#Aemond Targaryen au

[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 ~

[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.

[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

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — 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!!

I no longer have a general taglist, to be notified when I post something new please follow @sapphire-writes-updates

Series Taglist: @witches-of-discovery-a @mooncalvin @rwdkarla, @spinachtz, @arcielee, @castellomargot, @bellaisasleep, @wintrr13, @watercolorskyy @gibbsgirl7, @high-on-darren-criss, @theshatteredideal, @elizarbell, @hiraethrhapsody, @helaenaluvr, @dahlias-and-marigolds, @boofy1998, @tempo-rary-fix, @heavenly1927, @queenofshinigamis, @herfantasyworldd, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1, @ikeryn, @kimsubin05, @elle4404, @yentroucnagol, @duds31

could not be tagged: @mrstargaryen09 @angel6776 @hogwarts1207 @abecerra611 @marvelescvpe @n4tforlife

[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

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

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.

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

• PART I

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

[hiatuswhore]

♕ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʇɐᴚ ʇǝǝɹʇS ǝɥ⊥

♕ A/N: If you cannot see it clearly, the title says, The Prince and The Street Rat. I really enjoyed writing this. No shade to other HOTD writers but all the plots be relatively the same so I tried to shake it up. Feedback pleaseeee.

♕ SUMMARY: The world works in mysterious ways and so does the residents of Kings Landing. One never knows what they find in the alleyways and rooftops. Whores, drunks, knights, thieves, sometimes even Princes.

♕ WORD COUNT: 5K

♕ WARNING: None🕺🏽

previous — Masterlist — next

Kings Landing. Home to the vile, cruel, and everything in between. You fall somewhere in the middle, a gray area—child thief. But where do petty thieves and struggling patrons fall in that spectrum? A child struggling to eat as the Targaryens sit in their fancy castle with more food and resources than necessary. This reality plagues you on the most challenging days and hardens you on the coldest nights.

"Stop that girl!" A man screamed, expertly sliding beneath a merchant table. You duck down an alleyway. Your heart hammering in your chest as you struggle to keep your hood from blocking your eyes. A sea of splintering colors and faces blend into a mix of nothingness, your focus evading the angry voice behind you. As you march forward, you turn a final corner, your eyes over your shoulder.

"Hey, watch it!" You grimace at the blinding pain, stumbling backward. In front of you, a boy groans, rubbing his forehead. His tunic worth more than everything you own, and his boots resembling a pair you stole a few moons back. He carries nothing visible to the eyes, nothing to quick swipe.

"You ran into me," He scoffs. Rolling your eyes, you push past him with your shoulder. In one swift motion dipping your hand in his pocket, nothing. His hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling you back, allowing you to skim his other—still nothing, "Are you thick in the skull, girl?"

"No, I'm in a hurry, so bugger off, would you!" You swing your hand connecting with his cheek, the smack echoing through the busy road. He releases your wrist with wide eyes, ignoring his face; glancing over his shoulder, your eyes widen at the sight of the Gold Cloaks. They carefully scan the road as you duck down a deadend, planting your back against the wall.

Still, the boy watches you curiously, his hood hanging loosely on his head, revealing the rest of his face. He narrows his eyes at you before glancing back toward the Gold Cloaks. You grit your teeth, ignoring his gaze as you listen to the approaching clink of armor.

"Prince Aemond, it is not safe for you to be beyond the gates unattended," Narrowing your eyes the boy grins. He removes his hood with a smug fire in his eyes as you stare at his pure silver hair. You have indeed done it this time. You struck a Prince—a Targaryen Prince. Every part of your brain screams to make a run for it, mentally preparing to scale the wall behind you as the Prince commands the Gold Cloaks to seize you, but none of that happens. Instead, the Prince merely chuckles under the knight's gazes as you stand behind them.

"Of course, Ser Harwin. Will you escort me back?" He says. The knight nods his head, turning toward the way of the castle. Aemond does not move immediately, and the two of you stare at each other. You offer a half nod before turning to the wall, carefully climbing it before disappearing altogether.

That night you laid in your hammock staring up at the stars, the moment still fresh in your mind. You struck the Prince, and he—he helped you? Shaking off the thought sleep found you almost faster than the painfully bright sun the following day. Walking through the market with most of your coils and curls pulled into two tight braids, the coins you stole the day prior ready to purchase today's breakfast.

"Thank you, Daltis. Tell Cayde I said hi," You say, handing him your coins as you turn toward the stairs with bread and a pail of water. The sun beams restlessly as you walk without a care through the streets. An occasional hello to locals who know you and a few choice words between yourself and the patrons you have stolen from. Nearing the closest thing you can call home comes to a halt as the familiar tight grip holds your bicep.

"Oh, come on, Lord Strong. I didn't even do anything today," Your matter-of-fact tone earns a sigh with a pointed stare. He backs you up onto a wall, a soft look in his eyes despite the patronizing finger he points at you.

"Kid, you keep it up, and I will have to deal with you. Here. Stop stealing. Do I make myself clear?" He holds out a pouch to you. Rolling your eyes, you snatch it from his hands.

"You keep doing this, and I keep telling you—I'm not your problem," You fail at pushing past him the strength of a ten-year-old girl, nothing compared to a grown man. A huff leaves your lips as you glare daggers up at him, "You're not my father, okay? Just leave me alone."

Harwin stares down at your small stature; opening his mouth, he closes it as nothing leaves his lips. He takes a step back, unblocking your path. You roll your eyes a final time before marching off. Back at the dead-end alley, you scale the wall, balancing carefully as you run to the next roof. There you plop onto your hammock, closing your eyes and placing your foot on the ground to slow the rocking. The busy chatter of the city melding into one indiscernible mix of movement.

"Ow," You mutter, opening your eyes just as another rock soars through the air—a few feet short of the hammock. Then, as another flies whizzing past your head, you stomp over to the roof's edge. Down below stands the boy—the Prince, his hood covering his hair. "Are you crazy?"

"Says the one who struck a Prince?" He asks, raising an eyebrow as you roll your eyes, muttering touché. You stare down at him, furrowing your eyebrows as he stares back at you.

"Have you come to stalk me in the streets, or do you need something, my prince?" Your mocking tone earns a dry chuckle as he shakes his head.

"Show me how to get up there. I saw you go down the deadend, but I can't figure out how you got up," Aemond says, furrowing your eyebrows. It's now your turn to chuckle.

"And why exactly would I do that?" You ask, watching as he puffs up his chest. So many people in the streets ignore the two of you—just another pair of Kings Landing's bastards.

"Because as your Prince, I command it," He says, his voice cracking as he squares his shoulders. You tilt your head back as a loud laugh leaves your lips, his stiff stature faltering.

"Oh really? You Targaryens are a riot. What's next shall I curtsy and fetch you a cup of wine? Oh, let me apologize before you bring your dragon and melt me from existence," You taunt, resting your chin on your elbow that you prop against the edge. His eyebrows pull as he clenches his jaw, all semblance of amusement leaving him as his eyes sharpen.

"How dare you! You're nothing but a stupid street rat!" He exclaims, scoffing. You spit down at him, narrowing your eyes before returning to your hammock. Mentally scolding yourself for once again disrespecting the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. You ignore his demands for you to return, despite the possibility of dire consequences.

"Bugger off, you boorish oaf!" You yell. After dodging a few more rocks, he throws up at you, he seemingly gives up. You are fuming at the nerve of him. Even as you sit high above him, he finds a way to look down on you, a stupid street rat.

The pouch of coins Ser Harwin gave you affords new furs, a cheap tent, and a week worth of food. You do your best to ration the remaining funds while looting unsuspecting patrons. It had been a fortnight since the Prince's last visit, and you did your best to not dwell on the unpleasant conversation. A huff leaves your lips as you walk back toward your home with empty pockets. The Gold Cloaks litter the streets leaving you little to no opportunity to make a quick coin. You stop by Mysaria to look for a bounty hunting job, but for the first time in your work with her, she has nothing. Not a single person to hunt down for owed funds, the Gold Cloaks ‘cracking down’ on crime.

“Dammit, Harwin,” You mutter, taking a deep breath as you turn down your road. The clear plan for the next few moons now squandered to mere weeks. Rounding the building into the alley, you pause, eyebrows furrowing as Aemond lifts his head. His face tomato red with his back against the wall as he sits on the ground. You watch as he sniffles before looking back down, hiding within his cloak. Closing your eyes, you whisper royal problems only bring trouble. Repeating it like a mantra in your mind as though you fear it will leave you.

You open your eyes immediately, groaning at the tug in your chest. While the Prince happens to be a douche, you are not. You walk over, begrudgingly joining him on the ground. Neither of you says a word at the other’s side or even looks at the other. Just mindlessly watching people pass by on their daily tasks. The silence setting ease between you, laughing as a woman screams at her husband, as a man fails to flirt with a woman, as Gold Cloaks patrol with an allusive, almost lurking nature. So many moving parts in such a small area.

“Hey, uh—if you want, I can teach you how to climb up—but only if you promise not to tell anyone,” You say, turning to him with a tight-lipped smile. Then, for a second, you both just stare, furrowing your eyebrows in an awkward huff before turning away. A pause ensues before Aemond lifts his fist toward you, “Deal.”

You bump his fist with yours before rising to your feet. At first, you both chuckle nervously as silence dances between you both. Then, you scale the wall, giving him a view of how to do it. Then, you laugh as he insists on being able to do it after just a demonstration alone.

“You know it’s okay—I failed plenty of times befor—“ You say leaning on the wall at his third failed attempt.

“I can do it myself!” He growls, glaring daggers at you. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you huff. Why the hell did I do this? You cross your arms, scowling at the back of his head as he fails a fourth time. He hunches down, hands on his knees, as he pants heavily. Turning his head, he catches your gaze, visibly sinking at the sight.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you. My brother and nephews they—“ He inhales sharply, fiddling with his fingers with sunken eyes. You bite the inside of your cheek, watching him rock on the balls of his feet. A poignant stare in his eyes before his eyebrows pull together, and he scoffs, “They gave me a pig.”

“A what?” You furrow your eyebrows as he avoids your gaze, a look of defeat in his eye.

“My dragon egg didn’t hatch. They said they found a dragon for me, but it was a pig. Pink dread, they called it,” He murmured, staring at the ground, leaving you to sigh heavily. Your own taunts rang in your ears at the sight of him, "They all laughed at me."

“You want to talk about it or learn how to climb the wall?” You ask, chewing on your inner lip. He huffs, biting his lower lip before pushing it into a pout as he gives the wall a look over, “Can you please show me how to climb the wall?”

“Okay,” You nod. Joining Aemond's side, you point to the chipped-in crevice. You use your left foot to boost off and swing your right leg over the wall. He tries again, getting the motion down but not swinging his leg high enough. On his second try, you nearly cheer prematurely as he almost makes it.

“Oh no, no, you’re going to get it. I promise,” You exclaim, folding your hands in front of your face with a nervous smile. Aemond sighs, running up, freezing as his leg goes over, and he sits on the wall. A large smile breaks across your face as his jaw drops. “You did it!”

“Yeah,” He chuckles. You direct him which way to cross before following behind him. At the top, you freeze as he stands in the center of your things, glancing around curiously.

“Uh yeah, this is me—“ You massage the back of your neck with a sheepish grin. Never have you brought anyone into your space, let alone a Prince. He points to your hammock, looking at you. Nodding your head, you watch as he sits staring at you. “The Prince and the Street Rat. We are disgustingly cliché friends. So how does this work?”

“I think we could figure it out,” He says, chuckling as his confidence glimmers through his meek exterior. You join him in the hammock, looking up at the sky.

“I despise your family,” You say. Neither of you turn to the other as he shrugs, “That’s fair.”

“No Royal drama,” You say, turning your head toward him. He meets your gaze nodding vehemently. Placing your foot on the ground, you swing the hammock, “So essentially, you’re saying your family is as awful as I imagine them to be.”

“Not necessarily. Not my mom. My brother and nephews mock me, father ignores me, and Rhaenyra has never seemed to care much for us,” Aemond lists off, his voice wavering as he stares at the waning sun.

“Sometimes us forgotten children have to pave our way on our own,” You shrug your shoulders, watching the sky as he eyes you. “You should start heading home, Aemond. Remember, no royal drama.”

“Of course. I will try to visit you tomorrow,” He says, crouching down to descend the wall. Opening your mouth to warn him of the particular way to go down, a loud grunt stops you.

“You okay?” He immediately responds, leaving you to giggle silently as he scurries away.

Keeping his word, he visits the next day and the day after, almost as if it were a part of his royal duties. He always arrived with something he conveniently non longer needed anymore, so thought you’d want it. The gestures were kind, but an ache raged in your chest.

“Aemond, thank you for everything. Truly but you have to stop bringing me things,” You say softly, taking his hand in your lap.

“Why?” He frowns, and you grit your teeth, speaking slowly, “I feel more like your charity case than your friend, and I detest it.”

“Oh, my apologies, I never meant—I’m sorry,” He says, casting his gaze down as he fiddles with the ends of his tunic.

“Don’t fret over it. You’re my friend and will continue to be so,” You shrug with a lopsided smile as you stare at each other. Your grin grows as he nudges your arm, whining for you to move over. “For what? So you can practice brooding as I relax?”

“I actually brought a book,” You playfully snore as he explains the philosophy text and his interest in the subject matter.

“You will one day wish you taught yourself this,” Aemond says, opening his book, and you lean back, still looking up at him.

“I’m busy learning the art of surviving. I’ll take street smarts every time,” You say matter-of-factly. He scoffs, a grin on his lips as he shakes his head.

“You’re smart. You could do more,” Aemond’s optimism earns a chuckle that does not meet your eyes.

“Don’t be ignorant, Aemond. It is so easy to dream so frivolously when the world was built for you,” He frowns, nodding his head cautiously as your words sink in. The visits rarely deviate from the same pattern, but you both savor each and every one. Even if the entire visit consists of bickering, the next visit carries on as though nothing ever happened.

For a time, this carried on until word spread through the kingdom about the death of Laena Velayron. The Aunt of his nephews, Prince Jacaerys and Lucerys. His presence in Driftmark required him to support his family. As you awaited his return, you continued your usual daily schedule, and without a doubt, it was odd not hearing the short Prince grunting up the wall. Or laughing at his seemingly always disheveled hair.

When word traveled of their return, nothing came for you from Aemond. For a time, you grew bitter, the sting of his absence and the death of Ser Harwin feeding a deep seeded disappointment. Rounding the corner down your street, you falter while approaching your alley. A Gold Cloak stands at the opening as another climbs the wall.

“What the hell!” You mutter as a replacement Harwin stands before you. When he calls your name, you cut back to make a break for it, only to find another Gold Cloak behind you. Your heart hammers in your chest as they lead you through the streets, the sun waning as your mind explores every punishment ever sentenced to thieves.

Worst case scenario, they take a hand, walking through the Red Keep a loud ringing sound in your ears. You wish Ser Harwin would round the corner as he often did and assure his peers he could take it from there. Instead, your breaths are shaky as your eyes sting from dryness and your lips burn from wetting them too much. Through the massive halls, you hold yourself carefully, clearly standing out from others in the corridor. Down a second hall, the Cloak stops at a vast door knocking twice before saying, “Your grace, we’ve come with the girl.”

“Come in,” A woman’s voice calls out, cautiously pushing the door open, you enter at a slow—cautious pace. The Queen stands with furrowed eyebrows at the sight of you, her green dress more expensive than your life. Aemond sits by the fire blocking his face as he stares forward. You glare daggers at the side of his head, the room's coziness doing little to ease the tension in the air.

“You liar! You promised!” You seethe, your face scrunching as the Queen gasps.

“You may not address the Prince like that girl!” Alicent exclaims, her eyes furious as you stare blankly at her.

“No, mother, it is okay. This is her, remember? She’s my friend—the one I told you about,” He says, turning toward you. He offers a weak smile as your face falls. The prominent stitching draws attention to a little over a quarter of his face. “The one I told you I want to help.”

The Queen’s annoyance dissolves as she looks at you, Aemond’s tales of your life plaguing her thoughts. She places her hands on your shoulders, an overbearing expression oozing in a suffocating waft of pity. “There’s a place for you here in the court if you ever decide you want it.”

“I don’t,” You say immediately, keeping your gaze on the floor. Alicent joins your side with a motherly shine in her eyes as she looks at you.

“I know. I just want you to know the offer is always there,” Alicent's words soothing as she excuses herself, leaving you to glare at her son.

“You promised,” You whine, hanging your head. Aemond swallows thickly while you bounce on the balls of your feet.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to see you, but as of late, I always have someone watching me,” Aemond speaks barely above a whisper when he turns to you. For a second time, you take in his sewn-up eye, red and puffy. Then, your glare dissolves, eyebrows furrowing while taking two cautious steps forward.

“What the hell happened?” You ask slowly as a servant stands by the window, avoiding looking at either of you.

“Like you said, my family sucks. That bastard Lucerys took my eye because I gained a dragon,” He says. Your eyes widen at his words, sending a smile across his lips.

“You finally got your dragon. See now, you truly are a pompous Prince,” You curtsy mockingly with a wide smile. In the back of your mind, the defeated, teary-eyed Prince you have befriended now finally getting his heart's only desire. “I’ll forgive you this time, only because you got your dragon. Which one is yours?”

“The biggest one, Vhagar,” He says, grinning as you take his hand, offering a squeeze. You do not stay long, nor do you miss the Queen’s presence by the door. She had been listening.

“(Y/n),” She calls out. Stopping in your tracks, you offer her a terrible curtsy. You bite the inside of your cheek, saying yes, your grace. “To my knowledge, you have made my son very happy. I am more grateful than you know. I understand refraining from the court, but I am Queen. I must ensure my son's safety, and hanging with you on rooftops is not good enough. Your belongings have been moved to the Inn Keep not far from the castle's main gates. Word is already spreading of his mutilation; he will no longer be able to continue venturing deep into the city. So you will be accessible to him outside the main gates. You may show yourself out.”

You frown, watching as she walks down the corridor. At the Inn Keep, the man at the desk bounces around nonstop. He avoids your gaze and chuckles sheepishly into the silence as he scrambles through his things. Upon handing you the key, he bows. Frowning, you leave him without another word. Your room's at the very top floor, and you do a spin taking in the enclosed walls. Comparatively small in regards to the room Aemond sat in.

On the desk sits a pouch and sealed parchment. The Targaryen wax seal staring back at you ominously.

By order of Viserys Targaryen, first of his name. King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm.

You stare poignantly at the words of the King—you are sure they were written at the Queen’s behest. Battling the strong urge to be sick in your sweetly decorated cage. The parchment declaring you officially in service to the Prince. You slam the parchment on the desk turning to the tiny fireplace and bed with more furs than necessary staring back at you. A suitable living arrangement, but at what cost?

When Aemond finally musters the courage to arrive outside the gates, you show him the decree. He only shrugs it off, muttering there are worse situations in the world.

“But now I cannot tell you to bugger off as I please,” You say, matching his pace as you both walk through the market.

“You were never allowed to do that. You just lack manners,” Aemond chuckles, pulling his hood down carefully, hiding his face. You walk past the tables in awe of your options. No longer patrolling to steal breakfast but to pay for it.

“What do you have for me today, Daltis?” You say, grinning widely at the old man. He chuckles softly, shaking his head as he disappears inside. “Street knowledge. When it comes to imports and exports, Daltis is your guy for food, clothes, and people. He almost always has a connection if you need something done quickly and quietly.”

“Here you are, little lady, and for your friend. Not certain about the name, but it’s sweet. Just came in from Dorne,” He says, digging through your pouch; you freeze as Aemond hands him more coins than necessary. Daltis’s jaw drops as his eyebrows furrow, but Aemond only shrugs, ducking his head down to avoid the man's gaze. You watch as Daltis thanks him profusely. Aemond turns on his heels biting into the almost fuzzy substance. You follow suit furrowing your eyebrows as the sugary flavor melts on your tongue.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen the generous,” You tease, and he scoffs, the corners of his lips tugging. In the corner of your eye, you note the guard watching you both. You frown, retracing your steps—has he been following us the entire time? Whether Aemond knows remains a toss-up as he gushes about Vhagar. “All that crying like a baby only for you to get the largest beast ever! Do you feel silly now?”

“I was not crying like a baby!” He exclaims. Outside the Inn, you drop to your knee, a sardonic smile on your lips.

“My apologies, my Prince. Please accept the remnants of this Dornish treat as penance for my foolish ways, your grace,” He slaps your hand, scoffing as a laugh bubbles from deep in your stomach. Up in your room, he falls back on your bed, staring up at the ceiling. You join him, watching the unremarkable walls.

"Isn't this highly inappropriate for you to be in here with me alone?" You ask, turning your head to face him. He only chuckles, pointing out that it applies more to you, but you are not a high-born lady, so it does not matter.

“Would it be wrong to say I miss your rooftop?” He asks. You raise an eyebrow reminding him losing the rooftop was his fault. He sharply nudges your arm with his elbow, laughing to yourself, both of you basking in the silence. It stays like this until a knight retrieves him.

The years fly without a hitch between you both. However, you have the singular misfortune of meeting Prince Aegon. About a year after Aemond lost his eye, it became apparent the court was aware of your existence. Aegon laughed giddily at the sight of you, admitting he always thought his brother was lying.

"You never bother her! Ever, do you understand me?" Aemond exclaimed, not caring about being seen in the middle of the markets. Patrons gawking at the sight of the two.

"Relax, little brother, we just exchanged a few words. You see when I bite, she bites back. A sharp-tongued little friend of yours. I am curious to know her other talents," Aegon laughed as he offered you a half nod before disappearing into the city.

Unlike the eventfulness of that day, typically, Aemond teaches you court etiquette and aids in refining your reading skills, while failing to teach you high Valyrian. You keep him humble, reminding him that an entire world exists outside his palace.

Offering the desk man a wave, you rub your eyes while marching up the stairs. In your room Aemond sits by the window, not bothering to turn or acknowledge your arrival. The fireplace you have never touched crackles, warming your entire room. You are certain the desk man has given him a key, but the Prince ignores you each time you inquire about it.

“Do you break into every girl's chamber to brood, or do you honor me, my prince?” You tease, setting down your woven bag on your desk. Unpacking the water, bread, and fruit you purchased from the markets.

“Is it breaking in if I pay for it?” He asks, unmoving from the window. You remind him that the King pays for it, removing your tunic and pants, switching into the only gown you own. You halt at the sight of a box on your bed.

“You know I hate gifts,” You say, ignoring the smirk on his lips as you eye the box.

“You hate lots of things. It's your sixth and tenth name day. Shall I expect suitors at your door?” He asks, a tight-lipped smile on his face. Rolling your eyes and walking to your bed, you run your fingers over the intricate detailing of the box. The Targaryen sigil expertly carved on the top. Inside sits a beautifully sewn green gown. “My gift for your name day is still in preparation. That is from my mother.”

Holding up the gown, your eyes narrow, raising an eyebrow as you meet Aemond's eye, “And what is it that she wants from me?”

“Must there always be a motive with my mother?” He sighs, shamelessly you nod your head.

“She’s your mother, the Queen. So I respect her out of my respect for you and my responsibility as her subject. But I don’t trust her or any royal particularly,” You say, running the dress between your fingers. A silence lingering in the air as he watches you.

“Do you trust me?” His question brings a stillness to the room. Fiddling with the intricate detail in the chest area.

“Would you like the honest answer or the expected one?” He frowns at your words, biting his lower lip into a pout at your question.

“Since when did you differentiate the two?” He asks, shrugging, you take a seat on your bed under his waiting gaze.

“I’m no longer that ten-year-old girl who can get away with such a brutal tongue to those far above my station. I speak to you as I please out of our mutual understanding. I do not share that with your family, but because of our friendship, I must be prepared to address your family. I hope that day never comes but realistically, I must,” You shrug your shoulders, sighing at the chains that appear as a gown—binding you to the Greens. He says nothing for a long while, leaving you to inspect the dress, “There is turmoil in your family, Aemond. You know it, I know it, and so does everyone else. When the King leaves, he will leave behind royal drama. I have only asked two things of you and you already broke one. Please do not break the other. Your mother sending this gown all but confirms my fears. She intends for me to wear this, and I am certain it won’t be for the markets.”

“I’ll speak with my mother,” He rises to his feet, taking commanding strides to the door making your eyebrows furrow. You call out to him, but he does not turn back, saying, “I’ll be around soon.”

[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?”

[lizziela]

The Old Dragon's Prophecies

Aemond Targaryen x fem!OC (Arryn!OC) - Psyche and Eros AU

1748 words

Warnings:

Mentions of sacrifice, nightmares, mental health, mentions of death (small character), non-canon, english isn't my first language - And It'll be added more warnings for each chapter

Reduced to the ashes of the beast, she will be With all the World Westerosi Found in the Arryn’s, his bride will it be And in all places, for her, will it seek What if a sacrifice is made? Remain in place will it all stay

Prologue

Since she was a small child, she heard three things:

The first was how she was the blood of the dragon. Being born from a descendent straight out the House Belaerys, one of the few dragon riders descendent from Old Valyria.

The second was hearing her Septa Maeryn gossiping about her lady, Mellara’s mother, how she was a mad woman: that hallucinated and had the strangest dreams. Because to her Septa, there was no such a thing as a dragon dreamer that her lord talked so much about, trying to relieve his wife from the terrible rumours.

And the last and third thing, how she was the most beautiful out of her siblings. All 5 children of Lady Amara and Lord Arryn were handsome when young, and after years, they grew to be the most desired Lords and Maidens from the Vale. Even the youngest, Bennard, with only seven years of age, were considered to have been blessed with his mother’s beauty, just like his older siblings.

Lady Amara Arryn, borne Celtigar, was the grand child of the last woman who bore the last name Belaerys that was known in all Westeros. She didn’t get to meet her grandmother, with her having died when her own father wasn’t even close to adulthood, with his age closest to Bennard than Mellara’s.

Although, he told her tales about the fearless woman, who people gossiped, that could control and create bonds with dragons, even if they weren’t hers. Some would say that she could read the dragon’s minds, but he would always say that this part was the creativity of the people minds. Amara’s father, and grandsire, would talk every other day how she got her grandmother’s spirit and gifts, having tried to talk to a rogue dragon herself when she was younger than little Bennard during their diplomatic travel to Dragonstone one time. And they only showed up more after she got older and started realising that the dreams she had weren’t normal ones, they were dragon dreams after she predicted the almost death of her dear uncle, her father’s younger brother, during a usual hunt.

Mellara knew her mother’s dreams were enigmatic visions, she never believed the words her old Septa, who didn’t try to understand anything other than the syllabus she taught the Arryn Children. She couldn’t describe how she understands her mother’s troubled mind, she just knew.

To help with his wife’s burden, her husband would try and instruct her to write what she saw in her dreams, especially after Mellara’s birth, when the visions became more and more frequent. He would try and persuade Amara to write anything she could remember, even if most of them were extremely fogged after the terror’s they could show. After writing it down, Lord Arryn would send her journals to his most trusted maesters, trying to get them to decipher what she saw and what plagued her so badly, the things that filled his Lady with dread.

When Mellara was close to ten years of age, she heard the screams of her mother from across the private wing from the Arryn’s wing on their castle. The next morning, she heard her father comforting his wife about the most recent dragon dream, the one she could be sure were the doom of her dear family, especially her youngest and precious daughter.

At that time, Mellara was growing into a fine Maiden, being the fourth child and the youngest girl of the second Lord Arryn, the only Lord Arryn with heirs. It was strange for her to be on the receiving end of endless attention. Because of her beauty, because of her mother’s dreams, because of her uncle fruitless marriage…

She had two older sisters: Teresa, the eldest child, almost of age of marriage at the time their mother started having her terrible horrors about Mellara, with ten and eight years of age. She was 8 years Mellara’s senior. And Elyssa, who was the middle child of five, being 3 years younger than Teresa.

Whispers were heard through the Arryn castle, about how blessed she was with her mother’s beauty, the beauty the Maiden herself gave to her family, looking more like an angel than human. People would say crazy things about how if the Targaryens looked like the Gods made flesh, the small branch of Valyrian blood that run through the Arryn children made them look just as godly beautiful. But even the Arryn-Valyrian blood couldn’t be compared to Mellara, once she was the most beautiful of them. She had to have had the Maiden’s blessing before she was born.

After Mellara’s eleventh nameday, her mother told her about the secret they whispered through the halls, the terrifying dream that plagued their family, and Mellara was the protagonist of it. Amara finally told her youngest girl (now not the youngest child anymore, once Bennard had been born close to a year at the time).

What her mother told Mellara terrified her, but Amara was sincere with her child. Mellara was not to be wedded to anyone, she was told. But to not become a Septa as well. A decision that did not look good at the eyes of Westeros, especially once the girl was beautiful enough to be coveted even at the age of eleven. Though their family didn’t have much of a choice.

Her mother’s dream never changed during the years since she had it, Lady Arryn told her daughter: it always started the same, with her child now grown, and imprisoned by a Beast. She couldn’t see it, and a strange and soft voice would always affirm that the girl was protected. But the feeling she got during the dream always said otherwise. That her baby was in danger, that she wasn’t safe, that she fell into the viper’s den. And that Beast was the cruellest of them all.

But at that point, not only the soft and caring voice continued saying that Mellara was alright, now the girl talked to her mother directly in her dream, with words of safety and care.

Then the vision would change, and her fears would now be shown. The Beast, besides his creator, would light Mellara’s on flames. And now she could only feel, not hear or see, only feel her daughter’s anguish. It wasn’t from the flames pain; it was an emotional hurt, it felt like betrayal.

The dream then was narrated by the Valyrian Goddess, Meleys and Vhagar, was right beside her, saying everything she needed to know.

It terrified her mother even more, to be face to face to those deities, that her Valyrian side of the family tried hard to worship still. And it terrified even her father, the man with his faith strong to the Seven.

For that reason, Lord Arryn made his eldest son, Dorren, a young man of ten and eight at the time, swear to protect his sister from her terrible fate, from the fate of being burned alive, of suffering a huge betrayal, as his mother dreamed.

Close to eleven months after Bennard’s birth, the Lord Arryn, their father, succumbed to a winter fever after a trip close to the North, something unknown to the maesters from the Vale.  After a few months, the Lord Harrold Arryn, the Lord of the Eeyrie, her father’s elder brother, also died from an illness that plagued him most of his life. Leaving Dorren to assume the Arryn seat.

Being now the newest Lord Arryn himself, he oversaw his sisters, making him now the one responsible for their engagements and betrothals.

Close to two months after being the new Lord, he married his older sister, Teresa, to the third in line for the Royce seat, after the late Lady Rhea Royce, Ser Garin Royce. And Elyssa, three years after, was given to a second son of Redwyne, Ser Torrhen Redwyne. The two, now married women, left at the Eeyrie Castle their two brothers and younger sister, who now was close to her four and ten nameday.

The story that ran around the Vale was that how good of a match the two Arryn girls had made, with honourable men, and how it was a feat to their Lord brother and the remembrance of the promise Dorren have made to their father, to look after his girls.

Although carrying a toll of a young maiden, already ready for marriage since her 15th nameday, but who still hadn’t a wedding date in sight. The opposite, only refusals made by her brother on her behalf. That rumour made de closest houses cautious about what the family of a formerly second son of the Arryn household could be hiding, once the whispers of the dreams were prohibited to leave the Castle.

The most common assumption was about their heritage, about how there was a curse, who passed since the Belaerys to the Arryn’s by blood.

The rumours around the Vale weren’t without a fundament, and completely wrong. It wasn’t a curse inherited after the last Lady Belaerys, although the actual curse wasn’t placed yet, both Mellara and her mother were just waiting for the time to come and retrieve the younger Arryn girl from her family. From her mother, Lady Amara, who was every year more and more apprehensive about the fate of her sweetest (and unbeknownst to her other girls) and favourite daughter.

And every day, of every week, the same dreaded dream would plague her more. And time by time she felt her daughter’s emotion even more vividly as if it was her own. It was the same message from the gods, with the same feeling of terror every time she woke up in cold sweat looking for her daughter’s chambers, afraid she had been taken during the night. That they had finally taken her from her home to marry that monster.

She was always afraid during the final time of her dream. When she heard the same rhyme, like a lullaby for children that always get stuck into your brain and nothing else can make it stop.

She always heard the words while she saw her daughter lit up in flames, silently, as if she couldn’t feel anything physically.

And the words were:

Reduced to the ashes of the beast, she will be With all the World Westerosi Found in the Arryn’s, his bride will it be And in all places, for her, will it seek What if a sacrifice is made? Remain in place will it all stay

That's the prologue of a multi-chapter fic I am currently writing.

I hope you like it.

We writers love to hear about the feedback, so please say what you think about it.

Hopefully I will be able to post more frequently!

Dividers by @zaldritzosrose

[endless-ineffabilities]

backhand stroke (18+)

tennis coach!Aemond x tennis player!reader

Rivals on and off the court, things come to a head between the two when Aemond crosses the line and sabotages the reader's relationship.

themes : challengers inspired, Art Donaldson is featured <3, a lot of cussing, smut!!! (minors dn fckin i), the reader and Aemond hate each other (but if they hate each other why are they fcking), reader may or may not be a cheating bastard, Aemond has a glass eye + he calls the reader ace

a/n : initially I was about to write a fic where Aemond and the reader are actual rivals themselves, but quickly remembered how tennis works 💀 so in this one, Aemond is a coach and reader is a player 🎾

word count : 8k ▪︎ masterlist

The Westeros Open is the biggest and most prestigious tennis tournament in the country. 

Anyone who wants to be someone in the sport aims to qualify for it. 

For you, it is everything. You have devoted your entire life to tennis. It started as something that stemmed from your parents' neglect. Rich folks who signed their young daughter up for extensive tennis lessons just so they can be free of her and galivant off to wherever. 

You had sat there, staring at your shiny, brand-new white tennis shoes. Holding your unused top-of-the-line racket. Hair kept away from your face with a headband that still smelled like the store. 

Mostly left alone by your family, you gathered your strength, and dragged your weak eight-year-old legs across the tennis court day in and day out. 

Through the years, you found yourself. You found home, and you gave everything you had to make sure you would never lose it.

As luck would have it, you found romance along the way in Art Donaldson, who became your coach after your previous one decided to quit. He used to be a player, until he fell out of love with the game, and chose to coach up and coming players instead. 

You had been wary of getting involved with him, but eventually you couldn’t resist. He turned out to be the perfect boyfriend - caring, sweet, attentive to your every need. He became your partner in both tennis and in life. Truly, you couldn’t want for anything else.

You shouldn’t. 

So why does it feel like there is something missing?

And why is that void one that only Aemond Targaryen can fill?

The gigantic poster propped up in the inner courtyard of the country club lets everyone know that your next qualifying match in the Westeros Open is against none other than Helaena Targaryen. 

Your image looms up to around twenty feet, with Helaena’s lithe figure on the other side. The perfectionist in you can’t help but scrutinise the details in your expression and your form. Was that really what you looked like mid-serve? You laugh dryly, feeling silly at your misdirected concern.

You like Helaena, and she’s always been cordial to you outside of your matches. The issue lies with her more brash and calculating brother and coach. 

Something - or rather someone - shuffles behind you. Close enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stand on attention. 

"I wish I could say that you look good up there, but we did once promise not to lie to each other.”

Think of the devil and he shall appear. You don't have to turn around to know who it is. 

Aemond fucking Targaryen. Once at his prime, known for his freely expressing his passion and rage on the court, earning him the title 'the bad boy of tennis'. It was this drive, this relentlessness, that propelled his game. Unfortunately, it also served to be his downfall. After a few years as the sport's #1 male player, his career came to an end after an off-court altercation with an opponent that took his eye.

Now he is the coach of one of your top rivals and upcoming match opponent, his sister Helaena. 

Which is why it should come as no surprise to you that he has made it his mission to get under your skin, with all his unwarranted flirty remarks, constant staring, and how he tirelessly interacts with everything you post on social media. 

It used to be tame, by his standards anyway, with things like, ‘You need to work on that backhand’ or ‘I’m guessing Donaldson doesn’t train you well enough.’

But then the messages took a different turn. You once posted a picture of you in a fancy, revealing gown when you attended the annual gala, and he responded with, ‘It’s easy to see that all your training has paid off, ace.’

You chocked it all up to playful aggression. He’s just trying to get you to lower your guard, and distract you. You knew better than to look too much into the apparent interest he gives you. 

He is notorious for being a playboy, after all. Dirty blonde hair perfectly tousled, designer tracksuits he wears with such snobbishness, a presence that can command an entire room. You’ve grown to heavily dislike the seemingly permanent smug sneer on his lips, and how he sometimes treats others like they’re nothing but gum stuck on the soles of his fancy tennis shoes.

A handsome rogue who possesses a lot of talent and who is aware of his status as a hot commodity can be dangerous indeed. If he can say that Helaena Targaryen’s best opponent is nothing but another notch on his bedpost, then he will never let that live down. 

More importantly, you are already spoken for. Aemond knows this - not that he cares - but whatever he thinks about your relationship doesn’t matter. 

“Aemond.” You don’t turn to face him, continuing to scrutinise the gigantic poster. “Is that the best you got?”

He shrugs, positioning himself right in your line of sight, clearly demanding more attention. “You don’t just look good. You look good enough to fucking eat, ace. Too bad about the shitty attitude.”

Hot then cold, nice then nasty. Aemond will never change. Rolling your eyes, you say, “I thought I told you not to call me that. Shouldn’t you be somewhere else training your sister? She’s gonna need it.”

He steps closer, invading your space. You look him directly in the eye like you’re squaring up with an opponent. This has always been your dynamic. Neither one backing down, neither one ever really dealing a blow. 

Just constant dizzying electricity. 

Sooner or later, it will all come to a head. Whether it will be your fault or his, the jury is still out on that. 

“Oh, I’m sure she will,” he patronises, his deep blue almost violet eye sparkling. On the opposite was his glass eye, only adding to his intimidating nature. He hadn’t opted for one that resembled his real eye, but rather a hazy white apparatus, making him appear ghoulish, almost ghostlike. Nestled in his left eye socket, framed by a faded maroon gash, it made him look every bit like the charismatic rogue of tennis that he is known to be. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere receiving instruction from Donaldson? Not that you’ll get much out of it.”

“Art and I are on top of our training, not that it’s any of your damn business. You should concern yourself with your sister’s game.” 

“If only that were actually true, ace, but unfortunately I believe that your sweet Art wastes too much of his fucking time being on top of you.”

“Fuck off, Targaryen,” you respond, trying to push the allure of his scent out of your mind. Pungent cologne and cigarette smoke, a blend that you’ve come to associate only with him. “Stay out of my business, and quit messaging me.”

“You like how we talk.”

“Trust me, I don’t.”

“Does Donaldson know?” Fully aware that Art has never had a liking for him, he knows that will hit a nerve. 

Your face falls, like you’ve been caught in the act. Even though you've done nothing wrong. Occasionally caving in and responding to Aemond’s messages surely isn’t crossing the line. What started out as a couple of offhand fuck offs from your end turned into actually sharing private jokes about the other matches and training and - heavens forbid - small talk about the goddamn weather. 

You’ve come to know that his favourite colour is green. Not the neon of a tennis ball, but a bluish-tinted pine. 

Not that it matters. 

Encounters such as this one also don’t mean anything. Never mind however much you find him attractive. Who wouldn’t? You have eyes, and you’re only human. Nothing more to it. 

Never mind how, some nights, in what can only be construed as momentary states of delirium, you have imagined him in Art’s place. 

Never mind just how much he gets under your skin, like no one else can, and how you can’t admit to yourself that you might actually like it.

Oh, you might actually be making yourself sick at all these thoughts. 

“There’s nothing for him to know.” You step to the side, indicating that you want to walk away. But he has you cornered and you both know it. 

He smirks, “Keep telling yourself that, ace. But you can’t deny - ” He steps close again. He suddenly tilts your face toward him with one hand, but you shake your head and his fingers lose their hold. “ - this. Us.”

Damn him. And damn the shiver that just ran up your spine. 

You stand still, entranced by the look he’s giving you. Trick or not, Aemond sure does have a way of looking at you as if he sees you for who you really are. Not the tennis prodigy. Not the public personality. You remain a shell of that broken kid that poured everything she had into this sport, much like he had, only to come out the other end still not whole, still searching for something inexplicably out of reach. And he sees just that - just you.

You feel like Art holds you up on a pedestal, not seeing the flaws that make you who you are. But you’ve always been happy to play the perfect girlfriend. 

Until Aemond. 

But he’s too much. Too forward, too brash, too intoxicating. You can never know what he’s going to do next. You can’t like him. You have to be certain that you don’t.

But then again… love and hate have always been two sides of the same coin.

He whispers, clearly pleased with the effect he has on you, “Match point, ace.”

Match point. You could have him. He could have you. He makes it evident that the next move is all yours. “Don’t go out of bounds, Targaryen,” you warn him lowly. 

“What if I want to?”

You have him. He has you.

And you… have Art. 

Clearing your throat, and your head, you finally step back. His head snaps up to follow you, disappointment evident on his face. 

“See you around, Targaryen.” You spin on your heel, walking away, immediately feeling lighter. Emptier, feeling like your body begs to drift closer to him, two equal magnets. 

“Ace,” he calls to you, walking after you when you don’t turn around. “Wait a second,” he reappears right in front of you, effectively halting your stride.

You grumble hastily, “God, you really have a space issue, don’t you, Aemond?”

“Meet me in the courtyard gardens,” he says, a new intensity lacing his voice, “tonight. After dinner. Or whenever you can. Just - ”

“No.”

“Come on, ace.” His tone is insistent, with no trace of his usual bravado and cockiness. “I think… I need to tell you something.”

Part of you wants to cave in, and just agree to whatever it is that he’s proposing, but that nagging voice in the back of your mind is adamant that it would not be right. What would Art think? But what if Aemond truly just wants to tell you something?

“So tell me now.”

His jaw clenches hard, and you can’t help but admire the taut edges of his face. “No, I want to do this, just you and me. When we’ll be alone - ”

“Aemond - ” you start to shake your head, trying hard to come up with a refusal that he will actually register. 

“Donaldson doesn’t need to know,” he almost pleads. “This is between you and me, ace. You just have to hear me out.”

You take a deep breath, unable to understand just what it is he means. “If it’s something I have to hide from my boyfriend, then it’s not gonna happen. You have to see just how messed up that is, Targaryen.”

Either he can’t hear you, or he just does not want to accept your response. “I’ll wait for you. Right around midnight then, ace? Should give you plenty of time to sneak out.”

Before you can say no, again, he hastily plants a kiss on your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, in surprise and perhaps pleasure at the softness of his lips, and when you open them once more, he is no longer flooding your space. 

You spy him entering a set of glass doors, leaving you there stunned.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Aemond kicks at another pebble, the sound momentarily breaking the silence in the gardens.

He’d checked his watch just seconds before, the face of it spitting on what remains of his eagerness. 

Twelve fucking fifteen. 

Either you just got held up by your whiney rat-faced boyfriend, or you’re a no-show.

Aemond doesn’t know which one is worse. He did not know what he was expecting in the first place. Did he actually think that you would do as he says? You never were good at following orders, much less those from someone whom you likely view as something of a nuisance.

Is that really what you see him as? Isn’t there something more at play here?

Something that keeps Aemond up at night, when he can no longer deny that it is not because he dislikes you that you plague his thoughts, but because he admires you. He does admire you, he sees no shame in admitting that. 

As a tennis player. As a competitor. Anyone who feigns ignorance at your insane potential would just be lying to themselves. 

As a woman? A… partner? No. It has to be no, doesn’t it? You hate him, you make it clear now and again. You disagree with him, challenge his views, point out his flaws. Surely, he can’t be attracted to you in a way that commands his heart. You are beautiful, he doesn’t deny this, but so were the dozens of other girls he had run through. 

Each time he watches you perform your signature backhand stroke, with that sensual growl escaping your lips and the lewd grace with which your body bends, Aemond feels his sanity slipping away.

You drive him crazy, but he can't be crazy about you. 

The only reason he asked you to meet him, is because he wants to propose that he replace Art as your coach. Helaena has expressed that she wants to retire, and focus on some other creative pursuits. Something insignificant to Aemond, that he can’t remember what it was exactly. A pottery business? A fucking flower shop? He doesn’t care to know. 

It’s perfect, he thinks, because your game is superior anyway. It’s what first got his attention, and now he can take part in your process. He can direct you, shape you. He can do so much better than Art Donaldson, and he’s sure you know this too. 

Maybe then you might actually open up to him the way you opened up to Art. With your absence tonight, it dawns on him that he might actually have to resort to other measures. Did he seriously think he would be able to simply reason with you about this? 

He sits for another half-hour on a bench nestled among the rose bushes. Surrounded by flowers of deep scarlet, a maroon he distinctly remembers as being your favourite colour. He fools himself into believing that he’s using the time to craft a plan for what’s to come, and not that he’s wasting it on the hope that you might emerge from the tall hedges, out of breath and eyes glinting eager to find him. 

Well, you played your hand. Now he knows what he has to do.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You wake up groggy the following morning, having tossed and turned the entire night, thinking about Aemond.

Had he been out there, waiting for you? Your mind came up with the different possibilities of what he has to say. Or if he had nothing to say at all, and it was all just another ruse. 

You told yourself that you didn’t want to meet up with him, but you had an alibi prepared. One of your old tennis club mates agreed to cover for you and say that you were having drinks together, just in case Art ever checks up. 

But as you were about to deliver the excuse, Art had said something about you and him not getting to spend as much quality time anymore. The past few weeks have been occupied with nothing but tennis, and though it’s a shared activity that you both value, he wanted to stay in for the night with you. He ordered room service, downloaded two films that were on your watchlist, and whispered sweet nothings in your ear until you eventually gave up on meeting Aemond. 

It can wait, whatever it is. 

Besides, isn’t this the right thing to do? Did you seriously consider having a midnight rendezvous with the guy who you claim to dislike the most? Someone who encourages you to keep secrets from your boyfriend? What good could possibly come out of that?

With a heaving sigh, you push all thoughts of last night from your mind. There are bigger things at hand. The biggest tennis tournament of the year, for one. 

You make your way to the dining hall of your hotel. Art had woken up before you, pressing a loving kiss to your cheek and explaining how he had to discuss some matters with your physical team. He wore the skin of a tennis coach as perfectly as that of a boyfriend. 

And here you are, regretting that you were unable to meet up with another man the previous night.

The art deco layout of the lobby extends into the spacious dining hall, the interior of the hotel filled with geometric patterns and rich jewel tones. You once bid Aemond guess what your favourite interior design was, and he got it in two tries, complete with a spiel of how it reflects your personality. Art, on the other hand, had been adamant that your favourite was minimalist. That was the first time you realised that his perspective of you was different from Aemond’s. 

You hadn’t yet reconciled with who is more accurate, lest it shine a light on something deeper. 

The hostess is cheerful and full of pep as she leads you to your table. You know it’s coming - she’ll ask you for a picture in just a moment, and you’re proven right when she reaches in her pocket and her phone materialises inch by inch. She seems shy to ask, ready to turn on her heel with a stiff smile if you refuse, so you do your best to be encouraging.

When the photo is taken and she finally lowers her phone, you spy someone out in the distance and you make it out to be none other than your boyfriend. Leaning by the outdoor terrace, appearing to be speaking to another person you can’t yet make out, their face obscured by the decorative shrubbery scattered across the area. 

You walk to the side to get a better view of who it is. That tall figure, clad in a black tracksuit… a familiar head of blonde hair… and the unmistakable cut of his jawline. Realisation sets in. Art is speaking to Aemond. 

Your stomach sinks, the thought of breakfast no longer enticing. Frozen in the middle of the dining hall, you begin to attract the attention of others. 

Aemond turns his head, perfectly timed for his gaze to meet yours. Like something out of a grim movie, your anxiety spikes as his smug smirk materialises in slow motion. 

If there ever were a match at hand between you two, that smirk makes it clear that he has won it. 

Art follows his gaze, also meeting yours, but without any trace of satisfaction. He looks at you accusingly. You shake your head at him, but you already know. 

This is not going to end well. 

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“Is it true?”

You had wordlessly followed Art back to your hotel suite, the air around you thick with dread and anticipation.

“What did Aemond say?” You stand in front of him as he calmly sits by the window, as if you’re on the trial stand. You just might be.

“Guess,” Art spits mockingly. “Why don’t you tell me? You seem to know him quite well.” You bristle at his tone. He’s never spoken to you like this before. 

“Whatever he told you, it’s not what it looks like, okay? You know Aemond. He likes to mess around with people, especially us.”

Art shakes his head in disbelief, “He even showed me some of your messages. Some of them you must have sent - what, at 3 or 4 in the fucking morning? When you’re lying next to me in bed? Not getting a lot of sleep apparently. It must be why you’re not on top of your game.”

He’s not playing fair, and you deserve this. 

“There’s nothing going on between us,” you say through gritted teeth, making the statement sound as firm as possible, because it’s not just Art you’re attempting to convince. You want to believe it too. 

“He’s said some things about me.”

“And I defended you.”

“Not well enough,” he shakes his head. “It sounded almost normal for you. Spewing bullshit to each other.”

“It’s just… it’s all just banter.” God, you sound so terrible. “Riling each other up to get into the mindset before matches.”

“All that… all that, I can kind of understand. It’s the other things. The intimate things that get on my nerves.”

“What - ” You can’t form the proper response to that. 

“I missed talking to you, he once said. To which you replied that you do too.”

“That’s nothing.”

“You said that he inspired you.”

“That’s… that… he’s a great talent,” you stammer, as the statements he throws worsen. “He always has been. Even you can’t deny that.”

The argument goes on for an uncomfortable length of time, with Art reminding you of things that you and Aemond had apparently messaged each other, and you trying to play them off as insignificant. 

Gradually, you convince Art that Aemond is just a thorn in your side. That Aemond was just overplaying the messages to get under his skin. That letting this break your relationship would be giving Aemond what he wants. 

But everything he said - the messages he brought back to the surface, the encounters that were brought up - made you realise the depth of your involvement with Aemond. 

You are fooling yourself, just as much as you are fooling Art.

He finally stands, heading towards the door. “I’ve spoken to our physical team. Meet us at the gym in 15.”

“Art.”

He halts, but he doesn’t turn to face you. You’re worried about what you’ll see in his face if he does.

“Are we okay?” you ask.

He turns to the side, and you catch a glimpse of the man you love, his once blithe demeanour reduced to a brief, forced smile. He nods once, and you sag in relief. When he is finally out the door, you collapse onto the bed and press your knuckles to your eyes. 

You feel it all at once. 

Anger. Frustration. That fear of inevitability coming to fruition. This was bound to happen and a part of you knew it was coming.

Aemond screwed you over, and it’s high time you put an end to everything.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The gardens. Midnight. 

The message had been sent. The last one you will ever send to Aemond Targaryen if things go as planned. 

You have it rehearsed and perfected in your mind - how you will give him a piece of your mind, how you will tell him off and tell him to fuck off for good. 

As long as you think of Art…  As long as you don’t lose yourself, then…

“You’re lucky I’m not standing you up, Ace. Not like what you did to me.” The bastard has appeared directly behind you, as per his custom, so close you can feel his breath on the nape of your neck. 

You immediately turn to face him, and he stands calmly in his signature black tracksuit, his lips curled in their usual manner. “I never agreed to meet you that night.”

His smile is derisive, the sight of it sharp and cruel under the moonlight. “I thought we had sort of a code of honour, you and I. That we’d never lie to each other. Never let the other person down.”

“Honour?” you say mockingly. “I call bullshit. Trying to ruin my relationship… is that part of it?”

He looks away, shaking his head at your accusation. “I only did what you don’t have the fucking guts to do. Your relationship with Donaldson was ruined the moment we…” He trails off, brows furrowing. His gaze meets yours, revealing the truth that sits underneath his mask of arrogance. One that only you are allowed to see. He appears to take on a different smile this time, softer and less pronounced. The curses you want to hurl get caught in your throat when he looks to your lips and hums faintly to himself, almost as if he’s forgotten that you are in the middle of an argument. 

You take a step back, and it shakes him out of his reverie. It shakes the both of you out of it. 

“Well? Let’s fucking hear it then.” You raise your arms in a gesture, egging him on. 

“Hear what?” he says, having the gall to be confused.

“What did you want to tell me that night? Tell me now, because you’ll never get the chance again.”

He straightens, getting his thoughts in order. He completely forgot about that issue, and talking is increasingly becoming the last thing he wants to do right now. He wants to put his lips to better use. Something more worthwhile. “Helaena’s retiring,” he finally decides on saying, “and I think I should be your coach.”

You’re dumbfounded for a moment, his proposition whirring in your head. It makes sense, it does. He just gets you. But then again… 

“That’s rich,” you reply. “Do you think I would ever give up Art? He’s always been my coach and he’s damn good at it.”

“You’re not compatible,” he counters, “in the court and out of it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He doesn’t see you,” he affirms. He would never lie to you, and he isn’t about to start now. He repeats, “He doesn’t see you, but I do.”

His words strike true, and it feels as if he’s just pulled the rug from underneath you, and you’re falling, falling… 

Right into his arms. And the impact is jarring, because it’s real. 

“We can’t.” It comes out as a hoarse whisper, a reflection of your weakening restraint.

“Yes we can, ace.” He takes a step closer, and he lifts his hand as if on instinct, reaching for your face. But he’s frozen, unsure of how far he can toe the line that already lies fragile between you. “It should be you and me.”

Your eyes follow his movements, because you know you want him to give in and hold you. To touch your face. To kiss you.

And it’s wrong. It’s all wrong. 

“I have to go.” Your voice carries no emotion. You avert your gaze at the last second and catch the defeat that flashes across his face. It should come as a surprise that it pains you to see him like this, but then again, you see him as he sees you. You always have. Which renders your next words among the most painful to come out of your mouth. “We can’t do this anymore. Art already doesn’t trust me, and if this goes on, it’s only going to make things worse. I can’t talk to you - ” 

“No.” 

“- and I won’t be responding to anything- ”

“Stop fucking talking.” His anger is fledgling, rising to the surface. There is no way he will calmly accept these terms. “I said no, ace.”

“It’s… it’s the right thing to do,” you murmur, still unable to look at him. “I’m sure I’ll see you around. We run in the same circles. But we can’t be… us.”

“Forget it,” he seethes, trying to catch your eyes, and growling low when you don’t relent. “Forget him, ace. Or do whatever the fuck you want. But not this, I’m not having this.”

You exhale, having gotten the worst of it out of your chest. It’s over now. But it’s not a relief that you feel. It’s remorse. 

“Goodbye, Aemond.” With that, you finally take him in once more, and one glance is enough to shatter your resolve. His heightened ill temper shines clearly across his distinguished features. Under the midnight moon, he resembles a fallen angel, long dark blonde lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. His shadowy, glass eye strangely adding to the appeal. 

Beautiful. And just not yours. 

One last, lingering look - then you walk away. The silence is deafening, and you feel numb all over. Your knuckles are taut at your sides, fingernails digging in your palms to keep those pesky, errant tears at bay. You’ve suffered defeat before, but this is much worse, because it’s coming solely from your own hand. How easily you give him up, someone who was never yours, and how badly it stings. 

“No,” you hear him say again, and you pray he shuts up so you can keep walking. 

He doesn’t. He repeats the word - no - over and over like some mantra under his breath. One second you feel nothing. Nothing at all. But then the wind whooshes around you and you’re being spun around to face him. 

And then, his lips claim yours, and you feel everything. 

Sounds come rushing back to you. His ragged panting against your lips, the pads of his fingertips kneading the back of your head, the wet smacking of his mouth on your own. The empty pit in your stomach is filled with those clichéd butterflies. More so when one of his hands travels down to grasp your waist and press your body against his. 

“Aem - ” Your mind catches up to you, and you try to say his name to get him to pause, but he slides his tongue past your teeth. 

“Shut up and kiss me, ace.” He breaks free for but a second, then hungrily kisses you again. You let him. You give in completely.

“Mmm, Aemond.” Your hands reach up to cradle his face and he takes that as an opportunity to pull back and openly admire you.

“You’re my ace,” he professes, connecting his forehead to yours. “And I’m not fucking losing you.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You rush through the lobby of the hotel, hand in hand and giggling like schoolchildren as you duck your heads so as not to get recognised by the night concierge. 

With reckless abandon, your entwined bodies stumble into his suite, which just happens to be on the floor below yours. You once thought you would have to be inebriated beyond belief to surrender to a sin like this, and in a way you are. You’re high off of him - Aemond in his entirety, six feet of lean muscle, notorious foul-mouthed one-eyed libertine. 

“Fuck, ace.” He has his arms wrapped around you from behind, and he nips at your exposed neck. His touch roams and finds the mounds of your breasts, kneading mindlessly over your shirt. The sound that reverberates from his throat is carnal, and you feel it echo through your whole body. It drives you to press your ass against him, taking full notice of his hardness straining from his sweatpants. 

Feeling mischievous, you do it again, gripping his arms to anchor yourself while grinding against his cock. 

“Foul play,” he whispers against your neck, “you fucking minx.”

“There are no rules now.” You face him, running a finger along his jawline as you walk backward and he follows suit. Stopping at the edge of his bed, you strip out of your shirt, careful to keep your eyes locked on his the whole time. 

The movement is too slow for Aemond, and he desperately needs more. He pushes you onto the mattress and climbs on top of you. He slides your sweatpants off your legs, then lets his hand drag from your ankle to your inner thigh. He promptly undresses, graceless and in a rush, until all his clothes are left in a heap on the carpet. 

His cock stands on attention, taut and goddamn long. You feel an ache below that compels you to rub your legs together, but he beats you to it and slides your underwear right off. “I’ve always wanted to taste you,” he croons. “Bet you taste so sweet.”

You take your bra off and you’re finally left completely bare. He spreads your legs and positions himself in between. He uses one hand to squeeze your breast and the other to keep your legs propped wide open. 

His eye meets yours, before he settles in, lowering his head until he’s breathing cool air onto your pussy. “Match point, ace.” 

You have him. He has you. 

When Aemond’s tongue plunges deep into your throbbing core, swirling inside like he wants to consume you whole, you have to bite your tongue to hold back a scream.

He knows what he’s doing, of course he does, and he’s so fucking good.

“Yes - yes - keep going, baby, fuck -  ” you moan, words breathy and irregular. 

He sticks two fingers into your wetness, using it to spread you wider, leveraging his tongue ever deeper. In and out they go, faster than the fuck, fuck, fucks coming out of your mouth in blissful sputters. 

He suddenly stops, a guttural hmm echoing from his lips, and you look down to see his lips coated in a mixture of his spit and your pre cum. “Not so fast, ace,” he taunts. “You’ll come when I say.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, still widespread and exposed to him. “What, are you coaching me through it?” 

He hums in affirmative and leans in to kiss you, juices still dripping from his chin. 

“You gonna follow my orders, ace?” he asks, and your mind spirals at how utterly lewd it sounds. 

“Wouldn’t you like that, Targaryen?” You let out another moan, biting your lip when he hungrily sucks on your breast. “Let’s see what you got first.”

He smiles at your playful instigation. It’s always come natural, this riffing back and forth. But this midnight dalliance - he wants it to be honest. He needs you to realise how much he wants you. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He gets on his knees, a hand braced on each of your thighs, his hardened cock at the ready. 

“Ma’am?” you breathe, a laugh dying in your throat when you his tip prods at your entrance.

“I can be agreeable under the right circumstances, ace.” He torments you by pushing his cock in but an inch. 

“Fuck me, Aemond,” you cuss in frustration, then, literally, “Fuck me. Please.”

His eyes take you in, one darkened blue and one ghostly pale glass. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” he says. “You good for it, ace?” He nods once, referring to whether a condom is needed and you take the hint right away.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Perks of having a top-of-the-line physio team. They hook you up on other things too.” Your cocky-athlete way of stating that you are on the pill. 

The lights are dim in the room, but you clearly see the resolve settle on Aemond’s face. He parts his lips like he wants to say something more, and you tilt your head questioningly. 

He feels the need to make some sort of declaration. Something true. It doesn’t seem right to say those damned three words at this moment, no matter how much he means them. You could think he’s trying to trick you in order to get what he wants. A good lay and nothing else. So he doesn’t say anything and lets the silence speak for itself. If you know him as you claim to, then you’ll see. 

You’ll see just how much this means to him.

You nod, and it’s an unspoken plea. 

He thrusts his cock into you with such force, stretching your walls with a sudden and blinding ache, until he is buried to the hilt. He reaches and cradles your face with one hand, the other keeping your ankle propped by his shoulder. 

“Move, Aem.” You buck your hips against him, his cock squelching in and out again.

“Yeah, baby?” He complies with his hips in response. “That feel good?”

“Yes. God yes.”

A switch flicks inside of him, and he almost snarls through his teeth. “You feel so fucking good, ace. Your pussy takin’ me so well…” His hips buck faster, in abrupt snapping motions, burying his cock each damn time. He connects your legs together and turns you to your side, altering the position slightly. 

You look behind your shoulder and see that feral look etched on his face. His grip is tight on the flesh of your hips and the curve of your ass, having it raised slightly for his convenience. He smacks your behind with an open palm, and it elicits a lusty moan out of you. 

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps. “So beautiful like this, dripping around my fucking cock, huh? My good girl.”

The noises you release as a result are unintelligible. You press your face against the pillow in sheer pleasure, muffling your sounds. 

“I wanna hear you, baby,” Aemond protests. With practised ease, he repositions you so your ass is propped high before him, your body bent forward as you have to lean on your forearms to keep from planting your face on the sheets. 

He doesn’t ease up on his relentless thrusting, and you’re left squirming and cock-drunk. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head, you’re blissed-out on what only Aemond can give you.

“Does he fuck you as good?” he spits in obvious distaste. “I don’t think so, baby. Can’t fuck this pussy like I do.” 

“N-no,” you whimper, without any trace of guilt. “Only you, Aem.”

“Hmm,” he simpers. “Come for me, ace. Be a good girl now. Come around my cock, yeah?”

“Mhhmm,” you pant, growing weaker and weaker at his statements, your walls tensing for that release you crave.

“You’re mine, ace. Mine.”

Your whimper comes out sudden and unrestrained as you let go, and feel your warm juices leaking down your thighs. The sounds of his cock growing noisy and sloppier. He releases not long after, with a few sharp spasms, decorating your insides with his cum. 

Marking someone who is not supposed to be his. 

But nothing else matters as he crumples against you and pulls you into his arms. If something is to be reconciled with, it won’t be for tonight.

With these things, regret always comes along with the sunrise.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“40 - 30.”

The crowd cheers at the umpire’s announcement. You can barely make out the faces morphing together into one homogeneous mob, but you’ve observed enough to know that Aemond isn’t among them. Rivulets of sweat drip down your face and you walk to the side as another break starts. 

Helaena nods at you from the opposite side of the court, and you respond with a terse smile.

She resembles him so much - the one you’ve been avoiding for the past three days. With that same distinct shade of blonde hair and deep blue eyes, but possessing an aura of tenderness about her. If Aemond wasn’t lying about her plan to retire, then it makes perfect sense. She seems too good for the sport, too pure, whereas you fit right into its cruel constraints.

What sort of person would have done what you did, some nights ago, and be able to walk with their head held high? You want to believe that you regret sleeping with Aemond, that you would reverse your actions, given the chance. But the pain that eats at you is that you might have fucked things up for good, abruptly leaving before he woke up that morning. 

It’s ironic - you may just get what you said you wanted. To end things. Never to be the same with him again. 

You slump in your seat, wiping at your face with a towel, pushing all thought of Aemond from your mind. 

From your periphery, you catch Helaena gesturing to you. She smiles, and you think that your emotions must show so clearly on your face that she feels bad for you. 

She nods, and tilts her head to the side, so that you follow her gaze. Standing courtside, partially hidden in the corner just behind the barriers, you see Aemond closely watching you. 

He came after all. You turn back to Helaena, unable to hide your surprise, and she sends another smile your way. She knows. Of course she does. 

With renewed excitement, the match continues. It only takes one more point, one final ace, and you emerge triumphant. The court fills with cheers and sounds of celebration. It is declared that you are advancing to the next round of the tournament. You meet Helaena in the middle and she firmly shakes your hand, exhibiting no sign of disappointment. 

“Congratulations! Very well played.” She drops her racket and grasps your hand with both of hers. She leans closer, and adds, “You know, I also consider it a win for myself, because my last ever match is against the girl my brother is in love with.”

You forget where you are, the revelation rendering everything else moot. The cheering crowds disappear, and it’s just you and Helaena as she dips her head comfortingly, assuring you that you heard her words true.

“I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” she lets go finally, with a cheerful, “go celebrate!”

You feel yourself being whisked away, cameras flashing from all sides. Art appears in front of you and he pulls you into an embrace. Several onlookers gush at the sight. You barely take notice of them, your eyes already drifting to where Aemond was standing. 

There he remains, casually leaning against the barriers. Some audience members realise that the great Aemond Targaryen stands among them, and one by one a small crowd forms around him, asking for pictures and autographs.

He continues to hold your gaze, his usual smirk making an appearance, ignoring a guy waving a camera at his face. You shake your head at the scene, a genuine laugh bubbling from your lips.

You nod to each other, as if acknowledging the absurdity of it all, and leave it at that. There’s a lot more to be said, for another time. Art wraps his arm around your waist, and Aemond takes it as his cue to look away, relenting to the eager fans surrounding him.

You direct your gaze to your boyfriend, immediately seeing the recognition in Art’s eyes. He’s seen everything. 

He doesn’t need to be as acutely perceptive as Helaena to realise the truth. That of the one-eyed rogue and his ace. You’ve been drifting from him for so long, that it was only a matter of time. 

He was your friend first, and he always will be. You’ve watched each other grow, through endless mistakes and challenges, and there’s a fire in you he cannot match. 

But Aemond can. He knows this now. 

He extends a hand out to you, one which you accept with poorly masked caution. He understands how woeful it must be, to tear yourself apart from being in love with someone else. The shame and uncertainty that must entail. 

For both your sakes, he decides that he has to be the bigger person and do the right thing. 

“What do you say?” Art offers to you. “Post match treat?” he asks, referring to your tradition of sharing a large strawberry sundae after games. 

“Okay.” Your smile is sweet and unguarded, and it reminds him of when you first met, nearly six years ago. That day, he knew he had made a lifelong friend. 

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“I wish I could say I’m happy to see you here, but we did once promise not to lie to each other.”

Aemond swivels toward the sound of your voice, cigarette smoke billowing from his lips. 

“Vile habit, Targaryen.” You wrinkle your nose, and he just shakes his head and crushes the butt of his cigarette under his shoe.

“Yeah, well.” He merely shrugs. He was dead set on quitting, but something came up the past couple of days, causing his anxiety to reach new heights. When you ignored him after the night you shared, he can’t fault himself for reaching for depraved solace in nicotine. But no substance would ever be enough to erase the precious memory of watching you come undone. 

“Not happy to see me, ace?” he refers back to your greeting, not bothering to hide the hurt he feels. 

You walk closer to him, trying to hold back a smile. “Well, I lied. But it’s not like I haven’t lied before.” You stop when you’re right in front of him, the remnants of his smoke making you feel woozy. “I also lied when I said that we can’t keep being us anymore. When I said goodbye.”

“Hmm,” his lips curl at your confession. “Judging by how wildly you fucked me after you said that, I could already tell.”

You roll your eyes, but you already feel so much better, like things are falling right back into place. All it took was some teasing from the apparently callous, sharp-tongued, ambitious-to-a-fault boy standing before you. 

A boy who revealed the true depths of his compassion only to you. He let you thaw out his cold heart from its confines and declared it yours. 

“Something more to say, ace?” he asks.

“You first.”

“Are you kidding? Why don’t you play this game with your boyfriend?”

You share a lingering look, effectively answering his question. The unabashed shit-eating smile that breaks out on his face is enough to tell you just how he feels. 

“Don’t gloat,” you warn him, but he’s already pulled you flush against him with both arms. “I also need a new coach.”

“Mhmm,” he nods, not really in response to your statement. “Save that for later, ace. Please shut the hell up and kiss me.”

He can’t help but smile through kisses, his lips chasing yours when you make an effort to pull away and say something more. 

“Aemond, will you - ”

“Fuckin’ - ” a cuss slips from him when you manage to break apart, depriving him of your lips. He answers impatiently, “Yes of course, I’ll be your coach, ace. Of course. Happy? I’ll be anything you want me to be.”

Before he leans in once more, you say, “Don’t you dare fuck this up, Targaryen.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my love.”

You lean back in mild surprise.

He laughs, “I mean - ace - or my love. Either one applies, really.”

"I... I prefer ace," you say weakly.

"Now, now, my love. I thought we promised not to lie to each other?"

taglist (all who commented on this post - surprise double feature incoming!) : @odeioemail @sapphossongbird @toodlesxcuddles @sinistersnakey9419 @fan-goddess @jhroseok @diannnsss @dixie-elocin @tostadasdetinga @1-800shootmeplease @goldyfishsstuff @pineappleicelostmary @raging-panda

Should you wish to be added to the Aemond (or Daemon) taglist, please comment on this post!

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

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

Part 1: Loverly

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: Aemond is just a bitch ass rude motherfucker

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: Enjoy happiness! Or at least more than you'd get with WIB...

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Loverly

“Now, what are you doing here, Miss Doolittle?” Mrs. Cunningham asked from behind a wall of flowers – peonies and daisies, roses and hydrangeas, violets and lilies. “I thought you’d be well on your way to Kingswood by now.”

“And miss me last market day? Never!”

There was very little in the world that was more exciting to Miss Doolittle than market day in Rosby. For others, almost anything else was more exciting, but not to her. For a few hours once a week, the sleepy town of only a few dozen people that made up her entire world grew into a bustling city. New people, new gossip, new trinkets and doodads from all over the countryside for her to gawk at.

It was better than a circus.

At least, she imagined it to be. She’d never been to a circus.

“Can’t hurt to earn a few coins more before I leave, can it?” she asked as she stooped to the ground and began picking through the smaller stems that had fallen on the journey between Mrs. Cunningham’s wagon and her brightly painted stall. Those that were still mostly passable found their way into a threadbare basket.

Market day was when she made her living, even if it was just enough to pay the rent on her tiny basement apartment and cover her tab at the local pub. Though sometimes, she made enough to share with those even less fortunate than her.

“And what would you be spending it on, dear?” Mrs. Cunningham asked, not so slyly dropping a few of the finer blooms. She was a kind woman, a florist from King’s Landing. She had a shop in the city where she sold her flowers and bouquets most of the week, but she came to Rosby each Saturday. Most of the rich people in the county lived in the city, but there were several manors further out in the countryside that needed their flowers, too.

Fancy folk loved fresh flowers. Even the ones who weren’t actually rich enough to be fancy, but tried to pretend like they were, would pay for a flower just to show that they had the money to spend on something that’d be dead in a day or two.

She was only nine years old when Mrs. Cunningham gifted her an old wicker basket and began letting her take the flowers that were too small, slightly crushed, or not quite the right color to use in her bouquets that would otherwise be discarded. Then, she’d flit around the marketplace, selling them for a penny each.

If she had a good day, she’d make enough to pay her expenses and buy herself a sweet or two after her evening meal. If she had a bad day… she’d find a way to make do.

It wasn’t charity, like her father used to say before he drank himself to death. She worked for it, and that meant she earned it—every penny. Mrs. Cunningham always told her so, too. The old woman was very proud of her little protégé, in fact. So proud that she’d begun making inquiries about other jobs for the girl – real jobs.

Miss Doolittle shrugged, “Oh, this ‘n that. Fare for the journey ‘n such.”

“Your new employers are making you pay for your own journey?” Mrs. Cunningham asked with a raised brow as she wrapped a satin ribbon around a bouquet of pale yellow lilies. “I thought they were sending one of their own to fetch you in the morning.”

She would know. A fortnight ago, it was Mrs. Cunningham herself who found Miss Doolittle a new opportunity: a position as a lady’s maid for the eccentric daughter of a duke. The poor lady was so odd she’d frightened away nearly every other employable girl in the county, so her butler had no qualms about hiring someone with so little experience as long as she had at least one decent reference.

So tomorrow, Miss Doolittle would leave her basement behind and travel deeper into the forests of County Westeros to Kingswood Manor, where she would begin to look after the eccentric Lady Helaena Targaryen, son of the late Duke Viserys Targaryen. With the wage they’d promised, she didn’t need to be selling flowers today.

“Thought I might should get some new shoes or… ribbons for my hair?” She shrugged. Perhaps she could even make enough to buy something nice to put in her room in the Manor’s servant’s quarters. She’d always wanted her very own clock.

“Gotta pay off some folk, too,” she sighed. The basket was nearly full now, but she wanted to try to nab a few of those pink roses – they were always popular. “Don’t want to have to send my wages all the way back here.”

Mrs. Cunningham dropped a bundle of nearly perfect rosebuds in the basket, then drew the girl’s gaze back to her face. “Buy yourself something nice, dear. You deserve it.”

Tears began to spring to her eyes, and she looked away to avoid meeting Mrs. Cunningham’s kind gaze – she’d only cry harder if she did. “Thank you. For everything. I –”

Her ramblings of gratitude were cut off when the florist took the girl into her arms, squeezing tight enough to choke her. “Just make the best of it, dear. Work hard, like you always have. And never stop coming to see me, promise?”

Finally, she hugged Mrs. Cunningham back. “I promise.”

The best customers were always near the dressmakers and textile sellers, young women who couldn’t resist the perfect flower to match their new frock. It was on the other side of town, but if Miss Doolittle wanted to afford a clock, that’s where she needed to go first.

She had taken only a single step into the street when someone large and firm collided with her, knocking her to the ground in an instant.

“AAAAOOWWWW!”

Her knees pounded with pain, the edges of her vision pulsing black, but she pulled herself up to her elbows, focusing only on what was directly in front of her.

The flowers were scattered across the cobblestones, half already trampled on by people scrambling to avoid falling with her. Those had been the best blossoms, the ones she put at the top of her basket to entice people into buying from her. All that remained in her basket were the scant pickings she used to make the basket look full.

Nearly a full day’s wages – more, with those rosebuds – gone like that.

“What in the devil’s name was that noise, girl?” The bastard who ran into her sneered. She’d never before heard a voice so suited to sneering. She lifted her head to growl something back at him, but any biting words quickly died when she saw who looked down at her.

He was finer than any man – any person – she’d ever seen in Rosby. Not a single silver hair out of place, not a loose thread anywhere on his fine clothes, or a speck of dust on him. Well, except for the slight smudge of grime left on his deep green tailcoat from where he’d crashed into her. The sight of it made her want to crawl into her dirty basement and never come out again.

“You should watch where you’re walking, brother,” another man, standing next to the severe man who had run into her, said. The familiar resemblance was obvious in their coloring – the silver hair, the eyes so vibrantly blue they were nearly violet.

The severe man scoffed, his lip curling as he looked at her. “I was, Daeron. But the little wretch came out of nowhere.”

“I ain’t no ‘wretch!’” she shouted, indignation burning through her fear and embarrassment. “I’m a respectacle woman, I am!”

The man scoffed and rolled his eyes, and only then did she notice: his left eye was entirely white, its milky paleness emphasized by the angry red scar stretching from his forehead down through his cheek.

She didn’t mean to stare, really. But she had never seen a man who looked like him – scar or no. He was like something out of a fairy tale. Especially when his scowl deepened, and his one blue eye seemed to catch fire.

“Have you looked your fill?” he growled. She immediately averted her gaze, not knowing what to say. She couldn’t think of a single word.

The other man stepped forward, angling his cane slightly in front of his brother. He was softer, kinder looking. “Now, now, she’s just had quite the fall. Allow her to recover her senses.”

“I doubt she has any to recover.”

She flinched at his cruel tone and tried to hide it by picking up her basket full of little more than mulch. “My flowers…”

“Lord, she can’t even talk properly.” The severe man turned to his brother as she began picking through the spilled blossoms. “She sounds like a strangled goose.”

Evidently, the scene was too much for even the worst of the gossip mongers to endure, and the final gawkers turned back to their business. How was she ever supposed to speak to any of them again after this?

At least she’d be gone tomorrow. No one at Kingswood would know about this.

The kinder man – Daeron, the other had called him – hissed something before kneeling with her to help her pick at the flowers. He didn’t care to see if they were ruined; he just put them all back in the basket. “These are yours?”

She nodded.

“What are they for?”

“I sell ‘em,” she explained, wiping away an errant tear. The cruel man scoffed again when she sniffled. “Penny a bloom, tuppence for three. But…”

Daeron looked at the trampled violets, daisies, and rosebuds, then at the meager offerings that remained unharmed in her basket. The only reason anyone would buy them now would be to feed some animal. For that, she’d hardly get enough to pay her rent and have to use what little money she had hidden in a wooden box under her bed to cover her tab at the pub.

She wouldn’t be able to buy the clock.

“How much for the basket?” Daeron asked as he pulled out a pouch of coins.

“What?” She and the cruel man said at the same time, in the same disbelief.

He stepped forward, a large hand gripping his cane like it were a club he’d beat her with. “It is nothing but weeds, brother. Let’s move on.”

As much as she hated it, she agreed with him. “I don’t want your charity, sir,” she told Daeron. “I earn my money.”

The cruel man put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, ready to pull him away. “You heard her. Let us go.”

“No, Aemond!” Daeron pulled away from his brother – Aemond. The name was familiar to her, somehow. But the man himself turned away, his cheeks flushing slightly. Perhaps he was embarrassed, too. Good.

“It is not charity,” Daeron insisted. “We have damaged your wares, and we are compensating you. It is a fair exchange.”

“I…” she was too flustered to truly comprehend his words, much less calculate how much the destroyed flowers were worth.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Aemond stepped forward, pushing his brother back. He snatched the pouch, withdrew a few coins without looking at them, and tossed them toward her basket. Only one made it in, the others plinking onto the cobblestones. “There. You are compensated. Let us go.”

She vaguely heard Daeron say something in protest, but both men were gone when she looked up from gathering the stray coins. No one looked at her, as if she had dreamed the entire encounter. Depositing the coins in the basket, she quickly left the market and returned to her little room in a dirty basement.

Miss Doolittle dumped the contents of the basket on her bed. The flowers were thoroughly ruined now, but seven coins were glimmering amongst their dull petals: a sixpence, two shillings, two half-crowns, and two crowns.

Whatever the flowers had been worth, this was so much more. Perhaps more than she had ever possessed in her life. It could buy her that clock – the finest clock at the market, even. And more. But when she touched the coins, they felt oily. Wrong.

She had not earned it, and neither was it charity. These coins were an insult, a dismissal. That cruel man—Aemond—had thrown them at her like they were table scraps and she was a starving mutt.

It was more money than she ever dreamed, yet it was nothing to him but the soon-forgotten cost of ridding himself of an inconvenience.

She could not buy the clock. Not with this. But she would not let it go to waste. She added the sixpence, shillings, and one of the half-crowns to her box. That would pay all her remaining debts.

That still left her with two crowns and one-half crown. And while she had no intention of spending it, she knew someone who would have no hesitations whatsoever about doing so himself.

Market day ended the moment the sun set, and Rosby was once again just a quiet little town. Nearly every resident, now exhausted from a day hawking their wares or frantically trying to buy everything they’d need until the next market day, converged in the Ailing Rooster, the beloved, if more than a little run-down, local pub.

Miss Doolittle would usually be found in the middle of the throng, soaking up any gossip she could find and happily picking bits off other people’s plates. But tonight, she had merely claimed a small corner table where she sat staring at her three remaining coins. The longer she looked at the stamped faces on the coins, the more they started to look like that man – Aemond.

If that was how fancy folk saw her, what hope did she have for when the Duke’s daughter saw her? Would she be fired on the spot?

The excitement in her chest began to turn to nervousness at the thought. Was she little more than a fool for thinking she could actually do this?

Part of her was tempted to throw them into the fire to watch that stupid, sharp, beautiful face burn, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it, even if she didn’t want the money for herself. There was someone out there who needed it. Or at least, who would appreciate it very much.

“How’re you gonna sulk the day before you go to live in bleedin’ paradise, ‘Little?”

She swiped the coins back into her little purse before Alfred could land in the seat across from her, his compatriots, Harry and Jaimie, close behind him. If he saw them, he’d only try to convince her to buy them all a round, but while the money was still hers, she would not allow it to be spent on drink. “I’m not sulkin’, just tired. And it’s not gonna be a ‘paradise.’”

“Yer sulkin’,” Harry laughed as he slyly swapped his half-full tankard with Alfred’s full one.

“Am not.”

“You are.” Jaime leaned forward, genuine concern on his face. “What’s wrong, girl? I thought you were excited about leaving?”

She sighed. “I was – I am! Just havin’ a bad day, I guess.”

All three men exchanged a look.

“We ‘eard,” Jaime nudged her with a shoulder. At least they hadn’t been planning to bring it up themselves. “Rich bastard.”

“Shit-sack,” Harry added.

Alfred slammed his tankard on the table. “Twat.”

A small smile bloomed on her lips. “Well, least I’ll never have to see ‘im again, right?”

Harry raised his stolen ale. “I’ll drink to that!”

“In a week, you won’t remember this,” Alfred added, flapping his hands about like he could swat the memories away from her. “You’ll be in a palace wearing silk and gold and won’t give a damn what some moron said to you.”

She rolled her eyes, grabbing Harry’s tankard and taking a large gulp. “I’ll be a servant, I don’t think I’ll be wearing any silk or gold.”

“But you’ll make good money, maybe you can buy yourself something nice!”

Jaime nodded. “Maybe you’ll make enough to buy your own palace in a few years?”

“I don’t want a palace,” she admitted. In truth, she’d never really thought about a future beyond Rosby until about two weeks prior. “It’d be too big for just me.”

“Who says it would just be you, ‘Little?” She glared at Harry, and he swiftly looked away, already ruddy cheeks blushing even redder.

She leaned back in her chair, her hand reaching her pocket to fiddle with her coins. “Even if there was someone, I don’t want a palace. I just want…”

What did she want?

Something better than Rosby, but nothing too grand. She wouldn’t fit somewhere grand. So…

“All I want is a little cottage somewhere nice, where it doesn’t smell like cattle or sheep.” The more she spoke, the clearer the vision became. “I want a massive fireplace, so the whole place stays warm even when it’s snowing. And a garden – I want a place to grow my own flowers. Wouldn’t that be loverly?”

When she looked back up, all her friends were smiling at her. She soon joined them.

“Loverly, ‘Little,” Alfred agreed.

Suddenly, she did not feel so nervous to leave for Kingswood in the morning. She knew what she wanted, even if the details were still fuzzy. Holding that dream close to her chest, she was sure she could endure anything to get that loverly little cottage.

[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.

[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