern strength and resilience, looking up from his desk.

"What is it, Sansa?" Cregan inquired, his expression betraying curiosity and anticipation.

Sansa handed him the scroll, her eyes meeting his. Cregan broke the seal, his eyes scanning the words that unfolded of an unexpected summons.

"A proposition," Cregan murmured, his brow furrowing. "They request the presence of both the Lord and Lady of Winterfell in the South."

Sansa, standing beside her brother, felt a surge of apprehension. The proposition held the promise of change, yet the North, with its ancient traditions, stood as a steadfast beacon in the face of uncertainty.

"Northerners don't do well in the south," Sansa remarked, her gaze fixed on the snowy expanse beyond Winterfell's walls.

"No," Cregan agreed, his voice carrying the weight of generations of Northern resilience. "We do not."

The siblings stood in the room, the cold Northern wind sweeping through the cracked window, a reminder of the harsh winters that shaped their homeland. Sansa paced the room, her auburn hair trailing behind her like a fiery banner.

"In the name of the gods, Cregan, why do they need both the Lord and Lady of Winterfell in King's Landing? It's not like we have time for Southern frivolities." Sansa said, her brows frowned together.

Cregan, seated by the hearth, raised an eyebrow, considering the question. "Maybe they've run out of snow and need some Northern chill to cool their heads. Or perhaps they've heard our cooking is far superior."

"I highly doubt they summoned us all this way for a cooking contest." Sansa shot him a look, a mix of amusement and exasperation. 

"You never know. " Cregan leaned back, a grin playing on his lips. "They might be desperate for a taste of real food in the capital."

"Real food or not, it's suspicious. I can't fathom why they'd want us both there, and in such haste." Sansa sighed, deciding to steer the conversation back to the matter at hand. 

Cregan scratched his beard, feigning deep contemplation. "Maybe they've heard about my impeccable sense of fashion and want me to give the court a makeover."

"Yes, because King's Landing is in dire need of a Stark fashion intervention." Sansa rolled her eyes. "Truly, the crisis of the century."

Cregan chuckled before his expression fell into a more serious one. "I'm as puzzled as you are. They've summoned us abruptly, and to what end? I don't recall sending any singing ravens or performing any juggling tricks that might warrant such attention."

"It's unnerving." Sansa perched herself on the edge of the table, a thoughtful expression on her face. "The South is... unkind."

"The North doesn't meander like the courtiers in King's Landing." Sansa's eyes met Cregan's, a silent understanding passing between them. "A journey into the dragon's den, then?" Cregan asked, shooting a sly smirk to ease the nervousness settling between the room.

"Pit." Sansa clarified, earning a raised eyebrow from her brother. "They call it the Dragonpit."

Cregan chuckled before reiterating his choice of word, "Dragon's pit."

"Maybe they demanded you declare yourself for the princess," Sansa said, her voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and speculation. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she considered the potential ramifications.

"Which one?" Cregan replied, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion.

"Helaena Targaryen." Sansa replied, her gaze fixed on the snowy landscape beyond Winterfell.

"Didn't her brother wed her?" Cregan questioned, the ways of Southern alliances proving perplexing to his Northern manner.

"Right." Sansa stayed silent for a moment, the weight of realization settling in. "Such curious customs."

"Agreed." He chuckled in agreement. 

The snowy expanse of Winterfell's courtyard seemed to stretch infinitely before them as Sansa continued, her frustration growing with each passing thought. "It'll take us almost month—three weeks if we're lucky—to reach King's Landing. And by the time we arrive, they might have just forgotten about us."

"Whatever it is, Sansa." Cregan stood, placing a hand on Sansa's shoulder. "We'll show them we are proud Northerners, Aye."

"Let's just hope it doesn't involve any unnecessary twirls or curtsies." Sansa sighed, a mixture of frustration and determination in her voice. 

"If it does, I'll be sure to trip over my own feet. A Stark's way of making a statement."

Sansa couldn't help but smile. "That might just be the statement we need to make."

The stone stairs echoed with the soft thuds of Sansa and Cregan's boots as they left the room. A heavy sigh escaped Sansa's lips, forming a misty cloud in the brisk Northern air. The Winterfell courtyard awaited them, surrounded by walls of gray stone that seemed to absorb the chill. It had been two long years since their father's passing, and only six months since their mother joined him in the embrace of eternity.

The siblings descended the cold, worn steps, arriving in the open space of the courtyard. Winter's touch lingered in the air, making each breath visible. They approached the ancient weirwood tree that stood as a silent witness to the passage of time. Kneeling, they bowed their heads in prayer, seeking support from the old gods.

"Let us pass this journey safely," Cregan whispered, his voice blending with the rustle of the tree's leaves.

"Let the journey be quick," Sansa added, her words carrying a quiet determination.

Sansa's thoughts drifted to the departed, to her father and mother, and to the generations that had come before her. The unseen ancestors, a part of her heritage, inspired a prayer from her heart. Though she rarely ventured beyond the walls of Winterfell, the vastness of the North was her world. Yet, with the unexpected summons, an unfamiliar weight settled in her chest.

Sansa's eyes closed as she continued her silent supplication. She wasn't afraid, or at least she couldn't afford to be. A woman now, aged nine and ten, she carried a quiet bravery within her comely demeanor. Her prayers spoke not only of personal safety but also of a deep-rooted longing for the familiar confines of her home.

"And bring us home," Sansa whispered, her plea lingering in the crisp air as if carried away by the wind. The simple words held the weight of a determined heart, a wish for sanctuary in the face of the unknown.

The journey from Winterfell to King's Landing unfolded as both a physical trek and a venture into unfamiliar territories. Sansa and Cregan rode on horseback, flanked by loyal Northern bannermen proudly displaying the direwolf of House Stark on their banners. The landscape, covered in a blanket of snow, sprawled before them as they navigated the winding roads. Sansa's gaze wandered over the vastness of the North, where towering pines stood like sentinels and frozen rivers snaked through the familiar land. It was a place ingrained in their hearts, a landscape that had shaped the Stark family for generations.

The cold air nipped at their faces as they rode, carrying with it the scent of pine and the chill of winter. It was undeniably beautiful, the North. It really was. Its beauty, however, was a subtle charm not everyone could fathom. Sansa felt a deep appreciation for the land that had cradled her existence. The towering pines and snow-covered landscapes painted a sight that words struggled to capture. Sansa couldn't predict the duration of their stay in King's Landing, but a lingering feeling suggested it wouldn't be brief. The prospect of an extended absence from her northern home weighed on her, and a sense of longing for what she had left behind settled in her heart. It was as if she already missed the North, its quiet beauty and the familiar embrace of Winterfell.

Cregan, riding alongside his sister, raised an eyebrow. "Something on your mind, Sansa?"

"Just basking in the glory of our home." Sansa replied, her eyes scanning the endless horizon. "We'll be entering a different world soon."

"Duty calls." Cregan grunted in agreement. "We've got to dance to their tune, even if we can't figure out the steps."

The journey continued, the road stretching ahead like an unending tapestry of uncertainty. As they moved farther from the familiar contours of Winterfell, the shadow of annoyance grew, eclipsing the curiosity that initially accompanied their Southern sojourn.

In the evenings, as they set up camp, Sansa and Cregan would share moments of silent reflection. The North, with its towering walls and ancient castles, felt like a distant memory. The South, with its political intricacies and alien customs, became a reality they had to confront.

"Twenty days until King's Landing." Sansa murmured, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

Cregan, his gaze following the same horizon, nodded in silent agreement. The road to King's Landing, like a river winding through unfamiliar lands, carried them closer to a destiny entwined with the fate of the Seven Kingdoms—a destiny that neither of them could escape, even if the taste of Southern irritation lingered on their tongues.

Day by day, the subtle warmth of the South crept into their journey, coaxing Sansa and Cregan to shed layers of their accustomed Northern garments. The furs and heavy cloaks that were a second skin in Winterfell now felt burdensome under the burgeoning Southern sun. The landscape transformed from the towering pines of the North to the rolling hills and expansive plains of the Neck.

On the 10th day, Sansa cast a wary glance at the sky as she unclasped the cloak that had shielded her from the Northern winds. The air, once crisp and biting, now carried a gentler touch. It was a silent acknowledgment of their passage from the familiar chill of the North into the milder climate of the South.

As the road wound through the Neck and into the Vale of Arryn, Sansa found herself grappling with an unexpected discomfort. The cool breeze that had been her constant companion since leaving Winterfell was replaced by a warmth that felt unfamiliar. She longed for the bite of winter, the scent of pine that lingered in the Northern air.

On the 15th day, as they traversed further into the Vale, Sansa's frustration reached a tipping point. The lush greenery and temperate climate, while undoubtedly pleasant to many, grated against the ingrained sensibilities of the Lady of Winterfell.

"We've crossed the Neck, Sansa." Cregan stated, his tone carrying a note of caution. The Vale lies ahead."

Sansa's eyes, once filled with curiosity, now bore a glint of aggravation. "It's too warm."

Cregan, understanding his sister's sentiments, offered a sympathetic nod. Looking over the rest of their Bannerman surrounding them, he replied, "Seems our men shares your distaste of the southern air."

Sansa, her gaze fixed on the horizon, couldn't shake the sense of displacement that accompanied their journey. The farther they ventured into the unfamiliar territories of the South, the more she longed for the familiar embrace of Winterfell.

As they pressed onward, Sansa found herself caught between the memories of Winterfell's cold embrace and the ever-warming breeze of the South—a journey of physical distance and emotional dissonance. The road to King's Landing, fraught with both external challenges and internal conflicts, stretched before them, promising a destination that seemed increasingly distant from the home they knew.

The gateway of King's Landing loomed before Sansa and Cregan Stark, a colossal entrance into a realm vastly different from the North. No longer clad in the thick garments that shielded them against the Northern winds, they strode forward in their respective armor, the direwolf sigil proudly displayed—a symbol of Northern resilience in the face of Southern unfamiliarity.

As they moved inside the city, the stark contrast between the North and the capital of the Seven Kingdoms became apparent. The markets were a riot of colors and sounds, merchants hawking exotic goods from distant lands. Garments of rich fabrics adorned the citizens, a stark departure from the practical furs and woolens of Winterfell. The hustle and bustle of the city seemed to pulse with a life of its own, a stark contrast to the quietude of the North.

Sansa, her gaze sweeping over the unfamiliar surroundings, felt a knot of trepidation tightening in her chest. The overwhelming sense of unfamiliarity was both exhilarating and disconcerting. The air, heavy with the scents of spices and foreign perfumes, held an essence that Sansa couldn't quite place.

Cregan, walking beside his sister, observed the Southern city with a stoic demeanor, though the subtle furrow in his brow betrayed the weight of their displacement. The towering Red Keep, visible in the distance, seemed like a distant fortress from a dream—a place where power and politics intertwined in ways that were foreign to House Stark.

The crowds moved like a river through the city, and Sansa and Cregan found themselves carried along, their Northern armor cutting through the sea of Southern fabrics. The unfamiliarity, though tinged with an underlying sense of fear, also held an element of intrigue—a glimpse into a world that had only existed in stories and whispers.

As they continued deeper into King's Landing, Sansa and Cregan couldn't escape the realization that they were outsiders in this bustling Southern hub. The North, with its vastness and solitude, felt like a distant memory. In its place stood a city teeming with life and complexity, where every corner held secrets and every face seemed to conceal its own agenda.

"It looks as if time itself runs faster here." Sansa observed.

Cregan grunted in agreement, his eyes narrowing at the myriad colors and sounds that assaulted his senses. 

The air was thick with the scents of exotic spices and foreign perfumes, a stark departure from the crisp scent of pine that lingered in the Northern air. As they made their way through the crowded streets, Sansa bit her tongue to suppress the urge to voice her Northern disdain. The South, with its ornate architecture and lavish displays of wealth, felt like an alien realm.

"Northerners don't belong here," Sansa muttered under her breath, her frustration simmering.

"Aye," Cregan responded, "We don't."

The journey became a test of restraint for Sansa and Cregan. The Northerners, fiercely proud of their traditions, had little patience for the subtleties of Southern courtly life. Sansa, in particular, found herself biting her tongue more than once, suppressing the urge to express her Northern bluntness in a land that valued diplomacy.

"But remember, Sansa, every word and gesture will be scrutinized." Cregan reminded his sister, his tone a mixture of caution and understanding. "We're guests in their realm."

Sansa nodded, the weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders. The road to King's Landing stretched before them, a path that led not only to the seat of power but also to the heart of a realm where dragons ruled and alliances shifted like the winds.

The grandeur of the Red Keep's halls enveloped Sansa and Cregan as they were escorted to the council chamber, where they expected to meet King Viserys. However, upon entering, they were met with an unexpected sight—King Viserys was not present. Instead, the Queen Alicent and the King's Hand, Otto Hightower, awaited them.

Sansa and Cregan exchanged a subtle glance, a silent acknowledgment of the peculiarity of the situation. The rumors about the King's declining health had circulated, but the extent of his infirmity had not fully registered until this moment.

"Lord Cregan, Lady Sansa, welcome to the Red Keep. I trust your journey was eventful?" Queen Alicent, regal and composed, extended a courteous nod of welcome. 

"As eventful as one could hope for, Your Grace." Cregan offered a respectful nod in return.

"Thank you, Your Grace." Sansa, her gaze lingering on the Queen's composed demeanor, replied, "The journey was as smooth as can be expected."

"Forgive the King's absence. His health has been a cause for concern, and attending to matters of state has become increasingly challenging." Otto Hightower, the King's Hand, interjected with a cordial tone.

Sansa and Cregan exchanged a glance, their thoughts mirrored in unspoken words. The absence of King Viserys cast a shadow over the grandeur of the Red Keep, and the implications of his weakened state raised questions about the stability of the realm.

"Rest assured," Queen Alicent, keenly aware of the unspoken tension, continued, "King Viserys would have welcomed you personally if he were able. In his stead, we are here to extend the hospitality of the crown."

Sansa and Cregan, despite the unexpected circumstances, offered courteous nods of gratitude. The journey from Winterfell to King's Landing had already been fraught with unfamiliarity, and the absence of the King served as a stark reminder that they had entered a realm shaped by political intricacies and uncertainty.

"Why have we been summoned to the capital? " Cregan cuts to the chase, his voice steady yet brimming with curiosity. "What is the nature of this proposition?"

Instead of answering in the council chamber, they were led to a separate room where the air seemed charged with the weight of impending revelations. The room was adorned with the sigils of the Seven Kingdoms, a reminder of the collective power that shaped the fate of Westeros.

Sansa and Cregan stepped into the council room, their eyes quickly assessing the assembly within. Queen Alicent, the authoritative Hand Otto Hightower, and the councilmen occupied the space, their presence unmistakable. Yet, what drew her attention was the unexpected figure of the second-born son of King Viserys and Alicent Hightower. She recalled his name as Aemond. Aemond Targaryen. The rumors had not exaggerated. He stood there, an eyepatch concealing a significant scar above, a testament to battles fought mayhaps, or an accident in training. Despite the mark, he carried himself regally, unmistakably a fine prince in the room. As Sansa's gaze briefly met his, there was an unspoken curiosity that passed between them.

The council room, adorned with the symbols of power, witnessed a tense gathering as Sansa and Cregan took their seats. The exchange of pleasantries echoed in the air, a surface-level politeness that veiled the deeper currents of political intrigue and power play.

"Once again, Lord Cregan, Lady Sansa, we thank you for making the journey to King's Landing." Queen Alicent, with a regal grace that belied the complexities at play, once again extended her gratitude. "Your presence here is of great importance."

Sansa, though offering a polite nod in return, couldn't shake the undercurrent of skepticism that lingered beneath the queen's words. The acknowledgment of their importance felt more like a reminder of their place within the intricate hierarchy of the realm.

How can we not, Your Grace? Sansa thought, her inner voice echoing with a touch of bitterness. Mere servants under the crown's eyes, expected to dance to the tune of Southern politics.

Cregan, ever composed, maintained a stoic facade as he inclined his head in acknowledgment. Queen Alicent, her eyes meeting Sansa's with a knowing glint, continued with the formalities, all the while aware of the unspoken tensions in the room.

The council room's atmosphere grew tense as Queen Alicent continued, her words hanging in the air like a delicate tapestry, each thread revealing a piece of the Southern proposition. Sansa and Cregan exchanged subtle glances, a silent acknowledgment of the intricacies they were about to navigate.

"The nature of this proposition," Queen Alicent began, her eyes shifting between Sansa and Cregan, "is to strengthen the alliance between the Iron Throne and the North. The Crown seeks unity, a binding force that will ensure the stability of the realm."

Sansa, despite her composed exterior, felt a flicker of unease. The mention of an alliance with the North was expected, but the form it would take remained a mystery. She cast a glance at Cregan, her eyes silently conveying a near boastful sentiment. Sansa had suspected that the Crown might seek a marriage alliance, and she had envisioned Cregan being the focal point.

To her surprise, Queen Alicent's next words shattered Sansa's assumptions. "However, it is not Lord Cregan's hand that we wish to bind in alliance. It is yours, Lady Sansa."

Sansa's eyes widened in disbelief, and her gaze darted to Cregan, who wore an expression of equal astonishment. The room seemed to close in around them as the weight of the revelation settled like a stone in the pit of Sansa's stomach.

Cregan, ever stoic, turned to Sansa, his eyes betraying a mixture of realization and concern. Sansa, in turn, fought to maintain her composure. The alliance sought by the Crown had taken an unexpected turn, and the burden of securing the North's loyalty now rested squarely on Sansa's shoulders.

"Your Grace, I must admit, this proposal is unexpected. May I inquire about the specifics of this alliance and why it is Lady Sansa who is to be wed, rather than myself as the Lord of Winterfell?" Cregan's expression a mix of incredulity and concern, spoke up, seeking clarification from Queen Alicent. 

Queen Alicent, her regal demeanor unwavering, leaned forward slightly as she explained, "Lord Cregan, it is true that the Crown seeks a union with the North, but the dynamics of our House present a unique challenge. Helaena, my daughter, is already wed to my first-born son, Aegon. I have no other daughters to be promised to you. However, the Crown sees the potential for a strong alliance through a different avenue."

Sansa, her gaze fixed on the Queen, felt a knot of anticipation tighten within her. The unexpected twist in the Southern proposition hung in the air, and the Queen's next words unveiled the true nature of the alliance.

"It is my son, Aemond, who would be wed to Lady Sansa. Aemond Targaryen, the second-born son of King Viserys and myself, is present in this council room for a reason."

Aemond, who had remained silent until now, met Sansa's eyes with a steady gaze that held a mixture of curiosity and a hint of resignation. The weight of the moment settled upon the Lady of Winterfell, and she exchanged a glance with Cregan, both silently processing the implications of the Crown's unexpected proposal.

The council room, once abuzz with discussions and explanations, fell into an uneasy silence as Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell, posed the question that hung in the air like a heavy cloak.

"And if I refuse?" Sansa's voice, though calm, carried a weight that resonated through the room. The councilmen exchanged uncertain glances, their allegiance torn between the loyalty owed to the Crown and the acknowledgment of the Lady's autonomy.

"Lady Sansa," Queen Alicent, her regal poise undeterred, met Sansa's gaze with a measured expression. "The Crown values unity and stability. Your refusal would not only defy the Crown but could potentially jeopardize the fragile balance we seek to maintain in these tumultuous times."

The tension in the room thickened as the gravity of Sansa's question hung in the air.

"So it is not a proposition, it's an order," Sansa declared, her voice carrying a stern resolve that echoed through the council room. The weight of defiance, though wrapped in the guise of Ladylike poise, hung in the air like an unspoken challenge to the Crown's authority.

"Sansa," Cregan interjected in a hushed tone, a plea for caution, an acknowledgment of the delicate balance they were navigating.

However, it was not Queen Alicent but Otto Hightower, the King's Hand, who had responded. "Lady Sansa, the Crown merely seeks what is best for the realm. The union proposed is not just a matter of preference but a strategic necessity in these trying times. Your cooperation is crucial for the stability of the Seven Kingdoms."

Queen Alicent, ever composed, took charge of the moment. "Lady Sansa, you will be given the necessary time to duly consider the terms of this proposed marriage. We understand the weight of this decision and acknowledge the importance of your deliberation."

The Queen's words, though carrying a veneer of courtesy, held an unspoken expectation. Sansa and Cregan, now bound to the complexities of Southern politics, were to stay in the capital for the next week, a timeframe designated to solidify the union that the Crown deemed imperative.

"During your stay," Queen Alicent continued, "we hope that you will reach an agreement that is acceptable to both parties. The Crown values the cooperation of House Stark, and we believe that this union is in the best interest of the realm."

The room, still fraught with tension, now held the promise of a temporary reprieve—a week for Sansa and Cregan to navigate the intricacies of the Southern court, consider the implications of the proposed marriage, and come to a decision that would shape the future of House Stark.

Sansa felt the weight of Aemond Targaryen's one-eyed gaze, an unrelenting focus that seemed to pierce through the delicate facade of courtly decorum. As the doors closed behind them, leaving the council room in their wake, Sansa's eyes met Aemond's, and an unspoken exchange transpired—an acknowledgment of the complexities that now intertwined their fates.

Aemond, the second-born son of King Viserys and Alicent Hightower, bore the legacy of House Targaryen in the form of a single piercing eye, a mark of distinction and, perhaps, a reflection of the trials that shaped the scion of dragons. She had wondered what happened for him to lose an eye.

The week ahead promised negotiations, considerations, and the delicate dance of alliances, but in that fleeting moment, Sansa and Aemond stood as silent participants in a drama that transcended the confines of courtly formalities.

As the council room doors closed behind them, Sansa and Cregan found themselves at the precipice of a pivotal week—one that would test their resilience, challenge their principles, and ultimately define their role in the unfolding drama of the Seven Kingdoms. The road to King's Landing, which began as a physical journey, had now transformed into a journey of choices, alliances, and the complexities of a realm where power, politics, and personal autonomy were in constant tension.

In the guest chambers of the Red Keep, where the Starks would be spending their stay at, Sansa's discontent found voice. The echoes of her frustration resonated through the air as she spoke to Cregan, her brother and confidant, about the unforeseen turn of events that had brought them to the heart of Southern intrigue.

"I cannot believe," Sansa lamented, her voice a whisper of exasperation, "that we've spent almost a month traversing these realms, only to be greeted by an absurd proposal. Marriage! As if it were the simplest solution to bind the North to the Crown. To wed without regard for one's heart? It might as well be their custom but I will not allow it to be ours."

Cregan, the level-headed anchor to Sansa's impassioned fervor, offered a measured response.

"Except," he began, his voice a calm counterpoint to Sansa's fervency, "mother and father were promised to one another. And by the end of it, they did share deep affection."

Sansa, unyielding in her stance, retorted with a distinction that cut through the nuanced shades of affection.

"Deep affection is not love, Cregan. It is not a compromise, nor a mere settling," Sansa affirmed, her words carrying a weight that echoed the ideals she held dear.

"What is it then?"

"I do not know." Sansa, pausing as if searching for the right words, finally responded, "I have never been in love."

"Precisely."

Cregan Stark observed his sister's quiet demeanor. The flickering candlelight played on the contours of her face, casting shadows that mirrored the tumult within her.

Sansa, usually composed and resolute, now bore an air of vulnerability. Her silence spoke volumes, and Cregan, attuned to the nuances of his sister's emotions, could see the unrest beneath it.

"I don't dispute what you say, Sansa. Yet, where dragons soar in the skies, we must consider this alliance."

"Love," Sansa continued, her tone a mixture of defiance and resignation, "should be the foundation of such unions, not political convenience. Our ancestors, beneath the heart tree in Winterfell, did they not pledge their troths in the name of love, honor, and duty?"

"Aye, Sansa." Cregan, his expression unwavering, acknowledged Sansa's sentiments. "But these are different times. Love, as noble as it may be, often takes a backseat to the demands of the hour."

"There is more to this than a mere alliance." Sansa, though comforted by Cregan's steadiness, countered with a resolute stance. "You think it too."

Her resolute stance unwavering as she met Cregan's gaze. In the muted glow of the chamber, where shadows clung to the stone walls, Sansa's eyes held a glint of determination that mirrored the Northern steel of her ancestors.

"I see that while marriage is the simplest route, there are other means to forge bonds between Houses. Why thrust this now?" Cregan, the steady anchor to Sansa's fervency, acknowledged her observation. Cregan paused, his voice measured, "And that is a question I cannot answer."

The Stark siblings, now standing on the precipice of decisions that would shape the destiny of House Stark, found themselves confronting not only the complications of duty but also the mysteries of the Crown's intentions.

A new day in King's Landing dawned with a crispness that hinted the fresh morn. Sansa and Cregan found themselves walking through the labyrinthine halls of the Red Keep, where murmurs chattered in the background. The sun had awoken the siblings slowly, at least for Sansa. Cregan was still deep in slumber when she barged down inside his chambers and pulled the blanket out of his grasp to wake him. He had unintentionally called her a witch for doing so and Sansa paid it no mind for it happened a lot ever since they were children. Now dressed and less grumpy, they made their way through the bustling corridors, when a messenger approached Cregan with a summons from the Crown. It was an invitation to join Prince Aegon Targaryen on a hunting expedition. 

Cregan never met the first born prince of the crown. He had many rumors, both great and lacking. Some say he was a dutiful prince, charming, adventurous. Some say he was crude, obnoxious, and drunk. The wolf of the north was not a cowardly man and he was dutiful. He accepted the summons and made his way to the courtyard where Prince Aegon awaited, his figure mounted atop a spirited steed. Prince Aegon does not resemble Prince Aemond much, he observed. Maybe if his hair was of the same length as the younger brother, but it falls only right under his chin. It was not silky nor treated as Aemond was, but greasy and rough. He looked less regal than his mother, and he seemed uninterested by this activity more so than Cregan himself. The air was thick with anticipation, and Cregan couldn't shake the feeling that this seemingly casual hunt held a significance beyond the pursuit of game.

"Lord Cregan," Aegon greeted, his words slurred with the remnants of last night's revelry, "Ready for a bit of sport, are we?"

So he is a drunk, Cregan thought,

Cregan, maintaining his stoic demeanor, nodded in response. "Aye, Prince Aegon. A hunt could prove refreshing."

As they rode into the outskirts of the city, nearing the borders of Kingswood, Cregan observed Aegon's demeanor with a discerning eye. The Prince's disposition, however, revealed a less than favorable character. Aegon's behavior, marked by rudeness and a penchant for drink, painted a portrait that contrasted sharply with the regal exterior expected of a Targaryen prince. Despite the uncouth nature of his companion, Cregan kept his cool, navigating the nuances of the hunt with a practiced ease. The conversation flowed in fits and starts, interspersed with Aegon's raucous laughter and slurred remarks.

As the day wore on, Cregan's thoughts turned to the broader implications of the Crown's intentions. In the heart of the forest, where the sounds of rustling leaves and distant wildlife intermingled with the clatter of hooves, the air was tinged with the earthy scent of the forest, and the duo rode side by side.

"So, Stark," Aegon started, as he leaned back in his saddle with an air of nonchalance. "What's the North like? Cold, I suppose? And filled with your wolves?"

"The North is cold, My Prince. As for the wolves, well, direwolf sightings are rare south of the Wall." Admitted Cregan, "Many lies beyond the wall."

"No wolves for the wolves of winter?" Aegon raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "How tragic. What do you Starks do without your furry companions?"

"My grandsire lived with a large black direwolf he named Shadow for the better part of his life. But, the wolf returned to the wild once his owner passed. Although, not many live near Winterfell anymore, we manage just fine without them. Wolves or no wolves, the North stands strong, and so do the Starks." Cregan shot back.

"No offense, Stark. " Aegon grinned, yet uninterested in the nuances of Northern life, dismissed the comment with a careless wave. "Wolves, Starks, honor—tedious topics, don't you think? I prefer the thrill of the hunt, the feel of blood on my hands."

Cregan, unfazed by Aegon's lack of decorum, retorted with a snarky yet respectful tone, "Ah, the thrill of the hunt. A noble pursuit, indeed. Though in the North, we hunt not just for sport but for sustenance. A different kind of thrill, one that serves a purpose beyond personal satisfaction."

As they rode deeper into the forest, Cregan's observations of Aegon's behavior became increasingly evident. The Prince's lack of honor and respect for the customs that defined the North grated on Cregan's sensibilities.

"Starks and their notions of honor. A pack of wolves, loyal to a fault." Aegon, growing more animated with each passing moment, raised a wineskin to his lips. "Boring, really." 

"Honor may be boring to some, Prince Aegon," Cregan responded, choosing his next words carefully, "but it is the foundation on which the North stands. A foundation that has withstood the test of time."

Aegon found men like Cregan to be tedious beings. What has duty done to this men that they became so proud of flaunting the word so easily? He didn't understand it. He doubt he'll ever understand the meaning of duty. He loved his wine, his women, girls, men, and boys. His mother might tell him otherwise, but he was not meant for the throne. Obnoxious as he was, he was still self-aware that he would be an unfit ruler. The king never really acknowledged him as a son, not really. Aegon, along with Helaena, Aemond, and little Daeron, was simply just there. Duty was lifeless, duty was dull. That was all Aegon could believe in.

Within the confines of the Red Keep, Sansa found herself strongly advised—or rather subtly ordered—to remain within the castle walls. The Queen's suggestion, masked as a genteel invitation, held an unspoken expectations. Sansa was to join Aemond Targaryen for tea, a ploy to weave their relationship. Tea? She came all this way to the heart of the crown so sit and drink tea? A tea with the prince, little Sansa would often came to her mind. No, a tea with a dragon, the present her reminded herself.

She entered the designated chamber, the air hung with the fragrance of steeping tea. Aemond Targaryen awaited, reclining with an air of careless nonchalance. His one-eyed gaze met Sansa's, and his expression still. The cut under the patch looked deep and old. She wondered what could terribly have happened for him to lose his eye. 

"Tea, Lady Sansa? A peculiar choice for a Northern lady." Aemond broke the silence with a brusque greeting.

"One would think dragons prefer a stronger brew. Seems your mother has other plans." Sansa replied with a sardonic smile, undeterred by Aemond's bluntness.

Aemond's gaze, sharp and unyielding, met hers as he took a sip from the delicate teacup. "My mother has her schemes, as do many in this court."

"And so the Prince cuts to the chase." Sansa, her wit undiminished, lifted her own cup, swirling the tea within. "Alliances, the lifeblood of the realm, is it not? A marriage here, a cup of tea there. All in the name of unity."

Aemond, unaccustomed to Sansa's dry humor, raised an eyebrow. "Unity is a fragile thing. It requires delicate handling, like this porcelain teacup, for example."

Sansa's laughter echoed through the chamber, a melodic sound that cut through the tension. "Yet, I've heard dragons prefer a more direct approach. Fire and blood, If i'm correct?"

"Fire and blood have their place. But sometimes, a cup of tea can be just as effective." Aemond's expression shifted, a flicker of amusement playing on his features. He leaned back with an air of indifference, remarked, "You Starks are a curious bunch. Wolves, honor, and now tea. What's next? A poetry recital in the godswood?"

"Perhaps, My Prince. Though, I fear your dragons might find the verses lacking in fire." Sansa, ever quick-witted, retorted, "But, as to remind you once more, your mother chose this activity."

"Ah, my mother's choices." Aemond clicked his tongue, "Tea, poetry, all part of a grand design."

Sansa, sipping her tea with an air of grace, nodded in agreement. "Where even a cup of tea carries the weight of alliances."

"Alliances, Lady,"Aemond, though initially brusque, found himself drawn into the banter. "can be forged in the oddest of places. Even amidst verses and teacups."

Sansa's laughter, a melodic sound that echoed through the chamber, filled the air. "And so, we find ourselves here—two unlikely allies bound by a cup of tea."

As the tea was poured and the tension in the room simmered, Aemond and Sansa sat with a blend of sarcasm and candor. The tea, though steeped in tradition, became a vessel for the forging alliances in a realm where dragons soared and wolves tread carefully in their shadows. Aemond hadn't really looked at her the first time they met when she arrived the day before. She was taller than most ladies he's met, but still a good few inches under him. Her sitting posture was almost as perfect as his mother. She grew up with decorum then, he observed. Her hair a shade or auburn he never seen before, deep in some parts, vibrant in places when the sun touched her head. She was anything but ugly and he would be a fool to think otherwise.

"I do not wish to be promised to you, My Prince." Sansa admitted quite bluntly. She was always too honest for her own good. "And I don't doubt that you are as displeased about this union as I am."

"Honesty, a rare trait in this court." Aemond replied, regarded Sansa with a raised eyebrow, "How do you know I am displeased with this union?"

Sansa almost rolled her eyes at his question. Was he truly taking her as a fool?

"Three sips I've taken of this tea and you have not once asked me anything regarding my interests." Sansa answered as a matter of factly, "That could be offensive to a lady, My Prince."

"I meant no offense." Aemond answered callously.

"I'm sure you didn't." Sansa retorted with similar disdain in her voice, looking out into the garden instead of him.

His finger touched the spoon of his tea, moving it aimlessly, before admitting, "I have my own misgivings about this union."

"It seems we are pawns in a game played by others."

"I did not expect to find common ground with a Stark." Aemond, his expression reflecting a mix of resignation and understanding, nodded in agreement. Sansa did not answer immediately and Aemond noticed her bemused expression, "No flattery intended. Just an acknowledgment that agreements are found in the unlikeliest of places."

"An acknowledgment or a resignation?" Sansa, her demeanor retaining a hint of skepticism, raised an eyebrow. "Will you even enjoy being wedded to a Stark?"

Aemond, his one-eyed gaze steady, replied, "It seems we have little choice."

From afar, Queen Alicent and Otto Hightower observed the unfolding scene in the chamber, where Sansa and Aemond engaged in a conversation that hinted at the complexities of their newfound alliance. Sansa, ever perceptive, noticed the scrutinizing gaze of their audience.

"They are watching us," she stated, her tone tinged with a blend of sarcasm and amusement.

Without looking at where Sansa was gazing, Aemond, his expression unreadable, said, "The puppeteers overseeing their players."

Sansa, taken aback by the bluntness of Aemond's observation, glanced at him with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. The term "puppeteers" held a weight of implication, and she couldn't help but wonder at the underlying sentiments behind Aemond's words.

"Was that what you were thinking?" Aemond asked Sansa candidly, his one-eyed gaze fixed on her.

Sansa took her eyes off him, and with a subtle shift in her demeanor. Aemond, acknowledging her silence with a smirk, observed as she subtly changed the subject.

"I wish to return to my chambers," she declared, her tone carrying a hint of weariness. "I'm feeling sickly after the long hours we spent on horseback as we journeyed here, My Prince."

Aemond, though perceptive, chose not to press further. "As you wish, Lady Sansa."

As she exited the chamber, Sansa's excuse lingered in the air—a subtle deflection that allowed her to retreat from the scrutiny of both the puppeteers and the puppeted.

ONE. | masterlist | next

taglist. request open!

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Read in ao3 here.Read in wattpad here.

[sstan-hoe]

𝑼𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — (kinda) modern!aemond targaryen × fem!reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — well let's just say I was in a mood and would very much like to try something new...

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — squirting, smut obviously, oral (f receiving), p in v, dirty talk

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — am I back? maybe...I have finals and I feel so stressed, but I hope I can be back in May!

„Aemond! Stop, oh god!“ Aemond draws hard circles over your clit, a shit eating grin painting his face. He had tried for the past two months to get you to squirt and right now he was the closest he’d ever been.

You had nothing against it, even being your idea but right now a weird feeling bubbled in your stomach which you’d never felt before.

Aemond said it had to be like this, you would get a feelings as if a knot was being tied inside you. The knot would get tighter with every passing second, until it finally exploded.

You couldn't pin point the feeling, was it good, was it bad?

Good, amazing, like a relief. As Aemond continued his work he pushed the right button and answered your worries.

Your husband grinned at you as you covered his face with your juice. “You fucking bastard,” you breathed out as you fell back into the pillows. “Bastard? I just gave you one of the best orgasms of your life,” Aemond told you proudly, his ego growing.

When you first brought up the idea squirting, you would have never been able to imagine how wonderful it would make feel.

Still he was a little shit who cheated. “You ready for another?” He asked wiggling his eyebrows with a seductive smirk. “Sorry, but I don’t have to pee again which means you can’t cheat, and we know how the last few times went…,” you trailed off as your eyes moved to the sheets.

Aemond was offended and suddenly grabbed you by your ankles to pull you down further on the bed. A surprised gasp fell from your lips at his actions.

He grasps your hips and shoves himself deep inside, not giving you any chance to adjust to his size — like he did so often. Aemond pulls back and thrusts in enough to move you several inches up the sheets.

The feeling you have felt not too long ago was building up again like a thread that was threatening to be cut with a knife. A snap, a cut, the right angle to the right spot was all it took for your waters to break once more.

Your man couldn’t be any happier as he grinned from ear to ear. Proud of himself that he made you cum and squirt without ‘cheating’.

“Call me a cheater once more, I dare you,” he whispered as his thrusts slowed down. “And get that outcome again?” You cocked a brow at him, receiving a chuckle from him.

“You know I haven’t cum yet…,” he lowly trailed of.

Your eyes widened in shock, “I’m not gonna make you squirt,” you said with raised hands. Aemons shook his head in response, “no my love, that’s not what I meant.”

[sapphire-writes]

Do No Harm (masterlist)

pairing: doctor!Aemond Targaryen x doctor!Reader

parts: 3/3 completed

summary: This is your starting line. This is your tourney ground. How well you do, is up to you. Your surgical internship begins at Citedal General Hospital.

rating: mature/explicit/18+

author's note: the first part is planned to be posted soon as a celebration of my follower milestone! thank you for all your love and support, excited to share more with you!

tropes: workplace romance

dividers by @firefly-graphics ❤️

Part 1: Girl In The Bar

Part 2: Bandaids & Butterflies

Part 3: Running on Sunshine