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alloftheimagines · 23 days ago

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jamie tartt | misery loves company

MASTERLIST

words: 3.2k warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, shared experiences of fatherly abuse, jamie being a dick for a while, but then making up for it, swearing, pain pain pain prompt: Can I request a Jamie Tartt angst where he snapped at the reader for asking/consoling him about his father, but only to know later that the reader has a similar daddy issue just like him?

You didn’t usually go out of your way to talk to Jamie Tartt… before tonight. Before this. Before you’d witnessed his father’s verbal onslaughts in the locker room, long after the rest of the lads had left to celebrate their victory.

Their victory. Anyone looking in would think Jamie had done the worst job of his life on the pitch tonight — not that that would justify all this shouting — but it had been the opposite. For once, Ted’s team player tactics had sunken in. Jamie had passed the ball, let Sam score the goal. He’d played like a true professional without any of his usual tendencies to steal the limelight.

So why the fuck is he being reprimanded for it? Your heart leaps into your throat as you watch Jamie hunch over himself on the bench, clasping his hands together and squeezing his eyes closed as his dad keeps going. Telling Jamie he’d played shit, that he’d done all the wrong things, that he's a joke.

You're about to go in, stop it, when Jamie snaps his head up and spits out: “Just stop it, will ya? We fuckin’ won, Dad!”

His dad sneers, then grips Jamie’s chin in his fist, forcing him to meet his blazing eyes. “And what does winning matter when you play like a fucking girl? Keep taking a backseat and you’ll be forgotten in weeks. You’ll be no one. And you’ll fuckin’ deserve it, too.”

Tears well in Jamie’s eyes, and yours. The door is flung open, and you bolt aside before it hits you. You come face to face with his dad, but with your eyes bleary and your heart racing and that desperate instinct to recoil screeching through your bones, it might have been your own father standing there and you wouldn’t know the difference. You’d grown up with a man like this one: violent, cruel, someone who you would never be enough for. You would have loved to defend Jamie in that moment, but just like in the confines of your own broken home, your throat clogs with all the rage you'll never be allowed to express.

Like Jamie, you remain silent. His dad looks you up and down. “Enjoyed the fucking show, did ya?” He storms off before you could reply, but his venomous words cut into you all the same.

You give yourself a moment, just a moment, to take a steadying breath. And then you walk into the locker room, where Jamie is sniffling into his hands. He jumps when you clear your throat, wiping his cheeks with his sleeves quickly and turning his head to avoid you seeing him.

It's too late for that. You sit on the bench opposite. “Are you okay, Jamie?”

“Fuckin’ fantastic,” he mutters. You wince against the sharpness of them. He sounds just like his dad, and just like yours. Still, you know it's a defence mechanism, one that won't stop you from seeing right through him. You’d always thought he was just an arrogant twat. It's dizzying to suddenly be reevaluating that after several years of working alongside him. He makes your job as Rebecca’s assistant impossible most of the time. On your first day, he’d requested an outlandish lunch you had to travel all the way across Richmond for. When you’d returned, flustered and exhausted, he’d laughed at your naivety and bitten into one of the cafeteria’s BLTs, throwing the order you’d hunted down yourself straight in the bin.

You’ve hated him since then and would have gladly continued to. He loves playing games. Maybe, you think, it's just a way of regaining the control his father takes from him. Maybe he hadn’t been lucky enough to do what you’ve done and find your own support system, friends who taught you that love isn't supposed to be slamming doors and scathing insults. Maybe he just doesn't know any better.

“Is he like that with you a lot?” you ask quietly now.

Jamie scoffs, standing up suddenly. He rips off his football shirt, swapped it for a plain black one, always so uncaring about baring his muscular body — and yet he clearly isn't going to offer much else, lips pursed and eyes shuttered. “Have you got ‘nowt better to do than lurk round here all night? Go ‘ome, you sad git.”

For once, his words don't touch you. They aren't quite as believable in the unlit locker room tonight, not with the tear stains on his face. You lean forward, tempted to reach out. “Jamie, I’m so sorry…”

He cuts you off with a hand. “Do me a favour and fuck off, alright? I don’t need you to be sorry. In fact, ‘am the one who feels sorry for you. You’re a joke, love. Everybody ‘ere knows it.”

You shake your head, though your resolve is wobbly now. Your chin, too. “You can insult me if it makes you feel better. I get it, alright? I know what it’s like—”

He slings his bag over his shoulder, eyes narrowing. “You don’t know anything. You’re just Rebecca’s fuckin’ lapdog. If you tell anyone at the club about this, you won’t even be that anymore. You hear me?”

You freeze, heart pounding, gut churning. Is he threatening your job?

Jamie is already marching out, not bothering to look over his shoulder as he calls, “If I wanted a therapist, I’d pay for one. Don’t need someone as pathetic as you tryna cheer me up.”

And that was it. The door slams, leaving you in the locker room alone. It sounds all too much like the loud noises you’d heard growing up, and you hug your torso tightly as the tears finally come.

You’d only wanted to be there for him. Help him. You’d put all of your humiliation aside in an attempt to try to communicate with him… and it had gotten you here.

Jamie Tartt, you decide, is a prick, and he doesn't deserve an ounce of sympathy.

Still, it takes months after to bury the dregs you still feel. That connection, the one that tells you you have something in common. The question it brings: is Jamie Tartt just as lost as you are, deep down?

***

Jamie was wrong about one thing, at least. You aren't just Rebecca’s lapdog anymore. The following year, you're promoted. No more coffee runs. Now, you help manage the club in more meaningful ways, and that means a lot of time spent with the team. Eventually, you earn their respect with your chirpy morning visits, and soon, you're friends with most of them. Jamie, of course, is not included.

When your birthday comes around, the last thing you expect is a celebration, but the team have organised a secret dinner at your favourite restaurant across town, a fact you're still marvelling about as you eat your final bite of cake. You’ve spent a long time on your own, afraid of getting hurt, but tears of joy spring to your eyes as you look around the large candle-lit table at so many friendly faces. Ted’s silly toast earlier have already left mascara stains on your cheeks.

For the first time, you feel safe in this big, dysfunctional family. Even if Jamie is sitting on the other side of the table, as far away from you as possible, refusing to so much as look your way. When everybody sings "Happy Birthday", he moves his lips just enough to look as though he's joining in, but that's about the only acknowledgement he’s shown you all night. Since the incident in the locker room, he’s stopped teasing you, instead becoming straight up frosty. You almost miss the mean jokes about your incompetence at this point. The earring he wears tonight doesn't help. It's difficult to hate him when he looks so handsome.

“Mine!” Dani exclaims suddenly, stealing your last bite of cake before you can finish it. Chocolate frosting covers his mouth as he shovels it in with a cheeky grin and a hum of delight.

“Now that’s not fair!” You laugh, trying to steal back your plate so you can at least enjoy the crumbs.

But then a voice cuts through the joyful din of table chatter, and the smile falls from your face at the sound of your name being uttered by a familiar, rough voice.

You look up slowly, half-convinced you're just imagining him. After all, your father had left you alone for the last few years, finally giving you a taste of peace. You should have known better than to believe it would last forever.

“Dad,” you whisper at the man towering over you.

His eyes lazily survey the table. “My invite must have gotten lost in the post. Along with my thank you for the card I sent.”

The conversations around you turn hushed, the team’s attention burning into you. You try not to shrink in your chair, even when your sinuses begin to burn with tears that are altogether different from the ones you’d shed a moment ago.

You hadn’t thanked your father for a card, because you hadn’t received one. You’d moved flats recently and decided not to share your new address. You want a haven, one he would never find.

And yet, somehow, he’d found you anyway. How?

Behind him is probably your answer. His new girlfriend is almost as young as you and far more attractive. Your dad always made a habit of shacking up with models half his age. When he's sober, he might be mistaken for a good man, but it's all a mask. A manipulation. Your mother discovered that the hard way, and so had you.

“Well?” your dad prods, raising a brow. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

You sip your wine for courage. Somehow, your eyes lock on Jamie’s as you do, and you see his expression. Mouth parted, eyes darting as he puts the pieces together. If he would have given you a chance, he wouldn’t have to work so hard to know what's going on.

“How about we talk outside for a moment?” You paste as kind a smile as you can muster on your face and stand, smoothing the wrinkles from your clothes. When Ted stops you, concern in his eyes, you only nod with reassurance. At least here, your father can't yell or hurt you. It doesn't quell the fear inside, though.

Together, you step into the cool night air. Your dad sniffs, shoving his fists into his pockets. “You have a lot of nerve, trying to cut me out of your life like this. After all the things I did for you growing up, this is what I get? The cold shoulder? Am I not even worth being introduced to your little football friends?”

Your fingernails dig into your palms, jaw clenched. He's always been so good at the guilt trip. “I’m trying to have a nice night, Dad. How about we have this conversation another time?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re just like your mother. Cruel. Selfish.” He casts his gaze over your outfit, one Keeley helped you pick out yesterday. “You must think that you’re so much better than me, now you have your fancy job and a group of young lads to keep you busy. What do you do for them? Wash their socks?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, already done with the conversation. As you make to go back inside, though, his hand tightens around your wrist, rooting you in place. Your skin stings against his rough clasp, made worse when you try to pull away.

As he leans in close, you smell alcohol and garlic on his breath. It makes you sick, makes you feel like you’d never left that house at all. When he touches you like this, you're still a helpless child, afraid and heartbroken that your father can't love you right.

“You’re nothing,” he snarls. “I’m glad to be rid of you.”

“Then let me go,” you reply with more courage than you feel.

He does, but only because the door opens behind him. From the buttery glow of the restaurant, Jamie emerges. “You coming back in, love?” he asks you, a cautious eye on your father all the while. “Keeley’s going on about presents. She’ll burst if ya don’t open ‘em soon.”

You step away from your dad and nod. “Goodbye, Dad.”

He offers you a final look of scorn before beckoning to his girlfriend inside. She comes out and they disappear down the street together. Your dad doesn't look back, and you don't expect him to.

Only when he's gone do you realise that you're shaking. You prop yourself against the wall, trying to let the cool air balance you again, but it isn't easy with your father’s words echoing in your mind and Jamie watching intently.

“I need a minute,” you say. You want to thank him, ask him why he helped, but your chest is too tight to formulate many words at all.

Instead of leaving like you expect, he inches closer, tilting his head. “Are you alright?”

It's instinct to repeat his words from the locker room. “Fucking fantastic.”

He bows his head, rubbing his chin slowly. “I deserved that, di’n’t I?”

You say nothing, only resting the back of your head against the brick wall, letting the cold seep into you. You can't help but imagine a life where it doesn't hurt this bad. Where your father loves you the way he's supposed to. This is the first birthday you've spent neither alone nor miserable, and he still found a way to ruin it.

“Look…” Jamie kicks an invisible stone on the pavement. “Don’t let him ruin your special night, yeah? Come back inside. It’s cold out.”

“I need a minute,” you repeat, angry this time. Why? Why has Jamie chosen now to give a shit?

“Alright.” He nods, moving to stand beside you. And then he unzips his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. The warmth and smell of his deodorant makes you feel safe, like you're back in the locker room with the team and the real world is miles away. Richmond had always been that for you: an escape. Even when you were a useless assistant full of coffee stains, reprimanded by Rebecca for doing everything wrong, it had been better than sitting at home with your father.

You pull his coat tighter around yourself, frowning in confusion. “Look, I appreciate you coming out, but… what do you want, Jamie? I’m not in the mood for your bullshit.”

“Just thought you’d want someone around who gets it.” He shrugs. “I know that’s what you were tryin’ to tell me that day. I mean, I di'n’t know then because I was an ignorant prick who took out all my shit on you. But when I saw ya dad come over to the table, it all clicked.”

“Yeah, well, the time for daddy issue bonding has been and gone.” Your tone is bitter. You never quite let his cruelty go, and it rises to the surface again now.

“I’m trying to say I'm sorry,” he says, softer now. “You were tryin' to be there for me that day, and I was a twat. But I’m here for you now.”

Your mouth curls with doubt. As much as you want to believe that Jamie has suddenly developed a heart, you're waiting for him to laugh in your face. “Well, thanks but no thanks. Let’s not, alright?”

“Fair.” He rocks back on his heels, but doesn't take his jacket when you yank it off and shove it into his chest. He purses his lips as though trying to keep from saying more, which only makes you more uneasy. You barely recognise him like this, guards down, mood balanced, uncertain.

“Jamie.” It's a plea, because if he doesn't go back inside, you’ll break in front of him. The last thing you need is to have your scars used as the butt of his next joke.

Finally, he takes the jacket, his warm fingers brushing your cold ones. He sighs, shaking his head slowly. “For the record, he’s wrong about you. You're not nothing. He is. He do’n’t deserve you.”

That's all it takes for the tears to spill over. Jamie softens. Whispers: “C’mere,” before tugging you into his chest. He smells just like his coat, like the locker room and overpowering smoky vanilla. “It’s alright, love,” he hums into your ear.

You shake your head, because it isn't. It would never really be okay, and he must surely feel that, too.

He rubs warmth back into your arms, holds you steady as a sob leaves you.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I know. Look at me, yeah?” He cups your jaw gently, catching your tears with the pad of his thumb.

Sniffling, you try to look away, but his gaze pierces into you and you can’t. None of this makes sense, and yet you can’t walk away from whatever Jamie wants to say. Maybe that was always your problem: you never could.

“I was a proper dickhead before,” he said. “The things I said to you... Fuck, you’re not a joke. Not one bit. You’re gorgeous, and you’re kind, and you’re more than he’ll ever be. More than I’ll ever be.”

“Stop, Jamie.” You try to pull away, but he's gentle in his insistence, taking your wrists instead. It feels nothing like the pain of your father’s grip. Soft enough that you can escape, if you wanted to. But you’re sad, and you’re confused, and he’s being careful with you, and you don’t want to break this moment. A part of you has craved it for a long time.

“I mean it, love.” His knuckle grazes your cheek. “You have a whole family who loves you in there. D’you know how special that is?”

“Do you?” you retort. “You’re part of it, too, even if you choose to act like you’re not.”

His throat bobs, eyes drifting to the restaurant. “‘Am starting to realise it, yeah.” He hesitates. “It’s hard, innit, though? Letting the good in when you’ve never had it before.”

Maybe that’s why he’s been so different with you recently. Not because he hates you, but because he’s just learning. It takes practice to open your heart again. You want to believe that, deep down, Jamie is a good person. The kind of person who deserved your kindness that day.

All you can say is, “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“Maybe it’d be easier if… if we could be friends.” He’s timid, ducking his head like a schoolboy.

It’s endearing, aggravatingly so. He could get away with murder as long as he keeps smirking at you like that.

Defeated, you slump and take his hand. “I only ever wanted you to know that I understand, Jamie. That you’re not alone.”

“I know. Just wasn’t ready to hear it.” He pulls you close. “I am now, love. I promise.”

You shiver, and he wraps his arms around you again, slowly leading you back into the warmth of the restaurant. For once, it feels like you’re leaving the hurt behind as you return to your friends. Jamie doesn’t sit down at the other end of the table this time, either. In fact, his hand stays in yours until the restaurant closes hours later.

#imagines #multifandom imagines #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt angst #jamie tartt fic #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #jamie tartt one shot

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jamietwat · 3 months ago

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What if they just don’t announce Phil Dunster returning and then reveal the fact that he is in the first episode when there’s some domestic morning kitchen scene establishing Roy and Keeley are back together and then Keeley heads for the door and Roy’s still grabbing his phone or something and has fallen slightly behind so you assume it’s him she’s talking to when she calls over her shoulder “Hurry up, we’re going to be late”

But then Jamie comes running down the stairs like “Yeah, I’m coming, I was just giving Roy and his old man legs a head start” (but they all know he was fixing his hair for the eighth time that morning)

Then Roy pops out of the kitchen saying “oh, fuck you�� and Jamie grins and asks “already did that last night, remember?”

And Keeley rolls her eyes at their bickering, but also is clearly amused by it as she says “yeah, yeah, flirt later, we’re already going to be lucky if we get there on time” as she grabs them both by the arms and pulls them out the door with her while Roy grumbles something about how if Jamie didn’t always take so long doing his hair

And like I know that’s not what will happen even if he is back, but it’s the outright undeniable confirmation of the throuple we deserved at the end of season 3

#It won’t happen but it would be a power move #Ted Lasso #Ted Lasso Season 4 #Jamie Tartt #Roy Kent #Keeley Jones #roykeeleyjamie #Roy x Keeley x Jamie #Phil Dunster #Mine

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chrissv4mp · 5 months ago

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— I COULD CHANGE YOUR LIFE -

chap 1 , get that girl. — | — ...back — | — next...

summary: the interaction at the diner hasn't left his thoughts, and chris just can't help himself when it comes to your beautiful presence, so he follows you home.

pairing: stalker!chris sturniolo × singer!reader

warnings + topics: cursing, stalking, murder, weapons, blood, obsessive behavior, suggestive moments, breaking & entering, crying, arguments, chris is crazy, choking, drowning, first person, second person, etc. more than half of these topics are mentioned in later chapters.

author's note: if the person reading this is sensitive to any of the topics listed above, please do not read this. i am not responsible for your own media consumption, and will not change any aspect of the story for your own pleasure. (this will be the last time i will state this, please scroll if you're not comfortable.)

author's note 2: he's giving joe goldberg!! this chapter is written mainly in 1st person, & the first half is chris' perspective! i'll clarify that throughout the story.

author's note 3: you guys are getting this a little earlier because i couldn't wait to post it🗣🗣

word count: 2.8k

why are you walking home alone, y/n? it's not safe out here, especially late at night. what if some creep tries to attack you? i know you're smarter than that.

and you're on your phone, clearly unaware of what's going on around you. you're lucky i'm here to keep you safe. i'll always be.

i reach behind my back, grabbing my hood to throw it over my head. if she saw that i was the one following her, she probably wouldn't watch me anymore. she would think i'm a weirdo.

i hear her laugh, and god, i wish that sound could just repeat in my head for a lifetime. it's such a sweet, soft sound, just like her personality. sweet.

"jamie, don't be such a dick. you know the deadline is coming soon and we have to finish the album." i hear her say, and i can't help but flinch at the sudden noise.

who is she talking to? who is jamie, and why is he being a dick to her? nobody should ever even speak a filthy word to her let alone treat her badly, she's such an angel.

her head turns, and i finally get a glimpse of her earbuds. she can't hear me. no wonder why she hasn't turned back every time i step on the gravelly sidewalk. it's such an annoying sound, always calling me out.

y/n sighs, rubbing her temple with one hand as her free one holds the phone up to her ear, "it's like you don't even care if we descend the charts! maybe ask yourself why you're doing this before you go and screw everything up."

she's tense, i can tell from the way she groans under her breath. i can hear jamie's voice, it's quiet but i can make out what he's saying.

something about rerecording background vocals and going over lyrics again. then, he says something inaudible, and now y/n is on video call with him.

she taps a button, and now i can hear him loud and clear, "just listen to this, it really needs some touch-ups."

i can see his face from the way y/n is holding her phone, and suddenly his eyebrows furrow and he looks directly at me.

the music pauses, and y/n stops in her tracks. she's in the middle of the crosswalk, and i'm just a few feet behind her.

"y/n... who is that?" my eyes widen as i realize he's talking about me. she only laughs nervously, shrugging the uncomfortable feeling off.

don't look back, "stop fucking around and just show me the chorus." she huffs out, another laugh leaving her plump lips.

his eyes are still on me through that screen, and i just continue to walk, hoping that my cover won't be blown.

"no, y/n, look behind you. there's a man following you!" he finally yells, and i curse under my breath as i hear y/n's breathing pick up.

her head whips around, and that's when i panic. fuck, why did her house have to be so far away? damn you, jamie.

my first thought is to just rush her, tackle her to the floor and throw her phone on the ground, but i don't because that would result in hurting her. so, i take the second best option, running to my right and into some bushes.

i hear y/n scream from behind me, and then i hear her footsteps finally run off the crosswalk and across the street. my foot gets caught on a stick, and i fall face first into the dirt.

my knees hit the ground, and i groan at the sharp pain of rocks on my flesh. my hands sunk into the mud beneath me, getting the hem of my sweatshirt sleeves dirty, "dude, what the fuck?"

i stand up again, shaking my hands out in front of me in hopes of getting the mud off. some of it does, and a small amount of damage is repaired, but there's still cuts and bruises forming on my lower half.

my eyes wander, looking down at my bloodied knees. why did i even wear jorts today? it's boston, it's not supposed to be hot after 6 pm.

my hands clench into fists, and anger begins to boil under my skin. it feels like it's 90° now, snd i just want to punch something. why do my plans always fucking fail? no matter what i do, the outcome is horrible.

not this time. no, i'm not gonna let this silly little thing mess up my plan. this is just a setback, and there's always downs in life, don't let it get the best of you, chris.

"breathe." i mutter, closing my eyes and taking a few deep breaths. i wish matt was here, he would know what to do. he would console me and tell me everything's gonna be alright.

he would tell me to keep going, get the girl. and that's exactly what i'm gonna do, whether jamie likes it or not. because this is just a minor setback, nothing will stop me from getting y/n. no one will stop me.

"you're starrin' in my dreams,

in magazines,"

it's the next day, and now matt is dabbing the large cut on me with a cotton ball. the hydrogen peroxide stings, and i flinch as he puts a bit more pressure.

"matt!" i groan, reaching for his hand. he swats mine away, looking up into my eyes with a stern expression.

i shut my mouth and just look away, trying not to focus on the pain too much as my brother pushes it against my knee. i hear him let out a long sigh, and then my attention is back on him.

he gives me a knowing look, and then he speaks, "what'd you do this time?" my eyebrows furrow in offense. i never do anything, it's not always my fault.

i scoff, looking around at anything but matt. how could i explain that i was following the love of my life, that doesn't know she's the love of my life yet, home, and then got caught and threw myself into some bushes? he would think i'm a maniac, and that's the last thing i want my older brother to think of me as.

"i tripped on a crack in the sidewalk. it was hugeee, matt, you really should've seen it." way to go, chris, that's so believable.

he shrugs, a smile coming to his face as he laughs, "i'm not even surprised." that was very believable, chris. way to go!

"not surprised is crazy." nick chimes in, and both mine and matt's heads whip up in the direction of his voice.

he's leaning against the door frame of my bedroom, a smug smirk on his face as he squints his eyes to see my knees better, "wow, chris, who pushed you off the slide?"

i just flip him off, they're treating me like a child. i'm smarter than that, i'm tougher than the both of them. well, maybe not nick, but i'm close!

"actually go choke." i groan, throwing myself back against the mattress as disappointment washes over me. if i had just thought before i followed y/n then maybe i would know where she lived, and whoever the fuck jamie is. such a snitch.

matt peels the plastic seal from the bandaid, and then he sticks it onto the cut on my knee. he inhales sharply before getting to his feet again, "alright, you're fine now. take the bandaid off when it stop bleeding, 'kay?"

i only hum in response, my emotions all over the place and getting the best of me. this entire situation is so idiotic and childish, i don't need a bandaid.

nick walks out after matt, making sure to shut the door. wow, he's finally learned after all the times i've scolded him about not closing it.

there's still mud in the crevices between my fingers and under my nails. it's uncomfortable in more than one way. i just want the memory of that night to be gone, erased from my memory for my entire life.

but i'm not ever gonna forget it, and it's gonna be hard to forget when the girl i want is a constant reminder of that incident. it's whatever, though. in the end it will pay off, all the things i'll do for her attention will pay off. i know it will.

my feet begin to swing as they dangle off the edge of my bed, and then they hit something. i finally sit up straight, looking down at where my feet are planted. the box, that box full of magazines and letters, prints and various drawings of y/n.

i look toward my door before grabbing the box and placing it on my bed softly. my fingers hook under the top, and it falls to the side, revealing your face on the covers of multiple magazines.

i never missed a day when rolling stone, variety, and even vogue came out with new magazines that featured y/n on the covers and in all of the pages inside. i even bought some that had her on only a single page, then i cut them out and threw it in here.

nobody could call themselves y/n's biggest fan with me still alive. they don't know her like i do, even if we just met for the first time on—no, even if we just reconnected for the first time in forever yesterday.

"pretty girl." i whisper. even if she can't hear, i know she knows that. she's the prettiest girl in the world, who wouldn't compliment her?

i grab the first magazine, my eyes darting all around her beautiful body and facial features before putting it to the side and admiring the next one. it should be a crime to be this gorgeous, she shouldn't even be allowed outside.

what if something happens to the girl? her security wouldn't care, but i would. the things i'd do for that girl i can't even explain. i don't need her love for that, though, because i can just protect her even when she's not watching. i need her love because that is the only thing that keeps me going.

her interviews where she says how much she loves and appreciates her fans, that keeps me going. that night at the diner when she said she watched my videos, oh, that's gonna keep me up for a long time.

who would've known that night would take a turn because i sure didn't. i thought it would go smoothly and that i would make it all the way to her home, surprise her. but no, it went horribly all because of that fucking dipshit jamie.

he's the one who ruined our romantic walk, he's the one who ruined my chances of getting her to fall for me. jamie ruined everything, and fuck, i just want to strangle him until his head pops. i just want to watch him as he gets ruined, as his life gets ruined in front of the entire world.

i don't even realize that i'm crushing a page of her magazine until i hear a crunch, and now suddenly, i'm back in my room as i stare at her beautiful, crushed face. panic spikes in my heart, and my free hand comes up in an effort to smoothen down the paper like it was before. no, this was a special magazine, it couldn't be ruined.

my breathing hitches, and i huff out as i just throw it back into the box. my hand reaches for the other one, and i place it gently atop of the crumpled paper before closing the box and setting it under my bed again.

i kick it further under the bed frame until i hear it hit the wall with a quiet thud, and then i let out a breath that i didn't know i'd been holding in. i'm letting my anger get a hold of me again, just like it almost did last night.

"deep breaths, chris. just breath." i tell myself, grabbing the sheets and running my thumbs along the fabric as i breath in through my nose and out through my mouth.

if i let anger get the best of me i'll ruin my plan for y/n, and then she'll never want to speak to me or even see me again.

"you're looking right at me."

pov = second person...

you smile at the boy across from you, giggling at the stupid knock knock joke he had just told you, "that wasn't even funny, it's just your laugh, jamie!"

he scoffs in faux offense, putting a hand to his chest as he takes a sip of his coffee. before speaking again, he swallows, "don't try to convince yourself that i'm not the funniest guy you've ever met."

you only roll your eyes at the blond, looking away from him to admire your surroundings. you and your producer came to this small coffee shop to talk about work and how you both needed to finish the last few songs on your upcoming album before the deadline, and now here you were, laughing at his jokes.

jamie felt like a brother to you, being there for all your highs and lows all throughout these past few years as you grew on the charts. he was always by your side, protecting you from crazy fans and even crazier haters. jamie also treated you like a member of his family, and he said that he'd protect you with his life.

the laughing dies down, and then you hear him sigh. your head turns to look at the boy again, and his eyes meet yours in an instant, "i hope you're being safe out there, y/n. seriously."

your face contorted into a look of happiness and maybe even guilt as you tilted your head, "i promise you i am."

"what about last night, then? you could've gotten kidnapped if it wasn't for me pointing out that creep. he was most definitely following you home, y/n!" he exclaimed, quiet enough that nobody else could hear but loud enough that only you could.

a look of worry was on his face, an expression that you hadn't seen that much of lately. he really was scared for you, especially in the last few months. you were growing in popularity fast, climbing up the charts every week or so.

at your silence, jamie exhaled, "sorry for snapping, you just... you keep me on my toes at all times, and sometimes i don't know what to say." he gives a smile full of sympathy before he takes another sip of his coffee.

you nod, eyes wandering again as you mutter, "it's okay." you knew all he wanted was the best for you, "i should've just gone to liv's apartment. the walk to my place was further than i thought."

your eyes darted all over the small plaza, looking around at all of the different people that walked by. one person in particular caught your eye, and you stared for just a little longer.

chris stared right back at you, hair covering his face along with his black fresh love hoodie. he found you again, and this time he wasn't gonna fuck up.

he saw the way your eyebrows furrowed even from the fountain across from the cafe, and he laughed at your concentrated look. you were trying to figure out who that was.

the brunette couldn't lie, he was a bit jealous of your producer. i mean, he was sitting right across from you and making you laugh. chris should be the guy who makes you laugh!

he'd been watching no less than 15 minutes as you both chatted, cheeks flushing at your perfect smile and beautiful, silky hair that fell over your shoulder just right.

maybe his obsession had grown after that night, but he wasn't some deranged stalker who tracked your every move. that would be insane, and chris would never put himself under that category. maybe.

chris cursed as jamie's head turned in the direction of chris, and the brunette just turned and quickly walked away. his brothers were probably wondering where he was, and the vlog would have to be scrapped if only 2 of them were in it.

jamie's eyebrows furrowed again, and he stood up and quickly grabbed your hand, "we're going, y/n. now."

as he dragged you out of the cafe, you couldn't help but think. who was that mystery guy? was he the guy from last night? why was he following you?

you had so many questions, and yet there were no answers to any of them. not quite yet, anyway. you were gonna have to wait for the right time, and chris had the whole thing planned out already. you'd just have to be patient.

comment to be on the series taglist!

@livialifesblog @fratbrochrisgf @spideylovin @1800-love-me @ginswife

@strnlxlqve @joemamaaa42069 @mirioosos @ladyy-whistle-d0wn @snowysosturn

@dej4vhs @zayyluvz @slut4chriss @h3arts4harry @str4wberryk1ss3s

@riasturns @yurpppppy @nwlluvsturnsstars17 @asimp4chris @byneptunee

@ilove2021chris

335 notes · View notes

mrpldiddles · 10 months ago

Text

puppy. | j.drysdale

a/n: so i actually started this this morning before the trade was announced😀 but here’s a quick(ish) little ig edit since i haven’t posted anything in awhile while i work on the tbosas fic that will be coming soon!!

rip trevjamie tho man idk how i’m gonna recover this is like barzy and beau all over again

anaheimducks posted:

anaheimducks: we have a four-legged announcement on #NationalPuppyDay! everyone say hi to Daisy!

comments:

user1: can we talk about jamie with daisy🥺

user2: trevor and jamie look like they need a dog

-> yourusername: don’t encourage them🤧

trevorzegras: @yourusername 🥺🥺🥺

-> jamie.drysdale: @yourusername please🥺🥺🥺

-> yourusername: are you gonna take care of it🥺🥺

-> trevorzegras: YEAH

-> yourusername: LIES you don’t even clean up after yourself

-> trevorzegras: HEY

-> jamie.drysdale: she has a point z…

-> trevorzegras: DON’T TAKE HER SIDE JIMMY

-> user3: this is so entertaining

jackhughes: @yourusername just let them have a puppy

-> trevorzegras: PUPPY! PUPPY! PUPPY!

-> yourusername: you live across the country jack you don’t get a say in this

-> jamie.drysdale: PUPPY! PUPPY! PUPPY!

-> colecaufield: but look how excited they are🥺

-> yourusername: cole you’re not even in the country

-> masonmctavish23: puppy???

-> yourusername: oh god not you too

-> trevorzegras: i promise to put it in direct sunlight and water it everyday🫡

-> yourusername: oh my god

-> jamie.drysdale: he’s joking! (i think…)

-> yourusername: you two are gonna be the death of me

-> trevorzegras: so PUPPY????

yourusername posted:

yourusername: @trevorzegras @jamie.drysdale puppy.

comments:

trevorzegras: PUPPY!!!

jamie.drysdale: PUPPY!!!

masonmctavish23: PUPPY!!!

colecaufield: PUPPY!!!

jackhughes: PUPPY!!!

_quinnhughes: you’re weak

-> yourusername: i know😞

yourbffsusername: how much did they pay you

-> yourusername: a year’s worth of cleaning the bathroom for trevor and a year’s worth of back rubs from jamie🥰

-> trevorzegras: i still think the difference in payment is unfair

-> yourusername: you may be my boyfriend’s boyfriend but you’re not mine

-> trevorzegras: 😞

anaheimducks: a new friend for daisy!!

-> yourusername: that’s what sold me on little miss maisie☺️

-> trevorzegras: for the record i wanted to name her nutter butter

-> colecaufield: NUTTER BUTTER🥜🧈

-> _quinnhughes: are you trying to ruin the poor dog’s life

-> jackhughes: i call for a re-vote between maisie and nutter butter

-> jamie.drysdale: y/n says no

-> yourusername: i’m not naming my child nutter butter.

jamie.drysdale posted:

jamie.drysdale: everybody say thank you @yourusername :)))))))

comments:

trevorzegras: thank you y/n!!!!!

colecaufield: thank you y/nnnnnn

jackhughes: thanks best friend y/n

-> yourusername: i think that title actually belongs to quinn

-> jackhughes: ouch

-> _quinnhughes: thank you best friend y/n

-> yourusername: you're welcome quinny

masonmctavish23: thank you y/n for making me an uncle

-> yourusername: ofc ofc

-> user2: aw mason’s her uncle🥺🤧

yourusername: you're lucky you're cute

-> jamie.drysdale: don't i know it

-> trevorzegras: and what about me???🥺🥺

-> yourusername: you're lucky your boyfriend's cute

-> trevorzegras: i'll take it!!!

yourusername: our maisie girl🥰

-> jamie.drysdale: my two girls😘

-> trevorzegras: our nutter butter😊

-> yourusername: your godfather privileges are so close to being revoked zegras

-> masonmctavish23: the dogfather

-> yourusername: you're next in line don't worry mac

-> trevorzegras: after that joke??!!!??

-> masonmctavish23: i'm committed what can i say

trevorzegras posted:

trevorzegras: welcome to the family nutter butter!!

comments:

yourusername: that is NOT my daughter's name

-> trevorzegras: OUR daughter

-> jamie.drysdale: something i wanna know??

-> yourusername: jamie please tell your boyfriend that our daughter is not named after a cookie

->user1: their family tree is so confusing

jackhughes: NUTTER BUTTER!!!

-> _quinnhughes: and you wonder why you weren't named godfather

-> jackhughes: y/n is this true😭

-> yourusername: thanks for breaking the news for me quinn

-> jackhughes: wow🤧

-> yourusername: so sorry😐

colecaufield: is it still too late for a name re-vote?

-> yourusername: yes.

-> trevorzegras: still up for debate

-> masonmctavish23: is it too late to claim my godfather title?

-> yourusername: please do i can’t take them anymore🤧

-> trevorzegras: you can pry my title out of my dead hands😤

-> yourusername: promise😍

-> jamie.drysdale: don’t tempt her z

anaheimducks: daisy and maisie duck!!

518 notes · View notes

chukys-mouthguard · 4 months ago

Text

A Shot at Love: meet the 12 eligible bachelors

It’s time to reveal the 12 eligible bachelors on this season of A Shot at Love: an nhl dating show au!

Get to know our 12 eligible bachelors, and the special guest hosts of our show, below!

Remember to mark your calendars, A Shot at Love: an nhl dating show au premiers Friday July 19th at 7pm EST!

A Shot at Love is pleased to announce that this season’s hosts are Paul Bissonnette and Ryan Whitney!

These two characters are ready to lead our lovely bachelorette through the journey of finding a shot at love with one of our lucky 12 bachelors!

Be prepared for plenty of Pink Whitney shots, and shameless sponsorship plugs (these washed up guys gotta make money somehow, why do you think they took this gig?). They might even have a few special guests stopping by the mansion!

And now let’s meet the 12 eligible bachelors!

Nico Hischier | 25, from Switzerland

Captain of the New Jersey Devils. Sweeter than Swiss Chocolate. Like quite frankly might be the sweetest man on planet earth. Enjoys adventures outdoors, movie nights, and a good puzzle. Loves working out, but be aware he definitely will always have a better butt than you. Very patient as he deals with Jack Hughes all day long. Nico is looking for a forever music festival date.

Jamie Drysdale | 22, from Toronto

His on ice skills make up for those he lacks in the style department. But that’s where you come in, Jamie needs a girl who can improve his fashion sense (cause Trevor clearly didn’t do much for him). He takes pride in his flow, so you never have to worry about him making fun of your self care routine. Jamie enjoys country music, shoulder rubs, and puppies.

Matt Rempe | 22, from Calgary

You’ll never have to worry about being taller than him in heels, as he is quite literally a giant. He loves a good book, and is even the co-founder of the first ever Rangers Book Club with Chris Kreider. Not afraid to fight for you. Guaranteed to make you laugh with his silly catch phrases. Looking for a girl who isn’t scared to clean his battle wounds.

Vince Dunn | 27, from Kawartha Lakes

The best mix of cocky, sweetheart, and a little bit of airhead. Knows he’s attractive, but will still be a complete goofball. A connoisseur of alcohol, could definitely recommend a wine or two. He enjoys video games, nights out, and binge watching a good Netflix show. He isn’t afraid to show his tough side if it comes to fighting for what he wants. Vince is looking for a girl to travel the world in the offseason enjoying the cuisine every country has to offer.

Jack Eichel | 27, from Chelmsford

His real name is John, but he goes by Jack. Be aware he is always going to be the diva of the relationship. Loves any sort of competitive activity, but will never let you win, and will always whine if he loses. Has a big heart and enjoys philanthropic work. Jack will never fail to make you laugh, always having a funny story to tell about another teammate. Jack is looking for a girl who is up for Brunch on Sunday’s, with football on the tv.

Mat Barzal | 27, from Coquitlam

Unique already because he spells his name with one T and not two, Mat is an all around catch. He speaks French, is obsessed with vacations to Italy, and prides himself on his physique. He’s not afraid of designer clothes, and you can guarantee he will buy you nice things. Mat is looking for a girl who will ride scooters with him Italy, and have a cold drink waiting for him on the golf cart after he sinks a hole in one.

Trevor Zegras | 23, from Bedford

Fasten your seatbelt, because with Trevor life is always in the fast lane. Trevor is a ball of energy that will always keep you guessing. Quite possibly a 10 year old trapped in a 23 year olds body. Whether you laugh at his jokes or not, Trevor will always be laughing. He enjoys music festivals, video games, and running his mouth 24/7. If you don’t end up choosing him he’s got Cole and the Hughes brothers as backups.

Quinn Hughes | 24, Bloomington

Don’t be fooled by his demeanor, Quinn is a big teddy bear. Captain of the Vancouver Canucks, he’s got a good amount of pressure on his shoulders. So Quinn enjoys time at the lake house to relax in the off season. Whether it be time on the boat, a round of golf, or time with family, Quinn loves taking time to recharge. He may be shy or soft spoken at first, but when he opens up he’s the biggest goofball. Quinn is looking for a girl that doesn’t mind annoying younger brothers.

Auston Matthews | 26, from Scottsdale

Not necessarily familiar with winning when it counts, but he sure knows how to score. Auston enjoys a day spent outdoors, walking his dog, and is even a closet sewer! So no more trips to the seamstress for you! He is also friends with Justin Bieber, so your wedding singer is already on lock. Auston is looking for a girl who will stick by his side through the ups, but more importantly the downs (cause knowing Toronto there will probably be a few).

Cole Caufield | 23, from Mosinee

The biggest Swifty in the league, though he tries to hide his love for her. He bought a party bus for T Swift, imagine the things this man would buy for you. His smile could light up any room, and there will never be a day he doesn’t make you laugh. Don’t get offended if he occasionally needs time with his boys (Trevor and Jack), they might let you fourth wheel if you’re lucky. Cole is looking for a girl to laugh at all his jokes and belt out T Swift at karaoke after a few beers.

Luke Hughes | 20, Manchester

The youngest of the Hughes brothers, and the youngest in the race for love. Though Luke very much is mature for his age. He prides himself on his attention to detail and how much he’d learn about you from one conversation. Luke enjoys a relaxing Sunday where you stay under the blankets and watch trashy reality tv. He is soft spoken, but your one on one conversations is where he chooses to open up. Luke is looking for a girl who can keep him sane but also bring out his wild side.

John Marino | 27, Easton

Probably the smartest man in the competition, he went to Harvard for crying out loud. John is a big fan of Fall, so he will gladly enjoy all the activities it brings and support your fall girl aesthetic. His ideal night in when he has a day off would be board games or a movie with lots of snacks. He loves to brighten your day with random facts, half of them not ones you believed because they were so random. John is looking for a girl who knows of anything fun to do in Utah, because seriously what is this city boy supposed to do in Utah?

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adharastarlight · 11 months ago

Text

Tis The Season

Eight: Music

Jegulus smut with maybe... some plot? Sirius doesn't know (just like if you know me irl? you dont) about jegulus at all... anyway, there's a reason James always has his music on too loudly

“Turn the music down, James!”

The brunette heard his best friend's yell echo from across the hall but he wasn't listening. He was also one hundred percent sure that Sirius would rather hear the possibly too loud bass of his music than the noises his little brother was making.

“Sh-shit, Jamie, fuck,” Reg managed the words between gasped moans, nails digging into the older boy’s back.

He cursed, “that's it, baby, you're so fucking perfect.”

The younger whimpered, arching into him further and throwing his head back, exposing that beautiful neck. That neck he knew he wasn't meant to mark. But it was right there. It was taunting him. Regulus let out a gasped moan when his boyfriend started sucking and biting at his neck. He would've said something, that it was a bad idea maybe, if he wasn't slowly going insane with bliss. A slightly louder moan tore free from him, almost animalistic, when James reached between them to rub circles against his clit, slowly, faster, faster, fuck.

“So good for me, angel.” James grunted at the nails scratching down his back, his hips stuttering slightly, “I'm so close, fuck.”

“Jamie, merde.”

The brunette moaned into his neck, against the skin he'd probably bruised by now, cursing as his boyfriend came, clenching around him. His hips lost their rhythm as he came, pressing fleeting kisses against Reg's neck and shoulders and collar bones as he slowly lowered himself to lie on top of him.

Regulus let out a soft huff as the older man's weight pressed into him and reached up to card his fingers through his hair gently, “hi sweetheart.”

He smiled and reached over for the remote for the stereo, turning down the music and pressing a kiss to the other's temple, “you need to find a way to be quieter, angel.”

“We've music and you like it when I'm loud.”

“Sirius yelled for me to turn it down, he'll catch on at some point.”

“That's his problem, not mine.”

James laughed softly, “it'll be your problem when your boyfriend is hung drawn and quartered, my love.”

“He wouldn't hurt my boyfriend!”

“I mean in his defence, he has no idea-”

“...Stop making excellent points.” He kissed his nose and tugged on his hair gently, “I liked the new mixed tape.”

“I thought you would.”

Reg smiled, about to reply and ask when he'd made it, but a holler came up the steps again. Followed by impatient stomping on stairs.

“James! You arse! It's your bloody turn to cook dinner! What the fuck are you doing in here?” The handle of his room twisted but the door remained closed, the brunette muffling his laugh in his boyfriend's neck. “Why the fucking hell is your door locked? Prongs! Come and make dinner you arse!”

“Go.” The younger whispered it into his hair, shushing the protest he knew was coming, “I'm fine, my love, I'm great actually. I'll be even better if my brother doesn't come barging in here. Go on.”

“Prongs!”

“Coming, I'm coming! Chill, Pads.” He pulled away reluctantly and kissed the figure smiling under him before rolling out of the bed and tugging on his boxers and joggers. He chuckled softly when his boyfriend lobbed his tee at him, lowering his voice to a whisper, “what's this for?”

Regulus grinned and tugged the duvet over himself, “you've scratches.”

“You're such a cat.”

“And you're such a stag, now shoo.”

The older boy scoffed and tugged on the tee before slipping out of his door, making sure it closed behind him before his best mate could look in, “you're very impatient, Pads.”

Sirius scanned him curiously, but merely shrugged and started walking downstairs, “what were you even doing? You're all flushed.”

“Pull-ups, sorry about the music, didn't realise how loud it was when I was in the moment.”

“It's alright, you're lucky Reggie doesn't mind that kind of music.”

“Yeah, really lucky.” He smiled to himself and clapped his mate on the back, “right, what d'you want for dinner?

***

“Reg!!! It's dinner!”

Regulus groaned at his brother's holler and rolled out of the bed he'd buried himself back into after his quick shower. He grabbed his shirt from the side and cursed under his breath at the state of it. They'd maybe been a little frantic to get the clothes off earlier.

“Regulus!”

“I'm coming you grumpy old dog!” He called back, reaching into his boyfriend's wardrobe for one of his tees which fell just above his knees, foregoing his boxers and trousers because… making said boyfriend suffer was awfully good fun.

James looked up as the younger boy walked into the lounge and almost choked. He also almost dragged him back up to his room. He was starving, but the plate in front of him had never looked so unappetising.

“Finally! What took you so long, étoile?”

He shrugged and settled into his spot, the one between James and the arm of the sofa. Which he honestly had made his, before he actually knew where the man who would become his boyfriend sat. He could feel the probably-not-subtle eyes running over him and smiled, “dinner looks good.”

His brother nodded and flopped into the armchair near them, picking up the remote, “I love mum and dad but I might love eating in front of the tv more.”

Regulus nodded and forced a shiver, tugging the blanket over himself and the brunette, “me too. It's far more relaxed.”

His boyfriend grinned at him and moved his hand to his inner thigh, brushing against where he'd expected to find boxers and stifling a groan by stuffing a mouthful of pasta into his mouth. He glanced at his best friend whose attention was affixed to the screen and dipped his hand between his thighs, brushing lightly against his clit.

“Oh, Reggie, Pandora called.”

He raised an eyebrow at his brother, ignoring the teasing touches as best as he could, “she did?”

“Yeah, asked about going to the city centre tomorrow, the library. I said you'd call if you couldn't go but otherwise meet her there at eleven.”

James waited for the moment his boyfriend opened his mouth to pinch his clit, just hard enough to elicit a sharp inhale.

“Oh, yeah, that's great. I'll definitely g-” he forced back a moan as a finger slipped into him, curling up to brush his gspot, “go-oh.”

Sirius glanced over at the stuttered word and furrowed his brows, “you okay, Reggie?”

“Yeah, yea-” he clenched his jaw when his boyfriend repeated the motion and had a sip of his water, smiling sheepishly at his brother, “hiccups, sorry.”

He shrugged and turned back to the tv. James waited a moment to ensure he wasn't going to turn back around and pushed a second finger into him, curling and stroking until he was fairly certain the it other's teeth were grinding together. He leaned over slightly, whispering against the shell of his ear, “so pretty and desperate for me, angel. In my shirt and nothing else. Practically begging me to fuck you, hm?”

Reg let out a quiet whimper, making sure his voice was just as quiet when he replied, “is this you - fuck - teaching me to be quiet?”

“Mm. You're doing so well, baby.”

“Fuck, Jamie, please.”

The brunette smirked and rubbed his thumb against his clit, moving his fingers just too slowly, “if you're quiet you can come whenever you want, angel.”

He bucked his hips into the contact slightly before nodding, biting his lip hard enough to draw the faintest blood to hold back a moan when his boyfriend sped up. His shoulders slumped into the sofa behind him as he focused on being quiet, only a quiet gasp leaving him when he came, head thrown back slightly, back arched up the tiniest amount.

James drew his hand back and waited until his boyfriend was looking at him to suck his fingers clean. He smirked at the almost silent whimper, mouthing ‘good boy’ and watching the younger boy crumble on the spot.

They were going to need louder music.

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hidden-for-reg · 4 months ago

Text

july 18: fake | @jegulus-microfic | word count: 278

“You’re not real. You can’t be,” he whispered as the man he loved stroked the side of his face.

“I’m here, I’m here and I’m real and I love you so much, darling.”

Regulus screwed his eyes shut before the tears could fall. “No. You’re fake. It’s fake, it’s fake, it’s f—“

“I’m here, you can feel me, I’m real, it’s not fake, please, Regulus, just look at me,” the other man pleaded quietly, thumbs swiping gently at tears on Regulus’ cheeks.

Regulus opened his eyes and stared at him through the haziness of tears.

And there he was. James. With his tanned skin and dark curls. Eyes so focused on Regulus that one might have thought that he was the only thing James had ever seen in his life.

Regulus clutched at James’ arms, straining to find a way to get closer. To see he’s really here.

“It’s just me, love. Please, breathe. You’ve known me for 9 years, we’ve been dating for 5 months,” James reassured him. “None of this is fake.”

“It has to be!” Regulus burst out with a heaving sob. “I’m not lucky enough to actually have you in my life. I-It can’t be real. I’m not that lucky!”

“Reg…”

Regulus wrenched out another sob and crumpled into James’ chest.

“You’re too good for me… I don’t— I can’t deserve this… Please… Don’t leave me, Jamie…”

“I’ll never leave you, darling. You deserve the world, please don’t ever tell yourself otherwise.”

Regulus felt a kiss on the top of his head as he sobbed, curling into James’ embrace.

“I love you, Regulus. I’m here.”

“I love you too, Jamie. Thank you for staying.”

#july 18 #jegulus microfic #jegulus #regulus black #james potter #reggie black #jfp #r.a.b #marauders #marauders era #james x regulus #regulus x james #james loves regulus #james fleamont potter #regulus arcturus black #jegulus fanfiction #jegulus fic #jegulus angst

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lauraneedstochill · 2 years ago

Text

Make a move

summary: you think Aemond is too arrogant to woo you, but he’s got some tricks up his sleeve. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x F!Reader words: ~ 6000 warnings: a bit of bickering and teasing, it gets slightly heated (Aemond has a praise kink, but I doubt anyone is surprised), mostly it’s just silly fluff author’s note: this was inspired by “Crazy, stupid, love”, particularly the scene where Emma kisses Ryan (one of my favorite on-screen kisses!) and everything that follows. I recently rewatched the movie and had an idea for this story (also, I may or may not have a thing for men’s hands... you’ve been warned)

You keep mindlessly tapping your fingers on the wooden table, your cup of wine untouched. You don’t really notice the movement, too wrapped up in your thoughts, until your friend Margaret sneers.

“If you don’t stop, I might bite your hand off,” she says, sitting across the table.

“Then I’ll use the other one,” you huff but pause your fidgeting. “Better bite my head off, it will do us both more good.”

“But I like your head very much,” she pouts. “Is this about Thomas again?”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands and thinking back to the conversation you had earlier today with said man. Your emotions are a mix of annoyance and embarrassment as you can’t stop thinking about his words.

“He said the meeting will be of great importance. What if he...? You know,” you mutter, and Margaret huffs.

“I hope he won’t.”

“Hey, you are supposed to be my friend!” you playfully pinch her hand, and she fakes a gasp.

“I am your friend. And as your friend, I think you deserve way more than that sad excuse of a man,” her face gets serious for a second, and you feel your smile waver.

“Mar, you know I don’t have much of a choice,” you breathe out, and your heart sinks at the thought. “He isn’t that bad, really. He’s always been kind to me.”

“Sounds like every girl's dream,” she rolls her eyes. “And you want to settle down for a kind man? Nothing else?”

“What do you think my options are? Please, enlighten me since I’m clearly missing something,” you cross arms on your chest. You know she’s right and she means good, but your frustration gets the best of you.

Luckily, Margaret catches it and gives you a sympathetic smile.

“All I’m saying is that for as long as I can remember you’ve always dreamt of something more,” she extends her hand across the table and lightly squeezes yours. “We’ve been friends since we were little kids, and you are the most loving person out of everyone I know. Should I remind you who taught me how to dance? Protected me against my idiot brothers?” you giggle at the memory. “You’ve got an adventurous spirit and a heart of gold. You deserve an epic love story,” there’s a hint of sadness in her voice.

For a minute you sink into your thoughts again.

“And you think Thomas is not the one?” you sigh.

“He’s epically boring at best,” Margaret takes a sip out of her cup. “I know he’s not the one — and you do, too.”

“My parents approve of him,” you try to argue, but she’s quick to object.

“They only care about your approval. And they mistakenly took your lack of protest for it,” Margaret gives you a gloomy look.

“You are aware that I can’t wait forever, right? I’m not getting any younger.”

“Nor smarter,” she snickers.

“Not everyone is lucky to meet the love of their life at the age of ten-and-two,” you frown. Margaret and Jamie got married three years ago, but they have been betrothed for seven prior to that.

“Fair,” she beams, and you can’t stay irritated for long. They are still ridiculously in love with each other, and you are really happy for her. You just wish to feel that, too. You crave that indescribable feeling of longing and wanting and caring for someone else — and being loved just as much in return.

“Maybe the concept of love is overrated,” you ramble. “It was easy to believe in when I was a kid but... As I am growing older, it’s getting harder to cling to hope, I guess. And I’m trying to make an effort and meet new people and... to show just enough character to not scare them away,” you quote your mother. “Yet all of them just make me feel nothing. At all. And I—” you realize that Margaret isn’t listening, her gaze is on something else behind your back. “Hey, I’m pouring out my heart of gold,” you hiss, and her sight shifts to you.

Before you can question her behavior, she informs. “Someone’s been keeping an eye on you.”

“Margaret, I’m trying to have a serious conversation about my future,” you fight the urge to turn around.

“Maybe this is your future!” she winks, and you grunt at her silliness.

“We are in a tavern out of all places! I’d rather take a kind man as my betrothed than a drunk one,” you’re about to scold her, but your friend’s eyes go wide.

“His hair,” her voice is barely above the whisper. “I can make out the strands of silver,” Margaret slightly leans towards you. “You know what that means?”

“That you had too much wine? Mayhaps we should head home,” you suggest, but your friend protests.

“Sit down!” she shushes. “He is coming over here,” Margaret puts on a smile that looks painfully forged. The never-ending chattering of people around you makes your head hurt, and you’re too tired to play along.

“Mar, it’s been a long day, and the last thing I want is to waste my time entertaining some man’s arrogance and...,” you don’t get to finish because he interrupts your train of thought.

“What if a man entertains you?” his voice is low and cocky. You close your eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. You don’t want to make a scene in a public place so you pull yourself together, thinking that you can talk your way out of this ridiculous situation.

But when you turn to him, your eyes meeting his, your plan is suddenly forgotten.

He is taller than you, a black cloak covering most of his body and his head, so your attention is naturally drawn to his face. He wears an eyepatch, and you look over his sharp features — his prominent nose, high cheekbones that flow down to the curved contour of lips, plump and alluring. Margaret was right about the hair, but she failed to mention the color of his eye. Taking that into account, it’s not hard to guess that he’s a Targaryen. Which means that he definitely is arrogant.

Well, two can play that game.

You ignore his question and pointedly don’t stand up in his presence.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

“I believe the pleasure is all mine,” he is only looking at you.

“We just met, you should not jump to conclusions,” you feel Margaret kicking your leg under the table but dismiss her warning.

“Sharp tongue,” he notes.

“Will this be a problem?” you challenge him.

“On the contrary,” it sounds like he’s actually enjoying it.

It is tricky to read his intentions. But when his gaze is concentrated on you, it makes you feel like there’s no one else in the room, and that sensation is thrilling.

“What brings you here, if I may ask?” you press, trying to ignore the unknown feeling creeping up on you.

“It is a nice tavern, wouldn’t you say so? Since you are here, too.”

“No, I mean what brings you to our table. There are plenty of others you could’ve graced with your presence.”

“Something must’ve caught my eye,” he says, and you see a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Some thing? Well, the interior isn’t very eye-catching if you ask me. But we might have to disagree on that.”

“You aren’t being very agreeable, it seems.”

“That’s what servants are for, and I’m not one,” you’re being defiant yet it doesn’t bother him.

“Please, do tell me more about yourself,” he swiftly pulls up a nearby chair and sits right next to you, his eye never leaving your face.

“Should you pull another one? For your ego, since it takes quite a lot of space.”

He squints at your words, and the corners of his mouth turn into a grin.

“I think we have that in common,” he bites back, but there’s no anger in his voice. If anything, the man looks curious, and you have to admit that you don’t take offense at his wit.

“Are there any other far-reaching conclusions that you managed to come up to?” you turn your body to him, so now you two are opposite each other.

“I only got here a few minutes ago. But I am a great observer should you give me a little more time.”

“Am I supposed to take your word for it? You are not as convincing as you think,” you impugn, so he pauses briefly.

“You don’t trust people easily, do you? How’s that for an observation,” his voice gets quiet, but his gaze is piercing.

“Men,” you correct him. “I don’t trust men.”

“Any of them dared to break your trust?” he gets a little closer, and you instinctively gravitate toward him.

“That would’ve required them to gain my trust first,” you retort.

“And what would it take for me to do so?”

“Do you expect me to make it easy? That’s not very observant of you,” your grin matches his own.

“Nothing good comes easy,” he murmurs, and you involuntarily lay your eyes on his lips. “But I expect it to be worth it.”

You feel a pull toward him, something that’s hard to describe but oh so natural to give into. His confidence isn’t intimidating but rather attractive, and you can’t help but notice how his gaze warms up your whole body. He makes you feel wanted without even doing anything.

But then you think of Thomas. Of the upcoming meeting and your future that depends on it. And you know you can’t throw it all away for some silly conversation with a self-confident stranger. No matter how enjoyable it seems to be.

You bite your lip and look away from him.

“That is enough entertainment for today,” you put some distance between you two. When you give him a quick glance, you catch a shadow of disappointment on his face.

“Didn’t take you for a quitter,” the blond comments.

“You should manage your expectations.”

“Maybe I should manage yours,” he has some nerve.

“That would be very time-consuming,” you suddenly realize that he’s sitting in your way, and it looks like he isn’t going to move.

“Are you in a rush?”

“I am” — “She isn’t,” you and Margaret say at the same time. You feel your cheeks heating up as you give her a death stare.

“Has anyone told you that you look charming when you are embarrassed?” he remarks, and you want to wipe the smirk off his face. Preferably with your lips. You mentally scold yourself and push that thought away.

“Does this usually work for you?” you get up, thinking of a way out.

“You tell me,” he leans back on his chair with a shit-eating grin on his face, clearly aware that he's blocking your exit.

“Cornering women in taverns is your way of courting?” you think how to distract him, but nothing springs to mind. “And then what, you just drag them into your man cave?”

“They come voluntarily,” it looks like your words struck a chord, but he keeps up the facade of indifference. “I happen to live nearby,” he notes casually.

“We both know that’s not exactly true,” you scoff with a tilt of your head. You are positive that the walk to the castle will take at least thirty minutes.

“Want to bet?” he sits up straight.

“And what do I get out of this?”

He looks you up and down before answering:

“Me.”

He’s pushing his luck at this point.

You glance around and take note that the tavern is packed with people, and no one is paying attention to you. You also realize that Margaret already sneaked out and is standing at the door. She raises an eyebrow with a silent question, as if asking what are you going to do.

That’s when you decide you can push some boundaries, too.

Your eyes are back on the man in front of you. Without giving it a second thought, you step closer to him.

“Was that supposed to make me weak in the knees?” you whisper, and his face expression melts into an amused one. Seizing the moment, you yank your dress up and throw a leg over him. He immediately looks down at the exposed skin of your thigh, his mouth is slightly agape as he’s now sitting between your legs. You see him tensing up, his fingers clenching into fists as if he’s fighting the urge to put his hands on you. You think that if he does, you are not going anywhere. You wouldn’t want to go anywhere — the realization makes you tremble, and you know that you don’t have much time.

You boldly place your hand on his shoulder, pressing him back onto the chair.

“I hate to break it to you, but you are not that impressive,” you say, throwing your other leg over him and successfully moving away.

When you get to the door, the look on Margaret’s face is priceless. You grab her by the arm and drag her outside in a hurry, merging into the crowd of passers-by.

“I need you to explain what the h—” she starts, but you interrupt her.

“Please, don’t,” you snarl. “Don’t say anything, just give me five minutes.”

You can’t even explain to yourself what happened back there and why you did that. You think of his gaze roaming over your body, the depth of his voice and the curves of his lips. You tell yourself that you need to get him out of your head as soon as possible. You fail miserably.

One week later, you are dining with Thomas at his house, and yet your mind wanders back to the arrogant one-eyed man. Aemond, as you’ve learned — and it wasn’t that you wanted to, but fate had other plans.

And by fate, you mean Margaret.

Once her five minutes were up, she couldn’t stop talking. By the time you came home, you got his whole backstory — the second-born son of the King, has two brothers and two sisters, rides the biggest dragon in the world. Overly confident, stubborn, wears an eyepatch because he doesn’t want to scare the ladies of the court. Usually doesn’t talk much.

Unlike Thomas who gathered his whole family and can’t stop blabbing. You struggle to participate in their conversation, giving polite smiles left and right. You don’t know what to expect of the evening, and it makes you nervous. And not in a good way. All of a sudden the possibility of marrying Thomas doesn’t seem to be the best.

From the corner of your eye, you catch him standing up, clearly readying himself for a speech. He has a manner of pursing his lips every time he’s agitated, and it looks weird. That’s also how it felt when he kissed you, which is probably the reason you haven’t done much kissing after that. You wonder what it’s like to kiss Aemond. Just thinking of it makes your heart rate speed up, and you nervously gulp half a cup of wine.

“I gathered all of you today to make an important announcement,” he starts his pompous monologue, “that may not come as a surprise to some of you.”

You cautiously look at the door.

“But, as of recently, I received inspiration to change the course of my life. And I decided to devote myself to the service of Gods.”

You nearly choke on your drink. In all the years you’ve known Thomas, he’s never been to the Sept once.

“And I wanted to grant you this privilege to be the first ones to know.”

You’ve got to be kidding me. You wait for any other announcements — literally anything else — but Thomas goes back to chattering, also accepting pointless congratulations. It takes you ten painfully long minutes to get a chance to talk to him alone.

“May I have a word?” you inquire, and the two of you move to the far end of the room.

“It is about your speech,” you clarify. “It might sound silly, but I thought that you were planning... Um,” you’re trying to formulate your concerns. “I was wondering, how would you describe our relationship? Or the prospect of it, I should say,” you give him a tight smile.

“Oh,” his face pales slightly.

Your facial expression mirrors his. Oh?

“I am actually glad you asked,” he awkwardly takes your hands in his, and you notice how sweaty his palms are.

“You know, you’ve been a great companion of mine,” his voice is as weak as his smile. “And I am forever grateful for those moments that we shared as they only brought me joy,” his hands feel like jelly, and you don’t want to hold them. Like, ever. “But now that I’m choosing to follow my destiny,” you do your best to suppress a chuckle at his dramatic phrasing. “I decided that... I need some time to figure out how I feel. About us.”

You look at him, dumbfounded, his words sinking in.

“You need... some time?” you drawl, feeling an emotion bubbling up in your chest. You are not sure what it is. “You? Need to think about us?” you repeat, and he nods, his brows furrowed at your reaction.

There is a moment of silence, and then you hear yourself laughing. You can’t control it as you’re overcome with emotion, your laughter only growing stronger, to the point of you tearing up a bit. The emotion is relief. There’s no way you’ll ever marry this man.

“I am the one who should be glad, Thomas,” you shake his hand while he seems wildly perplexed, all of his guests staring at you. “Thank you for your honesty, really. I hope you will be successful in all your endeavors, marriage included.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but you already turned around.

“Where are you going?!”

You stop for a second, your thoughts rushing back to the conversation with Margaret. To that evening in the tavern.

“I have a meeting, it’s of great importance,” you say and quicken your pace. You reach the tavern when it’s already getting dark, the weather is cloudy, and your coat is wet in the light drizzle. You walk in a daze as you’re torn between being excited and anxious. There is a chance that Aemond won’t be there. That he doesn’t remember you. That he’s with someone else. That he had a change of heart. That he...

You spot him almost immediately after you walk in.

Coincidentally or not, he’s sitting at the exact same table you were at the first time you met. You stay still as his eye absentmindedly wanders around the room and then lands on you. Aemond stands up — way too quickly — and you see a well-known grin growing on his face. Your eyes dart to his lips, and the question pops up in your head again.

You feel the pull — and before you can think, your body follows it.

He keeps his gaze on you, his brows rising at the speed of your approach. You cover the distance in a heartbeat, your hands reaching his face, and he slightly flinches, probably because your fingers are cold from being outside. And then you stand on your tiptoes and crash your lips onto his without any hesitation.

He gasps, surprised and frozen for a moment. It takes just a couple of seconds for him to melt into the kiss, and his hands are instantly on your waist, pulling you closer to him. Aemond’s lips are way softer than you anticipated — and it’s the only thing on your mind. His mouth on yours, warm and exploring, the slow pacing of the kiss that leaves you lightheaded and yearning for more.

He presses your body into his, lifting you up with ease, and your feet leave the ground. You tug his hood further down so it covers most of your face, too, and then you slide your thumb up the sharp line of his jaw. His tongue runs over your lower lip, and you feel a wave of heat rising in your stomach.

You pull away before you can take it too far.

“You remember me?” you ask him, panting.

He hums, his eye focused on your lips.

“Still believe that nothing good comes easy?” you mimic his words, but he ignores your jesting.

“Definitely,” Aemond looks you in the eyes, keeping his hands on your waist.

“Is the bet still on?”

“Yes,” the corners of his mouth curl.

“Lead the way, then.” By the time you reach the castle, the rain is pouring in full force, and your clothes are drenched. The two of you rush through the streets, your hands intertwined, and it feels like it only takes about ten minutes before you sneak into his chambers, both out of breath and giggling.

Only when you take a look around the unfamiliar settings, it suddenly dawns on you that you are all alone with a man you barely know, and your bravery starts fading away.

Whether Aemond notices the change in your mood or not, you can’t tell, but he respectfully keeps his distance.

“You need to get out of these,” he points at your coat and dress. “They’re soaking wet.”

“Is this your way of trying to get me naked?” you eye him suspiciously, making Aemond scoff.

“I just don’t want you to catch a cold,” he honestly states. “I’ll fetch you a shirt of mine.” Sensing your doubts, he adds, “Don’t worry, it is long enough.”

He brings you the shirt and politely turns away, going to the other end of the room to light the fireplace. On his way there, he removes the cloak and the jacket, his upper body only covered by the same piece of clothing he gave you. You watch him carefully, noting the movement of his back muscles as he bends down.

The sparkling glow of fire brings you back to reality, and you hastily remove your clothes, leaving the undergarments on, which are luckily dry. You put on his shirt, and it barely reaches your knees, but the material feels nice and comfortable. While Aemond is still busy with the fire, you glance over his room.

It’s spacious and simply furnished, and your attention is drawn to a couple of shelves nearby. You look at the tightly packed rows of books, some of the hardcovers are worn out from old age. You catch the familiar naming and pull one of them out, gently flipping through the pages.

“You take interest in philosophy?” his voice startles you. You missed the moment he came back, and when you take your eyes off the book, you see him leaning on the nearest shelf, looking at you inquisitively.

“I do, indeed,” you confess. “And I read this one so many times, my own copy pretty much fell apart.”

“You can take mine,” Aemond offers.

You notice that despite his cockiness, his presence is actually very calming. Everything is easy with him — striking up conversations, making jokes. Taking his hand in yours, running in the rain. Kissing.

Your heart skips a beat, and you sheepishly move on to another topic:

“Shouldn’t you change as well?” you refer to his shirt, but he shakes his head.

“No need.”

“Oh, was it the Targaryen’s dragon blood that helped you dry up?” you tend to jest when you’re nervous, and right now is no exception.

“My cloak is too thick for the water to soak through. But I like your version, too,” his lips ripple into a smile.

You can help but smile back. “Thank you for the shirt.”

“It looks really good on you,” the words smoothly roll off his tongue and ignite the familiar burning deep in your core. He keeps his gaze on your face, your eyes locking for a moment.

You look away first, letting out a timid laugh.

“I must admit, I like this way of courting better,” you place the book back. “But you can cut it short. What’s your move?”

“My... move?” Aemond gives you a quizzical look.

“Yes, your big move. Show me,” you request eagerly.

“Don’t know what you're talking about,” he looks down, his aplomb faltering.

“What do you usually do to impress a lady?”

“I don’t really need to do anything,” Aemond shrugs.

“What a humble individual you are,” you chuckle and give him a minute to think. “So what is it?”

“I just told you...,” it seems like he’s trying to dodge the topic, which only sparks your curiosity.

“Oh, come on! You princes always have a move. Let me guess, you speak to her in High Valyrian? Men like to talk big,” he snorts. “No? Try to win her over with your...,” you gesture at his bookshelves, “...precious collection? Although it’s risky because what if she’s not into reading, that would be awkward,” and then it hits you. “Wait, it’s the dragon, isn’t it? You show her your dragon? Got to make sure it’s well-fed, though, otherwise you’ll have a date with a roasted —”

“It’s my sword,” he cuts you off, and you swear you can see him blushing at the confession.

“Um, your sword? Is this a metaphor for someth—”

“Gods, no. I mean the actual sword. The one you grip with your hand and poke people with.”

“That description didn’t help,” you tease, and he groans.

“You know what I mean,” Aemond gives you a pointed look, but his face flushed pink, and you can’t take him seriously.

“I do, you just look really charming when you are embarrassed,” you say cheekily, which makes him huff. “My apologies. Please elaborate on the sword. How does it work?”

Aemond hesitates but then realizes that you will never let it go, so he gives in.

“I bring my training into the conversation. And then I... show them,” he talks with his hands when he’s uncomfortable, and you find it endearing.

“And that’s it?”

“Pretty much,” Aemond nods.

“They watch you train, and that’s what does it for the ladies?”

“I don’t know why, I never gave it much thought.”

“Well, someone should. Can’t imagine it ever working on me.”

You feel a sudden shift in the air as Aemond slowly looks up at you. You’re standing a few feet apart, and he’s yet to initiate anything, but once again, it only takes a look from him for you to feel a familiar flare-up of the tantalizing desire.

“I’m not going to take you to the training yard in the pouring rain,” he concludes.

“But it’s not about the place, is it? Must be something about you,” now you’re the one champing at the bit to see what the fuss is all about.

“I don’t have a sword on me.”

“Opt for something smaller, I am sure it will do,” you hint at the dagger that you’ve seen him carry, and wait expectantly for him to agree.

Aemond reluctantly contemplates your suggestion, then sighs and goes to get his dagger which he left next to the cloak.

You wonder if the ladies are attracted to his competitive spirit. If they enjoy the feeling of danger they get at the sight of steel, the cold shine of it, the clang of swords. Or maybe it’s the urge to take sides and root for the winner?

And then you see Aemond rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, — and your breath suddenly hitches.

The room is lit by fire, the warmth of it illuminating his skin, casting shadows that frame every muscle of his arms. He takes the dagger in one hand, the movement fast and honed, and your eyes follow it. You notice the scattering of his veins that go down his wrist and into his palm, the blue lines tightening with every swirl. The silver blade catches and reflects the light, but you are focused solely on his flexing muscles.

He’s maneuvering the dagger with ease, almost carelessly, yet you know that every motion is well-practiced through years of training. His long fingers grip the hilt, revealing the sharp outline of his knuckles. The steel silently cuts through the air, again and again, but your eyes are glued to his hands. The way they move, the power that he holds in them. The things he can do with them, with his fingers. The way they will feel on your bare skin and in your... You swallow, letting out a shuddered breath.

“Are you weak in the knees yet?” his words bring you out of your trance, and you blink a couple of times, trying to shake the feeling off. Your body is so heated, you’re surprised you are not sweating yet.

“Is this the point when the ladies throw themselves at you?” your voice is hoarse, and you take a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself.

Aemond stops his movements. You feel your skin tingling with anticipation, waiting for him to finish what he started, but he doesn’t budge. For a short while, you’re taken aback by the change in his demeanor — and the realization strikes you.

“Wait, how many ladies were here before me?”

“I never said I take them here,” he puts the dagger back in its sheath, averting his gaze.

“But you told me that you do your... thing with the sword for them.”

“In the training yard, with other people around us, yes.”

“So then you just leave them all hot and bothered? Aemond, that is cruel,” his actions confuse you, but while you’re looking for an explanation, he turns back to you and finally meets your gaze.

“It would’ve been cruel to lead them on when I feel nothing for them,” he reveals, and you discern the raw honesty in his words. And you know exactly what he means. It’s the tiresome attempts to find someone who will spark your interest, to spot a connection, all of those efforts leading nowhere and making you feel like you’re the one at fault. But you aren’t — and he isn’t, either.

Aemond looks almost ashamed of letting out something so personal, but you welcome the intimacy of this moment.

“I shall consider myself lucky, then,” you say softly.

He gives you that same look that makes you feel like the world around you disappears.

“You are... something else,” Aemond mumbles.

You guess that he isn’t used to being straightforward about his feelings, nor does he know how to express his affection with words. You really, really want to kiss him again.

The boyish grin reappears on his face.

“Did you mean I left you all hot and bothered?” Aemond narrows his eye.

“I never said that,” you smile coyly. “Maybe you should’ve tried a little harder.”

“I happen to have some tricks up my sleeve,” he takes a step towards you and, before you can ask for details, you feel his fingers on your ribs as he starts tickling you, and you immediately burst into laughter.

His touches are light, fingers grazing against your clothed skin as he subtly moves you further into the room until your legs bump into his bed. Losing your balance, you fall on it, your back met with the fluffiness of thick blankets. Aemond hovers over you, and you can’t stop giggling, trying to wiggle away from his tickles.

Wrapped up in the moment, you make a careless move, your hand brushing up his cheek — and you suddenly see a bright gleam of blue on the right side of his face.

Aemond freezes at the spot, halting his actions, and momentarily flinches away. You are gawking at the sapphire, unable to form a coherent sentence.

He makes a move to fix his eyepatch, but you stop him.

“Don’t,” you catch his hand mid-air, your grip delicate but firm, and he doesn’t fight it. You would’ve been surprised by your own quick reaction if only your mind wasn’t completely occupied with the sight in front of you.

It looks like the gem absorbs all the light in the room, shimmering with various shades of blue. It’s cut in a way to imitate a surface of an eye, the sides of the sapphire polished and blending into each other. There is a depth to it, bright sparkles drowning in a color that’s close to black, and the spillovers are mesmerizing.

You bring your hand closer to his face, to the area that��s been left covered and unloved, and touch the skin with the tip of your finger. He lets you.

“Wow,” you breathe out, gently tracing his scar. “This is the most badass thing I’ve ever seen.”

Aemond looks at you in disbelief, his eye fixed on your face, and his lips parted.

“...What?” he manages to ask.

“You look like a pirate. A really badass... sky pirate?” you suggest, and he lets out a light chuckle, still not entirely sure he believes you.

So you shamelessly continue.

“A pirate with his own dragon. The largest one in the Seven Kingdoms as I’ve heard,” you can almost feel him swelling with pride. “He charms the ladies with his fighting skills — and has a gem for an eye? Incredibly irresistible,” your index finger circles the area around his sapphire.

He listens attentively, holding his breath.

“A prince who is as good with his sword as he is with his wit, fond of reading and isn’t averse to mischief. Any lady of the court would’ve been fortunate to get a hold of such treasure,” you remove the eyepatch and tenderly cradle his face. “Yet I am the one who’s been honored to see all of him,” you glance from the bright gemstone to his eye and back. “Honestly, it’s kind of hard to pick which one I like more...,” you are barely able to notice him sharply lower his head, and your words die down.

Without a warning, Aemond covers your lips with his, the intensity of the kiss pulling the air out of your lungs right away. He’s been holding back the first time, but he isn’t now, and the passion sets you ablaze. His tongue slips into your mouth, easily tangling with yours, and you moan at the contact. Aemond skilfully unbuttons your shirt, and the second his fingers touch your skin, you shiver, the quivering sensation washing over you. His hands slowly slide down your ribcage, tracing the curves of your body, making your back arch, your chest flush against his, your heart pounding. He contours the bend of your hips, then presses his palms there, his touches rough, claiming, burning. You move your fingers up the base of his neck and run them through his hair, and he releases a shaky sigh. Aemond relishes in the feeling of your compliance, the fervor of it, your body being so needy and welcoming, until you are both gasping for air.

“Was that impressive enough?” he rasps, and you look up at him through your lashes, spellbound and breathless. His pupil is dilated, gaze clouded with lust, your noses adjoin.

“Yeah-yes. Yes, very,” you utter, at a loss for words.

“Good. Because I’m about to outdo myself,” he tightens his grip on your thighs, picking you up and moving into the middle of the bed. Your head barely touches the pillow when his lips are on yours again.

🔥 my masterlist

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes

#aemond targaryen x reader #not gonna lie the main reason I'm finally posting this is because a few ppl on AO3 liked it and it gave me a *little* boost of confidence #kinda??? I mean it also took me a few days of trying to convince myself to post it on tumblr #(also I've been staring at this draft for 4 hours)#my confidence is non-existent lmao #my stuff #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond one eye #oh god how many tags can I come up with #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfics #aemond targaryen fics #hotd fanfiction

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