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myfandompromptsside · 1 year ago

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He is the cinnamon roll we would all like to have for breakfast. 😊

I don't deserve your compliments, thank you for beta and commenting Arcie. ❤️

Memorised

Aemond x bestfriend!reader [Modern AU]

Complete low-quality mush. I'm so sorry in advance.

Summary: You and Aemond go way back, and you tell each other everything. Until two nights ago.

Only, he is much better at keeping secrets than you are.

Warning: light mention of aggression ~ 1.8k words

Late Christmas One-Shot for @cyeco13, the sweetest person one can know. Thank you for taking the time to do such wonderful Ewan content and to provide Ewan Nation with beautiful fanarts, personalised or not. I tried to write something to reach your level of kindness but as you'll notice, it didn't even come close.

Hope you'll like it nonetheless, and thank you so much for your arts!

You had no idea how to tell him.

First because you hadn’t really told anyone, not even the guy you were currently seeing, but especially because you knew your best friend, Aemond Targaryen, would get mad.

It wasn’t a big deal, really. You were only walking home from the cinema not two days ago, the moon high up in the sky when that stranger caught up with you in the street with lewd words coming out of his mouth and a firm grip on your shoulder. Everything happened in a blur. He didn't have time to do anything as you already yanked yourself from him and ran away, but the fight had been enough to cause you a sleepless night of dread.

This is why you had precipitated this little gathering with your friends before you all went home for Christmas, because you didn’t want to be alone. Because you needed his reassuring presence.

It went fine, a welcomed distraction as you talked about what each of you had planned for the holidays and introduced Caleb to your group of friends. Both of you had only gone out a few times together but you thought it nice to invite him, and you were pleasantly surprised at how well behaved Aemond had been with him.

For once.

You always took it for protectiveness, but each boyfriend you had, each friend you got closer to, your best friend would have an awful time getting along with them. Aemond Targaryen was calm, composed, and could appear rather intimidating to others at times. But for you he was so much more, the friend that you adored, cherished, whom you trusted. You were convinced you knew all of his layers, all of his secrets that laid beneath the surface of his perfect pale skin and composure, as he knew all of yours. You knew how caring he was of you and how cold he could act if something did not please him.

So the fact that he said more than a few words to Caleb was so encouraging for you. But you didn’t know it was only because Aemond was confident that this time, you would get rid of this one yourself, that he wouldn’t even have to intervene.

Because Aemond Targaryen was helplessly in love with you.

You didn’t know that he was getting with all of these shallow girls only to cope with your incessant habit to pick dull boyfriends for yourself. You didn’t know that your efforts to tolerate those for his sake were pointless, because he didn’t care about any of them but you.

At first, he believed it was only pure attraction, adding to the affection he harboured for you as a friend, all those years besides you, learning to know you, to get you, to see you. He thought he could control it for a time, just a simple chemical reaction in play he could put on mute and remain focused only on your friendship. But then it evolved into something chaotic, obsessive even. Each time you got close to someone, really close, it made his skin crawl. Each time you settled with somebody, he internally convinced himself it wasn’t for long. How could it be? That guy obviously wasn’t for you, he could tell. He knew you. Then before he realised it, he started chasing them off, one by one they went away, and it wasn’t even difficult. Aemond Targaryen was an eloquent man, and if anything, persuasive. All it took was some well aimed words and a cold face and they always ended up walking away. Better they leave you sooner than later, he thought, instead of dragging the joke along and ending up hurting you more.

Because these fools were so unsuited for you.

When his brother once mentioned him as your “personal guard dog” he flinched, thinking that maybe he was not being a good friend for you, keeping you from a happiness he could not consider, without him. But it quickly passed as he decided then and there that he didn’t care, that it was best for you, even if he had to pick you up in pieces each time you asked what was wrong with you, each time he wanted to tell you that he would be there for you.

It was just a matter of time now before he would tell you. Before he would make you see, make you realise.

Maybe after this one. Caleb.

Caleb who gives you an awkward kiss right before you close the door of your flat, waving goodbye to your friends one last time as Aemond stands inside, a wince on his face. His train wasn’t until two hours time, and of course he would spend those last hours with you.

When you come back to your living room, Aemond is already seated on the couch, entranced on his phone, so incredibly focused. He has dropped his scornful expression to replace it with his composed one, shielding himself to you and you can’t help but wonder what he truly thinks.

Because you can tell when your best friend hides things from you, when he keeps it all to himself.

Aemond who had a complicated family situation, an uncaring father and traumatic childhood. Aemond who had to undergo fighting lessons along with his brothers as a child, and who you still saw at the gym sometimes.

“Aemond?” he hums in acknowledgment, not lifting his eye up the screen, but his head turns slightly in your direction.

“Would you help me with something?” you ask.

“Yes of course. Anything.”

He still hasn't looked up when you say. “Would you teach me how to defend myself?”

He finally looks up, first with a wide eye before his scrunched eyebrow turns it into a slit. “Why? Has something happened?”

“No, I just-”

“Is what’s-his-name bothering you?”

“No, I just thought it would be nice to-”

“I always told you to call me when you walk home alone-”

“I just want to be able to fight back if ever… it happens you know?” you blurt out. “I’m not saying it’s going to, I’m just… anticipating.”

Aemond looks at you, blue eye boring into your own intensely. “If I do, promise you won’t let it go to your head, make you take unnecessary risks. You’ll always find stronger than you.”

“No one is stronger than you, though,” you smile playfully, and the instant upward of his lips makes you relax, confident he won’t push for the reasons of your sudden request. You knew you would give in if ever he did, unable to resist.

“I’m not sure about that,” he says humbly, discarding his phone on the couch. “But why not, I understand the need to be able to fight back. Makes you think more rationally too.”

“Exactly,” you say as you point your finger to him, relieved. You’re glad to have something to look forward to doing with him, to learn new things, to challenge yourself. You trust him completely.

“I could show you some known moves I taught Helaena,” he wonders outloud. “Just enough to disable and run. Nothing more.”

“You taught Helaena but not me?” you add as you try to imagine sweet Helaena hitting someone, the image not quite adding to reality.

Aemond shakes his head lightly. “You’re not the one with an overprotective mother.”

“No, but I’m the one with the very protective best friend,” you point out with a shrug, smiling in his direction.

He stares at you for what feels like a long time, all playfulness gone from his features and you fear you have said the wrong thing for a moment.

Until the twinkle in his eye comes back and you let out a breath.

“If that’s what you think of me, better live up to the title then,” he states as he stands up, turning on himself.. “Get up.”

You look up at him, stunned. “What, you want to do this… now?”

“Why not?” he says with a slightly tilted head, a smile at the corner of his lips. Truth was, he had never passed a chance to get close to you over the years, to get into physical contact with you, to touch you. And there you were, serving him that opportunity on a golden platter, and no patience to refuse it.

When you find no valid argument against this improvised session, you stand up and help him move some furniture around, giving you enough space for both of you to stand on the large carpet of your living room.

“Right, the basics first,” he begins as he takes a step closer to you then wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “Someone grabs your arm. What do you do?”

“I… I don’t know?” you say as you tug pointlessly, feeling the pressure of his skin against yours, unable to escape the lock he has on you.

He looks so focused all of a sudden, so lethal that if he wasn’t your best friend, you would have been scared. “You twist your arm, as much as you can. It’ll make them readjust their grip and you’ll be able to escape.”

You try that at once, wiggling yourself to try and make him let go of you. His hold is strong, but when you finally manage, you can see his proud expression on his face as you smile back at him.

“Good, now if I do this.”

He swiftly comes by your side and then his hand is in your hair, taking a fistful of it. You gasp as you feel him tug lightly, waiting for you to react. When you glance at him from the side, you are met with his sufficient smirk as he looks right at you and you feel something tickle in your chest.

“Hum…” you falter as you try to focus on something else than your head leaning back against his hand, feeling him pull harder when you try to turn around. “I would…”

You feel his laugh before hearing it, the heat of his breath fanning on the side of your neck. “No, you can’t turn around. First you lift up your arm…”

You hold your breath as he takes it, easing his grip over your hair at the same time and you find yourself regretting the slight pain he previously elicited there, his touch so gentle now as he brings your arm up to him, bare skin against warm fingers.

“Swing it over mine and push it down. C’mon.”

You do as you're told, feeling the pain in your scalp coming back briefly before you push down your arm, making him let go. He is almost forced to the ground, and when you let go he doesn’t fall, but chuckles lightly as he looks at you with a twinkle in his eye, seeing the blush on your face, and how weirdly out of breath you seem.

“Quick learner. Good, now let's see how you react to this.”

Without warning, he merges into your back and wraps his arm around your neck, pulling you against his chest. There is nothing violent/brutal about it, only the pressure of your back against his chest and the gap that separates your collarbone from his bicep. You suck on your breath at the sudden movement, reaching instantly for his forearm for balance.

His hair is mingling with yours, his breath is on your cheek. “C’mon, follow your instinct. What would you do in this situation?”

Aemond knows perfectly well that he had burned several steps, that there was no need to use that stunt so early, but he couldn’t resist. He liked how flushed you were the second he got close to you, liked how your face became slightly red as he praised you, and now he was curious. Curious to know how far he could take this, if you would writhe against him, struggle. He loved how tense your muscles were and how soft your skin was under him at the same time.

His scent reaches your nose and you discover that you would be unable to answer him even if you wanted to, your senses taken away from you. So instead you rack your brain to find a solution, calling out to every cell of your body to conjure something in order to counter him.

But all you manage is swing your arm in the air and kick him lightly in the ribs, barely eliciting a reaction from him as you begin to panic.

“Not very conclusive, love,” he speaks softly, stopping your unskilled movements with a gentle hand. “I guess I’ll have to show you that one first.”

You swallow at that pet name, only to find out that your throat is already very dry. There were times where Aemond had called you ‘love’ in the past, but those times were so rare and unexpected you had wondered if he had even realised saying it. If he had even meant to.

It makes your lungs momentarily stop working.

You finally seem able to breathe when he steps away, only to feel your heart take up the pace when he brings your arms around his own neck gently and pushes your hips to make you position behind him. It’s so brief it leaves a cold burn over your flesh.

He is so tall his shoulder blades are centimetres from your face, his long hair tickling your nose. They smell so nice as he walks you through his movements, first pushing your hands down, locking them, turning his head slightly before pushing you down with him and pivoting to steady one leg behind yours, your hips locking together. Then his hands suddenly reach behind your knees and you're yanked off the ground. He is now on top of you, immobilising one of your arms and smiling down at you with that satisfied grin of his.

You barely have time to let out a huff of surprise, your back touching the soft material of the rug beneath you as he holds you into place, leaving little to no room to move. “You’re heavier than you look.”

His annoyingly beautiful expression wakes something in you, and you weakly attempt to struggle away from him, only to have him grab both your wrists and pin them above your head with a tutting sound.

You feel helpless, completely overthrown, his weight over you making you scared to move. Nothing in your brain is computing as he grins down at you and you don’t even try to struggle anymore, instead trying to settle your breath. “I-I don’t think I can reproduce that one.”

Your stammer makes him laugh. “I don’t think there’s anything you won’t be able to manage.”

You don’t understand why your heart is beating so fast, but it’s exhilarating, so very much so. “We can’t all be good at everything that we do. I’m not like you…”

The pressure lifts off over one of your wrists, but does not disappear completely. You see his eye widen for a bit before settling down, his grin disappearing from his face, his expression softening. Behind his blue iris you witness something pass underneath, something deep.

Almost like sadness.

“What is it?” you ask, his weight over you forgotten, now aware of how he hovers over you so gently, almost caring compared to the way he holds you on the ground.

“Nothing,” he says, trying a smile.

But you don’t buy it. “Aemond, tell me what’s wrong.”

He shakes his head slightly, teeth digging into his lower lip, his gaze now escaping your worried one to look over your form, to look where his finger now travels down your arm. You wonder if he is even conscious of doing it. “It’s just… It isn’t like I had imagined it.”

Your hands are tingly where he rests his over the pulse of your wrists, over the thin skin of your inner arm, and you feel your skin burn where his eye looks, from your ear to your collarbone, then lower. Never meeting your gaze. “I-imagined what?”

His eye shot up at yours, so blue and soft, so familiar. He exhales, a small controlled sigh coming out of his lips as his fingers move to caress the length of your arm, his eye following the movement like in a trance. “That it would be how I would have you beneath me, all… soft and pretty like that. Mellow for me.”

You don’t understand anything of what is happening, your mind is overwhelmed and it’s like your body takes over, as if it understands so much more than your messy brain.

Suddenly it's him: his heat, his weight over you, gently crushing you, his eye devouring you, his gaze almost tantalising as every cell of your skin reacts to him.

“I wanted it to be perfect,” he continues, voice so low and sorrowful, almost a whisper. “Not… you trying to fight me off.”

His eye is lost somewhere between your neck and your hair where you feel him graze them absentmindedly. But then his hands lift from it, leave your skin, his weight becomes lighter over your hips and you want to scream.

Your hand grabbed for his, stopping him from lifting himself up, from leaving you. “But I’m not… fighting you off right now.”

He smiles again and this time it is mild, genuine and you think your heart is going to burst out of your chest. His lips are so perfect, you want them to talk again, to do something, anything.

He leans closer and you have no idea what to do than hold on to him, your breath caught in your lungs.

“I wanted to have you all for myself, to be able to touch you all over, to apply my knowledge of every shape and curve I’ve been admiring from afar,” he starts, voice so terribly low as he applies pressure on your arm again. “I wanted to memorise every inch of it, every parcel I didn’t have access to all this time with my hands, with my lips, and see if you would make the sounds you do when you’re in my dreams. I wanted to touch every mark, every shiver like it was my own…”

Your muscles are liquid, your skin is on fire, already ablaze with anticipation of all the sweet promises that roll off his tongue.

“I wanted you to want it, to welcome it, to ask for it…” His hands had abandoned your arms and neck, his thumb now reaching for your lower lip and you don’t dare to blink, dizzy as his thumb presses gently on the soft flesh of it. “I wanted to start there.”

There is nothing else, no one else but him. No air, no oxygen, and you’re transfixed by the way he looks, so perfect, slightly out of breath, his eye examining your lip, your cheek, your eyes like it was the most precious of things. You’re hypnotised by how he looks at you. Ignited by his hand on your cheek, on your hair, on your lip, hating the distance separating you.

He asks for it, for your permission through his eye, and you almost hate him for asking, hate him for not taking what has been his for such a long time.

His gaze flutter and it’s just air that separates you, then nothing. His lips are like flames, his mouth like a bonfire and his touch so tender, so cruelly tender. You are separate from your body until you feel the pressure of his hands on your neck, on your waist, on your hips. Until you reach for his hair and his back, craving for more.

And you wished oxygen wasn’t a necessity when you are forced to part, his eye lashes brushing your cheek, your jaw, the column of your throat as he holds his promise.

He is learning everything with his lips.

“Please, stay here tonight… Don’t go home.”

He exhales on your skin, making you wriggle under him, so burning. Just him.

His smirk has come back, so enticing, so attractive, so beautiful as cups your cheek tenderly and looks at you so intensely. “My home is here.”

Thank you @arcielee, I swear to serve you and try not to be so distracting in the future. 💙

All Aemond works taglist: @watercolorskyy

#reblog #memorised #aemond x reader #lovely mutuals

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