#modern aemond targaryen angst

[aemondwhoresworld]

while waiting for HOTD season 2, i rewatch the season 1 and …. LOOK AT THIS HANDSOMENESS

MY PRINCE EWANNN

House Of The Dragon, S1E8

feel free to use my GIF, for higher quality on X (@/aemondwhores)

[velaryon-seahores]

Eclipsed Love.

Pairing : Aemond Targaryen x Fem!reader ( Modern au )

synopsis : You and Aemond shared a romantic bond during your high school years. However, your relationship took a turn when an unexpected pregnancy altered the dynamics. Aemond, driven by aspirations of pursuing a career in medicine, struggled to reconcile his dreams with the newfound responsibilities. Meanwhile, the financial constraints and fear of revealing the situation to your strict parents left you without options, making abortion unattainable. When Aemond chose to end the relationship, you made the difficult decision to vanish, seeking a fresh start. Years later, your son fell seriously ill, necessitating medical attention. The twist in the tale was that the doctor who held the key to your son's recovery happened to be none other than his biological father, Aemond.

Warning: for this chapter nothing but fluff between mother and son and the father that stepped up ( not aemond ), angst and Aemond realizing he made a mistake.

Word count : 2.8k

A/n: comments likes and reblogs are highly appreciated ❤️!

Part II Part III

Last night was a tapestry woven with joy and togetherness. You and your closest friend, Qoren Martell, celebrated your son Lucerys' tenth birthday—Qoren wasn’t just a friend, he was your family.

His friendship wasn't mere camaraderie; it was a lifeline. He'd stood by you when your home became a cage, helping you break free and find your footing. Securing you a job within his father's company wasn't just a favor—it was an expression of solidarity. But it was during your pregnancy that his support shone most brilliantly, never wavering even when the world around you seemed to.

Last night wasn't just about candles and cake. It was about making dreams come true. You and Qoren had planned a surprise that felt like magic: a trip to the national space station. Lucerys, your son, had always dreamed of being an astronaut, and you could practically see his eyes shining like stars as he walked in.

With an astronaut helmet that looked like it was plucked from a sci-fi movie, Lucerys was the happiest kid ever. The space station astronauts treated him like a superstar, and he couldn't stop thanking both of you for this amazing gift.

As you explored the space station together, Lucerys was like a comet, zooming from one cool thing to another. He chatted with the astronauts like they were old pals and soaked up every bit of space knowledge. The station felt like a playground of stars just for him.

The best part was when Lucerys got to hop into a spaceship's cockpit. With that helmet still on, he was like a commander on a galactic mission. Qoren, being the fun guy he is, joined in on the fun, pretending to be Lucerys' sidekick.

But then, like the shadow of a passing satellite, everything changed. Lucerys' jubilant expression contorted in pain, his hands clutching his chest. The joyful symphony abruptly dissolved into cries laden with agony.

"Heart... hurts... can't breathe!" Lucerys' pleas pierced through, the very air heavy with the weight of his pain, and it felt like a sudden lightning bolt in the middle of a clear day

Your heart raced, and everything turned a little fuzzy. Qoren's eyes mirrored your shock. The space station, which moments ago felt infinite, suddenly felt like a tight squeeze.

In that wild moment, all the cool space stuff didn't matter. What mattered was Lucerys, your boy, in pain. You scooped him up, holding him close, trying to soothe him as he trembled. Qoren's voice cut through the panic, calm but urgent, as he called for an ambulance.

Suddenly, you find yourself standing in a sterile hospital bathroom, the clock stubbornly ticking away the early hours of the morning.Tears stain your cheeks as your mind races to grasp the harsh reality you've just been confronted with—your son, your sweet boy, has a heart disease.

Lucerys has been diagnosed with Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy. The weight of the words hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you with a mix of fear and helplessness.

"Y/n!" Qoren's voice called out. "Come on, don't make me come inside."

Stuck in a whirlpool of tears and thoughts, you found it hard to move, your heart heavy with worry for your son.

"Seriously! They'll think I'm some kind of pervert now," Qoren quipped, a faint attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere. Your response remained subdued, the weight of the news too immense to shake off.

Qoren's arms enveloped you, his embrace a comforting cocoon. "Everything will be alright," he murmured, his words a lifeline in the midst of your turmoil.

Looking up at him, tears glistening, you let out a sob. "I can't lose him, Qoren," your voice wavered, raw with emotion. "He's all I have... my only family, my son."

Qoren met your gaze, unwavering resolve in his eyes. "You won't lose him. Luke is a fighter, and he's stronger than you think. He's going to pull through, I believe in him."

His arms tightened around you, providing a steady presence as your tears flowed. "My son... my baby," you murmured through tear-streaked cheeks.

"Let's go see him," Qoren suggested gently, his voice a soothing balm. "He'll wake up soon, and I'm sure he'd want his mom right there with him." He used his thumb to gently wipe away your tears, his touch tender and comforting. "I promise you, everything is going to be fine. Let's try to get some rest for now, and when we wake up, we will talk to the doctor and discuss the treatment plans "

The gentle morning light seeped into the room, casting a soft glow that illuminated the space where you and Lucerys were sitting. His eyes blinked open, fatigue evident, but a small smile curved his lips. "Good morning, Mom."

"Morning, sweetheart," you replied, your voice holding a mixture of relief and tenderness. The night had been long, filled with worry, but seeing Lucerys awake and looking at you was a comforting sight.

"What happened?" Lucerys' voice carried a hint of curiosity, his gaze fixed on you as he sought answers.

You reached out and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, your touch gentle. "You had a little health issue, but the doctors have taken care of everything. You're safe now."

His gaze wandered for a moment before returning to you. "Where's Uncle Qoren?"

A reassuring smile graced your lips. "He's gone to get breakfast, my love. He'll be back soon."

Lucerys shifted, attempting to sit up a bit. His purple eyes met yours, and his words carried a depth of gratitude. "Thank you."

A small tear welled up in your eye, emotions swirling within you. "For what, sweetheart?"

His smile widened, a glint of playfulness dancing in his eyes. "For last night. It was awesome. Can we do it again sometime?"

Your heart swelled, and you blinked back the tear. "Absolutely, my love. Anytime you want.

Lucerys furrowed his brows, genuine concern etched on his face. "Why are you crying, Mom?"

You chuckled softly, wiping away the tear. "Because you fill my heart with so much love and happiness, my brave boy."

Just then, the door swung open, and Qoren walked in, a tray in his hands and a smile on his face. “ Hey there sleepy head! “ he walked towards Lucerys and kissed his head “ Good morning little astronaut!”

"Good morning, Uncle Qoren!" Lucerys greeted him, his eyes shining with a mix of sleepiness and excitement.

Qoren flashed a warm smile as he handed you a coffee cup and a turkey sandwich. "Here's your morning pick-me-up."

Lucerys eyed the cup in Qoren's hand. "And what do you have for me?"

Qoren grinned mischievously as he handed Lucerys an orange juice in an astronaut-themed cup. "Here's your orange juice in your very special astronaut cup. I had to wrestle with it a bit to get the juice in there," he said with a wink.

Lucerys glanced around. "Where's my sandwich?"

"Sorry, buddy, you'll have to wait for your hospital meal," Qoren replied, sharing a playful pout with you.

"What? Ew, no way! Hospital food tastes like garbage," Lucerys retorted, making a face.

Qoren burst into laughter. "You're not wrong, Luke!"

"Lucerys, language," you chided him, your tone playful.

He shrugged, smirking. "Well, it's the truth. Oh, and where's my astronaut helmet?"

You rose from your chair and headed to the closet. "Right here."

He eagerly took it from you, placing it on his head. "From Earth to Mars, do you read me?" he declared, his voice a mixture of excitement and seriousness.

Qoren chimed in, pretending to communicate on a radio. "Loud and clear, Commander Luke. You're ready for takeoff!"

Lucerys leaned in, his expression comically stern. "I demand a turkey sandwich, or I'll have to invade your home!"

You gasped dramatically. "Oh no! What shall we do in the face of such a threat?"

"Well, for starters, you could give me your sandwich," Lucerys suggested, a playful glint in his eyes.

You shook your head with mock seriousness. "I'm afraid I can't comply with that request."

Lucerys didn't give up. "How about half?"

You pretended to ponder, then shook your head again. "Sorry, no can do."

"One bite?" Lucerys persisted, a hopeful smile tugging at his lips.

You finally relented, breaking into a grin. "Alright, one bite."

"Victory!" Lucerys exclaimed, taking a triumphant bite of the sandwich. "Yes!"

Suddenly, a doctor walked into the room, a warm smile on her face. "Hello, astronaut. How are you feeling today?"

Lucerys took off his helmet and smiled back at her. "Better, thank you."

She turned her attention to him. "Do you feel any pain?"

"In my chest, but it's not too bad. I can handle it," Lucerys replied.

You bent down and planted a kiss on his forehead. "Why didn't you tell me your chest hurts?"

"You should tell us from now on, sweet boy," Qoren chimed in, leaning down to kiss him as well.

"You were crying, and I didn't want you to worry more! But I'm fine, I can take it," Lucerys explained, his voice earnest.

The doctor interjected gently, "Your parents are right. If you feel any pain, even if it's not severe, you should let someone know."

Awkward glances were exchanged between you and Qoren as the weight of the situation settled in.

"He's not my father actually, but I wish he was," Lucerys said, prompting you to pull him into a tight embrace. You knew the void left by his absent father still lingered, despite your best efforts and Qoren's unwavering presence.

Your gaze softened as you watched Qoren shower your son with affectionate kisses. "I will always be here for you, little kid."

The doctor cleared her throat, her professionalism prevailing over the tender moment. "We have already formulated a medical plan for your son. We've got two options."

Both you and Qoren turned your attention to her, your hands intertwined for support.

"What are they?" you inquired, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions.

"As of now, we'll attempt to stabilize his heart with medication. If that doesn't yield results, we might consider a heart transplant," the doctor explained, her tone compassionate yet matter-of-fact.

Your heart clenched as you absorbed the gravity of the choices before you.

"We have a skilled heart surgeon assigned to monitor the little astronaut's heart. He'll determine if a transplant is necessary," she continued, her assurance offering a glimmer of hope.

Qoren leaned forward, his concern evident. "Is he trustworthy?"

"Absolutely," the doctor affirmed. "He's one of the best. He moved here from Oldtown a year ago, and all of his heart transplant surgeries have been successful."

"Can we meet him?" you asked, holding your son a little closer.

"Yes, of course," the doctor replied. "He's currently in the operating room, but once he's finished, I'll arrange for him to visit you."

"Thank you, doc," Qoren said appreciatively.

"It's my pleasure," she replied, offering a reassuring smile before leaving the room.

Stepping out of the operating room, Aemond's weariness settled over him like a heavy shroud. The surgical procedures had drained him, and he longed for the comfort of his own bed. With just thirty minutes left in his night shift, he yearned for the precious five hours of sleep he would get before the cycle started again.

In moments of quiet reflection like this, he couldn't help but question his decisions. The same question that had echoed in his mind for the past ten years resurfaced: What if she had stayed? What if she didn’t get an abortion? What kind of life would they have built together?

Sitting down on a nearby sofa, Aemond allowed himself to drift into that familiar daydream, painting a vivid mental picture of a life with you. In this alternate reality, he could almost see a daughter, too—a little one with your eyes, a color he could only remember in fragments.

Regret gnawed at him. He hadn't anticipated how much he would miss the life he could have had. The warmth of your embrace, the sound of your laughter filling the air—it all haunted him in moments like these.

As he replayed the same scenarios in his mind, he suddenly found himself interrupted. Frustration etched across his features, he bit out, "What?"

"You're all done. Great job in there," she commended, a hint of admiration in her voice. "The family of Lucerys Sand would like to meet you." With a nonchalant gesture, she handed him a chart.

Aemond's irritation flared, not because of the case itself, but because of the name. If he had known that the patient was named Lucerys, he wouldn’t agreed to take it.

"I hate you " he muttered under his breath, his tone a mix of irritation and fatigue.

The doctor's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "What you should be saying is 'thank you'," she quipped, raising an eyebrow in playful challenge. "Lucerys Sand is like a son to Qoren Martell, who is, if I need to remind you, the mayor's son. This could be a chance for recognition and promotion " she added with a wink.

Aemond rolled his eyes, "I still hate you," he muttered, though there was a trace of a smile tugging at his lips.

Aemond left his room and began walking down the corridor, his steps measured and his mind seemingly focused. The familiar hum of the hospital's activity surrounded him, blending into a symphony of routine. It was just another day, another series of tasks to complete.

Once he got closer, Aemond opened the chart and began reading its contents intently. He wanted to be fully informed before stepping into the room, ensuring that his professionalism remained intact.

Pushing the door open with his focus still on the chart, Aemond's voice emerged in a practiced tone. "Hello, I'm Doctor Aemond Targaryen," he introduced himself, his gaze remaining on the paper in his hands. “I’m the heart surge—“

“Aemond?”

His eyes widened and his head snapped towards you. The word had slipped from your lips with a mix of disbelief and recognition, and it hung in the air like a thread connecting the past to the present.

For a split second, Aemond's mask of professionalism wavered. The world seemed to contract around you, and all you could see were his eyes, filled with a jumble of emotions he struggled to contain. It was as if the mere sound of his name had the power to unearth the history you had both kept buried.

Aemond was accustomed to his emotions being under tight control, his heart guarded behind a fortress of detachment. But in that moment, as his gaze locked onto yours, he felt something crack within him. It was a sensation he hadn't experienced in years—an unexpected rush of memories and feelings that threatened to overwhelm him.

The years melted away, and he saw not the accomplished surgeon he had become, but the boy he used to be. The boy who had once loved you with a depth that still haunted his dreams. The boy who had walked away from the life he had envisioned, carrying a regret that had never truly left him.

Your eyes held a storm of emotions, a mix of anger, hurt, and a haunting familiarity that struck him like a lightning bolt. His lips parted as he searched your gaze, realizing in an instant that he had walked into a room that held more than just a patient.

As his mind raced to catch up with his emotions, he saw the features of the boy who lay in the hospital bed—the purple eyes that mirrored his own, the hint of silver hair that he had inherited. The pieces fell into place, the truth hitting him like a wave crashing onto the shore.

Lucerys was his son.

The realization hit him with a force that stole his breath away. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring him face to face with the consequences of a choice he had made so long ago. He felt the weight of years of absence, of missed moments, of a love that had been silenced.

Aemond's heart raced as he tore his gaze away, his chest tight with conflicting emotions. He took a step back, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts he couldn't process. He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing the tumult within him.

The door closed behind him, and he leaned heavily against the wall, his chest heaving with the realization that he had a son—a son he hadn't known existed until now, a son who had been growing up without him.

With a heavy sigh, Aemond's hand pressed to his chest, feeling the pull of the emotions that tugged at him.And then, with one final glance back at the closed door, he turned and walked away.

A/n: This is just an introduction chapter but more drama between aemond and reader in the next one.. do you guys want a happy ending or make aemond more miserable then he already is?

Taglist :

@helaenaluvr @namelesslosers @misspascalpunk @docmartinis @trshngyn @echos-muses @multiple-fandoms-girl @at-a-rax-ia @Iloveallmyboys

[li0nn3stuff]

Kiddo

Chapter one

Kiddo masterlist

English is not my first language, be kind.

Modern!Older!Aemond x Modern!Younger!Reader

•Chapter warnings: beginning of the obsession•

As Aemond sat at the bar during his lunch break, his colleagues from the bank company gathered around him, chatting and laughing.

It was a family company, but nothing was given off out of nepotism. He had earned it. And he earned it fucking wonderfully.

He had studied in the best schools, yes, but he had been dedicated as no one could.

His father took him to work there when he was twenty-two, then he took his degree.

He worked wonders in the company, success after success. Not that his father ever applauded him anything. It was just his job to be a good employee.

He acknowledged his success, that he did. That was the reason why when his father started to get seriously sick, he named Aemond his successor.

Because he was fucking good at what he did.

Then, it happened. His father died, and the company fell into his hands.

CEO at thirty years old.

These types of bar were not something Aemond usually frequented. He likes places more… quiet, personal. He only came because his colleagues, or well, his employees suggested it with enthusiasm.

“Keep good relationships. You have to be present in the company, for them to trust and respect you. They’ll see how much you work and they’ll never doubt a word of yours.”

Despite the jovial atmosphere, Aemond remained aloof, his icy demeanor never faltering.

"So, Aemond, how's the Martel project coming along?" asked Marcus, a fellow executive, taking a sip of his drink.

Aemond shrugged nonchalantly. "It's progressing as expected." he replied in his usual monotone voice. "Nothing worth getting excited about."

Marcus chuckled. "Always the stoic one, aren't you? You should loosen up a bit, enjoy the small victories."

Aemond raised an eyebrow. "I'll leave the celebrations to those who find them worthwhile." He said curtly.

Across the table, Emily, another colleague, leaned in with a playful smirk. "Come on, Aemond, don't tell me you're immune to the charms of success." She teased, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

Aemond's lips curled into a slight smirk, the closest thing to a smile he ever showed. "Success is fleeting," He replied cryptically. "I prefer to focus on the long game."

The conversation continued, with Aemond contributing sparingly, his responses always measured and guarded. He listened intently to his colleagues' chatter, but there was a distance in his eyes, as if he were observing from afar rather than fully engaging.

Despite his detached demeanor, there was an undeniable aura of authority and confidence that surrounded Aemond. He commanded respect without ever having to demand it, his presence alone enough to make those around him sit up a little straighter.

“Aspect, composure, and attitude are the key.”

As the conversation turned to other topics, Aemond remained in his own world, a silent observer amidst the lively banter of his colleagues. For him, the bar was just another backdrop in the intricate dance of corporate life, a place where he could observe and strategize, always one step ahead of the game.

As he perused the menu of the pub, a sense of disappointment washed over him. The offerings seemed basic and uninspired compared to the elegant plates he was accustomed to in high-end restaurants.

As he reluctantly considered his options, he couldn't help but long for the sophistication and refinement of the restaurants he frequented. The thought of settling for a mediocre meal in a dingy pub left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He ordered a basic plate of pasta, hoping it wouldn’t suck too much.

He glanced around the bustling pub, filled with lively conversations and clinking glasses, he thought that perhaps there was more to the dining experience than just the food itself. Maybe, just maybe, he could find enjoyment in the simple pleasures of good company and convivial atmosphere, even if the cuisine didn't quite meet his lofty standards.

He looked at his employees around the table.

What a lie.

He liked being alone, he liked to stay away from people.

He sighed silently and scanned the pub, people standing or sitting everywhere, with a beer in their hands, laughing out loud, it almost gave him a headache. He drifted his gaze to a group of young girls that just walked inside. They were laughing in such a high pitched tone it was so annoying. They were all dressed too provocative for their age, probably hoping to look older in order to buy some alcohol.

Stupid kids.

They could barely walk on those heels, they looked horrendous, even if they acted like they were on top of the world. One of the group of girls looked at him and she immediately straightened up her composure, trying to evidence her curves.

Aemond felt like throwing up.

The girl laughed when he averted his gaze for a minute, looking behind her. He followed her gaze, and he saw her, a couple of steps behind the whole group, there was another girl, dressed in a skirt long to her knee, and a cardigan. There weren’t heels at her feet but old stan smith, she wasn’t wearing much makeup, just some mascara and gloss on her lips, that made them sparkle under the light, making them look soft, plumb, ready to be bitten.

Her hair tied up in a half ponytail, her hair coming down in soft waves. She clinged to her backpack strap like it was her life savior. She must have been… sixteen? Maybe seventeen, and she looked like it, despite her friends. Her friends only looked ridiculous.

She walked in a shy demeanor, her legs almost shining over the light that came from the door of the pub. Her thighs swayed one against each other, making all of her skin move in waves. They looked so soft, the perfect shape to grab them tightly and-

“Here’s your pasta.” The waitress said to him, as she placed the plate in front of him. He hummed and nodded, as she gave him a smirk and went away. He didn’t even bother to look at the waitress' body as she walked away. He went back to the little girl, but he found her looking back at him.

She softly, gently smiled at him, shyly.

She smiled.

Aemond didn’t smile back, and she immediately looked away, running to her friends. Her breasts jumped up and down at every step she took towards the bar, her hair moving around her face.

She was beautiful. Perfect.

He coughed and finally looked away from her. He felt like she put a spell on him. He felt drawn to her.

God he looked like a pervert.

The girl was only sixteen, half his age.

What the fuck was wrong with him?!

He groaned and rubbed his temple, looking down at his plate, grabbing the fork and taking a bite.

Tasteless. Fucking tasteless.

“Marcus, stop staring at them, they could be your daughters!” He heard one of his employees say, laughing. Aemond immediately looked at him… Kyle? Then at Marcus, seeing him looking at the group of girls he saw before.

Don’t you dare look at her.

Marcus looked up and down the girls, smirking to his colleague.

“You can look at those, I don’t even know what the other girl is.” He laughed.

Don't talk about her.

Aemond clenched his hand on the fork, as both Marcys and Kyle turned to look at the girls again, drawing the attention of other colleagues as well. Aemond took a deep breath, closing his eye and leaning his head down.

I will kill you.

“Marcus, I heard the Lannister complaining about some work that has been done for them.” Aemond spoke, raising his glance at him, as he sat comfortably back on the chair.

The most uncomfortable chair he has ever sat on.

Marcus looks at him, surprised, and he immediately lowers his eyes.

“Uhm… yeah, they’re not really good at explaining what they want, you know? I made some mistakes, but I immediately fixed them when they noticed.”

“Mistakes?” He questioned further, taking another bite of his pasta, leaning back forward.

“Yeah, but nothing serious… Everything's alright now.” Marcus quickly added.

“Mh.” He only answered. He looked down at his silverwares, and he noticed the spoon was dirty.

Disgusting.

He sighed and looked towards the bar. The girls were still there. His girl was looking around the pub, her mind obviously somewhere else from her friend's conversation.

He shouldn’t do it.

He got up, excusing himself cordially to his employees, and walked away from his table.

He really shouldn’t.

He approached the bar, standing beside his girl. Her friends were giggling closed in a circle, she was more outside of it.

Were they really her friends?

Why the fuck did he care?

He twirled the spoon between his fingers, looking ahead of him as he waited for someone of the pub’s staff to consider him. Still he kept his ears well open.

“Y/N you should do it too!” One of the friends exclaimed, laughing. His girl looked at her, confused, but with a gentle face.

Y/N. He liked her name.

“What should I do?” She asked softly.

Her voice.

God, her voice.

Sweet, caring, gentle.

“Sammi maid. To earn some money, you need it, don’t you?” Her friend chuckled.

Bitch.

Aemond felt his anger rise in a second. They couldn’t be her friends. No. His girl tilted her head, confused.

“What is a Sammi maid?” She asked, so innocently. All of the girls laughed.

“Just… a maid. They just pay them more.” One of the girls explains.

Don’t.

“Might think about it, thank you.” His girl answered. She sounded embarrassed, her soft cheeks were probably red.

Don’t.

Aemond sighed and moved away, as finally, he saw a bartender coming to him.

“This spoon is dirty… and I know those girls are underage.” He handed the spoon and pointed at the group of girls, who were just asking for beers to another barman.

“Thank you, sir.” The barman took the spoon, and as he went to change it he whispered something to the other barman.

He saw the pissed expression of those girls and how they acted all offended. They quickly started to walk away but his girl was confused.

“I… I haven’t finished my cola…” She said weakly. One of the girls rolled her eyes at her.

“Whatever, Y/N stay here then.” She said, and all the group left. His girl was just staring at them surprised, as she stood there, alone.

He felt bad for her.

He wanted to hug her, console her. Kiss her.

What. The fuck. Was wrong. With. Him?!

He wanted her for himself. Never let anyone else touch her, speak to her, see her. He wanted her to be a prisoner in his arms. Why was he being so affectionate towards this girl? She was nothing he hadn't seen before. Yet he found himself rubbing his fingertips together, wanting to touch her, in any way she would let him.

“Here.” The bartender gave him back another spoon. He nodded and took it, so he turned to walk away, when he saw a necklace on the floor, next to her feet. He bent down, as she turned to him, surprised to see someone so close to her. Aemond stood up in front of her.

She was short. Shorter than him.

Her head was barely at the level of his shoulders. She looked at him, always gentle, soft, a hint of a smile on her face.

Her perfume. Sweet. Vanilla.

Her big eyes were staring at him. She looked so innocent.

He raised his hand with a necklace so she could see it. Her eyes sparkled when she noticed the necklace. She smiled broadly, and grabbed the necklace, putting her other hand over his.

“Thank you so much! I didn’t even notice it fell from my neck.” She looked at him, grateful. Aemond nodded back, even if his mind was trying to perfectly memorize the feeling of her touch. He looked at her hand, over his, her thumb moving slightly, as if to caress him.

He was a stranger to her, why was she being so nice and friendly? Was she like this with everyone?

He hoped not.

“Have a good day.” He said, nodding, turning to walk away, but she quickly put her hand in his arm, stopping him on track.

He had to put distance.

She had to stay away from him.

He didn’t know what was happening to him.

“Sorry… Would you mind helping me put the necklace on?” She smiled softly, her expression a mixture of hope and worry, she didn’t want to bother him. He shook his head and turned back towards her, as she gave him her back, giving him the necklace. He quickly puts it on her, and she immediately turns back to face him, smiling.

“Thank you. Again.” She chuckled. Aemond felt like smiling at her.

He didn’t.

He gave her another nod, as he walked away, back to his table.

Somehow, none of his employees seemed to have seen his interaction with his girl, and he was thankful for it. Especially because of how he felt his cock stiffen at the mere memory of her touch

[neptuneiris]

Behind the Scenes— masterlist

| actor!aemond × fem!reader completed |

summary: Due to your work as a make-up artist and wardrobe assistant, you meet Aemond, a very successful young actor with whom you work and all professional relationship breaks down and a secret relationship arises, until you get pregnant and decide to run away from him so as not to ruin his successful and promising career. After almost two years, you and he unexpectedly meet again.

i do not own any character from the book "fire and blood" or the series "the house of the dragon" except my own character included. all rights reserved to George R. Martin and HBO.

warnings: a lot of angst, language, heartbreaker, sex content, mention of abortion, mention of depression.

chapter one: behind the reencounter

chapter two: behind the revelation

chapter three: behind the negotiation

chapter four: behind the acceptance

chapter five: behind the success

epiloge: behind the evolution

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Perfect Score | Series Masterlist | FigureSkating!AU | modern!Aemond x reader

COMPLETED

Summary: Striving for a place in the Olympics, Aemond desperately needs to find another partner to step in when his becomes injured. With little experience in couples figure skating as well as Aemond’s closed-off and antisocial nature, it will be a challenge to work with him.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, some angst, competitiveness, toxic parenting, smut, NSFW 18+

Chapter 1: Ice Cold 

Chapter 2: Sub-Zero

Chapter 3: Goosebumps

Chapter 4: Thin Ice 

Chapter 5: Ice Princess

Chapter 6: Winter is Coming

Chapter 7: Avalanche

Chapter 8: The Fallout

Chapter 9: Thawed Out

Chapter 10: A Song of Ice and Fire

Epilogue

Lovely fanart <3

[flowerandblood]

The Taste of Desire (AU)

[ dom!modern • Aemond x friend sister • female ]

[ warnings: sex with soft domination, fingering, smut, angst, sexual tension, remorse, doubts related to sex work ]

[ description: Aemond works as a professional dom, fulfilling the various fantasies of his female clients − however, he guards his privacy and does not enter into any relationships with them, recognizing that he does not want or need it. One of his clients surprises him with her behaviour, making him experience something he has never felt before, with his own actions and emotions slipping out of his control. Sexual tension, doubts related to sex work. ]

This oneshot is an alternative universe for my series The Taste of Shame in which Aemond meets the main character as his client. It shows how their lives would have turned out and what their first time would have been like if Aemond had done it for money. Created to celebrate my anniversary on 22 March.

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other series: Masterlist

_____

He was never picky when it came to his female clients. They had to meet basic standards like hygiene, no venereal diseases and they couldn't go beyond a certain time, but once they signed a confidentiality clause, what he was going to do with them was no longer important to him.

He kept repeating to himself that he was there for them, not them for him, so he focused on giving them what they wanted in a way that didn't disturb his comfort zone.

He did not allow them to kiss or touch him with their hands − in fact, he preferred that any involvement they had in what was happening was minimal. What he found most pleasing in the whole act was his violence towards them, and the more they consented to, the more he was satisfied.

Their pleas and cries of pain combined with some subconscious pleasure that such sadomasochism gave them made him struggle to hold back the mocking smile that pressed against his lips.

They wanted to be treated like worthless objects, and that's what he was giving them, because that's exactly how he thought of them.

He didn't try to delve into considering what he thought of himself, because he decided that would end up with a visit to a psychiatrist. He was studying quantum physics, lived far away from his family and needed a steady, high source of income − since silly girls could make money from sex cams, he could make money that way, at least until he had no other prospects.

The only way to contact him was through an online form on his website, where they would write why they wanted to meet, indicate what suited them or not, and if he felt he could meet their whims, he would arrange to meet them to discuss the details and sign the documents.

Scrolling through dozens of similar messages about tying, gagging, beating and humiliation he stopped on one where only a few things were marked. He thought surprised that he wouldn't even link them to aggressive domination per se, and certainly not the kind he usually used.

Good morning. I've been thinking a lot lately about what I'd like to try, but I'm also a bit embarrassed about it. I don't know if this can be subsumed under your interests − I'm completely inexperienced, so maybe that's why I'm looking for a professional who knows what he's doing and would be able to show me what I actually need and want. I apologise for the rather chaotic explanation and send my regards. Selected practices: spanking, verbal domination, fingering

He blinked and scratched his chin, both intrigued and uncertain at the same time − he glanced quickly at her age and saw that she was younger than him. He bit his lower lip feeling that something in the idea that she was still inexperienced and only willing to explore her needs attracted him, the thought that this would be some sort of challenge for him.

He decided that why not.

She was an adult.

He looked forward to meeting her with the utmost curiosity. Her requirements were basic enough that he didn't need to prepare any extra kinks, and since she didn't want sex with penetration, it also gave him a greater sense of confidence and peace of mind − he knew he wouldn't have to chase his orgasm, imagining some woman from porn, and would be able to concentrate only on what he was doing to her.

When he heard a quiet knock on the door of the flat he rented only to meet his female clients, he got up immediately from behind his desk and opened it for her, swallowing hard as his gaze involuntarily swept over her figure and stopped on her face.

God.

This was not what he had expected.

She looked even younger than she had written; her eyes were big and bright, looking at him with fear and dread, though usually the women who came to him, learned by experience, kept their gaze meekly on the floor, waiting for him to command them to look at himself.

She was dressed in a plain white Tshirt and high-waisted jeans, a fabric coloured backpack on her back, her hair loose, shiny, dark, slightly wavy − he could smell the fruity scent of her perfume or shower gel.

He grunted quietly, trying to keep a stony face, feeling that involuntarily his gaze expressed shock. He took a few steps back and invited her in − she stepped inside uncertainly, turning away quickly as he closed the door behind her.

"Come in. Do not be afraid." He said lowly, pointing to his desk which stood in the deeper part of the flat − she walked in that direction, looking in horror at the bed standing on the other side of the room.

He heard her swallow hard, tense and red, pulling her backpack off her back − she placed it in her lap immediately after she sat down in the chair opposite him, as if trying to ward off and protect herself from him in this way.

He took his seat on the other side and tapped his index finger on the top of his wooden oak desk, thinking that he had never had a client like her before.

She was completely distracted, her gaze sweeping across the room as if she were a curious child, her fingers tightening on the material of her rucksack.

"As I mentioned, first the contract and confidentiality clause." He said calmly, handing her copies of the contract and clause he had sent her earlier.

She took them from him and looked into his eyes again, making him swallow hard; it wasn't a defiant look and it wasn't meant to seduce him. It seemed to him just the opposite − she wanted to show him that some part of her was genuinely afraid of him.

She nodded, her hands trembling all over as she took the sheets of paper in her hands − she looked around quickly and clumsily grabbed a pen.

He wondered, seeing what was happening to her, if what she wanted was really good for her and although he never meddled in his clients' decisions, he decided to intervene, for her sake and his own.

"You can still resign. I won't burden you with the cost." He said lowly, watching her closely, and saw that she flinched all over. She lifted the gaze of her bright eyes to him, her eyebrows arched in indecision, her mouth opened and closed as if she was trying to get something out of herself.

"I…I think I want to try. This one time. Do you think it's a bad idea, sir?" She asked him in a trembling, soft, girlish voice. The note of innocence that lurked in this after all defiant question made him twist in his seat, feeling surprised that his manhood swelled a little − he felt like he was literally burning her with his gaze.

He thought it was because she was so vulnerable − it turned him on that he was more experienced than her and had real control over what could happen next if she wanted it.

He chuckled involuntarily at her words, shaking his head, sighing quietly, looking at her indulgently.

"What I think about it doesn't matter." He murmured lowly, leaning comfortably against the back of his chair with a loud creak of wood.

He felt heat in his lower abdomen at the thought of her not dropping her gaze, boldly staring him in the face as if they had known each other for a long time, despite the fact that most women knew their buttocks would be red and swollen like tomatoes for such insolence.

"I would, however, like to hear your views on the matter, sir." She replied quickly, as if she recognised him as some sort of authority on the matter, a sexologist or anyone else who could give her a diagnosis.

"I am not a doctor. However, I don't think there is anything wrong with trying under controlled conditions. You also have a safe word that you can use at any time to stop whatever I'm doing. You have to decide." He said finally, and saw her nod her head, drawing in air loudly as if gathering her courage, and leaned over, signing the documents in the spaces indicated.

For some reason he involuntarily licked his lips, dried from some kind of excitement, his cock twitching hard in his trousers at the thought that she was really going to do this.

When she finished he took the papers from her, signed them and gave her one copy, reminding her of all the rules they had agreed and what she could not do.

"You can't touch me or kiss me. When we start, you are to call me sir and follow all my instructions. You are to answer all my questions by shaking or nodding your head unless I order you otherwise. I will not stop even if you beg me or cry until I hear your safe word which, please remind us, sounds how?" He asked softly, stapling the papers she had signed with a stapler, tucking them into his drawer, watching her out of the corner of his eye, feeling the heat in his lower abdomen at the very thought of what he was going to do to her.

Why was he so aroused when he hadn't even touched her yet?

"Peach." She muttered embarrassedly, looking down at her hands.

For a moment he wondered if he should add the rule he usually made where a woman couldn't look him in the eye, but something in her eyes captured him − her gaze wasn't seductive or filled with feelings he didn't want to see. He also guessed that forbidding it might overwhelm her even more, and he didn't want that.

He nodded at her words, rising, and she rose with him, holding her backpack in front of her, her shoulders raised slightly in a defensive gesture, as if she was afraid of him and the fact that she had somehow given him control over her.

He approached her slowly, looking at her vigilantly − her eyes fixed on his face as his hand took the rucksack from her arms in a gentle motion, dropping it next to her on the floor. His fingers rose to her cheeks, trailing over them, her jaw and her chin − he felt her tremble all over, surprised, her swollen, plump lips red with emotion.

Although he had never done this, he wanted to get a good look at her first − he knew that going straight to putting his hand in her panties would only frighten her and in this situation his tactics had to be a tad different.

First and foremost, he wanted to reassure her.

He saw that she had closed her eyes, trying to breathe slowly through her mouth as his hands slid down to her neck and her soft hair. He thought, smelling her fruity scent, that he would have given anything to have her kneel before him and take his achingly hard manhood into her mouth.

He decided that perhaps he would use his thoughts to embolden her a little more and let him do what he wanted.

"Such a sweet girl. You have no idea what I'd like to do with those lips." He hummed, feeling a shiver pass through her as one of his hands rose higher again, to her face, parting her lips with his thumb. "How hard I am now."

He saw the shock in her gaze, which quickly escaped down to the bulge in his trousers, her cheeks flushed as she looked up into his face again, her breathing quickened and ragged.

He sighed involuntarily at the sight.

"You can say a lot of things about me, but not that I'm a liar. Open." He commanded in a slightly cooler, stricter tone, her lips immediately parted slightly, allowing his thumb to slide deep between her fleshy, wet lips.

"Suck." He instructed, a quiet moan caught in her throat, her body suddenly quivering as the fingers of his free hand slid lower to her breast, teasing her nipple in calm, circular motions, her lips tightening around his thumb, obeying his command.

"Do you always walk around without a bra? Hm? Do you like it when men look at them?" He muttered warningly, pulling lightly on her nipple, looking at her curiously − she squirmed helplessly, closing her eyes, not knowing what to do with her hands. He could see how, in some subconscious reflex, she wanted to lift them up and embrace him, but reminded herself that she couldn't do that and lowered them again, moving him in some way and arousing him at the same time.

He couldn't remember if his client had ever made him completely hard by her behaviour itself.

"Quiet. We haven't even started properly yet, and already you want me to slap your arse?" He growled mockingly, and she shook her head quickly, drawing in air loudly, looking at him with a pleading look of her big, bright eyes, which he felt between his thighs as his cock swelled unbearably, demanding attention.

"This is my last warning. Lie on your stomach." He said coldly, although inside he felt like his body was on fire.

She obediently pulled off her shoes and lay down on the bed, watching, embarrassed, as he slipped his thumb, moist with her saliva, between his lips and licked it. He quickly pulled off his sweatshirt and shoes, leaving in his black short-sleeved T-shirt and trousers, fixing his hair with a careless flick of his hand.

"Leave only your panties on." He added, hearing her quiet squeal as his large hand gave her one, light, sharp smack on her buttock, just as an encouragement to keep her going.

"Just like that. So pretty." He hummed, watching her undress, climbing onto the bed behind her. He involuntarily licked his lips and grinned in amusement when he saw that underneath her trousers she was wearing pretty lace panties in powder pink.

He thought she was like a lollipop or candy, a sweet little gift bought just for pure pleasure.

As she pulled off her t-shirt she clung with her breasts to the bedclothes, looking somewhere sideways towards the window as if she was afraid of how exposed she was, that she was lying half-naked in front of a strange man who, on top of that, she was going to have to pay for it.

Although he cursed himself for it in the back of his head, the sincerity and naturalness of her behaviour endeared her to him − he thought in disbelief that he wasn't sure that even if she had asked him to punish her more harshly or to cause her intense pain he would have been able to do it.

Would it give him pleasure.

He took her hair aside, exposing her long neck and back, felt her shudder all over as his fingers ran along her spine.

"Are you going to be good, or should I tie you up?" He murmured and she nodded quickly − he hummed under his breath, stroking her bare skin. "Use your words."

"I'll be good. Sir." She added quickly, hearing him shift suddenly in irritation. He let out a loud breath through his nose, leaning down, grasping her wrists in his hands, placing them on either side of her head, showing her the position he expected her to hold them in.

"Your hands are supposed to be here at all times. On the pillow. If I see you take them away from here, I'll tie you up and on top of that, I'll give you ten slaps on the bottom to make sure you remember this lesson well. Do you understand? Use your words." He hissed, driving his fingers into the skin of her wrists, heard her swallow hard and nod her head quickly.

"− y-yes, sir −"

He gasped softly, pleased with her answer and the way it was going − he saw her hands tighten on the material of the pillow as he settled his knees on either side of her buttocks, lowering himself onto them so that she could feel his cock throbbing all under the material of his trousers. She stifled the cry that wanted to escape her lips by pressing her face against his bedding.

"− do you fucking feel it? − do you feel what you're doing to me? −" He muttered, trying to calm his breathing, not knowing why instead of pulling himself together and concentrating on his task he was teasing her, making his manhood painfully hard − he clamped his eyelids shut when he felt her hips begin to buck uncertainly to the rhythm of his movements.

He decided that fuck it, he would do it the way he felt like it, breaking his own rules, knowing that unlike the other women, she really needed this.

His closeness.

She sighed loudly and her whole body trembled as he pressed his face against her soft, fragrant hair, crushing her with his own weight, his hands roamed over the skin of her bare shoulders and the sides of her waist as his nose slowly slid lower, down to her neck, his fingers slipped underneath her and tightened on her soft, plump breasts as his lips pressed against her bare skin.

He heard her start to pant loudly through her mouth, surprised as he was, surely imagining it differently, writhing beneath him, his fingers digging warningly into the soft skin of her breasts, his hot breath enveloping her ear.

"− lie still or we'll do it rough − spread your thighs −" He growled, his thumbs pressing and playing with her nipples. He spread her legs with his knees, making her breath catch in her throat − he could feel her heart pounding fast under his hands, his tongue ran over the bare skin of her neck, smelling the salty taste of her sweat and the sweet taste of her perfume.

"− you're already wet, hm? − shall we check? −" He sneered, sliding the palms of his one hand down her belly − he saw out of the corner of his eye that her fingers clenched tightly on the fabric of the pillow, her whole body stiffened, her head tilted slightly as his fingertips pushed the soft, soaked material of her underwear aside, sinking into her leaking, fleshy womanhood.

"− good God − look at you − all sticky and warm −" He gasped as his fingers began to tease and squeeze her clit lightly, giving her a few encouraging strokes from which helpless, muffled sounds tried to escape her throat − his hand let go of her breasts for a moment and slapped her buttock with all his might, reminding her that she was supposed to be quiet.

He didn't even notice when he started rubbing against her faster from the top, chasing his own fulfilment, completely aroused by what was happening to her, how she was responding to him.

He felt like his cock was about to explode.

"− moan for me − let me hear these sweet sounds −" He whispered in her ear, driving his fingers harder into the soft, leaking structure of her folds.

Moan for me?

What the fuck was that supposed to be?

He sighed when she cried out loudly, clenching her eyes, writhing all under him, again and again rubbing his sore cock with her buttocks. He felt ashamed that even though he was the master of the situation, it seemed to him that somehow it was she who was dictating how it looked, or rather his inability to treat her as he did his other clients.

There was something innocent about her, that her goal was not for him to humiliate her, beat her or hurt her, but for him to guide her, to show her what she really desired and what he could do with her body.

He thought, running his fingertips over her moist, hot slit, that perhaps this was what he had been craving deep inside himself all this time.

"− ah − please, sir −" She mewled helplessly, and he felt her words between his thighs. He licked his lips, trailing his fingers over her throbbing, weeping cunt, teasing her hard nipple with his other hand, each of his movements accompanied by the loud click of her moisture.

"− what are you asking me to do? − use your words −" He exhaled, feeling that he was embarrassingly close to climax himself, and wondered if he was going to cum in his own trousers for the first time in his life.

"− please − please, put it inside me −" She mumbled out and he swallowed hard feeling her buttocks rubbing against his cock.

He froze for a moment, running his fingers over her hot, leaking folds, fighting with himself, on the one hand wanting only this, on the other the contract was different and he never broke the terms he himself had agreed to and signed.

What if, afterwards, she found that she didn't want it and decided that he had raped her, go to the police with it?

This thought sobered his mind a little, though his whole body shuddered with disappointment, his two fingers suddenly forced their way inside her with her moan of pleasure.

"− I can't − you know I can't, don't you? −" He breathed out, pressing the tips of his fingertips into the fleshy structure of her muscles, searching for the spot hidden between them.

She shuddered all over when he felt it a moment later, his thumb trailing over her clit as his two fingers dug in between her slick folds with a loud click of her wetness − he felt her whole body tense in anticipation, again and again his fingers squeezed her the way she needed it.

"− I'll be good, sir − please − please − please − I'll be good −" She cried out, her sticky walls began to clench around his fingers, sucking them inside and he closed his eyes, imagining he felt it on his hard, aching cock.

How tight she was.

He'd never done this before and he knew he shouldn't, but for some reason he was desperate, his mind clouded by what he'd seen and what he needed.

He watched her face in disbelief, her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed with exertion, her lips parted sweetly in a loud, accelerated breath.

"We can do this, but on my terms. I'll just fuck you, nothing more. No money. Do you understand?" He asked her in a trembling voice, as if he wanted to make sure she understood, that it meant nothing to him, that she just turned him on too much and he wanted to take it out on her.

He saw her eyes open suddenly, fear and relief filling her gaze as she whispered just a few words without looking at him.

"Let me look at your face, sir."

He himself didn't know when he suddenly flipped her onto her back as his lips clung with a loud purr to her hard, swollen nipple, sucking and licking it − he heard her moan loudly, startled, making him lose his temper. His hands in a helpless reflex slid down to the button of his trousers and his zipper, releasing his erection quickly, he wasn't sure he had ever been so terrified and aroused at the same time.

He knew things had gotten out of hand and that he would regret it, but he couldn't deny himself, knowing that he would probably never see her again.

"Don't touch me. Do you understand? If you touch me, I'll stop and I'll slap your arse so hard you won't be able to sit for the next few weeks." He hissed, looking her straight in the face, reaching his hand into his pocket to pull out the condom −she merely nodded, her hands clenched on either side of her face, her swollen lips parted in a quick, uneven breath.

He looked at her pretty figure, her sweet, plump breasts, her flushed face, her hair in disarray, and thought helplessly that she was beautiful and that he would go mad if he didn't do this to her.

Never before had he put a condom over his length as quickly as he did then − with a quick, sure, impatient movement he slid her panties off her, already all wet with her moisture, grabbed her by her hips and pushed her closer, momentarily forcing her tight, leaking folds to let him inside her.

He didn't speak, because he didn't know what he was supposed to say either, ashamed of his own desperation as he pushed deeper into her with a sure, sharp thrust.

He began to pound into her as if he had completely lost his mind, fast and out of control − she threw her head to the side, writhing beneath him, moaning loudly, her walls wonderfully moist and hot, clenching on him so tightly that he struggled to restrain himself from cumming just yet, not wanting to humiliate himself.

"− oh God −" He muttered, looking at her as if through a fog, leaning over her, his hands found hers, her fingers clenched on them, seeking proximity − she looked up at him pleadingly, panting and quivering.

He suspected that never before had anyone fucked her at such a brutal, fast pace from which she couldn't catch her breath, her thighs spread wide before him in a gesture of trust, their bodies slapping against each other with the loud clicks of her wetness.

"− these idiots couldn't even fuck you properly, hm? −" He panted low and she only nodded, his fingers intertwining with hers in some subconscious reflex, as if he wanted to show her that he understood her, that she had a right to be disappointed, that he had no idea how any man could fail to give her what she needed.

"− my poor little baby − am I right? −" He breathed out and she cried loudly and nodded her head, something in her gaze, in her eyes flooded with tears, filled with despair, tenderness and relief made him lean lower and cling to her lips.

She moaned loudly into his throat and he felt her walls squeeze him tightly with a sudden, intense orgasm, sucking him inside as his tongue invaded between her lips. She reciprocated his kiss with such devotion that a few of his helpless, sloppy thrusts were enough to make him cum into the condon.

"− fuck − fuck, baby −" He breathed out into her mouth as if she was his, as if they were in his bed in his flat, as if he loved her and was about to have dinner with her or go to sleep lying next to her, as if she wasn't a stranger to him, her sweet scent, her innocent sounds and the taste of her mouth were all that filled his mind as he continued to rock his hips deep inside her.

Even though they had both came, they didn't stop kissing, their lips joining and pulling away from each other lazily with a loud click of their saliva, his hands roaming up and down her fingers, alternately stroking them and entwining them with his own again.

Something about what was happening between them, about this sudden, unexpected closeness calmed him and made him completely drift off.

He knew that she had wanted to touch and kiss him from the very beginning, but she still respected his decision and his rules.

And he, for some reason incomprehensible to himself, broke them for her.

He pressed his face to her cheek, panting along with her, unsure of what he should do now, distracted and ashamed that he couldn't help himself, that for the first time in his life he had overstepped the time and competence he should have given her.

And that wasn't good.

What if she thinks now that they are in love with each other, that maybe one day they will be together? If she starts writing to him and stalking him like so many women before her?

"I'm sorry." He heard her whisper and shuddered, snapped out of his reverie.

He opened his eyes and met her gaze, her hands still on either side of her head. He grunted quietly, horrified at how close she was, that he could smell her pleasant scent so intensely, her breath, the warmth of her body.

"I'm the one who should apologise. I behaved unprofessionally. I won't take money from you." He replied after a moment, and she shook her head, shocked.

"− n-no, why − I mean − after all, you did what we agreed to do − you gave me your time, I −"

"− you're not the kind of person who would enjoy a strong dominant-submissive interaction − you'd be terrified − you're worrying too much − probably those guys before me didn't ask you what you needed, hm? − that's what I thought − there's nothing wrong with you − that's my diagnosis −" He hummed, sighing heavily, lifting himself up on his elbows, placing a lingering, tender kiss on her forehead.

He slipped out of her gently with her quiet hiss of discomfort − he saw her press her lips together when he slided the shed condom off his manhood and tie it off, tossing it into the small bin standing next to his bed, zipping his trousers back up. He saw her reach with a trembling hand for her underwear and sighed under his breath, shaking his head.

"Wipe yourself well first, the tissues are lying on the table next to you. Don't you have underwear to change into?" He asked uncertainly, realising that this was usually obvious to the women who visited him, as it was to him, so he didn't warn her, thinking she would figure it out for herself.

She shook her head quickly and he sighed heavily, taking a bottle of water standing on the table, unscrewing it and handing it to her, seeing that she completely didn't know what she should do with herself now.

"− drink − you'd better just wipe yourself off and put your trousers on −" He replied and she nodded, red with embarrassment, taking a few deep sips of water without looking at him.

He turned away as she started to get dressed, running his hand over his face, recognising that he was an idiot and had completely lost his fucking mind, unable to forgive himself for fucking her even though their terms were different.

He shuddered as she approached him quietly − he thought terrified that she was going to try to touch him, maybe even thinking they were going to become lovers now, but she just held a bundle of banknotes in front of him, looking at him pleadingly.

"− I already told you I won't take it − keep it −"

"− I can't, after all −"

"− don't piss me off −" He growled, and she pressed her lips together, lowering her hand, swallowing loudly.

They stared at each other for a long moment in awkward silence to say the least − he grunted, combing his fingers through his hair, feeling that for some reason his heart was pounding like crazy.

What was happening to him?

"− consider it a gift − we both made each other feel good − right? −" He asked, as if he wanted to make sure he hadn't hurt her. She nodded and smiled softly, shyly, for some reason making him feel a squeeze in his throat.

He regretted that she had ever written to him.

He regretted that he had said yes.

He regretted that it had been so pleasant.

"− thank you − and I apologise again − I won't take up your time anymore − I wish you all the best − please take care of yourself and be happy −" She said finally, and he flinched, looking at her in disbelief − he felt that his lips were parted in shock as he looked at her dully.

He didn't know what to answer.

Only after a while did he get anything out of himself, feeling that she was due at least some perfunctory response.

"− it's me who's sorry − I also wish you all the best −"

She nodded and smiled warmly at him, before her trembling hand reached for her backpack and headed towards the door, opening it and disappearing behind it a moment later.

He looked at the bed, at the sheets where the mark of her body was clearly visible, the fact that she had just been lying there, that he had been deep inside her and had fucked her like he had never put his cock inside any woman before.

He went over there and just lay on his stomach, sinking his face into the pillow that was drenched in her scent.

For the next few days, his head was in a state of chaos − one part of him was afraid that she would reach out to him, that she would seek contact or a relationship with him, like so many women before her wanting to be special to him, to be the only one.

The other part of him was even begging for her to do it, for him to be able to free himself at last from the memories of what he had done to her, that she had broken something in him, that he couldn't look at the women who came after her.

He couldn't focus, he felt remorse, he couldn't even get aroused and he was so frustrated that, to the despair of his regular clients, he decided to take a break for a few weeks to cool down.

His friend from university, Robert, had already invited him to his birthday party a month earlier and although he didn't have the energy to go anywhere, he knew that afterwards he would be listening to him and Criston moan in class about how completely unsocial he was.

He figured that since it was only going to be a private party at his house, he might as well go there at least for a while so no one would accuse him of lack of effort.

When he stopped outside his house he got out of the car and decided to have a quick cigarette, tired and discouraged, knowing that sooner or later his savings would run out and he would have to go back to it, whether he wanted to or not.

Or find another, lower-paid job.

He sighed heavily, clamping his fingers over the base of his nose, closing his eyes, trying to calm himself. He heard movement beside him and the screech of brakes, lifted his gaze and froze when it became apparent that she had just sat down beside him from her bike, a wide smile on her lips as if she thought he was a stranger, only recognising him after a moment, her lips parted then in horror, panic in her gaze.

He stared at her, feeling his body freeze.

Fuck.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

"Oh God. Do you know Robert?" She muttered, and he swallowed hard, feeling a tightening in his throat at the thought that she could have been his friend's girlfriend.

"Yes. Fuck. And you?" He asked her quickly with some sort of accusation, from which she swallowed hard.

"I-I, I'm his younger sister. I went to get some candles, I didn't know…"

"It's okay. I'll just go home." He replied, taking a few quick puffs of his cigarette, crushing it with his foot, turning back towards his car.

"N-no, please. Are you Aemond? Did I guess right? Robert was telling me about you. How he's glad you're coming. That you rarely talk or go out somewhere as a threesome with Criston. It's good that we met here, we'll avoid an awkward greeting. Please, don't be embarrassed." She muttered, and he sighed heavily, running his hand over his face, heartbroken. They both shuddered when they heard a knock on the glass, Robert looked at them through the window and started waving at them, gleeful.

Jesus Christ.

They both headed towards her house, knowing that since he'd seen him, he couldn't run away anymore anyway. He was terrified that since she was Robert's sister, she was someone familiar, not a stranger, that this changed everything and nothing, his heart pounding like mad.

"Do you have a lighter?" She asked as they stopped in front of the front door and he shook his head, snapped out of his reverie, frowning his brow.

"What?"

"Do you have a lighter? Can you help me? I need to light the candles on his birthday cake." She muttered in a whisper as if someone might overhear them, and she was telling him an important secret. He sighed heavily and nodded, recognising that he must have been dreaming all this.

Robert greeted him with joy, all around them Criston, their family and a few of his high school friends, a whole group of people he didn't know and with whom he knew he wouldn't find common ground, and among them her.

He wished him well and gave him his present, but he was unable to focus − he met her terrified gaze, she was pointing her finger at him that she needed his help in the kitchen.

He followed her as if into the lion's mouth, watching from the side as she opened the fridge in the darkness, taking out a blueberry meringue. She sighed heavily, placing it on the table in front of him, only the lights of the street lamps around them.

"It looked better in the picture on the internet, but I did my best." She mumbled, as if she wanted to say anything that would lighten the atmosphere between them.

He felt like an idiot when their trembling hands touched as he handed her the lighter and swallowed loudly, watching as one by one the candles began to glow with the warm, bright light of the flame.

He wanted to ask her if something in her life had changed, if she now knew what she wanted and needed, if she thought about what had happened.

Was she thinking about him.

She picked up the cake when it was all ready and let the air out loud through her mouth, looking him straight in the eye.

"Let's go."

After singing a short 'Happy Birthday', Robert blew out all the candles, happy to announce that his little sister had remembered what cake he loved best, assuring everyone that it was certainly delicious.

They spent the whole party throwing surreptitious, embarrassed glances at each other − he had to empty a few glasses of strong Whisky to calm himself down, the alcohol relaxing him a little, though only seemingly, suppressing his fear, but making him start thinking about something else again.

He looked at her figure dressed in a modest mid-thigh summer dress, her hair, her face − saw the way she laughed, the way she talked to others and felt a squeeze in his throat at the thought that then, being with him, she wasn't pretending.

She really was like that.

Affectionate, open, sweet, kind.

Everything he wasn't.

He swallowed heavily at the thought, sad and embittered, taking another deep sip from his glass.

"How are you going to get home? Criston is staying the night at our house, why don't you stay too? It's late." Said Robert sitting down next to him on the couch, patting him on the back in a friendly manner, already himself relaxed by the considerable amount of alcohol his body had assimilated.

He swallowed hard, looking at his sister from afar, feeling that this was a very bad idea.

"Why not." He muttered, thinking that he was a moron for looking for trouble himself, and that if Robert found out what he'd done to his sister, he'd kill him with his own hands.

Criston and a few others occupied the upstairs rooms, and he suggested he could sleep in the living room on the couch, to which Robert agreed.

He hoped this would embolden her to come to him, as he himself would never have dared to knock on her door despite how desperate he was.

At the thought that he might feel her again, his manhood reacted with an enthusiastic, intense pulsing in his trousers.

He felt that he was drunk as he began to pull off his black tight turtleneck, managing it with difficulty, pulling off his shoes, laying down dressed only in Tshirt and trousers with a quiet sigh and covered himself carelessly with the blanket, listening.

Is she going to do it or not?

And even if she comes to him, should he agree?

He felt disappointment when an hour passed and nothing happened, silence all around him and the loud snoring of someone coming from the upstairs rooms, perhaps her and Robert's father. He sighed heavily, recognising that he had made it all up, that she was surely now ashamed of him and what she had done, trying to forget it.

He swallowed hard at the thought, feeling discomfort in his stomach, and closed his eyes, figuring he would try to get at least a few hours of sleep.

He shuddered and opened them again when he heard a quiet creak, as if someone was walking down the corridor above him, but he wasn't sure himself if it wasn't just his imagination. A shiver ran down his spine and his manhood swelled all over when he heard someone quietly walk down the steps.

Whoever this person was, however, she didn't approach him but walked through the living room to the kitchen.

He felt his heart start pounding like crazy when he caught sight of her silhouette in the darkness, dressed only in an oversized white Tshirt and light shorts − she walked over to the tap, took a glass from the drawer and poured herself some water.

Should he approach her or not?

What if she gets scared?

Fuck.

He didn't even know when he just picked himself up on the couch, for some reason doing it very slowly so that his movements couldn't be heard − he felt like a predator who wanted to get closer to his prey even though he didn't really intend to harm her.

As soon as he stood up he immediately felt the room around him spin, the pleasant, intoxicating warmth of the alcohol melting through his lower abdomen making him seem less terrified of what he wanted to do than if he had been completely sober.

When she caught sight of his silhouette out of the corner of her eye she almost choked on the water − she spat some of it into the sink coughing loudly, making him freeze motionless, afraid to approach her. She quickly wiped her mouth with her hand, looking at him with big eyes.

"My God, you scared me." She muttered pale, her pretty, smooth face illuminated by the warm light of the street lamps standing in front of her house.

He stared at her for a moment, thinking that perhaps it must all have been a dream after all, that the fact that she was standing in front of him was unreal, invented by his distraught, drunken mind.

"I'm sorry." He stammered, swallowing hard, standing a good distance away from her, fighting with himself not to look shamelessly at her bare legs and her nipples peeking through from under her T-shirt.

Again.

They stood for a moment in uncomfortable silence, both of them breathing embarrassingly loudly, as if each of them was reliving deep inside themselves the fact that they were seeing each other again.

And on top of that, in her brother's house.

"I didn't know you were his sister. I swear. I would never do that to you." He finally started to speak, to explain, although he didn't know why − he had the feeling that he was trying to get anything out of himself so she didn't go back upstairs to her room.

He heard her sigh quietly, stroking her bare shoulder with her trembling hand. She shifted from foot to foot in a nervous gesture, looking somewhere to the side, her lips parted slightly in an accelerated breath.

"I know." She whispered, and he felt a heat in his lower abdomen and a pleasant shudder at the thought that perhaps she wasn't misjudging him, that perhaps she wasn't disgusted by him at all.

"How do you feel? I mean − are you okay?" She asked in a trembling voice, as if she wasn't sure if she should be asking this kind of question. She glanced at him uncertainly, clearly wanting to check his reaction, he stared at her stunned, completely surprised by her question.

"− I… yeah, I guess − I mean, I'm on a break from − you know − from this − right now −" He muttered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his black trousers, looking at the floor, feeling ashamed and embarrassed for some reason.

It's because of you, he wanted to say.

I did it for you.

"Something happened?" She asked after a moment, playing with the fingers of her hands in a nervous reflex, as if she was afraid of what she would hear.

"− yes − I mean − I have doubts − I always had, but now… they've intensified − you know −" He muttered, shrugging his shoulders, feeling the tightness in his throat and stomach growing stronger, his heart pounding like mad, cold sweat running down his back.

I'm just a whore, he thought.

I sell myself for money.

She nodded her head quickly so he knew she understood.

"− I'm sorry −" She said quietly, and he looked at her dully, not knowing why for some reason his lower lip trembled, why he felt a burning sensation under his eyelids.

He was ashamed that he desired her so much, that he wanted her words but also her body, wanted to fuck her first and then embrace her and fall asleep.

Was he treating her objectively? Was he only able to think about one thing?

Sex, sex, sex, sex.

He couldn't get anything out of himself.

He shuddered, drawing in air loudly as she came closer to him, in her gaze genuine fear and worry at his condition, questioning whether she could do anything for him, help him in any way.

He knew she longed to touch him − he saw out of the corner of his eye her hand rising to touch his shoulder but falling back after a moment, reminding himself that he never allowed anyone to invade his space.

He felt like screaming.

"− do you want to talk about it? −"

He wasn't sure he wanted to talk to anyone about it, but after a while he was sitting next to her on the terrace anyway, covered in a thick, soft blanket, sitting next to her on a rather uncomfortable wooden bench hanging by chains, which he rocked back and forth with involuntary movements of his knees, lighting a cigarette from his lighter with a quiet hiss of fire.

He took a drag and let the smoke out loudly through his nose, sighing quietly, just thinking about the fact that their hips and shoulders were touching.

"What did you think of me? After all this." He asked suddenly, swallowing loudly as he heard her twist in her place, throwing him a surprised, even horrified look. She sighed quietly, covering herself more tightly with the fluffy material.

"That you are a good man."

He felt his hand with the cigarette freeze in mid-motion as he was about to take another drag and for some reason he laughed in disbelief at her words, feeling a piercing pain in his chest, his eyebrows arching in amusement.

"That I'm a good man. Good God." He hummed, taking another drag − he could see she was looking down at her fingers, ashamed of her words and his cruel reaction. He licked his lower lip with his tongue and closed his eyes, feeling that he was completely hard.

He could smell her, she was still using that fruity, pleasant, fresh perfume.

"You're a romantic, innocent soul, aren't you?" He sneered, letting the smoke out again through his nose with a loud sigh − he heard her cough quietly as the smell of tobacco rose into her lungs. She grunted quietly, her lips tightened in displeasure.

"Innocent souls come to a strange man to spank them for money?"

"You didn't want me to spank you. You haven't experienced even a hint of real, hard domination, sweet girl." He snarled, spreading himself out comfortably on the back of the bench with a loud creak of wood, the metal chains squeaking quietly each time he made another movement with his foot, putting the structure in motion.

"So why did you agree to this?" She asked finally, and he fell silent, staring blankly ahead, taking one last drag on what was left of his cigarette.

"Good question."

They both fell silent again, feeling that their conversation was starting to get out of hand, and after all, someone could have woken up, opened the window, overheard their words.

"Did you tell Robert?" He asked suddenly, and she shook her head, horrified.

"N-no, of course not. And I won't. This is between you two. He respects you very much." She muttered, lowering her gaze to her bent knees, which she held under her chin. He hummed at her statement, accepting her words with some sort of relief.

"Did that help you? Now you know what you need?" He asked impassively, letting the smoke out loudly through his mouth, dropping the remnants of his cigarette into the glass with the unfinished drink, feeling her gaze on him, her body tense, he knew she had hesitated.

"In a way." She replied, and he dared to look her straight in the eye.

She didn't lower her gaze even though he knew some part of her wanted to do so, her lips parted slightly when she noticed his hands had slipped under the blanket, into his trousers. She swallowed loudly when she heard the sound of his zipper being undone and the fabric being unfastened.

"Come here. Sit on my lap." He ordered softly, and she did so without hesitation, as if she had only been waiting for those words, something in her confidence, in her assurance, in her desire, in her hot gaze made his breath stand in his throat.

They said nothing as he slipped her shorts off her, as he lowered his trousers, finally releasing his aching, swollen erection, already leaking from his precum. He didn't protest when her hands tentatively embraced his neck, barely touching him, merely catching her balance, his free hand covering their hips with a blanket.

"I'm clean. I had myself tested a few weeks ago, after I'd already taken a break." He whispered, feeling his cock throb aggressively in his hand at the thought that he could come deep inside her if she would just let him. She nodded her head in understanding, one movement of his hand between her thighs reassuring him that no further treatment would be necessary.

"Have you been this wet all evening? Hm? Have you suffered as much as I have?" He gasped, directing the pink, fat head of his manhood at her swollen slit. She nodded again, her lips parted in disbelief and delight, her eyes closed as she felt him begin to push inside her,his thumbs spreading her folds to the sides, watching with a rapidly beating heart as he slowly opened her wide on his cock.

"− fuck − fuck, tell me you're taking your pills −" He breathed out, tilting his head back, with one sure thrust of his hips filling her tight, leaking cunt to the brim. She squirmed quietly as he began to move inside her immediately, pounding into her with deep, sure stabs, rubbing each time the spot inside her from where she could see stars.

"− y-yes −" She mumbled out, rising and falling on his thick, aching manhood, giving him a wonderful squeeze each time, from which he sank his fingers deeper into her soft buttocks, forcing her into a fast, sharp rhythm in which he hardly slid out of her, panting and grunting louder than usual, thinking only of how wonderfully warm she was, that he could feel her moist, fleshy walls with his whole being with each sure thrust.

"− kiss me −" He exhaled and groaned loudly into her mouth as her lips instantly clung to his in a sloppy, sticky dance, his tongue invading deep into her throat, a shudder went through him as one of her hands combed through his hair.

"− m sorry −" She mumbled, immediately lowering her hand, but he put his one arm around her waist and pressed her closer to him, deepening the kiss with a loud purr of satisfaction, feeling wonderful, the alcohol had given him courage, and her touch was sweet and tender, not making him feel cornered.

"− it's okay − touch my face −" He sighed out between loud, wet licks of their swollen lips, quickening his pace as her hands gripped his cheeks, as her forehead pressed against his. Her walls began to clench on him with increasing intensity, making him lose his temper, not letting her escape the brutal thrusts of his hips.

"− oh, God − fuck, where −" He only mumbled, feeling that it was about to be too late.

"− please, inside me − ah −" She mewled so sweetly that he sighed loudly, surprised to feel his muscles relax, his semen spilling deep inside her without his willpower as her walls began to suck him and squeeze him in orgasm.

They both panted loudly, rocking their hips for a while longer, pulsing and shuddering, stroking each other's faces, looking at each other with their lips slightly parted, breathing heavily.

"− shall we go out somewhere tomorrow? − you know − to the pub or something? −" He muttered embarrassed that he had wanted something more, that he broke his own rule.

He was relieved when she giggled and smiled, nodding, only to lean in a moment later and kiss him in a drawn-out manner with her soft, puffy lips. He murmured contentedly, stroking her warm, bare buttocks with lazy movements, reciprocating her caress with a loud click of their saliva.

She pulled away from him at last, her hand combing slowly through his short hair making a pleasant shiver run along his spine.

"− why not −"

[two-white-butterflies]

my way, back home | aem. targaryen

Description: Aemond wants to build a big family with you. One that rivals his great-grandfather's. (the dance never happens)

Rating: Teen [fluff]

It was uncommon to see a wedding happen because of love. It was rare to see a wedding happen because of love and political advancement. You were lucky to have the latter.

It was a hot day in Kingslanding - like the many days before. Of course, your sons took it as a reason to go to Dragonstone - where the shores and the heat were more forgiving.

"At this rate we'll need to create a beach just for our children," Aemond mused, allowing the waves to kiss his ankles. "If there is enough coin in our coffers, maybe." you replied as he leaned down to peck your lips. "I always find a way," he hummed, sitting on the sand.

His hands trail down to your swollen belly. A babe of five moons, another price or princess for the realm to adore. "What do you think it'll be?" you inquired - staring deep into his eye. "A loved child," he replied - not caring for the gender. He was a relief to have in this world - a world where girls were viewed as liability.

You turned to the side - eyes narrowing to see the figure of your sons and their handmaidens properly. "Not too far, my darlings." you gently warn, seeing that the water was beginning to reach Rhaenar's shoulders. "Yes, mother." your youngest, Aenar, responded.

Aemond kept his hand on your stomach, rubbing slow circles while he watched his sons play in the waters. A small thought runs through his head - a plan and a vision of his life.

"You have been far too silent, my husband." you pointed out, using the cloth to dry your hair properly. "I have been thinking," he professed - taking a lazy sip of his dornish wine.

"Thinking about what?" you raised an eyebrow.

The sides of his lips turned upwards - slowly leaning towards a smile. He takes another sip of his wine, allowing the silence to permeate throughout the atmosphere. "I want more children with you," he stated and a playful laugh escapes your mouth.

"This one is yet to escape my womb, and you already plan to have a fifth?" your eyebrows bumped into each other. The pain of childbirth was great - but the joy of having a babe in your arms, it was greater. "And a sixth, a seventh and an eighth." he professed - already having a few names in mind for his heirs.

"Is this the wine speaking, or does the plan of replacing King Jaehaerys' records lay rampant in your head?" you accused, taking a step forward and sitting on his lap. His hands inch towards your belly again - seeing that it was it's perfect place. "I always intended it to be that way," he whispered - burying his face on your neck.

"But we won't be like them, you know that - right?" you frown, remembering his children's cruel fates. "We'll be better." you add with certainty. Your daughters will not be subjected to cruel matches - and your sons will be raised with vigor and love. Your daughters will know that their beauty increases their worth - and that it doesn't diminish their intellect. Your sons will know that they are not only meant to be princes and heirs - they can venture far.

"Yes," he answered, removing his hand from your belly - reaching for your jaw and merging your lips together.

@bellstwd @nyctophilic0vitnir @fan-goddess @mizfortuna @watercolorskyy

[darlingofvalyria]

the sister's hot best friend trope— masterlist.

In which you're Helaena's hot best friend, and you take pity on Hel's younger, quieter, in an-unhealthy-unbalanced-on-and-off relationship brother by fake dating him. Hilarity (and confuse feelings) ensues.

ONGOING, +18 MDNI | Modern AU! Aemond Targaryen x Sister's Hot Best Friend!Reader, ft. Cregan Stark x f!reader + Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : P A R T S ::;˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

｡˚ ❀↳˗ˏˋ PARTS MARKED 'M' CONTAIN MATURE CONTENT ˊˎ˗ ↴🌸

01 | 'it's called a hustle, sweetheart'

M! | 02 | 'baby, all you gotta do is trust me'

03 | 'pucker up, buttercup'

M! | 04 | 'oh honey, you can do better than that'

05 | 'we're really in it now, darling'

06 | 'it's called a lovebug, lovebug'

07 | 'my love, you can call me whatever you like'

Message to be added to the taglist!

[huramuna]

growing on you - oneshot.

modern aemond x (ex) girlfriend reader

content: smut (specifics under the cut), afab reader, angst, unhealthy coping mechanisms, descriptions of depression and its effect on the body, probably an unhealthy relationship, aemond being an idiot, probably ooc aemond, reader not described, no use of y/n, targtowers seek therapy: the story, fluff at the end bc hehe

work is 18+, minors do not interact or you shall be smited.

word count: 7.4k (oops)

a/n: i've had this one in the drafts for a while. tweaked to be a fun 'lil angsty end of year holiday fic. as is my motto: fuck it we ball. a/n 2: i pivoted from a third person pov fic to a second person pov fic 3/4 through writing this using the find and replace tool, so if there are grammar errors, i apologize! also my first time doing second person pov, weehee.

monsters - all time low ft. blackbear • why do i - set it off ft. hatsune miku

warnings: p in v, creampie, cockwarming, slightly tipsy sex

Everything in your life was enveloped by him. your clothes smelled like him, small strands of his hair were woven into every nook and cranny of your apartment together, his fitness regime protein powder and ketogenic supplements were littered in your kitchen cabinets. 

You couldn’t get rid of him, not even if you tried. Aemond was all you'd ever known— you have known one another since the age of seven, and have been in a relationship since fourteen. You were both now twenty-six. Twelve years you’ve been together romantically (longer, even, but you were both too stubborn to admit it) and nineteen years you’ve been in each other's lives in some capacity or another. 

You’ve been involved together longer than you’ve not known each other. You hardly knew who you were without Aemond— a thought that scared you deeply. 

It’s been two weeks since he moved out, only temporarily he’d said. He needed space. He would still pay his share of the rent and you didn’t need to worry about that. 

But what about everything else? What about him warming you at night? Comforting you when you had nightmares? What about his items in the fridge, surely you’d spoil if he didn’t use them soon. What about Vhagar? Their— no, his geriatric cat that he took with him to God knows where— she must be terrified, surely. 

Was he giving Vhagar her medicine before bed? Of course he was— he was the more responsible one anyway. 

You paced back and forth until the soles of your feet ached and then some. Knowing Aemond for so long, you had intimate knowledge on everything about him, you were woven into each other's DNA like vines on a trellis, growing and expanding until you swallowed all of the other plants whole. 

That is what happened, wasn’t it? You grew too large, too comfortable and became stagnant. You weren't unaware of his rising workload at his firm, but he had always been a workaholic— throughout their teenage years, through college and grad school. It never slowed him down so you didn’t understand the change in behavior. 

Aemond was closed off. He always was a bit emotionally stunted due to his upbringing or lack thereof from his father and everything that happened surrounding his eye, but he had a soft side for you, always for you. You could retrace every part of him perfectly from memory, always could make him laugh, could comfort him when he recused himself, and the rare times he did cry, you were there. 

But the last few months there was a shift— a change in him. Where he had been hard to open before, like a rusty hinge just requiring some oil, he was now padlocked, ironclad and impenetrable. Attempts to talk were shrugged off, ignored or diverted. 

“Please, just talk to me, Aemond,” you said one night as you sat on the couch. You were watching your collective favorite show and he wasn’t even commenting on it like he usually did, he was silent and deadpanned. “I don’t understand what’s wrong if you don’t talk about it.” 

“There's nothing wrong, therefore, nothing to talk about. I’m just tired from work,” he responded gruffly. “Stop whining.” 

His tone was clipped and harsh, sending a wave of hurt trickling through your body. you were overly emotional, where he was under emotional— usually, you balanced each other out and struck a good middle ground, but in times like these, during fights, things would get explosive. 

The tears started right away, your little sniffling cries stifled by a hand over your mouth. You turned away, wrapping yourself in the blanket. 

“Seriously?” he growled, “I didn’t even say anything and you’re fucking crying again.”

“I d-don’t appreciate your tone, Aemond— you’re being mean,” you sniffed, wiping away tears that were soon just replaced by new ones. “Please, don’t be mean to me.” you were always soft hearted, and it was one of the things Aemond loved about you— or he had loved at one point. 

“I’m not being mean,” he pinched his brow, “you’re overreacting and I do not have the capacity to deal with your antics anymore.” 

Of course, your mind hit the panic button. ‘Anymore’ meaning that he didn’t want to deal with you at all, ever. The tears increased and you recused yourself further into a ball. 

“Fucking hell.” he cursed, getting up from the couch and stomping outside to the balcony, lighting up a cigarette. He was out there for about an hour— you had cried yourself to sleep. 

It was many situations like that for weeks that finally just… broke him. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said one day, slamming his keys down on the kitchen table, “I seriously cannot deal with your childish shit anymore— I’m working my ass off at the firm, actually bringing in money and I still have to come home and tend to you. you’re twenty-six, grow up and stop crying at every little thing. It’s fucking infuriating.” 

“You know I can’t control that part of me!” you screamed back, your temper rising immediately to match his. The words flowing out of your mouth didn’t feel like yours, but some sort of defensive mechanism. “You can’t do this anymore? You’re not doing anything Aemond, except pushing me away. God, you haven’t even touched me in weeks.” 

“Oh, so this is about sex?” he countered, getting closer to you, nostrils flaring. “You’re mad because I won’t fuck you? Are you that desperate?” 

That one stung, to be sure. Aemond had been your first and only— you only ever knew him, only ever had him. “No, not just sex,” you murmured, “you haven’t even… just touched me normally. No hugs, no little caresses, nothing— it's as if I’m an aversion to you.”

He backed up from you, “Maybe we’re just too close,” he admitted, “We’ve been together too long. It's not fun anymore, it’s not new— it’s the same old, same old, going through the motions for release, not because I actually like it.” 

“I don’t understand.” you said, your voice sounding disconnected from your body. The tips of your fingers felt numb, the numbness spreading through your body, your heart pounding in your chest as if it wanted to escape. 

“I need space. I need to think about this.” 

“This?”

“Us. I need to think about us and if this is something I really want,” he paused, “You’re… too much and not enough right now.” 

“Wh— Aemond, please,” you whispered, your voice broken, “What can I do? I’ll… I’ll change, I won’t cry or whine anymore— please.” 

He stared at you, his prosthetic eye unmoving while his remaining one bored into you, “I will think about it.” 

“What… does this mean?”

“We are taking a break, alright? I’ll have my essentials out and I’m going to stay with Aegon.” 

“Please— don’t go. I need you.” 

That was the end of that conversation. That was the last time you spoke, two weeks ago. You expected him to text you at some point, to check in on you, to maybe try to talk things out. 

Nothing. There's been nothing. Radio silence. 

You felt isolated— you had no family, as your parents were estranged from you. you couldn’t go to Aemond’s family, as close as you were to them all, it just simply wasn’t an option. 

You didn’t have friends. All you knew was Aemond. 

It was early in the evening and you were in a deep pit of self-loathing. You decided to text him. 

You swallowed thickly— the green meant he either turned off his phone or blocked you. You hoped that it wasn’t the latter. 

The next few weeks were a blur. You felt like you were barely living, merely going through the motions to stay alive— not that you really were. 

You woke up, went to work, came home, scrounged up food and then went to sleep. Rinse and repeat.

Weeks become months of your monotony, and no word from Aemond. He still had half of his stuff left in the apartment, you felt like you could barely breathe. At every turn there was something to remind you of him. 

You’d lived in this apartment together for four years, the evidence of your relationship etched into the very walls. It was like the space was closing in on you and you couldn’t catch your breath, barely keeping your head above water. 

You had to move out— you had to get away. 

You managed to find a place, a cheap studio above a coffee shop downtown. The landlord was an old lady who was sympathetic to your situation and agreed to let you take the space quickly. 

There was still the matter of your and Aemond’s current apartment— or, rather, it was just Aemond’s now. 

Saving yourself the embarrassment of seeing if you were still blocked, you called Aegon. He was a better messenger than none. 

“Hey, Egg,” you said, sitting on the couch. you bounced your knee up and down, biting at the skin of your lip. You and Aegon were amicable, not necessarily as close as you and Aemond, but you grew up together. Aegon ran in different social circles than you and you were somewhat polar opposites so you never really stuck— you did have your phases of friendship, though– which pissed Aemond off to no end. “Um, I don’t know if this is the right way to go about things but, do you mind relaying a message to Aemond for me?”

“Yeah, ‘spose I could. What’s up?” Aegon replied, his tone nonchalant like usual.

“I’m moving out of the apartment into my own place, so I guess he can go back. I’ll have all my stuff out by tomorrow.”

“Fuckin’ finally,” Aegon said, “He’s been driving me up the wall with his tidy, feng shui bullshit. He rearranged my whole place like five times and has taken up all the space in my cabinets with that nasty no-carb shit,” he paused for a moment, “I… didn’t mean that in a bad way to you, ‘course. I’m sorry it had to come to this. He’s a fucking idiot.”

That made you laugh, genuinely. Your first laugh in months. “Yeah– he… tends to do that. He left half of his stuff here, it feels like I’m living in the twilight zone. I just… gotta get away, you know?”

“Hey, I get that– you don’t have to explain yourself to me. He’s a dickhead and doesn’t understand how good he has it. If you want, I can bring my truck over tomorrow and help you move stuff.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Egg.”

“I want to– please.”

Your brow furrowed– Aegon usually wasn’t so persistent on anything unless it involved drinking or drugs. But, you hadn’t had real human contact in eons besides at work so… maybe it could be good.

“Okay, see you tomorrow. Thank you, really.”

–

It was rainy the next day– nasty and wet, droplets pouring down like tears. It felt somewhat familiar.

But, Aegon showed up like he promised, rolling up in his old, fading yellow pick-up truck. His hair was much shorter than you remembered and he looked actually well kept– Aemond must’ve been whipping him into shape.

He waved and ran through the rain, standing under the eave, “So– it’s raining.”

You snorted, “I think I can see that,” you teased with a tiny smile, “Not sure when it’ll let up.”

“I brought uh…” he paused for a moment to think, stretching out his arms in a square shape, “Y’know?”

“A tarp?” 

“Yup– that,” he gave a lopsided grin, inviting himself in through the open door, “you aren’t going to kick me out if I don’t take off my shoes, right?”

You glanced down at his boots– they were a bit muddy and definitely wet. Aemond wouldn’t have let him step two feet through the threshold without taking them off. But– you weren't Aemond. “No, keep them on if you want. It’s not my problem if you track dirt through the place anyway.”

He nodded, taking his phone out of his pocket for a moment and shooting a quick message to someone. “Sorry I haven’t been around, it’s just… he’s my brother. It would be kind of… I dunno, crossing some sort of unsaid boundary if I visited his… girlfriend?”

“Ex-girlfriend. I guess,” you corrected softly– but you didn’t really know yourself what it was. He wouldn’t talk to you, “It’s fine. I didn’t expect anyone to really reach out anyway, because of that… unsaid boundary thing.”

“We should’ve. you’re a part of our family with or without Aemond. Me, Helaena and Daeron have a whole group chat about it. Even mom asked where you’ve been,” he scratched the back of his head absentmindedly as he sent out another text, “Someone should’ve checked up sooner.”

“You’re acting like I’m some sort of neglected puppy, Aegon,” you turned to him, “... do I really look so terrible?”

Aegon glanced up at you, his mouth formed in a hard line. He cracked his knuckles, shrugging his shoulders. “I won’t lie to you. You look half dead.”

You blinked. Hard. Moving towards a mirror in the hall, you looked at yourself. Dark circles under sunken eyes, your skin was a pale pallor and your hair needed a trim desperately, your split ends curled and fettered. You were gaunt, as well– having lost a bit of weight over the months. “Jesus,” you muttered. Glancing over at Aegon, he was texting again. “Sending an update to the group chat, I guess? ‘Good news, she’s still alive, barely’?”

He snorted, “Yeah– something like that,” finally, he locked his phone and slipped it in his pocket. “I made sure to text Aemond, too.”

Your mouth felt dry at the mention. “Why?”

“He asked.”

“Asked?”

“He asked me to… make sure you were okay.”

Goosebumps prickled at your skin, the ever familiar feeling of nausea and despair swirling in the pit of your stomach. Nibbling at your lip more, you turned away, feeling a bit too exposed. “And what’d you say?”

“I said you were alive but you are not okay.”

Your lips pursed into a line as you tasted a bit of copper in your mouth from chewing on your lip. “I guess that’s right,” you muttered, “Why would he ask?”

“Aemond is… complicated. you know that better than anyone. I don’t know what kind of bug he has up his ass these last few months but… even through all of this, he still cares.”

“Like hell he does,” you snapped, feeling the sting of tears, “If he did, he would’ve given us a chance to talk it out, to… to try, maybe even go to therapy, I don’t fucking know– he would’ve reached out– anyone should’ve reached out,” your hand went to your hair, right at your hairline at your scalp, picking at the hairs there– another self-destructive habit you’ve picked up in your months of isolation, “I’m so fucking alone, Aegon. He knows… you all know I have absolutely no one else. I’ve been going through this on my own. I have no friends, no family– no brother to go live with when I need space, no family group chat. I don’t have shit, Aegon. All I’ve ever known in my life is him and you and Helaena and Daeron and mom. Why… why does it feel like I was cast off the island without even… a tribal council or something?” you sniffed, the tears coming in full force now. 

Aegon was silent, coming up behind you. “I’m… sorry,” he murmured, putting his hands on your shoulders, as frail and skeletal as you were, “We should’ve been better. We… will be better.” he turned you around and pulled you into his chest, enveloping you in his arms. “We thought you would’ve been… fine without him. He made it seem like that– that you were strong enough. I only figured it out yesterday when he was up my ass about texting him as soon as I saw you. He needed to know if you were feeding yourself, if you were keeping up with your medication, if you still had nightmares. A fuckin’... laundry list of questions– I told him to stick his questions up where the sun don’t shine and to see for himself,” he took a breath, “He settled on one question– if you were okay.”

“I think he got his fucking answer, then,” you whispered, “I am not okay. I haven’t been okay in months. I… I need help.”

“I know,” Aegon shifted you slightly to look at your face, “We’ll help you– I promise, you won’t be alone anymore. Look, I’ll even add you to the group chat, okay? I’ll rename it to ‘Aemond Sucks’, how does that sound?” 

You cracked a tiny smile, sniffling. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

– 

You ended up moving your belongings to your new place the same day, effectively ridding yourself of the constant shadow of Aemond’s memory.

Aegon even took you to Michael’s and HomeGoods to get stuff for your little studio, so you could really make it yours. It was a bit intimidating at first– you weren't used to being able to decorate things the way you wanted, as Aemond always opted to keep things simple and minimalistic. 

You, admittedly, went all out. Your new studio looked like a Pinterest board titled ‘cottagecore’. You were incredibly happy with it all, practically jumping up and down at it.

“It looks so good! I love these little mushroom chairs you picked out, Egg,” you hummed, patting some plush felted stools in the shape of mushrooms, which you put near the window. “I bet Helaena would love it.”

“Let’s take some pictures for the group chat, Hel will literally be all over this. you two always love that cottagecore, fairycore, fantasy… shit.” he grinned, stooping down to take some very out of perspective pictures of the mushroom chairs, making them look fifty feet tall.

You settled into your new place quickly, having Helaena, Aegon and Daeron over quite often for drinks and movies. Your health steadily improved until you were mostly back to normal physically– there would be a lot of scars internally, however that would take longer to heal, if you ever would. You had developed a trust issue complex since Aemond’s unceremonious exit from your life and hadn’t gone on any dates, you didn’t know when or if you would ever be ready. They did you the courtesy of not mentioning Aemond, until Daeron said something odd.

It was about four months after you moved in, and almost a full year since you’d last seen Aemond. You were all a few mixed drinks in, Aegon had made them and you were heavy on the alcohol, light on the ‘mix’, and you were all kicked back on the couch, with Aegon laying on the mushroom chairs stacked next to each other, lazed back like a cat. 

“Mom says she wants you over for Christmas dinner,” Daeron said, taking a sip of his drink, “She figured it’d be fine with Aemond going off with his new…” he blinked, catching himself. 

Helaena nudged Daeron in the ribs as a warning, staring at their friend warily.

“... his new? His new what?” you asked, your voice so quiet that it must’ve been like a squeak.

“... new girlfriend.” he finished.

You were silent for a while before sighing. “I figured it would happen eventually. I can only hope that it… wasn’t too soon after we broke up– or whatever… happened.”

“We all told him it was fucked up that he just left and ghosted you, lovey. Even mom got on his ass about it, and he is her favorite child who usually can do no wrong.” Helaena put her drink down, wrapping her arm around you. “You should come to Christmas dinner, everyone would be super happy to see you! And Aemond won’t be there, so even more reason to come. Please.” she whimpered, using her best puppy-dog face.

You mulled it over in your mind for a few moments. You couldn’t think of anything more painful than being alone during the holidays, so you nodded.

–

It was snowing on Christmas day, the flurries coming down and melting against your skin as you waited for Aegon to pick you up. You were wearing a red checkered tapestry dress with a flannel jacket, a white fluffed scarf wrapped around your neck and lower face. As soon as you saw the familiar color of Aegon’s truck, you practically booked it into the passenger seat. 

“Merry Christmas, you look fantastic,” Aegon mused, ever the charmer. “I’ve got the heater on full blast, I promise– but y’know my old boy’s puttering these days. We’ll need to get some speed for it to really warm up.” 

“Mmm,” you murmured, your teeth chattering, “S’cold.” 

He reached back and grabbed a well-used blanket, draping it over your legs. “Better?”

“... yeah– but,” you blinked, raising a brow. “What do you have this in the truck for?”

Aegon laughed as he began the drive to his family’s estate. “I think you know.”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve fucked someone on this blanket, Aegon.”

“Someones– not just someone. But I keep it clean, no worries!”

The drive to the Targaryen estate was about an hour and a half from town, nestled deep into an expansive forest where there weren’t any other homes in at least five miles. It was a gorgeous, Victorian style mansion and according to Daeron, was most certainly haunted. You had been here numerous times, of course, but it’d been a while. As you pulled up in the driveway, you saw Alicent standing outside the door dressed in a gorgeous red and green festive dress, hair curled to perfection. Nothing less was expected of Alicent, though.

“Oh, my darling,” Alicent cooed, holding her arms out to caress who she thought of as her fifth child. “It’s been too long, I’ve missed you.” 

Your heart warmed under Alicent’s caress, someone who had become more of a mother figure to you than your actual mother. You sniffed, pressing your forehead into Alicent’s shoulder. “Missed you too, mom.” 

“Come on, you both can cry inside in the nice toasty house, yeah? I’m freezing my balls off here, mom.” 

Alicent huffed, ushering both of you inside. “Don’t be vulgar, son– it’s Christmas.”

Helaena and Daeron were already there, as well as Otto, who gave you a stiff nod as a greeting, as was his usual means of communication.

You settled into the kitchen, Alicent pouring everyone apple cider and dishing out at least six types of holiday themed cookies. About an hour after arriving, there was a knock on the door. 

“Oh, that must be Rhaenyra and Laena. Can you answer the door, darling? I need to take the roast out of the oven. I’m sure they would be happy to see you!” 

“Mhm!” you mused through bites of cookies. You loved Rhaenyra and Laena, who were technically married with husbands, as was Alicent, but the three of them were in a secret, not so secret to anyone with eyes, polyamorous relationship. It always amused all of their kids when they tried to hide it. 

You turned the doorknob, fully expecting to see Rhaenyra and Laena. It was not. 

Aemond.

“Fuck.” you blurted out, eyes wide. It had been the better part of a year since you had last seen him. His hair was longer now, gathered into a low bun at the nape of his neck, his cheeks a bit more gaunt. He still wore his earrings and his rings– including the one you had given him almost a decade ago. 

“Shit.” he responded, seemingly caught equally off guard by seeing you again. The pupil of his non-prosthetic eye dilated until the iris was almost consumed in black, before he flexed his hand and reeled himself in. 

You couldn’t help but notice he was alone– no ‘new girlfriend’ as Daeron had put it. “Aemond,” you breathed, feeling like you were outside of your own body, your head filled with fluff and static. “Merry… Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” he responded gruffly, “Can I come in?”

“Oh– yeah, duh,” you chastised yourself, stepping aside to let him in. “Sorry.”

“Mm.” he grunted in his usual manner. That seemed to be a habit he hadn’t dropped. 

You all but retreated to the kitchen, the expression on your face telling everything. Aegon, Daeron, and Helaena gathered around you.

“I didn’t invite him, I swear.” Aegon whispered.

“Well, neither did I!” Daeron professed.

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t invite him. He left me on read three weeks ago when I sent him a picture of a bug on my windowsill.” Helaena sniffed.

A new voice chimed in. “I invited him,” Alicent spoke, breaking up the little posse, “I told him to come over or he would be grounded for three months.” 

All four of you stared at Alicent, deadpanned. 

“Mom– he’s… almost twenty-seven. you can’t ground him,” Daeron said, confused. “And moreover, why? Wasn’t he busy?”

“Well, first off, he is my son, so I wanted to see him for Christmas. Two, I believe we have someone here who has some unresolved issues with him.” Alicent responded, staring right at you pointedly.

“... I don’t know… I… I don’t know if I can talk to him. It’s been too long… I feel like I was just getting over all of this.”

“Well, do I have any say in this?” Aemond barged into the circle, his hands in his pockets. 

You suddenly felt overwhelmed, the familiar bubbling of everything being too much rising in your stomach. You were teleported back to months ago when you were barely alive, trapped in your own mind. “I… I need… I need a minute.” you muttered, your voice sounding distorted as you made your way to the bathroom, turning on the faucet. Chest heaving, you were already crying, the waterworks starting somewhere between the hallway and the sink. 

“You’re always fucking crying, I can’t take it anymore.” Aemond’s voice from months and months ago echoed in your head, causing the tears to flow more. You bit against your lip, tasting blood right away as you willed yourself to stop crying. 

“S-stop… stop crying,” you whispered, fingers messing up your hair as you held fistfuls of it. You couldn’t catch your composure for the life of you, sliding against the bathroom wall onto the floor.

Vision blurring, you don’t know how long you were incoherent for. When you came back to yourself, Aemond was in front of you, crouched down.

“Hey,” he murmured softly, the door closed behind him, “It’s okay.”

You swallowed, still numb as he pried your fists from your head, out of your hair, smoothing it down.

“Look at me, can you do that? Nod if you can hear me.”

You nodded slowly, the feeling coming back to your extremities in a sprightly tickling sensation. You blinked tears from your eyes, the liquid smearing your vision. 

Aemond rasped a thumb over your eyes, effectively clearing the obstruction from your vision. “Just breathe,” he continued to whisper. It was ever reminiscent of when he would calm you down after a nightmare, voice low and scratchy in a way that comforted you. He was so close now, closer than he’d been in forever. He still smelled the same, the scent triggering a deep aching within your chest. A scent that took you forever to get rid of, but you never truly could. “Can… we talk?” he asked then, his voice sounding more vulnerable than ever. 

It felt like whiplash, visions of your previous fights plaguing you, where he had been so closed off, so far away, so distant that you couldn’t reach him– and now, he was here. In the present, in the flesh. In front of you, opened. Not opened completely, but you could see it, like the slit of a cracked door, the light bleeding through. It was there.

“... yeah.”

“I… I’m… I’m sorry. What I did was fucked up. It was fucked up and wrong and you didn’t deserve any of it.”

“You’re right about that,” you muttered, pulling your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. “I didn’t deserve it.” 

Aemond’s mouth twitched slightly before he sat down next to you, propping up his legs in a criss-cross. He opened his mouth to speak a few times, before closing it. His hands flexed and unflexed in quick succession– he was clearly thinking very carefully about his next words. “... I’ve… got issues. You know that better than anyone. I don’t know what was going through my head those months that we fought. I can hardly remember it now, it was like… I was in a fog, a haze– I was working myself half to death, I just wanted dad to notice, to fucking… appreciate me,” he put his hands on his head, “I was so… tied up in this illusion that if I made junior associate at the firm so young that he would congratulate me on my achievement and…” Aemond let out a sigh, “And… in the process… I pushed you away.”

You looked at him, feeling your gaze soften ever so slightly. You knew that his father was a sore spot for him and that trauma ran deep. “You didn’t just push me away, Aemond,” you sighed, reaching out a shaky hand to pry one of his from his face. “... if you would’ve just talked to me, I could’ve helped. You didn’t push… you… you shoved, you shoved and ran in the other direction.”

His one violet eye danced towards you. “I know. I’ve been kicking myself for it. When Aegon told me you weren’t doing well… I almost left work to see you.”

“... you did?”

“Yeah. Aegon basically told me not to– that… this was something you needed space for. Kind of like I did but… maybe in a more healthy way.”

“A text wouldn’t have hurt.” 

He reached into his pocket and took out his phone– his wallpaper was still the same as it was, a picture of you, him and Vhagar very unhappy in an elf costume. He scrolled to his notes app, which was filled with messages addressed to you. “... I thought it might, after what Aegon had said. I was… ashamed of how I acted, how I handled the whole thing– how I left you alone without a word. He told me how you looked… dead. I didn’t want to make it worse.”

Your eyes scanned the messages, picking out some words. The main ones that caught your gaze were ‘sorry’, ‘love’, ‘regret’. A huge breath left your lungs, feeling as if everything had been knocked out of you at once. You felt like you were being whipped back and forth in the wind, trying to grab onto anything. If you both weren’t so stubborn and just messaged one another– well, no. You did message him, one time. “I thought you blocked me.” 

“... for five minutes, maybe.”

“God, we’re so fucking stupid, Aemond.”

“You aren’t– don’t say that. I’m literally a dumbass. All of my siblings told me so, even my own mother, and you know she never curses.”

The tiniest of smiles cracked onto your face as you jostled his shoulder. “Yeah… you are a dumbass. I am allowed to say it at least once. So, um,” you shuffled slightly, “Daeron kind of let it slip that you had a new girlfriend?”

Aemond pinched his brow. “Of course he said that. He is twenty-one years old and still doesn’t know how to use his goddamn ears. I said I was seeing a new therapist, not that I had a fucking girlfriend.”

“A therapist?”

“... things got really dark for me after I moved back into our… no, my… place. After you officially moved out. It felt lifeless, all of your things were gone, the fucking warmth sucked out of the place. It felt like it’d been sterilized of anything… good. I feel into something– I don’t know, a depression? I guess, that’s what Aegon called it. He suggested I see a therapist, citing me as ‘an emotionally stunted asshole who needs more therapy than him’.” he exaggerated the last bit with air quotes, rolling his eye.

“... he isn’t wrong. I mean, I love your family, but all of you are all kinds of fucked up. Maybe I am too, practically being a part of it.”

Aemond chuckled, giving a tight lipped smile. “We are fucked up. I realized that… I really do not give a shit what my dad thinks, because nothing will ever be good enough for him. He’s so far gone now that he probably doesn’t even know we exist. I’ve come to terms with that and honestly… it feels like a weight has been lifted.”

“I’m glad you could… work through some of that, Aemond.” you say sincerely, resting your cheek on his arm absentmindedly. 

“... I want to talk about us.”

“... us. Okay.”

“I don’t expect you to want to jump right back into things. It would be unfair to think that– but… maybe we could try?”

Your chest feels a bit tight at his admission– he wanted to try. Every fiber in your being wanted to say yes and jump back into it like you’d never left. But you knew you couldn’t. There were still parts of you scarred by this whole experience, some parts that may never heal. It would take a long time and a lot of talks like this to even get some semblance of what the both of you had. “Well… before we were together, believe it or not, we were friends. Could we… try that for right now?”

His chest visibly deflated a bit, but he nodded. “Whatever you need, okay?”

–

The days following Christmas, leading up to New Year’s were… different. You and Aemond were back in contact, going out for coffee and lunch a few times.

On the day before New Year’s eve, you texted him.

Turns out, timing the movie to sync with 12 am on New Year’s day to Toby Maguire saying ‘Pizza time’ was difficult. Well, it wasn’t difficult for normal people– but you and Aemond were a bit tipsy, as Aegon had left some hard apple ciders in your fridge, to which you both indulged.

“Okay, okay,” Aemond stared at his phone, “5… 4… 2… wait, no, fuck, 3… 2… I think we fucked it up– just go, go!”

Quickly, you started the movie. “Maybe we should’ve practiced– can we start over?” you plopped on the couch, sinking into the sofa and taking a swig of the cider.

“Doesn’t work like that, sweetheart. Can’t turn back time.” he mused softly, squatting down on one of the mushroom stools. “Pretty comfy.”

“Aegon picked those out, nifty, huh?”

“Nifty.” he parroted. 

The movie continued on, but as it went on, there was an unspoken tension growing. Aemond hadn’t sat on the couch, but rather, the stools that were on the other side of the room. It felt like a chasm had formed, the strain almost palpable. 

You chewed on your lip anxiously, contemplating whether or not to say anything. But, you had both been trying a new technique called ‘communication’ – a pretty cool and helpful thing that Aemond’s therapist had taught him. You remember laughing when he posed it that same way– but it was extremely important. You cleared your throat. “Why are you sitting all the way over there?”

“... um. I wanted to try the mushroom seats, I guess.”

“You don’t want to sit next to me?” you countered, feeling especially brave. 

“Is that… alright?” 

“Um, duh. I invited you over for pizza and a movie so we could… sit together. Not for you to be half a mile away sitting on a mushroom.”

“As long as it’s alright with you.” he murmured, sitting up from the mushroom stool and making his way over to you, sliding onto the couch, still a few feet away from you.

You weren’t sure if it was the atmosphere, the pent up emotions, the small buzz of alcohol, or a destructive cocktail of all three, but you inched closer to him. Closer, closer… until your thighs were touching. You glanced up at him beneath fettered lashes. “Hi.”

“Hey.” he responded, his voice low and warm. It caused a balmy and comforting vibration to go through you, reverberating in your chest. 

You became all too aware of your movements, your closeness to him, the skin of your thigh grazing against his jeans as you got as close as you could. Your lips parted slightly as he stared back down at you. “Can… we?”

“Can we, what?” he murmured, lacing his fingers through your loose hair, gently grasping it at the nape of your neck. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“... kiss. A little bit.”

“Just a little bit?” 

“Mhm. A teeny bit.” you leaned up, Aemond meeting you halfway as your lips came together. The culmination of your year apart, all of the emotions, the sadness, the frustration and anger, the passion, love, tears– all of it came together at this moment as the two of you melded together perfectly, as if you’d never left. You couldn’t help but let out a sigh of contentment, followed by what could only be articulated as a moan. 

It caught both of you off guard, Aemond pulling away for a moment, his lips still ghosting over yours. “Fucking hell,” he breathed against your skin, sending goosebumps tingling from your tailbone up to the nape of your neck, the hairs on your body standing on end. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you,” you responded before latching onto him once more. It started off loving and slow, your lips moving against one another like two old lovers dancing together– then it began to heat up, your mouth parting to accommodate his tongue, gnashing against yours as their dance turned up a notch. Your hands roamed his body, everything you committed to memory for so many years still in its same spot. It felt good, it felt like home. “Please, Aemond– I… I need you. It’s been so long… too long…”

“Too long since I’ve had you, had this,” his hand reached down, cupping your mound still hidden beneath your panties. Somehow, you foresaw this moment before it happened and thankfully wore a light dress. “Let me in, love.”

You parted your legs, feeling the ever familiar crook of his fingers slide down the front of your panties, testing the waters. The pad of his thumb and middle finger locked on instantly to your clit, swirling the sensitive bud, sending electric shocks through your extremities. You bit your lip to stifle a moan, pressing your forehead against his. “Need you inside, now.” you all but growled as you peppered little kisses along the soft flesh of his neck.

He wouldn’t keep you waiting long, as it seemed he needed this as much as you did. He parted your panties to the side, propping you on top of him and sliding you down his length, earning a hissed gasp from both of you. It took all of his strength not to burst in you right then, as you enveloped him in your tight, wet heat. “You were made for me,” he breathed, biting down on your shoulder, leaving red marks. One of his favorite things to do was to mark you, leaving hickies in his wake as he worshiped every inch of exposed skin he could reach. “Melded so perfectly, just for me.” he grabbed the flesh of your bottom, squeezing gently at first, then landing a smack on it as he began to thrust up into you.

You nodded fervently, hiccuping little moans as you dug your face into his shoulder, biting him in turn. Your nails sunk into his skin, indenting against his spine as they always had, as they always were meant to. It felt much like a pianist resting their fingers on the ivories after a long break, the pads of your fingers sinking into the ridges of his very being. You were meant to be here, he was meant to be here. You could feel your end coming on all too soon, his cock filling every nook and cranny of you, bullying that spongy, delicate sweet spot just right. You began to clench, your tell-tale sign to him that you were close. 

“I love you,” he whispered, panting slightly, using one hand to push your face back so you could meet his gaze. His wild, pupil-blown out gaze, cheeks reddened, mouth parted, brow furrowed. “I love you, I fucking love you. I missed you– fuck.”

“I l-love you,” you responded before he parted your lips with his thumb, “Love you so much– p-please, s’close.” you whined into his mouth.

“Let go, sweetheart, c’mon,” he grinned against your lips, nipping and biting at them. “Come for me.”

That was all you needed, the twine of your climax coming undone right in your core, snapping like a taut thread. Your usual habit was to hide your face in his shoulder when you came, whimpering and panting– but he didn’t let you this time. He held your face, staring at you intently as if you were a piece of fine art on display, and he was a connoisseur. 

You clenched around him tightly, spurring him to his own end. His hard wrought fingers gripped your ass like it was a lifeline, grunting as he found his release deep within you, where it was always meant to be. 

Coming down from your high, you slumped against his chest, mouth parted. Embarrassingly enough, a little drool wetted your lips. You were fully and thoroughly fucked out, not even registering that Tobey Maguire said “Pizza time!”

“Happy New Year, love,” Aemond murmured against your hair, nestling you tightly against him. He didn’t pull out– he preferred it this way, having you warm him through until you both fell asleep. 

“... Happy New Year,” you whispered back.

–

Two and a half months later, it was Valentine's day. You and Aemond were officially dating again as of January 2nd, much to the surprise of no one. 

You both took things as slow as you could, keeping separate apartments for the time being– but you’d given him a key to your place about two weeks in, and he was there all the time, taking much needed leave from work. 

Unlocking the door to your apartment, you walked in, seeing Aemond lounging on the couch with a scruffy brown furball on him. 

“Oh, Vhagar! You brought my baby,” you mused, dropping your items (with some grace, so as not to scare the geriatric cat), walking over, “Oh, I hope she remembers me.” you frowned, kneeling down and offering your hand to her.

“Of course she’ll remember, she yelled at me for a good three months at Aegon’s when we were without you.”

Vhagar sniffed your hand for a good minute before blinking her sleepy, lazy eyes at you, then promptly rubbing her scraggly cheek fur on your hand. You were elated, scratching her cheeks, hearing the tinkling of a little bell. 

“A new collar?” 

“Mhm, take a look.”

You swirled the collar around, looking for the name tag– only to find… a ring. An opal and moonstone ring. Your heart stopped in your chest as you stared at Aemond.

“I would get down on one knee– I was intending on you coming home and Vhagar running to you and then you finding it… but she’s on me, and I can’t get up. Cat rules,” he mused, unclipping the collar from her neck and slipping the ring onto your finger. “I know we’ve only been dating for… a month and a half, so stop me if it’s too soon.” he grinned, his toothy smile.

Vhagar gave a croaking meow, promptly jumping off of Aemond’s lap. As soon as the old cat was off, you threw yourself at Aemond, blubbering. “This… this…” you sniffed, unable to form words.

“Just so there isn’t any confusion… will you marry me?” he asked, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

“Yes, yes– I will,” you sniffle, burying your face in his chest and sobbing. 

He let you sob on him, getting his shirt all snotty and wet, all while smiling. 

After crying for at least ten minutes, you manage to take a picture, sending it to the group chat, with the caption: “I think we should add him to the chat now, guys.”

Ding.

“Is this group chat named ‘Aemond sucks’?” 

[targaryen-dynasty]

IN THE SPACE BETWEEN.

Modern!Aemond x female!Reader

You we’re happy your friend Floris got to marry her longtime boyfriend Aegon… if it wasn't for the sake of you being the plus one of her groom’s brother and also your ex boyfriend, Aemond.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT–MINORS DNI; exes to lovers, p in v, balcony sex, kinda voyeurism, fluff, angst, smoking

WORDS: 4.6 K

NOTES: with the famous one bed trope.

The more or less dreaded day of your friend Floris’ wedding came as quickly as never. 

You were happy she finally got to marry her longtime boyfriend Aegon, more so because they were celebrating on Koj, one of the Summer Islands you always dreamt of visiting… if it wasn't for the sake of you being the plus one of her groom’s brother and also your ex boyfriend, Aemond. 

You had been together for roughly three years and only had broken up shortly after you had booked everything for the wedding for reasons you couldn’t quite recall anymore. 

For the longest of time, or rather for the time you drowned in sorrow and self pity, you had forgotten about the upcoming wedding and the fact you had to share a room with Aemond, if the two of you wouldn’t cancel the reservation. 

The flight wasn’t the problem, because you could easily switch seats with someone else, but the hotel was. Apparently, they were so far booked out that there was not a single room available–of course it wasn’t–besides the one you had already booked, and on top of that, you and Aemond would lose your deposits if you would cancel the booking. 

Being the good friend you were, you couldn’t just skip the wedding, so that was how you ended up exactly where you were right now: standing in front of the reception desk in the pristine hotel lobby, the handle of your suitcase tightly clutched in one hand with a tensed Aemond standing right on the other side. 

Up until then, everything went according to plan. You were able to switch seats on the plane with an older man that wanted an aisle seat instead of sitting at the window, and you were quick to give him just that. The ride to the hotel was quiet, too, because Floris was attentive enough to send two separate cars to pick you both up. 

So, you and Aemond hadn’t spoken a word beside a polite “hello” when you first met at your aisle in the plane, and even then it didn’t last long, because that man was already waiting for you to clear his new seat. 

It wasn’t that you did not want to talk to him–you just didn’t know how well you were able to handle any contact with him, considering you didn’t break up due to bad blood.

“You don’t happen to have a second room available? Could be a Single, a Suite… whatever,” Aemond asked without so much sparing you a glance, just as desperate as you to get some space between the pair of you. 

The receptionist, a tall man with black hair and almost equally dark eyes, shook his head. “Only one room,” he replied, the Common Tongue slipping past his lips with an amber, liquid accent and broken syllables. “Room 351 for you and… wife.” Both your eyes widened in surprise at the man’s statement, but neither of you made any effort to correct him, either not really caring because it didn’t help with the overall situation or just too tired from the damn long trip. 

The key cards–at least you didn’t have to approach him whenever you wanted to get back to the room–were slid over the marble of the counter without another word, a small card that held the WI-FI password and general information next to it. 

Aemond’s sigh was barely audible, and maybe it was the sheer annoyance you held or your silent despair to have him speak to you about whatever topic he wanted, but you heard it, and couldn’t stop rolling your eyes. 

“Does it at least have two separate beds?” 

It was very brief, but the man’s eyes flickered over to you, before darting back to meet Aemond’s mismatched ones, the sapphire blue of the prosthetic one not really matching the lilac of his other. If you didn’t know better, you’d say the receptionist flashed him an apologetic gaze with the way his lips pressed into a thin line, followed by another shaking of his head. “Only one bed.”

Aemond set his jaw, and you really thought if he hadn’t at least once thought about the possibility of you two having to sleep in one and the same bed. You had booked the room as a couple, so, of course it only had a single bed. 

You must have side eyed him a bit too obvious, because when he turned to hand you your key card, he just shrugged his shoulders and brushed past you. 

Aemond had reached the room first, the door left slightly ajar to make it easier for you to get in, and sat at the edge of the King size bed. 

With the realization slowly settling in that you indeed had to share a bed with him, you came to the conclusion that it somehow seemed too small nevertheless, especially beneath his tall frame. 

Anxiety spread throughout your body and you already cursed your sleepy self should she decide to snuggle up against him at night, no matter if it was on purpose or not. 

Being in the same room as him felt suffocating enough already, hence you were quick to grab your fanny pack and head towards the door again once you stored your suitcase next to your side of the bed. “I’ll… I’ll take a walk, looking for the black beaches and the venue,” you announced.

If it wasn’t for you all but darting out of the room, you would’ve caught the somewhat hurt expression that flickered over Aemond’s features with his mouth silently opening and closing without any words leaving it at your sudden departure.

Much to your surprise, you had found the wedding venue and the black beaches rather quickly with both being at the same spot right in front of your hotel. You stood on an elevation with a wooden railing in front of you embraced by several branches of the local trees. The wedding took place in the North of Koj, and if you squint your eyes just tight enough, you were able to make out the island Walano, or more so Lotus Point, one of its cities. 

With the sun slowly setting, the volume of the tropical birds’ chirping, making the whole surroundings all the more beautiful… and romantic.

You barely heard the zipper of your fanny pack as you opened it, retrieving a pack of cigarettes and the lighter Aemond had gifted you back when you started dating. It was black and red, their family sigil engraved into it. The pad of your thumb absentmindedly brushed over it, feeling the small ridges, before you brought it up to light the cig.

Even before you could exhale the first puff of smoke, the quietness and peace of your solitude was broken.

“I thought you quit,” your stomach dropped as you heard the voice. His voice. 

The beautiful scenery of Koj was left behind you as you turned to look at him, shrugging your shoulders. “Started again when I had trouble falling asleep after… you know,” was all you said in return, pressing your lips into a thin line as you inhaled yet another cloud of smoke. You half-expected him to lecture you about it, saying how he was disappointed you had returned to smoking after successfully quitting for two years, but it did not happen. 

Instead, Aemond stepped closer to you, still keeping a fair distance though, and merely held out his hand. “May I?” He asked, which caused you to cock an eyebrow at him in suspicion. Your body acted on its own when you handed him the cigarette, and the familiar heat that felt like home filled your body as your fingers brushed, your heart fluttering. 

Being quite taller than you, he had no trouble looking over your head to admire the beauty of Koj’s nature, all while taking a deep drag of your cigarette. It was almost melancholic. Aemond was looking at the nature, and you were looking at him, dwelling in the past and many unsaid things.

“I feel like we have some catching up to do before we can celebrate the wedding without any problems,” he finally admitted, and only when he met your eyes, you figured you had shamelessly stared at him for a tad too long. 

Your body tensed at his words, and you shifted your weight from one leg to the other. “What is there to catch up on?” You asked, eyes darting to the ground as you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. 

Aemond pinched the back of his nose, exhaling a deep breath that was accompanied by some faint smoke from his last inhale. “Listen…,” he started, seemingly fighting for the right words to say. “The fight we had was so stupid and irrational, fuck, I… I don’t even know why we were arguing.”

It was visible in the way his jaw clenched and unclenched, and his fingers quivered, that Aemond was far from being comfortable having this conversation, and you were so close to just reaching out and taking his hand into yours to soothe the nervousness. It was an anchored instinct you had even after being separated for seven months. 

One of his hands ran through his silver-blonde hair, a lot shorter than the last time you’d seen him, pushing the strands out of his face. It had taken you a long time to get over him, at least you thought you were, but now, seeing him in the dim light of the lanterns with the reddish light of the sun illuminating his features as he looked at you with the soft gaze you had grown so fond of, everything was flooding back. 

Aemond had always had trouble speaking about his emotions. It was one of the things that came with his fucked-up childhood, growing up with a father that didn’t love him and such, so you really appreciated him at least trying to reconcile. 

“It was the right thing at the time,” you said in a reassuring manner, flashing him a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “We… I wasn’t ready for it.” He exhaled sharply through his nose at your words, not quite a snort and not really a laugh. “We is quite right,” he replied. 

While you had been talking, you hadn’t noticed how close you both had gravitated towards each other. Your heart started to beat at a rapid pace, almost bursting through your ribcage you were sure. 

But before you–or him–could do anything stupid, your voice of reason pushed itself into the front of your mind, reminding you that you were still sharing a room with him if he wouldn't accept your advances. 

Aemond seemed to sense your restraint and held your cigarette out for you. He rubbed the back of his neck, eye flickering between yours, the ground and the distance. “So…,” the awkwardness of the moment was unmatchable. Aemond felt it, too, because his face was covered in crimson that also ran down his neck already. “We arrived quite late today and I still want to grab something from the late night buffet… see you later, I guess?” 

You nodded your head with a forced smile on your lips, muttering a “see you later” and finished the cig. While he left, you pressed the butt against the reiling to extinguish it and looked around for the next closest ashtray.

Your evening wasn’t ruined, but there was no way you could focus on the beauty of Koj’s nature with Aemond lingering in the back of your mind. 

———

You stared at the ceiling in your hotel room for hours before you finally gave up. There was no point in continuing to lay there, tossing and turning, getting absolutely no rest. 

Maybe it was the obsessive worrying of you scooting a tad too close towards Aemond in your sleep or the unresolved words that hung between you after your more or less reconciling at the beach. 

Exiting the bed as quietly as possible to not wake up Aemond, you slipped into a thin caftan and tied the belt around your waist, keeping you warm on your way to the small balcony since you only wore a silk top with matching shorts. 

You slowly pushed the sliding door open, looking at his sleeping frame from over your shoulder to make sure he was still asleep, and stepped outside. It was unusual for him to not stirr awake with you leaving the bed, considering he always was a light sleeper, but you figured you weren’t the only one whose habits had changed after the break-up. 

From the balcony, you could spot a few people still setting up some things for the wedding venue at the beach, and you were certain you could also hear the baritone of Aegon’s deep voice, followed by the voice of Floris. 

But even then, it brought you more peace than lying in bed with Aemond could ever bring you, despite the air being somewhat chilly with a light breeze blowing through the knotted fabric of your caftan. 

It was completely dark, safe for the few lanterns that lit up the distant beach for the people to continue their work. The hotel had dimmed most of the lights surrounding their resort, granting everyone the sleep they needed. 

“Do you think we are now?” The raspy voice of Aemond drawled, thick with sleep and startling you. Your confusion must have been evident on your face as you turned around, because he repeated his question slower and a bit louder while he sleepily rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you… Do you think we would be ready now?” 

You had thought about it ever since you came back to your room, pondering over how you had changed the past seven months, and if things between you could finally work out. And a part of you was certain you could, while the other part was anxious, afraid it would end the same way it had ended before.

The pregnant pause between you two was not at all comfortable, practically urging you to say something… anything. Yet Aemond beat you to it–not by speaking, but by acting, and when you noticed what exactly he did, you figured you were a goner. Everything suddenly flooded back, and you needed him. You still loved him. You were still in love with him.  

Something in your body language or facial expression had to give away how you felt, even if it only was for just the slightest of seconds, but it still had to be enough for Aemond to grasp how you felt. 

He silently held out his hand, but this time for you to take it, and you took it without hesitation, interlocking your cold fingers with his warm ones, allowing him to pull you into his embrace. It was when your face was buried in his chest with his all too familiar scent flooding your nostrils, that a sudden wash of exhaustion overcame your body, his proximity bringing your body the peace and comfort it had always longed for the past seven months. 

“Y–Yes… absolutely,” though your voice was somewhat muffled by his firm chest, you knew he had heard you well enough by the way his arms tightened around you, hugging you as if he was afraid to let go, fearing you’d leave him again. 

Your face was buried in his chest, but you could feel his nose nuzzling along the crown of your head, taking in your scent before it were his lips pressing a tender kiss to it. The hug was full of emotions and soothed all your worries, erasing the memories of loneliness you went through after your break-up. It was just like in the past, when he would comfort you on sleepless nights. 

As you tilted your head back, you were met with his face dangerously close to yours, despite the high difference you shared. The natural attraction of his lips made it difficult for you to look at his eyes, yours always straying back to his lips. And it was obvious it was the same to him, not knowing if he should look at your lips or eyes. 

No one of you said anything as your heads bowed towards each other like magnets, irresistibly drawn together, until eventually your lips met and your bodies melted together. Even though you hadn’t seen each other in seven months, the kiss was shy of restraint and gentleness. It was fierce, passionate even, begging to make up for all the months you hadn’t spent alongside each other. 

The heat of your kiss ran down your spine to your legs, hells, it even reached the soles of your feet, leaving a fire everywhere it touched. Aemond was a Dragon, liquid heat, molten fire, seeping into your bones and consuming your very being. You melted in the hold of slender fingers sliding down your body, caressing every inch they could grasp, and the warmth of his embrace.

You ached with need–your body crying out for more. It was soft under Aemond’s hands, so fragile, even if your kiss was so desperate, and yet he greedily took whatever was offered, devouring you like you were the sweetest Arbor wine. 

His hand lazily drifted over the curve of your hips, fingers curling into your flesh. The soft gasp you released was drowned by his lips, drinking it down as though it was meant to spur him on even more. 

You were distracted enough to not notice his other hand slipping beneath the elastic waistband of your silk shorts to cup your ass, squeezing the flesh with the same ferocity he had used to grope your hip. You gasped yet again, but not without breaking the kiss to hiss a warning “Aemond”, slightly shoving at his chest though it was not hard enough to seriously push him away. 

“‘M sorry,” he replied with a scoff, but the smirk on his lips told you he wasn't–he was enjoying it. The roll of your eyes at his poor apology didn’t receive a teasing comment, too eager to capture your lips again and continuing where you had stopped. 

The hand on your ass gave it just one more squeeze, before his deft fingers pulled the lace of your thong aside to drag through your swollen folds from the front to the back, collecting some of your arousal. 

Your reactions couldn’t be more opposite. 

You whined against his lips, while Aemond just growled like an animal, the last threats of his patience snapping as one digit eased into your hole. You clenched around him, but he didn’t move his finger–it just stayed inside of you with barely more than the tip buried.

“Fuck – You’re soaked for me, Y/N,” he pulled back to catch his breath, voice raspy, strained. “All for me, or were you this wet for the other guys you had after me, too?”

His words were lewd, and if you weren’t already embarrassed by your body’s reaction to him, you sure as hell were now. It was bad enough that you weren’t even able to form any coherent sentence as a reply, stuttering out the words with a whiny voice. “N-No other guys… only for you.” Upon realizing, you just pressed your eyes shut and silently cursed yourself for falling victim to him… again. 

You anticipated him scoffing, and he did, but you didn’t anticipate him grabbing your hand to guide it towards his crotch to where his hard cock was bulging against the fabric of his boxers. You were looking at him with wide eyes, almost as if you couldn’t believe it, but when another wave of arousal gushed out of your core, you certainly knew it was real. 

“Good,” Aemond purred. “Because I haven’t been with anyone else, too. And you have no fucking clue what that does to a man.”

You were just able to whimper in return, kiss-swollen lips slightly agape, and squeezed his hard cock lightly before he proceeded to turn you around, seizing your body between his and the railing. 

“Aem, what–”

The words inevitably caught in your throat at the feeling of his lips on your neck, nibbling and sucking your skin. “‘M gonna have you right here, Y/N,” he rasped, making you shudder in his embrace. “Can’t waste anymore time getting you back in bed.”

As he drew your earlobe between his teeth, you melted into him right then and there, not even once worrying about anyone hearing or even seeing you two doing inappropriate things in an even more inappropriate place. 

“Oh,” you only whimpered in return, bowing your head back against his shoulder as his hand tugged on your shorts to pull them down to your knees. His body was pressed so tightly against yours, you felt the outline of his length snugly wedged between your ass cheeks, twitching every time you whined and whimpered. 

While your hands clasped around the railing in front of you, his were busy with your body. The fingers of one hand hooked underneath the string of your thong, playfully pulling it back to allow it to whip back against your skin, causing you to take in a sharp breath, whilst the other snaked around your body to push the fabric aside, exposing your soaked pussy to the chill air. 

“I have dreamt of fucking you ever since I’ve seen you in that damn plane,” Aemond confessed, but you were so lightheaded, barely mumbling a “yes” and “please fuck me” in return. And when his knee nudged your legs apart, you knew your prayer finally came true. 

Knowing you were wet enough and eager to take him, Aemond waited not one second longer to free his cock out of its painfully tight confines, sighing in relief as he proceeded to fist himself. 

He cursed himself for only having two hands with one of them being occupied by himself, because otherwise he would have bent you forwards and grabbed your thighs at the same time. But now it was a firm hand applying pressure between your shoulder blades to level your body, before it then lowered enough to splay across the outside of your thigh. 

A shuddered breath escaped your throat when you felt his tip prodding at your aching entrance, and the memories of the delicious stretch his length used to bring you clouded your mind–only to be revived a split second later with him slowly but surely pushing in. 

Every ridge and vein of his cock was palpable with how slow he eased into you, claiming you inch for inch and causing you both to moan out in unison. 

Now it was him breathing shakily, almost as if he could not believe his luck. “Fuck,” he grunted under his breath. “I’ve forgotten how tight you are.” 

He was buried inside of you to the hilt and didn’t move, though you weren't the one that needed time to adjust. “I’m not gonna last long… fuck,” it was audible in his voice how much restraint it took for him to not cum right then and there, more so because it meant he had to restrain himself from pounding into you if it meant he could fuck you just a few minutes more. 

“It’s… It’s okay,” you panted, reaching behind you to cup his face with one hand, pressing it tighter against yours. “I’m not going to last any longer than you.”

One of his arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you steady, while the other moved to cup your chin, keeping your head bowed back against his shoulder. Your earlobe was back between his teeth when he started to thrust his hips into you, each snap slow but deep enough to hiccup your breathing. 

At one particularly harsh thrust, the moan you made was a tad too loud for his liking and you quickly figured why he kept his hand on your head–because it made it easier for him to press it over your mouth to silence you. 

“We don’t want to wake someone up, do we?” Aemond teased, his amusement perfectly audible. Another harsh thrust was served, resulting in you biting back a loud moan that got lost into the palm of his hand, and it was clear he had done that on purpose to test your obedience. “Be quiet,” he warned, his lips against your ear. 

You mewled in return and each time you had to moan, you would sink your teeth into your bottom lip to stifle it–Aemond did the same, though his teeth were sinking into your earlobe, making the grunts and groans he released only audible for you, which drove you insane. 

Maybe it was the possibility of being caught, or reconciling with Aemond, but your orgasm approached you at a laser-speed, especially as he adjusted his hips to make his cock reach an angle that had you gasping, whining and clenching around him ever so tightly. 

It was easy for him to lose himself in you, almost too easy. Despite the chill of the air around you, he couldn’t stop entering you over and over again as you bit back on every strangled sound of bliss his thrusts issued forth from your lips. The hand from around your waist was braced on the railing to allow him to thrust harder into you, each thrust forcing you against it, though you didn’t seem to mind.

To you, it felt as if you weren’t even unclenching around him, body so tensed and overwhelmed that every fiber felt as if it was on fire, and he seemed to sense just that. 

“Cum for me, Y/N,” Aemond commanded softly, tilting his head forwards slightly to lick from the curve where your neck met your shoulder up to the sensitive spot behind your ear, before sinking his teeth back into your flesh. 

And you did just that as the pace of his thrusts increased, your orgasm washing over you with soaring pleasure. Your toes curled and you were glad his hand was still over your mouth, because otherwise everyone would’ve heard your moans, the volume not lowering once. 

“Mh, that’s it,” he cooed, coaxing you through your orgasm. “Making a mess all over my cock–just how I like it.” 

With how tightly you were clenching around him, it was only a matter of time until Aemond followed behind, keeping his ministrations despite the aftershocks already trembling your whole body, knowing it would make you sore. 

One final thrust sent Aemond over the edge into oblivion, his orgasm shaking deep within his bones. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t move any further, hips stilling as his twitching length spilled his load deep inside of your quivering walls. 

Collapsing against your frame, he released your mouth to support his body with both hands on the railing, gripping it as if his life depended on it. Both your pants were loud, but not nearly as loud as your grunts and groans before. 

Now you were the one cupping his chin, gently turning his head to force him to look at you, while he was just blinking hazily at you in the dark. “I’ve missed you,” you confessed, a slight tint covering your cheeks. 

He rested his forehead against yours, meekly nodding, “I’ve missed you, too.”

A content smile spread over your lips at that, but as he pulled out of you to turn your around, it dropped into a pout he all too happily kissed away. 

“Let’s get you back in bed now… I have seven months to make up for.”

[velaryon-seahores]

Eclipsed Love Part II.

Pairing : Aemond Targaryen x Fem!reader ( Modern au )

synopsis : You and Aemond shared a romantic bond during your high school years. However, your relationship took a turn when an unexpected pregnancy altered the dynamics. Aemond, driven by aspirations of pursuing a career in medicine, struggled to reconcile his dreams with the newfound responsibilities. Meanwhile, the financial constraints and fear of revealing the situation to your strict parents left you without options, making abortion unattainable. When Aemond chose to end the relationship, you made the difficult decision to vanish, seeking a fresh start. Years later, your son fell seriously ill, necessitating medical attention. The twist in the tale was that the doctor who held the key to your son's recovery happened to be none other than his biological father, Aemond.

Warning: angst, hurt/comfort. Literally that’s it.

Word count : 3.9k

A/n : comments likes and reblogs are highly appreciated!❤️

This chapter was superrrrrrrrr long I had to split it into two, this might be a boring chapter because Unfortunately I had to cut out the important scene but bare with me, I promise we will have grays anatomy type of drama

Part I Part III

Stabbed in the heart.

As you laid eyes on him and his voice reached your ears, it felt like a sharp dagger had been plunged into your heart.

Across the passing years, you toiled ceaselessly to mend the pain he had sown within you. Each effort, a step toward stitching the wounds he had inflicted, aiming to stride forward. But in a mere heartbeat, his very presence shattered it all. Your hand instinctively found your chest, fingers cradling the pieces of your broken heart, keeping them from falling apart.

And right then, a wave of understanding washed over you – the truth hit home with stunning clarity. You saw, as if for the first time, that your wounds had never fully healed, that the notion of moving on was a fragile illusion. Here, tears tracing a familiar path down your cheeks, you stood in that bathroom, a parallel to the sixteen-year-old you, the girl whose heart he shattered.

Oh, the heartlessness of fate, forcing you to revisit the day that haunted your fears, compelling you to endure once more the darkest hours of your existence. It was the day when dreams crumbled into dust, love turned into ashes, and you were never the same again.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips as your gaze met its reflection in the mirror. Qoren's knocks at the door, your tears falling, Aemond as their cause – the scene was hauntingly familiar. Too familiar.

How cruel fate is for making you repeat the scenario.

How cruel.

Ten years ago..

During lunch break, you stood alone behind the school walls. In the same spot you and Aemond would usually meet to have some passionate sex session, but now you anxiously waited for Aemond, your hands tightly clenched in fear.

A hand embraced you, pulling you close against a firm chest. "Already missing me?"

Aemond.

A quivering exhale escaped your lips, carrying with it the weight of your emotions, as you turned gracefully into his embrace, enveloped by the security of his arms with your head buried in his warm chest.

“ Hey baby.. what��s wrong?” He asked as he pulled you away from him, cupping your face in his large hands to look at you “ What’s wrong!”

Tears flowed freely, your sobs becoming a river of emotions. Aemond pulled you into his embrace once more, holding you close and gently cradling your head as he hushed your cries. "Y/n, love, please tell me. What's happened? Talk to me."

With trembling lips, you managed to speak amidst the tears. "I... I'm pregnant."

You felt his hand go still, and you could sense him holding his breath as the weight of your words sank in. "What?" His voice was a mixture of shock and disbelief.

Looking up at him through tear-blurred eyes, you saw his expression transform into one of horror and disbelief. "I'm pregnant," you repeated, your voice quivering.

"How?" The word escaped his lips, laden with a sense of disbelief and confusion.

Your voice was strained as you recounted the events leading up to this moment. "Your brother, Aegon's party," you explained, your voice catching as you relived the memory. "We were drunk, and you forgot to wear a condom... I think I forgot to take the pill."

Aemond's grip on you seemed to loosen, his hand slipping into his hair as his distress became evident. "My parents are going to kill me if they find out, Aemond! My mother... she noticed it before me, and she's going to take me to the ob—"

"Get rid of it," he interrupted sharply, his tone cutting through the air with a firmness you had never heard before, catching you off guard.

You tried to explain, your voice strained with fear and anxiety. "You know that my family only gives me a strict amount of money! And... I'm scared to have an abortion at home—"

"What do you want me to do?" His tone grew a little louder, causing you to flinch.

"Aemond!" You looked at him, confusion and hurt in your eyes. Why was he reacting this way? "My mother is taking me to the doctor tomorrow morning! She won't even let me go to school! You know how they view the whole 'being pregnant before marriage' thing."

Desperation filled your gaze as you took his hand in yours, holding it tightly. "Just lie to them! Tell them we'll get married after sch—"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" He took steps back from you, his voice rising. "I'm not getting married. I'm still young."

"And you won't! I said just lie." You pleaded with your eyes, hoping he would understand. "Just until they forget abo—"

"I'm not raising kids," he interrupted once again, his tone unwavering. "I applied for college just a week ago! I need to focus on my studies, I need to focus on my dreams. I don't have time to look after a fucking child. I've worked hard for this, and I'm not dropping anything in my last fucking year." He glared at you. "Get rid of it. I don't care how, just... get rid of it and don’t talk to me until you do so!" And with that, he walked away.

You had held onto the hope that he would console you, reassure you that everything would be alright. But instead, his departure left you with a sense of vulnerability and pain. The person who had vowed to stand by you had vanished when you needed him most. The person who drew stars around every scar you had, left you to bleed, alone.

Your sweet Aemond left you with a bigger scar. A scar that you weren’t sure if the stars would heal.

An hour ticked by, and you remained rooted in the same place, tears flowing freely, unchecked. Uncertainty gripped you; you felt lost. The thought of your parents discovering the truth filled you with dread. Their strict beliefs would likely lead them to demand that you keep the baby, only to give it away or face disownment. It was a future you didn't want. The idea of nurturing this life within you, only to have it taken away, was agonizing.

In the end, you sought refuge in the school bathroom, seeking the seclusion of one of the stalls. There, you let your tears flow, a torrent of emotions consuming you. It was only when your friend Qoren broke through the door that you found a lifeline, pulling you out of the depths of your despair.

"Y/n, don't make me break this door!" Qoren's voice echoed urgently, and an unexpected laughter bubbled out of you.

Wiping away your tears, you gazed at your reflection in the mirror for a brief moment, collecting yourself. You knew you had to bury these overwhelming emotions; you had no other choice. Your son's health was fragile; his heart was weak, and the last thing you wanted was to stress him. Protecting him from worry was paramount.

Closing your eyes, you inhaled deeply, finding solace in the whispered reassurance you offered yourself. "I'm okay," you murmured, a quiet mantra, like a promise to both yourself and your sweet child.

You had intended to linger a bit longer, hoping to regain your composure, but as soon as you heard Luke's voice behind the door, an urgency propelled you to open it without delay.

"Mom! What happened? Are you okay?" Luke's worry spilled out as the door swung open. Your gaze flickered to Qoren first, who extended his hand to you immediately, guiding you out of the bathroom.

Glancing upwards, your eyes met Qoren's, his subtle shake of the head conveying a shared understanding.

"It's because of the doctor, is it not?" Luke's earnest eyes held yours once more.

Your breath caught in your throat as you formulated a response, the urge to shield your son from unease overpowering. "No, sweetheart, not because of that," you lied, masking your true emotions. "I'm just worried about you."

Unconvinced, Luke continued to study you. "I don't believe you."

Your reassurances faltered, and you stood, gently taking his small hand in yours, guiding him back to the bed. "It's true," you insisted, your voice bearing the weight of your sincerity. "He's a specialist, a heart surgeon. I've heard he only takes on serious cases, and it made me anxious."

"But I'm fine," Luke's voice held a note of certainty as he reassured you, his hand reaching out to clasp yours.

"We know, buddy," Qoren's presence offered additional comfort as he stood beside you, his arm enveloping your shoulders in a gesture of support. "But we still worry about you."

"Why did he walk away?"

"Perhaps he forgot something," you suggested.

"Yeah, like his stethoscope or something," Qoren added.

Luke surveyed the two of you for a contemplative moment before finally nodding.

Unable to resist the urge, you showered Luke's head with affectionate kisses before enveloping him in a tight embrace. "Hungry?" you inquired gently.

His next request pulled at your heartstrings. "Can I have a turkey sandwich?"

A soft chuckle escaped you, warmth filling your eyes. "Of course."

Glancing at Qoren, you exchanged a silent understanding, and with a nod, you indicated for him to step outside with you.

"I'll check with the doctor while you go grab something to eat from the cafeteria," Qoren suggested, his gaze on Luke. "Is it all right if you stays here alone for a little while?"

"Sure," Luke replied, his attention already shifting back to his iPad.

As you and Qoren stepped out, the door closing behind you, your apprehension spilled forth. "I don't want that fucker anywhere near my son," your voice was tense, carrying a hint of urgency that made Qoren look around nervously.

"We'll find another doctor," Qoren's voice was a soothing balm, his reassurance gentle. "There must be more skilled surgeons available. If you wish, we can even consider transferring him to another hospital. My father knows good doctors in Essos; we can explore that option. And please, don't worry about expenses—I'll take care of it all."

Gratitude swelled within you, your eyes misting over. He drew you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "Come, let's go talk to the doctor," he urged softly.

Half an hour had slipped by, and Aemond remained confined within the hospital, in the bathroom in the surgeon's lounge. He couldn't bring himself to move, his body shaking too much to even get to his car and drive home. He sat on the bathroom floor, waiting anxiously for his sister Helaena to pick up the phone.

You…He saw you.

There you stood, a presence that seemed to pierce through his very being. The girl who had plagued his dreams, who had woven herself into every conscious moment and every corner of his mind. The girl he had fervently tried to erase, burying himself in the pages of books and the rigors of surgeries. For a decade, he had scoured the realms of social media, reached out to your parents, and maintained contact with your friends in the hopes of catching a glimpse of your existence. And now, here you were, finally in front of him. But he chose to walk away once more.

In truth, he had no choice but to leave. He couldn't ignore the pain etched in your eyes, the anger that radiated from you. He couldn't deny the depths of hurt that he had caused, nor could he offer any words that could possibly erase or atone for his actions.

Stupid Aemond... Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Regret and self-loathing coursed through his thoughts, a relentless self-critique that echoed within him. He recognized the depth of his mistake, the gravity of his choices. As he remained perched on the bathroom floor, he grappled with the weight of his own shortcomings, the realization of the missed opportunities and the pain he had caused.

Finally, as if an eternity had passed, Helaena's voice broke through the silence.

"What... What the hell do you w—gods, Aemond, are you crying?" Her voice trembled, faltering as it caught the rawness in his.

"...She's here..." Aemond's voice quivered, his words trembling on the precipice of his emotions. His eyes, blurred by the veil of his tears, bore a weight that seemed almost unbearable. "She... She's here, Helaena. I... I have a son."

There was a pause, a momentary silence on the other end of the line, as the gravity of his words began to unfurl. And then Helaena's voice, tinged with disbelief, spoke into his anguish. "Wait, wait, are you talking about... y/n?" Her words carried a mixture of confusion and shock. "She was in Dorne this whole ti—YOU HAVE A SON!"

Aemond's heart ached, a complex fusion of emotions waging a tempest within him. "I... She told me she had an abortion! She... She said she went through with it!" His grip on the phone faltered, and it tumbled from his hand to the floor, an emblem of his shattered resolve. "That was the last thing she said before she blocked me and disappeared."

The words hung heavily between them, a tapestry of regret and longing, of mistakes and missed chances. And then, Aemond's voice quivered with a tremor that seemed to encapsulate a lifetime of ache. "I know, Helaena. He's mine." His voice wavered, and in those words, a world of heartache was painted.

“ How do you know ?”

"He... He has my eyes, Helaena... purple eyes, just like mine. And his hair... He has our mother curls and a hint of silver “ The lump in his throat threatened to suffocate him, his words trembling on the brink of despair. "His nose, his lips... They're like mine."

But then, the dam broke. Aemond's voice cracked, and he was consumed by a tidal wave of sobs. "And he probably hates me... Just like I despised my father. Maybe he looks at me the way we once looked at Viserys."

In response, Helaena's voice was a soft anchor amidst the tumultuous sea of emotions. "You are not him, Aemond. You couldn't have known."

"I did," Aemond's voice quivered, his palm pressing against his chest as though to contain the shards of his own heart from shattering. "I knew... And yet, I asked her to get rid of him... I'm worse than Viserys."

"Have you talked to her?" Helaena's voice was a whisper, a thread of hope laced with a touch of reproach.

"No... I ran away," his admission was a painful whisper, an admission of his own inadequacy.

"Aemond..." Disappointment laced her voice, a mirror to the disappointment he felt in himself.

"What am I supposed to do?" The question held a pang of helplessness, a plea that seemed to stretch beyond the confines of words. "No matter what I say, it won't change anything. No matter what I do, I can't erase my past. I can't undo what's been done. I can't bring back y/n."

Helaena's response was a bittersweet echo, a reflection of truth and reconciliation. "You're right. You can't undo the past, and you won't get her back. But grant her the peace of mind by letting her know that you have suffered. Tell her you regret everything, that every breath is a reminder of the choices that drove her away. Tell her you're miserable, that life has lost its meaning, that the ambition you sought so tirelessly now rings hollow. She lost so much, Aemond. Her family, her dreams, her stability... she bore the weight of your absence alone. You won't get y/n, but you can at least do right by her ."

The dam within Aemond burst, his voice muffled by sobs"But I want her back. I want her to look at me again with those eyes that once held love."

There was a poignant pause "I'm afraid that won't happen, Aemond," her voice held a gentle sorrow, a reflection of the choices that had led them here. "You brought this upon yourself."

"Then what do I do, Helaena?" His voice was a fragile whisper, an echo of his vulnerability in its purest form. "Tell me, please."

"Go find her," her voice held a quiet resolve, a beacon of guidance through the haze of his pain. "Do what I told you. I'll book a flight, be with you in a few hours."

“Please hurry," Aemond's voice quivered with plea "Please, I need you."

"Gather yourself, Aemond," her voice was an anchor, a lifeline he desperately clung to. "Wash your face, and go."

And as the call ended, he was left alone with his shattered heart, the burden of his mistakes weighing heavily upon him. Struggling to his feet, Aemond rose from the cold bathroom floor, his hand clutching the sink for support. He gripped the faucet and let the frigid water flow, splashing it onto his face again and again in a desperate attempt to snap himself out of his overwhelming state. His gaze lingered on his own reflection in the mirror for a few moments, as if searching for answers that remained just out of reach.

With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the sink, leaving the lounge and heading towards his son room.

Standing behind lucerys room, Aemond gently knocked the door, his hand trembling and so is his breath and legs. Withe shakuy hand ge reach for the door handle and open it.

The room was empty, only his son in inside, Lucerys was looking at him up and down.

“ H..Hello, young man “ his lips trembled with each word leaving his mouth “ Where is your mother?”

Lucerys expression were that of disgust, but then he immediately turned them to neutral “ Cafeteria “

“ And.. and your ..father?” Those words that he forced out of his lips cuts him deep.

“ He was supposed to talk to you “ Lucerys let go of his ipad and flooded his arms in front of him.

“ Me?”

“ Yes you, aren’t you my heart doctor ? “ Lucerys raised his brows.

“ Ah. He must went to the pediatrician. And there has been some changes, so I’m not your doctor anymore “

Lucerys humm and looked him up and down before returning back to his ipad “ you should leave then “

Aemond looked at him for few minutes, swallowing thickly “ I .. Can I check on your heart ?”

“ sure “

Aemond nodded and hesitantly walked towards him, he got out his stethoscope and listened to his heart beat, it was irregular but there was no crackling sound so he was okay for now.

He then looked at his ancle and there was no swelling so he was safe and the danger of heart failure was not high.

“ You are fine, your heart is stable for now “ Aemond sadly smiled “ You will be alright “

Lucerys didn’t respond, he just put on his headphones and gave him a quick fake smile before paying attention to his ipad.

He took a step toward the door, a faint smile playing on his lips as he contemplated how much Lucerys resembled his uncle, Aegon. But as he moved to leave, something froze him in his tracks. His head snapped back toward the sound, eyes widening, and his throat tightened painfully.

"Qogralbar ao kepa, kirimvogon Jaes ziry geptot ao." ( Fuck you dad, thank god she left you )

Aemond turned back to face Lucerys, his expression a mix of shock and realization. His throat constricted, and his lips parted, but no words came forth.

"I’m not stupid, I have eyes and I can see the resemblance, I knew you looked familiar. Plus my mom’s behavior confirmed it all to me, crying over a silver head with eyes that look like mine? can’t she be more obvious. Not to mention that she is a terrible liar ” Luke shook and looked out the window for few minutes, “ You made her cry earlier, and if she sees you, she might cry again," his voice laced with determination as he returned to look at him "And I..." luke tilted his head, his young eyes locked onto Aemond's. "Don't like to see my mother cry. So get the fuck out and don’t you ever bother her again "

Aemond's heart weighed heavier than it ever had before, burdened by a sadness he had never known. His worst fears had materialized before him, unfolding like a nightmare he couldn't escape. In the story of Lucerys's life, he was cast as Viserys, and you, y/n, had become the haunting reflection of his own mother, Alicent. The parallels were undeniable, a stark reminder that history had a cruel way of repeating itself.

Yet, he knew, deep within, that he was not his father. He was not the same. He might not be able to win you back, but he was determined to be unlike the man who had hurt him and countless others. Just as Helaena had advised, he would give you the peace of mind you deserved, something his own mother had never found, not even in Viserys's final moments.

His voice trembled with regret as he whispered to Lucerys, "I'm sorry, kid. Forgive me." With those words, he left the room, his heart heavy with the weight of his past mistakes, and headed toward the cafeteria, where he would seek you out, hoping for a chance to make amends, even if he couldn't turn back time or erase his transgressions.

You stood in line at the bustling cafeteria, surrounded by a cacophony of chatter, clinking dishes, and the soft hum of refrigeration units. Your mind weighed heavily with the day's decisions, the uncertainty of your son's health, and the resurgence of someone you'd hoped to forget.

After leaving the doctor's office, you had meticulously sifted through profiles and recommendations until you found a new physician for Luke—Doctor Arthur Dayne. His impressive track record and friendly demeanor had reassured you.

Qoren had volunteered to stay behind, intent on gathering all necessary details about potential surgeries or treatments. It was a relief to know you had a friend who would shoulder some of the weight while you ventured to fetch a turkey sandwich for Luke.

Thoughts swirled like a tempest in your mind—Luke's health and the shadow it cast over his future, the practicalities of appointments and treatments, and, looming above all else, his fucking father.

the lady at the cafeteria counter snapped you out of your reverie with a cheery, "Hello, ma'am."

You blinked, momentarily disoriented, before responding, "Hi." Your voice carried a hint of distraction as you glanced at the menu. "I'll have a turkey sandwich, please. And could you cut it in half? Make one of them small."

The cafeteria worker nodded with practiced ease, jotting down your order before turning to assemble it.

You offered a small, reflexive smile but couldn't shake the heaviness that lingered within you. It was a weight you'd grown accustomed to, the burden of being a single parent facing life's uncertainties head-on.

While you waited, you couldn't help but contemplate your own well-being. You'd started to consider seeking therapy, recognizing that burying your feelings wouldn't help. You needed a way to express them, process the trauma, and find a path to healing.

"Here you go!" The cafeteria worker presented you with the bag, accompanied by a warm smile that momentarily lifted your spirits.

You reached into your purse to retrieve your wallet,"Thank you," you offered,

With your wallet safely back in your purse, you turned your attention to making your way through the cafeteria, eager to reunite with Luke. But as you moved, you accidentally bumped into a solid, warm form.

Looking up to apologize, your words caught in your throat as you realized who stood before you….

" Why did you tell me you had an abortion ? "

Taglist :

@namelesslosers @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @fernanda-reads @moonlightazriel @topaz125 @justrybca @girlwith-thepearlearring @anehkael @teamstorybooks @riseandreigns4u @noemienakamoto @lijeno @watercolorskyy @afro-hispwriter @khaleesihel @praline357 @fantasticpeaceharmony @brianochka @sweethoneyblossom1 @happinessinthebeing @snh96 @heavenly1927 @zenka69 @toodlesxcuddles @lunamoonbby @blairfox04 @multiple-fandoms-girl @tsujifreya @tempo-rary-fix @lipgloss05 @carriellie @dc-marvel-girl96 @fan-goddess @strangersunghoon @daenerysqueenofhearts @notnormalthings-blog @bluevxnus @Littlelilly27-blog

@misspascalpunk @exitpursuedbyavulcan @saminalloxo @trshngyn @docmartinis @drmeghanjones

My apologies if I forgot anyone.

— Next chapter we have a FIGHT

[li0nn3stuff]

Kiddo

Chapter two

Kiddo masterlist

English is not my first language, be kind.

Modern!Older!Aemond x Modern!Younger!Reader

•Chapter warnings: obsession, talking of sexual themes•

Two weeks after the encounter.

He found her.

That’s all he kept thinking about when as he sat on his office chair, his head leant down, his hand on his forehead supporting his head.

He found her. He found her. He found her. He found her. He found her. He found her.

Something was seriously wrong with him. He opened the fascicle that he managed to get, thanks to a person that owed him brought him. He didn’t ask for money, he did his job quickly. She was just an ordinary girl, nothing hidden somewhere.

If that would have been the case, still, he would have paid any sum.

That’s how hard she got him. He hadn’t been able to focus on work properly, ever since he met her.

He hated it.

He worked hard to get where he was, and he had to keep working hard. He had to have everything.

He wanted the world.

Her. Included.

He opened the desk drawer and he threw inside the fascicle, closing it right after, leaning back on his chair, pinching his lips between his fingers as he stared at nothing, thinking.

Her sweet voice.

He unlocked his laptop and the image of the high school popped in front of him. A mediocre one.

He found her.

If he wanted, he could do anything to her. He had the resources, the power, the money. No one would think of him, if an innocent sweet girl would disappear. He could keep her locked in his house forever.

He was a creep.

He knew that, yet he couldn’t stop the thoughts. He didn’t want it to go that way. He wanted her to accept him. He wanted to gently walk in her life, not fucking kidnap her.

He wanted to get her out of his head.

He closed the page of the high school. It was useless, there were no photos of her.

He had to find some. He was open to do them himself if he had to.

He missed her face, her sight.

Her perfume.

He got up from his desk, closed his laptop with his hand, and went over to the coffee table.

He bought a vanilla fragrance for his office, but he hated it.

It didn’t smell like her.

He wanted to have her on his couch as he worked, so he could look at her every time a client made him angry, and relax, because she was there. If that wouldn’t be enough, she would stand up to touch his hand with her, caressing him, letting him get engulfed with the heavenly sensation of her soft perfect skin on his. If that wouldn’t have still been enough, he would have grabbed her, fucked her on his desk until she would be reduced in a mewling, babbling mess. She would look at him with her sweet big eyes and make him cum inside her.

He had to get her out of his head.

Something was seriously wrong with him.

It had been two weeks, and his mind was full of a girl he saw for maiìybe five minutes.

The curve of her smile, the way her eyes sparkled with curiosity, the tilt of her head when she didn’t understand something, each detail etched itself into his mind, imprinting itself upon his consciousness like a brand.

He hadn’t been able to fuck anyone since he met her.

It was shameful, but it was just as true. No one went as close at her as he wanted. No one looked like her, smelled like her, sounded like her.

No one was her.

That stopped ever since. He had been forced to settle for oral sex, covering the women’s faces and using them to desperately come to his fulfillment. He used his hand sometimes, stroking his cock as he replayed in his head her expression as she gently looked at him, so thankful for a stupid thing as to put her a necklace that was hers. He ended up cumming on his hand, furiously pumping his cock, with a low groan.

He hated her.

She had to stay away from him.

He had to stay away from her.

He sighed and grabbed the fascicle from his desk, reading his notes as he got out of his office to attend a meeting.

God hated him in the best way possible.

As Aemond entered the meeting room , he forced himself to push aside thoughts of the girl that plagued his mind. He couldn't afford to be distracted now, not when there were important matters at hand.

He took his seat at the head of the table, his expression carefully neutral as he glanced around at the other executives gathered there. They greeted him with nods of acknowledgment, their faces serious and focused as they prepared to discuss the company’s agenda.

As the meeting began, Aemond found himself slipping into his usual role with ease, his mind shifting into business mode as he delved into the details of the company's latest projects and initiatives. He listened intently to the reports and updates from his team, offering insights and guidance where necessary, his sharp intellect and keen intuition guiding the discussion.

Despite his outward composure, however, Aemond couldn't banish the thoughts of the girl from his mind, her presence a constant distraction that threatened to make him lose his focus.

He cursed himself for his weakness, for allowing a mere girl to unravel the carefully constructed walls around his heart.

He prided himself on his self-control, his ability to remain detached and unaffected by the whims of others. And yet, here he was, consumed by thoughts of someone he barely knew.

He forced himself to put his girl out of his mind, to focus on the matters at hand and prove to himself that he was still in control.

He wasn’t. He hadn’t been since he met her.

As the meeting drew to a close, Aemond rose from his seat with a sense of relief, grateful for the opportunity to escape the confines of the meeting room and return to the solitude of his office. He had work to do, and he couldn't afford to let his girls distract him any longer.

He was captivated by her innocence, her purity, her beauty.

He longed to possess her, to make her his own in every sense of the word. The thought of corrupting something so pure and precious was consuming him.

He wanted to be the one.

“Cancel all my plans for lunch.” He ordered his secretary.

“Yes, Mr. Targaryen.” She quickly answered, fixing his agenda on her computer. He got in his office, loosening his tie, as much as to remain formal.

He had waited enough.

He opened his laptop and checked the address, before grabbing his stuff and his car keys, then he walked to the elevator at a fast speed.

As the elevator doors closed behind him, Aemond's mind raced with anticipation. He had never been one impatient, yet, at the thought of seeing her, even from afar, excited him. No. It did more.

He felt his cock stiffen.

The drive to her high school was a blur, his mind blank, as he drove carefully. The high school exit was open, with a parking lot. There were a lot of cars, some parked, some waiting on the side of the road, probably parents waiting for the kids.

He felt like a creep.

The only reason he was there was to look at his girl, who was half his age, hoping to be able to catch her beauty in a quick photo with his photo.

A pathetic creep. And he was risking a lot.

His image first.

He felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he caught sight of a group of students gathered in the courtyard, their voices mingling in the crisp afternoon air.

He carefully scanned the students with his eye, but he didn’t find her.

He wanted to see her. Even if he would only catch a glimpse of her, he needed to see her.

His whole body was quivering with anticipation, hope.

He thought hard, where could she have been if not there?

He knew she was a hard worker, and he knew she always stayed at school as long as she could, but he didn’t know if she preferred to have lunch outside or not.

He needed to find out her habits.

Where she liked to have lunch at school, what did she liked to do in her free time, did she have friends? Did she like going out dancing? He hoped not.

His phone rang suddenly, and he groaned, as he saw his secretary’s contact on his screen.

“What is it?” He groaned at the phone.

“Mr. Targaryen, I know you asked for a free lunch break, but Jason Lannister is here, and he is asking for you, insistently.” His secretary said, worried, on the phone. He sighed and pitched the base of his nose with his fingers.

“How long will he wait?” He asked as he turned on the engine, looking ahead of him.

“He is calm now, but I believe it will last no more than ten minutes.” She answered.

“I’ll be there in fifteen, offer him a coffee.” Said that he hung up. To be fair, he could be in his office in five minutes instead of fifteen.

He just wanted to… He looked back at the school.

What the fuck was he doing?

He was risking a lot, for a stupid girl he barely knew, that made his cock get hard only at the thought of her.

Did she know she ruined him so much?

He gripped the steering wheel tightly.

She didn’t know what she did to him.

She probably forgot about him, and he hated it.

She was constantly in his mind as she was living her life, careless.

He couldn’t have it. He had to change it.

He will change it.

He turned the engine on, and quickly drove off from the parking spot.

What the hell was he thinking? Got to her school, see her, photograph her?

What was happening to his mind?

He was a powerful, strong, growed up man, yet, he had his mind full of a stupid teenager he met once.

He hated it. He hated it all.

God hated him in the best way possible.

He damned him with such a girl, knowing he had almost non-existent possibilities.

Still, he felt blessed for seeing her, noticing her, appreciating her.

Appreciating.

He could fool himself as much as he wanted, calling it ‘appreciation’.

It wasn’t.

And nothing was gonna stop him.

Not even God.

Tag: @zenka69 @blaustappen @julczimozart @diannnnsss @i66cilla @odeioemail @queenofthekeep @summerposie @tssf-imagines

[neptuneiris]

Behind the Scenes (02/05)

Behind the Revelation

pairing: actor!aemond × fem!reader

summary: after running away for second time, the past returns and you force yourself to remember as Aemond demands explanations.

word counter: 9.3k

previous part • next part • series masterlist

warnings: language, angst, discussion, mention of abortion, aemond being a dick.

Aemond remembers perfectly well the moment you disappeared from his life without warning.

It was precisely after his manager and all his team left your apartment once everything was clear and somehow "solved", on the same day you let him know that you were expecting his child.

He stayed a moment longer with you, comforting you and wanting to be there for you, to make you understand that you were not alone and that despite everything, he would be there supporting you and would not leave your side, ever.

But unfortunately he never knew what was really tormenting your mind. He didn't realize how hurt you were when you both made the decision.

And he didn't realize at the time what an idiot he was to you and the bad decisions he made. He only realized after you left, without warning and without a trace, as if you never existed in his life.

Stress, frustration, worry and anguish clung to him, thinking he would go mad, and he quickly turned to Criston and his entire team for help.

At first, worry gripped him. He thought something bad had happened to you when messages didn't reach you and when you called, your number was forwarded straight to the mailbox.

He asked your makeup partners about you, but none of them had any relevant information. They had only seen you the same day you told him the news.

Your disappearance, however, was not convenient for Criston, who needed to know your condition, to know about the baby.

However, when you were reported missing to the police, it was only a matter of time before they discovered that you had, in fact, run away.

He learned that you had spoken to the owner of your apartment to inform him that you would no longer be living there and also that you had quit your job. You never revealed your reasons, you simply handed in your resignation and left.

As the pieces fell into place, Aemond realized that he could not ignore reality. Your expression, described by everyone who had seen you one last time, was the same: deep circles under your eyes, a face marked by fatigue, eyes swollen with tears and sadness.

And Aemond, try as he might, could not accept it.

After you left, he pushed his entire team to find some clue to your whereabouts. He used all the resources his celebrity status afforded him, keeping a small police back-up, hiring private detectives and even trying to locate your parents, but it was all to no avail.

You simply vanished along with his child in your womb.

And Aemond could do little more than immerse himself in his thoughts, in despair and worry as he found nothing of you.

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months, while Aemond persisted in his search without success. In those moments he didn't care about his work, he only fulfilled the filming time of some projects, avoiding interviews, red carpets and any other public activity.

Until it was only a matter of time before in the midst of his misery, he was forced to return to the recording studios and face the cameras, continue with his work, but all the time his mind was focused on you.

Between takes and script lines, you were always on his mind and what you had once been.

He wanted nothing more than to see you, to touch you and hold you tight against him, not wanting to let you go, to apologize for his behavior and beg you not to leave him, regretting over and over again that he had kept you hidden, that he had allowed so much of his work to affect you both.

And every time someone did his makeup and fixed his wardrobe, he couldn't stop thinking about you, wishing, longing for it to be you and no one else.

His one nights were only worse, he couldn't sleep and got caught in a whirlwind of his own mind, questioning himself over and over again:

Why did you run away?

He knows his behavior wasn't the best but why? Why not give him an explanation?

He could only continue to stare at a spot on his ceiling while guilt and remorse invaded him, recognizing his own mistakes, the decision he made and the one he convinced you too carry out, a selfish decision for his own benefit that now takes its toll on him.

And there in the restlessness of his luxurious apartment on Visenya Hill, Aemond is alone with his thoughts.

And he couldn't help but imagine you in scenarios you never shared, of both of you holding a little person you both created in your most intimate moments, probably with his characteristics or yours as well.

But every time he imagined it, he could see a little boy or girl with silver hair and blue eyes, making him smile softly with sadness and with his eye full of tears.

But he didn't even know if his child was still in your womb or if you had made the decision you refused to make at first. And he couldn't help but wonder, among the same questions that always torment his mind:

Where are you?

Are you all right?

Why did you run away?

Did you decide to have the baby?

Did you find support somewhere?

He just didn't know and that frustrated him too much, not knowing if you were even okay, staying in uncertainty and worry, longing to find you, to see you and know what happened.

And those same questions haunt his mind when he sees you again after almost two years. The face he desperately searched for so long is finally there, a few steps away from him, watching him with the same surprise and disbelief he feels, unable to assimilate reality.

But when you decide to escape for the second time, it is as if he receives a blow to the stomach, stripping him of all the air in his lungs.

He is paralyzed, unable to move, as he faces the reality that you are finally there, in front of him, after almost two years of searching without success.

His heart beats with overwhelming intensity and a persistent echo of confusion and surprise resounds in his mind. It is a moment when reality and emotions intertwine in a way that is almost unbearable for him.

Why did you run away?

I'm sorry!

I miss you!

But he remains motionless, as his brain tries to process the wave of emotions that threaten to drown him.

But not just from seeing you again, but from remembering every moment he shared with you, every laugh, every caress, every one night they spent together, all overwhelming him.

The need to understand, to discover the truth, engulfs him completely. And without hesitation, an inner voice screams in his head, "Move, you idiot!"

Everything seemed to crumble around him, with questions echoing back into his mind, unanswered questions. And thanks to that, a spark ignites, pulling him out of his paralysis: despair.

And that is the call to action that drives you to react immediately, determined not to let you escape again.

Every step he takes is charged with urgency, an urgency to get answers, to know what happened with a tight lump in his throat, especially at the thought of the baby.

Everything at that moment seems overwhelming, but his desire to know, or rather his need to understand your escape and to know what happened to his child, eclipses all other considerations, filling him with worry and longing.

The thought of that little being that would have been a fusion of the two of them envelops him in desperate confusion.

The vision of a part of him and you floating in the air like a faded dream haunts his mind, asking himself questions about whether you decided to go through with the pregnancy or not.

Aemond advances through the corridors of the studio with a totally worried look on his face, desperately looking everywhere to find you. And in the distance, he spots your running figure and instantly rushes after you, determined not to let you out of his sight.

You both plunge into a busy atmosphere, where you hear the subtle sound of indicator lights and the distant hum of electronic equipment.

And there you were, trying to run away from it all, with your trembling figure, having an emotional breakdown and tears streaming down your cheeks, while Aemond with desperation in his eyes, tries to catch up with you.

"Y/N, wait!"

His voice, piercing and close, only manages to increase your anxiety. You try to move away from him, desperate to evade him, willing him to lose sight of you while you don't stop.

"Wait!" he shouts in desperation, pleading.

But you can't. You don't want to and you can't face this. Not now. Not when you thought you'd never see him again.

Aemond rushes towards you, reaching for you, grabbing your arm tightly and stopping your steps, scaring you. He turns your body towards him, watching you with desperation and need, instantly catching the tears and suffering on your face.

"No!" you exclaim with concern, trying to free yourself, "No, please, let me go!"

"Y/N—" he begins to say, confused and worried, breathing agitatedly.

"Let go of me, Aemond!" you demand.

You manage to wriggle free of his grip, straining to keep your distance from each other, avoiding any contact, but he grabs your arm again, stopping you and showing irritation.

"Can't you wait a fucking minute!?" he hisses at you, annoyed, though the pain lingers in his gaze, "How do you expect me to let you go like this!? After everything that happened—

"I don't want to talk to you!" you sentence, the pain palpable in every word.

"Y/N, please," he begs you, his voice taking on a sad melody.

Her eyes search yours, desperately seeking understanding in the midst of the emotional storm you both face.

Your chest pounds with a mixture of pain and confusion, where again you try to break free from his grip, but he gives your arm a firmer grip, preventing you from pulling away, firm and resistant to your efforts.

"I told you to let me go!" you shout angrily, crying.

"Why do you keep running away!?" he demands to know, his voice annoyed, full of confusion and pain, "We need to talk and you know it! I need to understand!"

You remain silent, your gaze fixed on his face and your eyes filled with tears, as Aemond feels all his emotions threatening to boil over.

"What happened?" he demands to know, hurt, without letting go, looking for an answer in your gaze, "Where did you go?"

Again you remain silent, feeling the lump in your throat, as the tension between the two of you is palpable and the held breath of both of you is in anticipation, waiting.

"Why did you disappear?"

He insists, completely frustrated and insistent.

"I've been looking for you all this time and I could never find you. I never knew who to ask where you were or where to try to find you."

Nothing.

You say absolutely nothing.

Aemond's hand trembles slightly as he gently releases you from one of your arms, but his determination and insistence did not waver.

"Talk to me, please," he pleads, "I need to know."

And the whole moment only becomes more intense when he mentions your son.

"W-what… what happened to our child?"

A silent pain crosses your face, but your lips remain sealed, trembling slightly. Frustration increased in Aemond's chest as he receives no response from you and it also makes his anger increase.

"What happened to him, Y/N?" he snaps, his patience reaching its limit.

And you, still trembling from all this, find yourself caught in the vortex of it all, your eyes reddened, your gaze hard and hurt, where you couldn't find the courage to answer the questions accusing you.

And Aemond, for his part, let the anger and resentment flow like a raging tide against you.

"How could you just walk away? Disappear without a word?" he says, his voice carrying with it the weight of betrayal he feels, "I was willing to help you. I-I thought we could get through this together, but you just took off, left me and vanished as if you never existed."

His every word echoes around you, the accusation hangs heavy in the air, and you, feeling the courage flowing through your veins, decide to answer him with the same intensity.

"Help me?" you repeat, earnest and hurt, "Oh, right, you mean that 'help' you were planning to offer by not acknowledging your own child publicly and legally so as not to ruin your career?"

The words leave your lips with a cutting tone, like a sharp blade aimed straight at his heart, where surprise flashes all over Aemond's face, as if that revelation had come as an unexpected blow, even though he already knew.

And before he can articulate a response, you continue, your voice echoing with pain, annoyance and defiance.

"I left so I wouldn't ruin your career, whether I had the baby or not. Because if I had an abortion, eventually the media would know, right?" you inquire regretfully, "But that's not exactly why I left," you clarify, "What other choice did I have if I decided to have it? Hide with my child until you decided the time was right? Live in the shadows while you enjoyed the spotlight?"

The recording set, even with its cinematic sounds and the frenetic activity of those working on it, now resonates with the clash of arguments and emotional charge unleashed between him and you.

And he, still processing the raw truth being revealed to him, tries to defend himself, but you don't give him a chance.

"I stand by my decisions, Aemond. I wasn't going to be a prisoner to anyone's expectations, even if it was you," you spit, your gaze still pained but defiant. "You weren't going to acknowledge your child for the sake of your career, at least not in his early years or who knows after how long. And what was the benefit if you did it later? We would finally see the light after all we would have gone through with your manager and your whole team to keep saving your reputation?"

Your words float in the air, creating a dense silence that fills the space between the two of you.

Despite the raw, exposed emotional wounds, Aemond desperately searches for words that might calm the intensity of the moment somewhat. However, neither you nor he can deny the truth, as it becomes clear that you are right.

But still, with a lump in his throat, he tries to defend himself with a vulnerability you haven't seen in him in a long time, exactly since you let him know of your pregnancy.

"I didn't mean to… I-I… I didn't know how to handle it," he mumbles, his expression reflecting confusion and remorse.

You sniffle and let a couple more tears fall down your cheeks, your eyes full of pain but also determination.

"That's the thing. You always thought about your career, your image, but what about us?" you ask him in your broken voice, "What truly mattered most?"

The question echoes between the two of you, leaving Aemond without a convincing answer.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, looking at you with regret, "I shouldn't have done that, I know," he tells you honestly, "I shouldn't have let Criston and the others interfere too much. But…" he sighs, "I-it wasn't easy for me."

And you, undeterred, feel disbelief wash over you and reply bitterly.

"It wasn't easy for you?" you repeat, "And what about me?" you inquire, "Did you ever think about what it would be like to put yourself in my shoes?"

"Y/N—

"You only thought about yourself, just like everyone else, while I also had to think about everyone else but me," you say hurt, "And I didn't want to cause you any more trouble. I had to have, raise and care for my son all by myself."

The revelation hits Aemond like a bolt of lightning, his eyes widen in shock and disbelief, staring at you in disbelief.

"A son?" he repeats in a whisper, taking it in.

You stare at him for a moment, not understanding, but after you realize that in all this time you have told him nothing concrete about your son, you see the realization all over his gaze, that regret and longing.

You let out a long breath as you look away from him for a moment and bring one of your hands to wipe away your tears, feeling that sharp pain in your chest.

While Aemond, he really couldn't say a single word that could ease the pain he has caused you.

"Y/N, I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely audible, "I was selfish, I didn't think correctly."

"No, because you only thought of yourself and I faced everything alone. I didn't want to cause you trouble or be a burden, I decided it was better not to drag you into this for your career, so as not to affect your life, so I decided to leave. And I don't want to affect you now either."

You say as you begin to back away and Aemond, feeling the ground crumble beneath him, again stops you.

"Y/N, please, we can fix this, just… don't leave, not again," he pleads with you, his gaze full of anguish as he urges you to stay.

"There is nothing to fix," you tell him with hopelessness in your voice, completely broken, "Your life remains the same and my only priority is my son."

"He's my son too!" he exclaims, frustration and annoyance creeping into his voice. "You think I don't want to know him, take care of him and do the right thing? Of course I do!"

He, glassy-eyed, tries to make you understand by looking at your face, but you can't.

You can't and you don't want to.

"But, Aemond, it's not just that," you whisper, your voice cracking. "Your career, your life, it's still the same. And I don't want my son to live under the gaze of the entire press, making speculations about you and me. Nor do I want you to feel obligated to be a part of his life out of guilt."

He, feeling helpless, tries to hug you, but you pull away, but he again with his worried look full of determination, holds you again.

"No Y/N, I swear it's not like that, I promise," he clarifies to you, sad, "And this is not only for our son, but also for you. I want to be a part of your life, his life."

The dilemma hung in the air, the tension between the two of you forming an invisible barrier. And you, with tear-filled eyes, know this is not possible.

"I can't," you whisper to him in your broken voice.

And despite this, he doesn't give up, rather he persists with words laden with pain and determination.

"I know I made mistakes and that I failed you, but I'm not going to let this go and you must know that."

His words send a shiver down your spine and you feel the urge to scream at him to leave you alone, that everything is already done, that he can't just come and change something that is already built between you and your son.

And before you can respond, a production assistant rushes over.

You understand that you made the mistake of running away and not informing him absolutely nothing about what happened with you and his son.

But at least you're right about one thing now: you don't want your son to become the next entertainment in magazines and all the media, in case Aemond decides to publicly acknowledge him just to make amends.

"Mr. Targaryen, we need you to finalize your makeup and wardrobe. The producer is upset because the scenes are about to shoot," the concerned man announces, interrupting the intensity of the moment.

Aemond, without taking his eye off you, nods with a mechanical gesture.

"I'll be there in a second," he replies, but his attention remains anchored on you.

The man persists, trying to make him understand the urgency of the situation, but Aemond is unwilling to let you go. His gaze, full of pleading and determination, watches you intently.

"Please don't go. Wait for me to finish rolling so we can go somewhere else and talk," he pleads in his voice laden with urgency.

And you feeling caught between the intensity of the situation, you inhale deeply, feeling the man's annoyed and desperate gaze on you as well as on him.

"Fine," you say without emotion.

"Fine?" he repeats, thinking maybe he has misheard.

"Fine," you affirm.

He nods gratefully and his gaze reflects both relief and gratitude.

"I promise I'll try to finish soon," he states softly, his voice with determination.

You don't say anything back, only he finally turns away from you but his eye continues to watch you longingly and intently, as if he fears you're going to vanish again right there.

And as he begins to walk away, you inevitably dive into memories of the past, reliving both the good times and the bad times you shared with him, as Aemond wishes today's shooting would come to an end so he could get close to you again.

However, once he is no longer in your sight, nor you in his, the weight of remorse becomes evident in your chest.

Although you told him to stay and talk to him later, you find yourself unable to do so. And you quickly make your way to the nursery, take your son in your arms and leave the film set without wasting another second.

You are truly sorry for him, but this is necessary. All you want at this moment is to protect your son and also your broken heart.

ALMOST 2 YEARS AGO

"We need to approach this with caution."

Criston Cole speaks, completely serious and as he paces around the living room of your apartment, you sitting on the couch and Aemond standing with an attentive and anxious look to him.

"And there's no need for us all to make fools of ourselves, we know the most viable option at this point is an abortion."

This immediately grabs your attention, watching Criston with your eyes wide as Aemond beside him frowns and stares at him in confused disbelief.

"An abortion?"

"I'm sorry, Aemond, but your image is everything," he tells him seriously, "A pregnancy at this time will affect your career," he explains, "Right now you are supposed to be in a relationship with Cerelle Lannister and how do you think people are going to react when they find out about this?"

"We would have to make confidentiality agreements if you decide to accompany her to the clinic," his publicist speaks, "Deny rumors and manage your public image."

"But if she decides to go into the clinic on her own, it won't be so complicated," speaks a man on her PR team.

"And an abortion at home?" suggests Criston, as if it's the easiest and most normal thing in the world.

"An abortion at home is not the best, it will be more difficult and anything can go wrong. The safest thing is the clinic."

You all start talking about different techniques to preserve Aemond's reputation, which is his job, while you stand there among everyone in silence, horrified at the thought of an abortion and overwhelmed by the magnitude of the decisions they are suggesting around you.

You look at Aemond completely panicked and looking for his support, but he is completely focused on his team.

"And how could we hide it? I mean, how exactly would that be handled if I decided to accompany her to the clinic?"

Disbelief washes over you completely, watching him confused and hurt.

He can't seriously consider—

"We'll implement a diversionary strategy on your behalf, like a charity event with attention-diverting photo shoots where we can work with some media to make sure the news prevails," the woman explains, "All while she goes through the process and you accompany her."

"If you are going with her to the clinic you must be completely covered," Criston tells him, "I will form a security team for you, we will lock down the entire clinic so that only she is attended to and so no one can recognize you."

"The best thing to do would be to create confidentiality contracts," suggests the same guy from before.

"Yeah, do that," Criston points out, "No one can know about this, not even the production company or your family, Aemond, you know what I mean?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he asks annoyed, "How do you expect me not to tell my mother about this? Y/N's parents don't live here, she doesn't even talk to them and we need that kind of support," he says incredulously.

"Do you want this to come to light by accident?" he asks between his teeth, "It doesn't matter that it's your family, no one can know, besides all this could have been avoided if both of you and especially you had been more responsible," he reproaches him.

You listen as Aemond speaks again, but you don't pay attention anymore, you just keep silent, observing the emptiness with tears falling down your cheeks.

All while around you they keep talking about more strategies, while you, you feel that you are the spectator of your own life, feeling hopeless, sad and scared.

And that's when Aemond finally notices your state and his gaze changes, looking at you with concern and understanding, feeling like an idiot for not knowing what you want to do. You haven't even been given the option to abort, just everyone and he has already decided for you.

"No, wait," he says serious and firm, stopping his entire team, to quickly turn to you, kneeling down and taking your hands in his, "Hey, darling," he looks at you worriedly, wiping the tears from your cheeks with his thumb, "Are you okay?"

You blink softly as you lower your gaze, trying to chase away your tears but it is impossible, while the eyes of the others also watch you, where finally your voice has space in the conversation, but you look at him hurt and worried.

"Do you really want me to do this?" you ask him with your voice completely broken.

"You need to think about what's best for both of you," Criston answers you instead, "This is an accident, it's not planned, neither you nor he wanted this to happen, so the best option is an abortion."

"B-but I'm scared," you say weakly.

"And you must not only think of yourself, you must also think of him and his career."

"That's enough," he says annoyed turning to Criston rudely and annoyed, "Didn't you hear her? She's scared and she's not having a voice here. She has as much right to decide what to do as I do."

"Aemond," he warns him, "We're here to protect your career."

Aemond clenches his jaw, tension beginning to emerge throughout the room.

"Yes, I understand that, but this isn't just about me, it's about both of us and especially her. We can't make a decision without considering what she thinks."

Criston folds his arms and lets out a frustrated sigh.

"Aemond, I understand your point but the reality is different. The press can be ruthless–

"Sometimes, Criston, there are more important things than the press," he replies in his firm tone. "And this is one of those times. I'm not going to sacrifice Y/N's happiness and decision for the sake of my career. We need to find a solution that works for both of us."

Criston shakes his head as he purses his lips.

"Fine," he says seriously and looking at him expectantly, then looks at you, "So tell us, Y/N, what do you want to do? Have the baby?" he asks clearly incredulous.

And you, feeling everyone's piercing gaze, making you feel nervous and scared, respond with all the fear in the world but not being unwilling to not let them know what you think is best.

"Yes," you reply quietly and with a completely vulnerable tone.

The expression on Criston's face worsens, not believing it, as well as the woman publicist and the entire PR team look shocked and annoyed.

And Criston, frustrated, can't contain his anger.

"Y/N," he calls you in a serious voice and wanting to make you understand, "This baby was not planned and all of us can help you handle this correctly and privately. We simply cannot let this affect Aemond's career."

His words echo throughout your living room, feeling the tension, as you feel the weight of all the expectant stares, feeling completely vulnerable and helpless.

"B-but I'm afraid of going through an abortion and I don't think that's—

The anger in Criston's eyes increases, while some of the team members exchanged serious and uneasy looks with the atmosphere becoming increasingly tense.

"This baby wasn't planned, Y/N," he repeats to you seriously and with a firm tone, "You can't ignore reality."

"Look, we understand that this is a complicated situation and a difficult decision," the publicist tells you, "But you must consider the impact it will have on Aemond's career if you decide to have him."

"Besides the fact that the news of an unplanned pregnancy could generate a negative narrative in the media," the PR man says.

"And it will affect his career, definitely," adds another woman.

"But I—

You try to speak, with desperation in your tone of voice completely broken and tears still streaming down your cheeks.

"Y/N, our job is to protect Aemond's reputation at all costs. And that's exactly what we're going to do."

Criston tells you as a final answer and you can only look at him completely bewildered, sad and hopeless, while in an attempt to seek support in all this, as they are deciding everything for you, you look at Aemond with clear despair in your eyes.

And he watches you with tight lips and a look of sadness, frustration and resignation, and then turns his gaze away from yours and immerses himself in his own internal struggle between his feelings and the reality of his career as he lets out a sigh.

Until finally he breaks the silence.

"Okay," he looks at everyone with a tired but determined look, then looks at you, "We'll have the baby."

Disbelief and surprise wash over you, watching him with relief beginning to reflect in your eyes, as Criston and his entire team, look on in complete bewilderment and alarm.

"Aemond—

Criston tries to speak, with clear dissatisfaction all over his eyes, but he won't let him.

"This is my responsibility too," he tells him firmly, "But it's her body and she decides."

"You're not thinking clearly—

"Listen," he interrupts again, serious, then looks at you again and turns to you, "Y/N," he says softly and with some caution, "We'll have the baby, okay? You will stay in my apartment, I will settle all the necessary expenses and I will be by your side always, making sure that you and the baby have everything you need, as it should be," he assures you.

That relief and that little spark of hope and happiness persists, until all that was beginning to bloom vanishes in a second when Aemond says the following words:

"But I cannot recognize the baby publicly or legally."

Then, everything around you stops.

His words echo continuously in your mind like a distant echo and you watch him completely bewildered, confused, hurt and even with some betrayal as your breath catches.

"Actually that might work," says his publicist, "Up to a certain time but it might work."

"Really?" asks Criston seriously but thoughtfully.

"Recognizing the baby legally and giving him his last name will be a public record and document, anyone could access it and it would be too much of a risk to Aemond's career. But by not doing so, it gives us more time and an advantage."

"You'll still be able to take care of him and be there for him, privately. And when the time comes, giving him your last name won't be a problem, you could even set a date."

Aemond listens carefully, then turns his gaze back to you, while you can't take your eyes off him and ask him silently, completely hurt: why? Why do something like this?

You understand perfectly well his job and what is at stake but what about you? The baby? Does his career really matter more?

But you can't formulate words, you just continue to watch him, until there is simply nothing more inside you, only pain and betrayal, unable to believe that he said those words and it breaks your heart even more when he says to you with remorse and seriousness.

"Y/N, please understand that I want to do the right thing, but I also need to protect my career. And this is the best I can offer you right now."

You watch him in complete silence, your eyes relieving your sadness, disappointment and sense of abandonment.

"We need to make sure that during the pregnancy Y/N and the baby are well taken care of, postpartum as well, preventing either of them from appearing in public until the time is right, keeping the news from leaking out."

"Or Y/N can go out publicly but she can't be seen with you," the man says to Aemond, "And the baby must be in cover all the time, especially if his hair is silver like yours afterwards."

And you again stand in the middle of it all, silent and resisting the urge to just cry louder. Your heart is beating too hard, where your emotions are tangled in confusion and pain.

"So it could work? For a while?" asks Aemond, hopeful, but with clear frustration and worry in his eyes, realizing that he really doesn't want to do this.

"Sure. As long as she's not seen with you during and after the pregnancy and the baby is fully protected, everything will be fine."

taglist:

@imaegonstargaryenswife0 @bellstwd @gibbsgirl7 @toodlesxcuddles @imsoshygirl @croatianprincess @gemini-mama @a-little-roony-mara @mysteris-things @zenka69 @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @duds31 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @eternally-passionate @bellaisasleep @ttkttt @aemshaircare @mellowdreamlandpost-blog @noodle81937 @mooncalvin @queenofshinigamis @n4tforlife @vexladin @dixie-elocin @wotcherpeak

there were some of you that I could not tag:(

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Perfect Score - Chapter 10 - A Song of Ice and Fire | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: The moment has arrived for you and Aemond to prove yourselves against the Martells. You can only hope you've done enough to earn your place | Word Count: 7.7k~ | Warnings under the cut~

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

Warnings: teasing, hair pulling, mile high club (oop), voyeurism, degradation, daddy kink, oral (m receiving), ass slapping, orgasm denial, threatening behaviour, mentions of a broken family, mentions of chronic pain, blood, slight angst, injury in relation to chronic condition, trigeminal neuralgia, hospitals

A/N: I can't believe this is the LAST CHAPTER FUCK 😭😭😭 i love these two sm, would die for them 🥰 I really hope you guys enjoyed this series, it was so fun to write! If you're lucky there might even be an Epilogue 😉

Sunspear.

That’s where the finals would be.

Cocky fuckers. Thinking that they had the win, by having it on Martell turf.

At this point, the prospect of winning was low on the priority list. The top spot had been somewhat taken over, by carrying out the plan you had in store, which Aemond was increasingly becoming more and more suspicious of.

You and Helaena would play dumb whenever he walked past her room, hiding whatever you were doing. As much as Helaena prefaced that what you had planned was a terrible idea, she’d grinned and told you to do it anyway.

She’d even given her opinion when you modelled it.

“Perfect” she said with a proud smile, leaning back in her chair.

You’d packed the suitcase well enough that Aemond wouldn’t see it even if he opened it by accident.

When it was time to load up the car for the flight to Sunspear, staying in a hotel overnight before the finals tomorrow, there was a finality to it that widened the pit in your chest. Helaena had barely had you out of her arms, intent on hugging every last bit out of you so that she could savour the feeling.

“We’ll all be watching the match tomorrow” she smiled, “try not to get into too much trouble before then”

As much as you’re happy that she and her family will be there, as your manager, he will too.

Aemond had pre-warned you about that.

But to be honest, you were expecting it.

“You know me, can’t keep out of it it seems” you smile back at her, hand slipping out of hers as you move onto Alicent, who stands straight, pink lips pressed together, like one touch and she’ll just crumble into tears.

Alicent nods, picking at the top of her turtleneck, “It was so nice to have you here, sweet girl. You are welcome back whenever you like” she manages, her voice wavering with emotion.

Smiling gratefully, nothing else need be said when Alicent opens her arms to pull you into a hug, as if you were her own. She smells like expensive perfume, probably YLS, as you’d often seen the bottle poking out of her bag. At first, when you met, you found the scent overpowering, and somewhat tart. But now, as the perfume enveloped you in a warm, motherly hug, it was entirely comforting. And your heart strained in your chest, knowing that it may be a while before you get to come back.

Your face pulls into a smile as Alicent then moves onto her son, bringing a comically tall Aemond in comparison into a warm embrace. No person is more surprised than you when Aegon walks over, trying to hide how nice he’s being with humour.

“Come in. Bring it in then”

You laugh through your nose, giving him a quick hug.

“Alright, that’s enough”

You shrug, smirking, “Fine, you smell anyway”

“Ouch, I’m so fucking wounded”

You pick up your bag, slinging it over your shoulder.

“I’ll be watching as well. Can’t wait to see what happens” Aegon winks.

You turn awake, feigning ignorance, “Dunno what you mean”

You fought the urge to tear up as you looked in the mirror, watching the three of them wave you away. With lips pressed together to force a smile to your face, strained with emotion, you spare them a wave back, bidding the large Targaryen House goodbye.

Once past the security gates a deep exhale exits your lungs, and Aemond’s hand wraps around your knee, stealing your attention.

You smile at him, giving a soft nod, “I’m alright”

Aemond laughs through his nose, “You’re acting like you’ll never go back” he chuckles, “I know Mum would be very offended if you didn’t”

Smiling, you know it’s probably true. That they would like you back as often as possible, no matter the outcome of the finals.

Aemond scrolls through his phone, biting the inside of his cheek, “Applications are closing soon” he muses, almost so quietly you don’t hear him unless you’re leaning close.

“For what?”

He clicks his phone off, shoving it into his sweatpants pocket, “For the new academic year” he replied anxiously.

“Philosophy and History right?” you smile, putting your hand on his to calm him, “You’ll love it, Aemond”

“I know, it’s just-” he adds, “I don’t know if I’ll be good at the whole academic side of it. It’s one thing to be interested-”

“You’ll do great because you’re interested in it” you smile, “besides there’ll be plenty of workshops on essay writing and such”

He sighs, like the idea of doing all of that is just so overwhelming right now. Not knowing what to expect, has his whole body tense.

“Finals first. Then I’ll apply” he states, turning to flash you a small, Aemond-smile. One you return with warmth.

“I’ll help you with your Personal Statement”

He laughs, “Then I’ll never get in” he jokes, making you swat his arm playfully.

It was a couple of hours on a plane to Sunspear, and with the assistance of the private jet supplied by Hightower Management, it was a simple process. The car even pulled up right next to it, allowing you both to largely avoid the media who stood behind the chain-link fence, trying to get a word or a photo from the mysterious couple.

You’d barely looked at the news. But every now and then, a notification would inevitably pop up on your phone, about your outburst and subsequent removal from the Targaryen House. Frustration boiled in your veins.

That wasn’t true.

But then again, not a lot they wrote about was true.

It happened so often, each time affected you less and less, and the quicker it was to push that aside.

An ‘unnamed insider’ had also offered their opinion.

‘There was an altercation with the Chairman of Hightower Management, in what I understand was a lapse of morals’.

You had laughed when you read it.

And so did Aemond.

Alys Rivers.

Still trying to dig her claws in, desperate for even a slither of that limelight. Of Aemond’s attention.

She wouldn’t fucking get it. No fucking way.

Aemond had joked that you’d beat her in a fist fight if need be. And you didn’t doubt it. In fact, the mental image somewhat amused you.

You looked up from your phone, the hum of the incessant jet engine vibrated through the seats. Arryk was fast asleep in the front of the jet, slumped back in his seat, with his hands clasped on his chest. His suit, inevitably crumpled with the awkward sleeping position he found himself in.

Aemond was seated next to you, earphones in, leaning back to only appear as if he were dozing.

You bite your lip, looking back down the aisle and then to Aemond.

He cracks open his eye as you stand up from your seat, a suspicious look rakes over you as you pull the jumper you were wearing over your head and huffing it onto the seat.

“Where are you going?” he asks gruffly, to which the only thing you can do is smile, seeing the way his gaze absorbs the image of what you’re wearing stuck tight to your skin.

Knowing he fucking hates it.

Hates it.

You roll your eyes.

“The toilet?” you reply sarcastically.

Gods, you know you’re pushing your luck but you just can’t help it.

You can practically feel the irritation radiating off Aemond. His lips part to say something but you’re gone with a smirk on your face before he can say anything. His harsh, determined gaze bores into the back of your head, burning a bright hole through it. You sway your hips as you walk down the aisle to the bathroom, closing the door, but not locking it.

10 seconds.

That’s how long you give it.

You pretend to wash your hands, looking in the mirror and smoothing your palms over the ponytail that sits semi-loosely at the back of your head.

5, 4, 3…

The door opens quickly and with a click it’s shut again, but this time Aemond slides the lock across. He had to duck to get into the cramped bathroom, and now with two people inside, it feels utterly stifling.

You have to bite back a smile that you’d guessed him so spot on. It hadn’t even been ten seconds. And here he stood, putting on a stoic, blank face, as if he had no intention of doing anything at all.

Your lips part to speak, but your throat is instead met with pressure, his palm flush to it and his fingers around the sides as he pushes you further into the bathroom.

“You want to get fucked?” he suggests in a dark, husky voice, the muscles in his arm tensing and untensing as his control begins to wane, “Hm?”

You can see the way he expects you to respond, but as his fingers press on the sides of your neck, it only serves to make your mind swirl with want, seeing how frustrated he is. Nothing seems to want to come out of your mouth, shock pleasantly blocking your throat.

“Think I didn’t see that? The way you rolled your eyes? Acting like a little slut?”

You swallow under his hand, his words sending a bolt of arousal straight between your legs, throbbing with desire. The way your cheeks burn makes it clear to him what you really want, coupled with the tremble that has now managed to worm its way up your legs.

In a smooth moment, your thighs hit the counter in front of the mirror, his arm now reaching widely around you to hold your head up to see his expression in the mirror. You shiver at the sensation of his hair on your skin, his nose dragging up the side of your neck, his breath eventually hot on the shell of your ear.

“You just want it, don’t you?” he grunts, pressing his now noticeable erection against your backside, his hips moving torturously slow, as if to make you wait, to tease you.

Pride rings in your body at the way he’s just so easily fallen apart the way you predicted.

“No” you tease, biting back a smile which he sees in the mirror.

His mouth drawn tightly into a line, not revealing at all what he’s thinking.

Aemond’s large hands go to your leggings, tearing them down harshly like he can’t get a good grip on them. The speed, the sheer neediness of the gesture, has arousal pooling where you need him most and your skin prickling with desire.

“We’ll see about that”

You have to spread your hands on the counter to keep yourself up as Aemond tugs your leggings down just enough and bends you over, exposing you just enough that the cool air against your core makes you shiver.

“No” he gruffs, wrapping your hair around his knuckles and tugging back to make you look in the mirror at him, “You’re going to watch”

You barely have time to think about his threat before you feel the fat head of his cock kiss your folds, pushing forward, Aemond moans breathily as he looks down to watch you take the entirety of him, squeezing his length tightly.

It feels like the air is being constantly pushed from your lungs, he doesn’t even give a moment of reprieve, one hand tugging your hair and the other kneading the fleshy globe of your ass to spread you open for him to see. His cock pistons so quickly and with such a lewd sound that for a moment, it makes you embarrassed that Arryk might actually hear from the front of the plane.

“Keep your eyes open, princess” she breathes, leaning over your neck and giving a harsh tug to remind you. You whimper as his teeth graze over your skin, combined with the way he bullies that sensitive spot inside you in this position, it all feels very too much.

“Just my little fucktoy aren’t you, hm?” he grunts against your ear. And without even thinking you nod quickly, not trusting yourself to speak, your eyes dragging down to watch the ceaseless rocking of his hips slapping against you.

He delivers a hard slap to your ass, “Say it”.

“ - yes, I am - I am -”

Aemond groans, burying himself as deep as he can inside you with each devastating thrust, “Yeah, that’s right -”

You gasp loudly, eyes slipping shut as his hand makes his way to your front, his thumb drawing harsh circles against your clit. It’s more pressure than you anticipated to such a sensitive area, and it has your body pushing back to meet his, desperate.

“ - fuck, Aemond -”

“ - not my name, princess-”

Just when you’re about to lose it, he ceases his movements to your clit and slows his pace dramatically and he chuckles darkly when you whine with annoyance.

“If you want to cum, I want to hear it-”

You can’t help but feel irritated. You are so, so close. It’s unfair.

“Come on, you can do it, baby-”

With a strained, annoyed tone, “-fuck, daddy please - I’m so close-”

You feel him grin against your neck, “better”

Nothing feels more overwhelming than when he picks up the pace again, blood feeling as if it’s on fire as it hums around your body, right to your little bundle of nerves that Aemond hasn’t left alone.

“-that’s it, cum around my cock, princess-”

And you do.

Hard.

So much so that Aemond has to put his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. Especially when his pace never falters, and he fucks you through your orgasm with the same vigour. Aemond moans as your walls flutter around him, squeezing his length tightly.

He pulls out, fisting his length quickly in his fist, a shuddered groan falling from his glorious lips as his warm cum coats your bare pussy. It’s near-pornographic, the way it feels to be covered by him, and even more so when he smears his cum over your slit with the head of his cock.

You smile tiredly, seeing that this little act is something that Aemond enjoys doing often.

Perhaps it's his way of reminding you you're his.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect-” he praises, “-baby you’ve made such a mess- come on, be a good girl-”

You’re near breathless as he pushes you to your knees in front of him, covering your lips with the cum that glazes his cock before plunging into your mouth. You let your jaw relax as Aemond makes the slow, lazy pace, using your mouth to clean the aftermath off his length.

You moan around him, the taste of him salty and heavy on your tongue.

“That’s it - you like me using your mouth, don’t you-”

You make a noise of confirmation as he continues to use you, making his head tip back at the vibrations stimulating his oversensitive cock.

He pulls you off by your hair, looking down at you reverently, using his thumb to swipe whatever was left on your lips back into your mouth.

As your eyes meet, both of you light up in a smile.

"Seven fucking Hells, what am I going to do with you" he smiles lovingly.

The Dornish heat was nothing compared to that little bathroom.

The air was crisp as you exited the plane, a dull, but satisfied ache between your thighs. In fact, Arryk had looked at you both with some level of barely-contained suspicion when you came out the bathroom on the flight, and you’d flushed bright red when he asked if you were alright, and swatted Aemond when he made no attempt to hide his smugness and laughed out loud.

The hotel was lavish, and entirely different in style from the hotels you were used to on the tour. The floors were marble, the walls largely made of stone, with bright and vibrant colours decorating the tall ceilings and walls.

Even people’s fashion was different. Flowy fabrics of silk and light linens, probably due to the intense heat, which was already making it difficult to concentrate.

You gave Aemond a look when the receptionist gave you one key.

As if being in on an inside joke of sorts.

The last time you were forced to share one room, it was a very different circumstance.

The room was spacious and utterly luxurious, but you’d expect nothing less from the Martells.

The bed was enclosed with panels of delicate details surrounding it, along with silks of various vibrancies to lift it. The floor was marble, and a nice cooling sensation in comparison to the stifling air.

And as Aemond snaked his arms around your waist as you looked out onto the balcony at the lavish gardens, leaning down to bite at your neck softly, your eyes slipped shut.

“Aemond the finals are tomorrow, we have to practi-”

“And I intend to” he whispered back, kissing higher and higher on your neck, while one of his hands sank lower and lower, til they were beneath the waistband of your leggings.

“It’s still early, Princess” he mused.

You had both christened the bed that afternoon, and later on, any available flat surface Aemond could find, he would do things that would make even Aegon blush.

Unlike the other hotels, there was only one ice rink in Sunspear, and it would be the one you’d be using tomorrow to compete against the Martells. It was a bit annoying having to book in a spot to go over the routine, and you and Aemond had already practised beyond measure, but it was still nice to get a few more sessions in before the big day.

Surprisingly, you felt okay, and Aemond was the nervous one. Even though realistically, there was little outcome for Aemond, whether you won or not.

You sigh, the cool air of the rink hitting your skin, “At least it’s nice and cool in here”

Huffing your bag onto the floor, you look behind at him when he doesn’t reply.

Aemond, with a stoic expression, only gestured with his head in the direction of the stands.

Larys Strong sits there, his cane in hand.

His head is angled down, so that he’s looking over the bridge of his brow, his darkened eyes flitting between you and Aemond from where he’s seated in the middle of the rows of seats, which tomorrow, would be filled with people.

Immediately, irritation gnaws at your insides. And the only saving grace is Aemond’s careful hand on your arm, grounding you.

You make no effort to go to him.

He will come to you if he wants to speak.

It almost pleases you that it takes him so long to stand and step down to the ice rink, so that it gives you more time to think of what to say. You go to move away to speak to him, but Aemond’s fingers tighten, holding you close to him.

He wanted to stay with you.

“Aemond” Larys greeted first, leaning on his cane as he stopped before you both, smirking as he searched both of your faces.

Aemond didn’t respond.

“What do you want?” you ask, getting swiftly to the point, as you knew he wouldn’t.

Larys bowed his head, as if briefly embarrassed and wondering what to say, his slick wavy brown hair not moving around his shoulders.

“I am here for the finals-”

“That’s not what I asked” you added quickly, “to the point, please”

You didn’t see the barely-contained smirk that Aemond was struggling to keep at bay behind you. It turned out, he rather liked to see you angry.

Larys floundered noticeably.

“You had seen my emails?”

“I had”

Larys raised an eyebrow, “and it was insufficient?”

Biting your lip, you couldn’t hide your contempt, “You expected me to go to the press?”

“I thought that was the plan”

“There was no plan. Nor an exchange of terms between you and I. I sought your help because I thought you had information on my employment, and you did. There is nothing more to say”

He goes quiet for a moment, before lifting his signature smirk to his face.

“I see the Ice Princess has some fire in her”

Aemond’s grip tightens, as if he’s ready to explode at any moment.

“I do hope Floris is alright” he muses, taking a short step forward, “it’d be a shame for such a capable skater to retire so soon into her career”

Your eyebrows furrow.

Was that a fucking threat?

Larys smirks slightly, appearing to have hit the nerve he was after.

"Good luck with the finals"

"Watch it" Aemond responds, keeping a firm grip on your arm. Now because he's afraid you might actually hurt him.

Larys laughs through his nose.

Fuck you.

You and Aemond watch with bated breath as Larys leaves slowly, the clang of the double doors rattling behind him.

Aemond let's out a breath.

"Should I be watching where I put my skates now?" You ask him, half joking. But it earns a breathy laugh nonetheless.

"You say that. Maybe you should"

Practice goes as expected.

The routine is intricate, perhaps the most technical so far, but in a nice way. Working with Aemond now, when everything had been addressed was nice.

Gods it was so nice.

It almost made you sad that he wanted to retire after the finals.

He was so graceful. For such a tall guy, lined with lean muscle, he had such elegance on the ice. Wasn't afraid to show off, which the judges would no doubt love.

The song?

Swan Lake. The Ending Song.

A bold choice of Otto's.

Was that a threat too? Perhaps?

It didn't bother you too much, as you'd found a perfect place within the song to do what you had planned for weeks.

And gods, it'd all be worth it to see his face.

It was all very surreal.

A flurry of texts crowded your screen on the morning of the finals.

Rhaenys.

Baela. Rhaena.

Floris.

El.

Even some of your family.

Estranged family.

You're certain you blocked their number.

You sigh, pulling the towel around yourself and walking out of the open wet room. Aemond is laid flat on his back on the bed, a damp cold cloth applied to the marred eye.

If you didn't know any better, he looked asleep.

"Still bothering you?" You ask.

He just makes a noise of confirmation. His eye not moving.

You rub his arm lovingly as you sit next to him.

His eye had been bothering him all night, so much so that embarrassingly (his words) he'd had to remove the glass eye he wore and slept without it to alleviate the pain.

He'd looked so vulnerable when he showed you.

As if you'd run away when you saw it.

But instead, your heart leapt. You were more lovey than usual after a little drink at the bar with Aemond after practice, and you'd pressed your lips to his scarred cheek. Lingering.

Little did you know, that his heart leapt as well.

And when you slept, moulded in each other's arms.

It felt like it was always meant to be this way.

It changed something.

"Do you want some painkillers?" You ask softly,

"I'm alright, just took some…waiting for them to kick in"

Patting his arm, you give him a reassuring smile, though he can't see it.

Making sure he's not looking, you sneak the outfit out of your suitcase and into your bag for later. Biting your lip, you try hard to contain the excitement in your veins. And nerves as well.

For a lot of things.

Ping!

You laugh through your nose.

Scrolling, you check the other messages you have.

You laugh at that too.

Gods she's such a boomer. It's kind of painful.

You shoot her a quick text back, clearing the texts from your family without replying.

Not like they deserve it anyway.

Everytime you see a text from them now, it only reminds you of why Otto hired you.

Bad circumstances.

Someone of low background.

Ugh fuck him.

Fuck. Him.

With a barge pole if needed.

Aemond huffs as he gets up, squinting and looking over at you, "ready to dance with the vipers?"

"Oh more than ready" you smile at him.

You're thankful you have your own dressing room at least. To get everything right without Aemond's curious eye constantly looking at you.

No time for quickies this time round.

You look at yourself in the mirror, hair all done into a ponytail with curls falling from it. Decorated with glitter hairspray and little pearls. Your outfit is black, as Otto had said it would be in his email. The corset is almost velvet like, with a slight v at the top (which made it difficult to initiate your plan, but you managed).  And the mesh skirt over the leotard sways like a cloud over your legs.

You steel yourself.

You can do this.

When you go out to the hallway, looking down to the ice rink, where the stands are entirely full with the echoed chatter of the audience, your skin immediately prickles with nerves.

You feel Aemond's hand on the small of your back, making heat crawl up your neck.

"Feeling okay?" He asks in an uncharacteristically soft voice.

You don't think you'll ever get over the feeling you get when you see him with his sapphire eye.

It literally takes your breath away.

But his scar looks reddened somewhat.

You furrow your brows, "Are you?" You ask, concerned, "your eye. It looks sor-"

"I'm fine" he says quickly.

I don't believe that.

You can see the way he's trying to be brave about it. His jaw tight and his good eye looking anywhere but you, as if he knows he'll be found out.

"Aemond we don't have to. If you're in pain-"

"No. I want to do this for you" he urges.

For you.

You swear for a moment your heart skips a beat, stilling in your chest as the rest of you gets warm.

Aemond can never be forced.

He's stubborn like that.

A Targaryen trait, you muse.

But you know deep down, he won't heed your warning. He's headstrong. Completely sure of his own opinion, rightly or wrongly.

There's something about it now though, which doesn't feel right.

"I'm alright, princess. Promise" he adds, taking one of your hands in his while he takes in your outfit.

"You look nice" he says, forcing a smile to his face. His hand goes over your sleeves to the clips at the top. He plays with them briefly, as if wondering what they are before you playfully slap his hand away.

"Off"

He gives you a look.

A suspicious one.

He knows you're up to something.

Then he smiles.

Again a forced one, but stubbornness will kill him first.

As you both walk towards the ice rink, journalists, media, the judges, the faces of the audience as well as the Martells all serve to wake your nerves.

You wave at Rhaenys in the crowd, Baela and Rhaena seated either side of her.

"There they are, the Ice Prince and Princess. Ready for the finals in their all black get up"

"They appear to be closer this time, speaking in hushed voices- oh! Was that a kiss I saw?"

"It was! Perhaps there is more to this mere partnership than meets the eye"

Aemond whispers to you, "up in the stands, to the right"

When you follow his eyeline, your face drops and you turn to avoid the cameras from getting a good look at your expression.

Otto Hightower sits there.

Alone.

Good.

He's looking down at you both, chin high but his gaze looking over his nose like you're shit at the bottom of his shoe. His hands are clasped in expectancy, clearly desiring a favourable outcome to the performance.

But at least now you know where he is, so you can see the look on his face.

The thought of it has an evil smirk rise to your face.

"Are we going first?" You ask.

Aemond nods.

Fuck. You hate going first.

And as if by magic-

"Aemond fucking Targaryen. The One-Eyed wonder!"

Qoren's voice has a tendency to travel. And right now, it's travelling through every nerve in you, jolting them awake. He walks over with a swagger, a slowness, clad entirely in bright mustard and wine tones, akin to his partner who is sat on the bench scrolling through her phone.

Aemond sighs, "Qoren" he greets flatly, rubbing his thumb against his temple on the marred side of his face.

"Just wanted to say good luck" Qoren smirks, nudging a curled wave out his face, "I'm certain you won't need it"

Cunt.

That's what you want to say.

Instead, you roll your eyes and take Aemond's hand leading him to the ice rink.

"Ignore him" you tell him, pulling of the blade guards and tossing them aside.

Aemond huffs a laugh, "Seven Hells, if he's in your bad books he's done for" he replies, joining you as you both go out onto the ice to do a few laps.

"Our Crownlands couple look ready and composed for a challenge today"

"And a challenge it will be. It's never easy going first, especially against the Martells. They'll have to work for it"

You skate next to him for a few warm-up laps, the heat rising again to your face as he takes your hand, giving his signature one sided smile.

Your heart flutters pleasantly.

In front of all these people?

He sees your reaction.

"I'm not going to hide anything anymore, princess" he says softly, "I've done it for far too long"

One part of you wants to cry with joy.

The other wants to drag him to the nearest dark corner.

So instead, you squeeze his hand. A good compromise.

As you skate to a halt in the middle, you mouth the words.

'I love you'

And your heart roars with delight.

He mouths it back.

"Our couple seem utterly smitten with each other"

"Their chemistry rivals the Martells, for sure!"

Taking a deep breath, you and Aemond nod to each other, getting in position to wait until the music starts.

It's quiet.

You could hear a pin drop.

His hand is warm.

The clarinets begin to play, the opening sequence of violins accompanying the music as you and Aemond begin the medium paced routine. The only sound you both can hear is the blades tearing through the ice, the rustle of your clothing against each other and the shallow breaths between each movement of the routine, moving swiftly hand in hand, twirling and feeling light and airy as Aemond lifts you effortlessly.

The music is almost frantic, the trumpets are getting so loud that they almost vibrate the ice beneath you. But you concentrate on the routine at hand, letting Aemond take your weight with each quick lift into the air, each synchronised motion perfectly executed.

“Quite a quick routine from the couple. Good choice of song and good technical ability so far”

“Yes, they really look like a proper team now, don’t they?”

As the music picks up momentum, you briefly glance at the stands mid-spin, smirking when you spot Otto’s eyes half closed, looking right at you. As if wondering what it is you are thinking.

Drums.

As Aemond moves in front of you for a split second, your hands lift to your shoulders, unpopping the buttons there.

No going back now.

Aemond looks over you in brief shock as the black is completely encompassed, a sheet of dark green falling over it like a curtain, replacing the beaded darkness with the bright forest colour he was so used to seeing his mother wear on her old performances.

It quickly changes to a barely-contained smile as the fabric laps at your thighs, the green mesh replacing the translucent black, right as the music hits its crescendo.

"Oh my-is that what I think it is!"

"Hightower Green looks very good on our Ice Princess!"

You don’t even have time to look at Otto.

The audience is a mix of clapping, awes and shouting of support. Never wavering for a moment.

Aemond continues the routine with a big, boyish smile plastered onto his face, performing the rest of the moves and lifts with a renewed vigour and passion that was not there before.

The rest of it seems to fly by, assisted by the smitten way you look at one another. Before you even know it, the music has died out. You and Aemond face each other, foreheads almost touching as the applause roars around you, several items like flowers and flags being thrown onto the ice around you.

It’s difficult to describe Aemond’s expression. Awe? Affection? Lust?

Love.

All you know is that you love it. And that all this was worth it.

You’re about to open your mouth, when his hands find each side of your face, his fingers holding the back of your head desperately, as he crashes his lips to yours.

In front of everyone.

In front of all of Westeros.

It feels exhilarating. Adrenaline boils the blood inside you, burning for him. And when you part, breathless after not only that, but the energy of the routine, all you can do is smile. Feeling so in love with him it’s honestly disgraceful.

Hand in hand, you bow to the audience, a massive grin plastered on your face. Rhaenys, Baela and Rhaena are all stood, clapping passionately. Larys is seated at the end of a particular row, both hands clasped on his cane, smirking beneath it, as if he just loves watching the drama unfold.

And then Otto.

You’re happy to find he looks absolutely livid.

That's right, you think. This is where my loyalties lie.

Aemond’s grip tightens on you as you give your bow to the judges. But it’s not a tight, comforting hold. Not one of victory, or love.

“Aemond?..” you ask, turning to him.

He’s breathing heavily, his other hand pressed to the scarred side of his face, his good eye blinking quickly as he turns to you.

Your face blanches, “Aemond, what’s wrong-”

“I’m fine, it’s just-ah fuck”

He nearly doubles over in pain, his hand pressed painfully to the left side of his face, the faintest bit of blood trickling between his fingers.

Panic rings through you, and with your hands on his sides, you guide him on the ice towards the edge, helping him sit, ignoring the muffled whispers and rumours that echo around the atrium, “let me see, Aemond..”

He shakes his head erratically, “No, no, just-I’m okay”

“Aemond you are not okay” you urge, watching the way his other eye waters from the pain, his face going pink as he encourages himself to take deep breaths.

“It appears he may have some sort of injury. We’re waiting on some updates from management”

“Who do you need me to call?” you ask him hurriedly,

“I don’t know-fucking-call Mum, please” he replies pitifully, bending over in searing, hot pain that radiates from his eye socket.

Spotting Arryk, you rush over and grab his phone that he throws, pulling it to your ear while rubbing Aemond’s shoulder.

“Aemond, take the sapphire out, it’s just going to hurt you more-”

“No, no, I can’t-” he shakes his head, panicked and scared.

“Aemond”

When his good eye meets you, he looks so vulnerable and unsure you almost regret your tone.

But you just want him to be okay.

Turning away, he dislodges the sapphire, his hand still covering his face, despite having the utmost trust in you, he still doesn’t want you to see it, all red and sore.

“Hello, Alicent? Yeah I think Aemond is having one of his neurological-fuck-I don’t know-episodes? I don’t know what to do?” you speak nervously into the phone.

“I know, I know, sweet girl. He needs to go to Urgent Care right away, and needs his glycerol injections, alright? Where’s my father?”

“I don’t know, I can’t see him!”

“He has Aemond’s health insurance card, okay, find him and get him to hospital as soon as you can. okay? Has he taken the sapphire out?”

“Yes, I made him”

“Good. Until he gets to hospital, just apply a warm compress and keep him calm, okay? You can do this”

You hang up quickly, looking around and spotting Otto as he paves his way through the crowd of people. Still rubbing Aemond’s shoulder, all notions of hating him are gone in favour of helping the quivering, vulnerable man in front of you, whining pitifully as his nerves are set aflame.

“Otto, he needs to go to a hospital. Do you have his health card?”

Stoically, he nods, his eyes ignoring you, “I do, Arryk will take us. Come on”

He assists Aemond to his feet, leading him to the exit with urgency.

The fire doors open and Aemond turns to you, “You have to stay”

“What? No! I’m coming with you!”

“One of us has to stay, we’ll get disqualified” he reasons, with a wavering voice.

“Aemond, I don’t care about-”

“Well I do. Stay” he urges.

You go quiet, staring at him in disbelief and also shock. And seeing it all over your face, how conflicted both of you are, he leans forward pressing a kiss to your forehead, his fingers stroking your hair lovingly.

“I’ll be fine, baby..” he adds softly, “Stay”

You watch him hurry out of the fire escape, and straight into the back of Arryk’s car with Otto. He’s so doubled over in pain, clutching the sapphire in one fist, that he barely has any time to look back at you standing there, the warm air making the mesh skirt lap at your legs.

You only meet his worried gaze at the last second.

A shuddered breath tumbles from your lips, the adrenaline and panic of the last few minutes just sinking in. You feel a bit helpless, unable to do anything for him as he’s driven to hospital.

“Hey” the soothing voice of Rhaenys at your side pulls you out, and you look at her with bleary eyes, “are you alright?”

You nod quickly, “Yeah, I think so..”

She guides you back inside, sitting at the sidelines, “Sit here, I’ll get you a drink”

You can’t relax. The room feels like it’s spinning.

“Just a little update. Aemond Targaryen has been rushed to hospital in what we believe is an episode of acute pain due to a long-standing condition”

“We’ll wish him all the best in hospital and hope it isn’t anything too serious”

Rhaenys gives you a warm cup of coffee, but you can’t drink it, you’re too on edge already. And if any caffeine is pumped into your already hammering heart, you think it might explode.

You don’t even concentrate on the performance the Martells are doing, eyes nowhere near the scoreboard. Your leg bounces nervously, fully aware that you are probably being scrutinised endlessly by the media, with hundreds of articles already written about you.

Their orange and red outfits dance in your periphery. Spins, twists, lifts. Things that right now, don’t mean an awful lot to you. All you can think about is when Aemond turned to you, blood trickling between his fingers, face twisted in pain.

“Hey…”

You don’t even realise you’ve zoned out until Rhaenys taps your arm excitedly.

Shaking your head, you look around, everyone’s stood. Smiling. Clapping. The Martells are lazily skating their way to their end of the rink, talking with their manager, with bowed heads.

“Wha?..” you reply, completely dazed, “what’s happened?..”

“Qoren’s partner fucked her landing. They’re a whole 10 points short on the technical. Not including the penalty they’re likely to get” she replies, leaning closely to whisper it, a victorious smirk on her face.

Oh shit.

Your eyes meet the scoreboard, watching as the rest of the scores come in.

With the penalty, they’re tragically low. But your breath feels hot in your throat still.

This was always the part you hated.

Rhaenys’ ring-clad hand grips yours tightly.

The crowd's cheer, applause and shouts of support are nothing compared to the roaring in your ears.

"We won"

Entirely shocked beyond words and comprehension, Rhaenys pulls you into a hug, jumping up and down excitedly. Your face is blanched with shock, eyes still, and you realise you must look a total idiot to everyone else. The reality of the situation still not entirely dawning on you.

"The Crownlands have done it. The Championship title is theirs!"

"Shame our Ice Prince cannot be there to receive his trophy"

"Go! Go!" Rhaenys urges, pushing you by your shoulders to the stands where the judges are all grinning, holding the trophy, medals and large bouquet of gloriously colourful flowers.

It's a blurred slew of 'well done' and 'congratulations'.

The Martells, though devastated, nod in your direction in congratulations. And you barely hear it, but Qoren even seems to offer some sort of kind words for Aemond's condition.

Still doesn't make him less of a twat.

The trophy, long and golden, is heavy in your hands, rested against your shoulder, with the flowers pushed into your other, shoulders sagging with the weight of two medals around your neck.

Aemond.

With a few quick thank yous and bows of your head, your panicked, searching eyes find Rhaenys, who already has her car keys and your jacket in her grip.

"Come on" she utters, "quickly"

It feels utterly silly to still be wearing the green outfit for the competition while riding in the passenger seat of Rhaenys' Mercedes. But at least your black jacket provides some semblance of normality. You didn't even have time to take the medals off.

You did however, change your shoes, shucking your skates off in the footwell of her car.

She's driving well over the speed limit. But hey, most of Sunspear are as well. Through several junctions, she even graces some of the locals with her middle finger.

If you weren't so taut with nerves, it'd make you laugh.

The tyres screech loudly as she pulls into the hospital car park, the trophy nestled between your legs nearly making you trip over yourself as you hurl yourself out the car door.

Those tell-tale clicks of camera shutters and the echo of incessant questions are instantly upon you.

With the trophy loosely in one hand, all you can do is run to the entrance of the hospital, where the media are not allowed.

This time, they part a path for you.

The security guards at the front who have been fending them off, see your outfit, medals and trophy and immediately slip the door open, "Room 47"

You nod in thanks, your breath feeling like blood in your throat from the effort of running so fast and so suddenly. The lights inside the hospital hallways are stark, clinical, and far too bright. Your trainers thud against the linoleum floor, eyes desperately searching for the numbers on the rooms.

"25...24...shit, I'm going the wrong way-"

Aemond.

It doesn't help in the slightest that the hospital is a complete maze. You probably look a complete mess, pink in the face, hair all mussed up from running, but it's the last thing on your mind.

At the end of the hallway, you spot Otto, chatting with a dark-haired man in a white coat. Engaged in conversation, only looking up when the tide of loud footsteps comes closer to them.

You don't care about that either.

Otto tries to reach out to stop you from going in, but you're too fast, fiddling with the handle of the door before he has a chance to pull you back.

It's quiet. Your hurried breathing sounds so loud in your chest.

The door slams into the wall and Aemond looks up, seated sideways on the hospital bed. His cheeks are pink, from the remnants of pain that still linger, but he looks calmer, relaxed, with his brows unfrowned and sitting comfortably on his forehead. His hair, that was so neatly styled for the competition in his signature bun is somewhat curled from the sweat on his forehead and back of his neck.

A surgical patch is taped over his left eye.

His lips twitch when he sees you there, his right eye gleaming with affection, clearly out of breath, having ran the entire length of the hospital to get to him.

"Hey Princess..." he says softly, in a way that never fails to make your heart lurch into your throat.

You almost cry with relief that he's alright.

He licks his dry lips, "Did we do it?..."

With a relieved smile, a lump forming in your throat with emotion, you nod quickly, "Yeah...yeah we did..."

The breath is expelled from your lungs near-painfully when you surge towards each other, throwing your arms around one another, the trophy propped on the floor where you were previously stood.

He feels warm, with his hands around you like this, his heart thrumming fast in his chest. Your body sags against him.

He feels like home.

You hear him inhale, the familiar scent of you immediately having a calming effect on his body, his hand raising to brush your hair from your face as his palms cup either side of it, pressing a light feather-like kiss to your forehead.

His thumb wipes your undereye of moisture. But his smile says it all, his eyes crinkling, briefly irritating the spot where he's obviously had his glycerol injections not a moment before.

"I never doubted you" he utters quietly, "...not for a second"

You give a watery laugh. Hardly recognising this Aemond compared to the one you first met.

Competitions.

Scores.

Drama.

It all means fucking nothing.

The future. Happiness. It's all right here.

"Aemond Targaryen, don't ever scare me like that again..." you smile at him, half-joking, fingers tenderly stroking along his jawline, prickles of regrowth rubbing comfortingly along your skin.

He huffs a laugh through his nose, his mouth opening slightly as he smiles.

"No promises, princess"

And finally, with a pleased little muffled sound crawling up your throat, his tender, full lips descend onto yours, sealing whatever is felt between you right now and all that has happened before.

It doesn't even need to be said. Those three little words.

Because they're just not enough.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard | @bellstwd | @blairfox04 | @hb8301 | @jamespotterismydaddy | @mochi-rose | @nenelysian | @natty2017 | @randomdragonfires | @risefallrise | @theoneeyedprince | @thelittleswanao3 | @tsujifreya | @urmomsgirlfriend1 | @valeskafics | @watercolorskyy

Aemond Taglist (1): @asp3nxx | @avidreader73 | @bellaisasleep | @boofy1998

[flowerandblood]

The Knight & The Judge

[ modern Frollo • Aemond x Esmeralda • female ]

[ warnings: dubcon, sex content, smut, angst, domination and humiliation kink, description of physical and mental disabilities, prejudices against disabled people, aggressive behavior, violence, swearing, trauma, mention of an accident with fatalities ]

[ description: After a car accident, his brother has to deal with the consequences of what happened, and he, as his protector, does not know how to help him. His sister comes up with the idea of hiring someone as his carer who will be able to cheer him up and occupy his mind. It turns out, however, that the girl he hired charmed not only his younger brother. Obsession, self-destructive behavior, verbal and physical aggression, sexual tension, dark, malicious Aemond. ]

Author's note: This story is a request, but I decided to freely use what I liked in the book and Disney film to create a new, disturbing story taking place in modern times. It is intended to be uncomfortable and will contain scenes that are at least morally questionable, in my version "Esmeralda" is not Romanian. This story will also include motifs from Jane Eyre, which was a separate request. My story will also touch on the problems of people with disabilities, so if these are sensitive topics for you, I advise against reading further. You have been warned.

Part 2 − The Sin & The Penance

Part 3 − The Doubt & The Delight

Epilogue

Main Characters Moodboard

Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

On that day it seemed to him that the whole world had turned against him. His coffee machine had broken down, there was more traffic than usual on the roads, he was sure he would be late for work, and his brother had woken up in a mood worse than always and cried all the way to the centre.

"I don't want to go there. I-I'm scared of some of those kids." He muttered under his breath, swallowing loudly, whooping with tears. He looked at him in the mirror, feeling a squeeze in his throat every morning when he left him there, but saw no other alternative.

He still hadn't recovered mentally after what had happened five years ago and, according to his psychiatrist, he wasn't ready to attend a normal school until he gained more confidence.

He did not want to force him to listen to unpleasant comments, however, he felt uncomfortable himself.

The centre was huge, classes were taught in different groups of matched children, however, there were times when Daeron encountered kids with a spectrum of disabilities other than physical and was simply afraid of them.

He tried to explain it to him, but how was a child supposed to understand these complicated, sometimes even uncontrollable behaviours and screams?

He swallowed hard, leaning the back of his head against the backrest, turning on the right indicator with his hand, driving into the car park of the building where he would leave him for the time he spent at work, during which he studied and had various extra classes with children with problems similar to his.

However, was he to surround himself all his life only with children who had mobility problems, who had no arms or legs, who suffered from paresis or lack of feeling in their limbs?

Every time he thought about it he wanted to cry.

He turned off the engine, staring dully ahead, hearing his mother's screams again in the background of his mind as his father fainted behind the wheel and drove off the road into the other lane – he felt once again that hard crash with the big truck coming from the opposite direction that crushed them.

They were only alive because they were in the back seats at the time, Daeron, however, was not as lucky as he was.

Compared to what happened to his younger brother, the glass that smashed into the left side of his face was nothing.

"Mrs Thomson said you can't spend all day at home doing one-to-one tuition. You have to see other children." He calmly repeated the formula he said whenever such a situation arose, opening his door, heading for the boot of his big black SUV – the car dealership had told him it was the safest and biggest model they had.

He took out the small wheelchair that had been put together and unfolded it, driving it closer, to the back seat where his brother sat, opening it – he looked away, unable to watch his brother's weeping face.

"I'm already late for work. Please. I promise we'll play FIFA' 23 together when we get back. Hm?" He muttered, and Daeron nodded, pale, breathing loudly, using his hands to move slowly towards the wheelchair onto which he shifted the weight of his body, hissing loudly as he lifted his legs onto the special supports.

The bones of his little legs had been simply crushed then – he continued to grow, the rehabilitation was hard and caused him great pain.

He would have preferred it to be him who suffered like this and not an innocent child, but God, who he wasn't sure he still believed in despite the deep faith his mother had always instilled in him, decided otherwise.

He closed the car and moved with him to the main entrance, pushing his wheelchair forward. When they got inside they were greeted by a lady they knew very well, several of his friends waved to Daeron, one of them was paralysed from the waist down, the other was missing one arm.

He swallowed loudly, thinking that his brother had to watch someone else's misfortune every day, himself for sure feeling like a cripple, like someone defective, someone who was a burden, even though he loved him the most in the world.

The cruelty of the situation left him with a clenched throat, so he would usually only throw him a few words to say goodbye, stroke his head and leave, only by the car tightening his fingers on the base of his nose, his healthy eye burning from the moisture that gathered under his eyelids.

As he always did in moments of breakdown, he started the engine, selected the number of his sister phone on the display under his dashboard and, turning on loudspeaker mode, started backing his car as he tried to drive out of the car park and drove ahead towards the national prosecutor's office.

"Hello? Aemond, did something happen?"

He heard Helaena's soft, sleepy voice. He knew she was still doing overtime as a doctor, overworking herself as much as he was and thought that he had woken her up after the night shift.

He felt remorse for not being able to handle it himself, although she always reassured him that she would always help him as best she could.

She got Daeron the best possible physiotherapist so that he was even able to take a few steps in the last month while holding on to his supports, however it still caused him great pain, the doctors said his bones would continue to hurt as long as he grew.

Perpetual undeserved suffering.

"I don't know what to do anymore. He says he is afraid of some of the children, those with intellectual disabilities. I know it's cruel, but fuck, I'd be scared of some of them too. Do they have to see each other in the same building, pass each other in the corridor? Shouldn't they be separated somehow?"

"God, Aemond, they're not animals. After all, they're children too." She said with sadness and resentment – he clenched his eye, sighing impatiently, trying to focus on the road again, tense.

"I know. I know. I really feel for them, but it's bad for his psyche. He recently asked me if he was normal, if he too would start shouting and babbling like them. That sometimes they are aggressive and the carers have to drag them away from him and his friends."

"It's horrible. Maybe he really should go there less often?" She asked sighing quietly, he heard her rise up on the bed with a quiet creak of the mattress.

"And what, he's going to sit at home with some boring old teacher? How will I know that no harm comes to him in my absence?" He asked resignedly, hearing silence on the other side for some time.

"Maybe find someone who won't be very distant in age. Someone who won't just teach him, but play with him and spend time with him. Someone old enough to be responsible for him and at the same time young enough not to feel so distant. Someone joyful." She replied, and he rolled his eyes as he drove into the underground car park of his office building.

"Joyful? I am supposed to pay someone to be joyful?" He sneered, shaking his head, his sister sighed again.

"He needs it, Aemond. We're all tired, and he's a child."

He hung up after a few minutes of further discussion, telling her he had to go, grabbed the case folders he'd just brought in and headed for the underground lift. He pressed the button showing the floor he wanted to move to when a woman's hand stopped the sliding doors, which opened a moment later.

Alys smiled broadly at him as she stepped inside with a confident stride – her high black heels emphasised how slender and long her legs were, her fitted, waist high pencil trousers and black blazer with a beautiful white shirt underneath highlighted both her confidence and her attractiveness.

He remembered the last few times the thrusts of his hips had pushed her into her desk, bent over and helpless, with firm, wide buttocks on which he tightened his fingers as he panted heavily, watching what he was doing to her, rooting into her again and again, thinking with mockery and amusement how easy it was to make a mere whore out of such a proud woman.

"Good morning, Mr Prosecutor." She said softly, contentment and calmness on her face, several of their intense close-ups had clearly left an intense mark in her, not just physical.

She liked the violent and determined ones, he knew that – she hid her age well and apparently decided that this was the last moment in her life when she could reach for what she wanted.

"Good morning, Miss Rivers." He replied calmly, uninterested in her ambiguous look, apparently suggesting that she wouldn't mind if what happened between them was repeated a few more times.

He was all about the sex. He was frustrated in this aspect – his artificial eye, although perfectly colour-matched to the other and the still clearly visible scar from where the glass pierced in, were a source of his complexes and shame.

He knew that no matter how perfect a professional he was, it was his appearance that made the first impression.

He preferred them to fear him rather than pity him.

In the courtroom he still struggled to be taken seriously so much so that his cold, calculating, ruthless nature began to frighten some – his judgement and questioning was harsh and lacking in compassion.

He knew exactly what he wanted and strove to get it.

His superiors quickly appreciated how skilful a lawyer he was and his ability to bring cases to an end and push whoever he needed to, hence he quickly moved to the National Prosecutor's Office, where more responsibilities and more money awaited him, which he could spend on Daeron's rehabilitation.

As he sat over the files he thought hard about what his sister had told him and decided that he would install CCTV in the house and then hire someone on a trial basis to see if it made sense.

He put up an anonymous job ad not wanting anyone to recognise him, described briefly his broad expectations and his rate per hour.

It turned out that dozens of people responded to his ad, just as he suspected attracted by the sum he had quoted, but he didn't know how he was supposed to sort them to choose the ones that seemed best to him. He began to read their answers, figuring that already from them he could deduce what types of personalities they were.

I am interested. My phone number is below.

Reject, he thought, clicking the red button informing the message sender that his offer was not accepted, and began to scroll further.

I am a carer with 10 years of experience. I have already cared for 14-year-old Mike with cerebral palsy, Adam with….

Reject, he clicked again.

He had no intention of making his home a second centre for the disabled.

He felt frustration and rage when he found that most of the messages were similar and just as empty in their tone, nothing convinced him about these people.

He knew Daeron wouldn't want to stay with them, and neither would he.

He stopped at one of the messages that looked completely different and blinked.

Good morning! I saw your ad and thought I would speak up. I'm a student, I'm studying costume design at the Faculty of Fine Arts. I'm looking for a casual job and I really enjoy working with children, I teach dressmaking as part of the teaching section of my university classes. I think that helping your brother with his studies at primary school level would be no problem for me at all, and I would also be happy to come up with different extra-curricular activities with him. Even if you decide not to hire me, I would like to sew your brother a costume of his favourite super hero, without any payment of course. You would just have to give me his measurements. I don't think anything makes kids his age happier!!! My warmest regards and I am sending my email below.

He looked at her message not too sure how he felt, at the same time being impressed, on the other hand feeling the seed of uncertainty and extreme caution characteristic of him when it came to his approach to newly met people.

What if this was a psychological tactic to make him believe her to be innocent and unselfish? To make him subconsciously choose her because she was the only one offering him something for free? If it was just her free promotion?

He chose two people reluctantly, but kept coming back to her message, trying to imagine her, seeing some crazy painting student looking like a hippie.

Maybe this was just what he needed? He thought with regret and sighed heavily, opening a new window in his inbox, writing her a short, brief email to appear at their house in a few days' time.

He was going to interrogate her.

The young man before her immediately made him uneasy – he had the impression that he smelled weed from him even though he had taken a shower, so he must have been smoking like crazy, and he had no intention of letting anyone who might encourage him to use any stimulants look after his brother.

The other girl was very frightened – his questions clearly startled her and made her uncomfortable, it frustrated him that she was barely able to make a sound. He thought she had something to hide, that people who have a clear conscience don't behave this way.

He thought with resignation that all he had left was a mad artist.

He sighed heavily as he heard the bell ring suggesting that someone was standing outside the gate. He walked over to the intercom and opened it, seeing in the small monitor a petite girl with dark, slightly wavy hair tied up in a ponytail.

He thought in disbelief that she was dressed for a job interview in a white turtleneck, dungarees and trainers, a fabric floral back on her back.

What the fuck, he thought, opening her door with a cold, indifferent expression on his face.

"Good afternoon." She said softly, a wide smile on her face. Before she walked in she wiped her shoes on the doormat, which pleased him. When she came inside she wanted to take off her trainers – he looked at her surprised, thinking she must be crazy.

"No, you don't have to. You can stay in your shoes." He said lowly, pointing towards the armchair, indicating to her with his hand the seat on the couch next to him.

She sat down in the seat he showed her, looking boldly straight into his eyes, her cheeks rosy with emotion.

She was clearly a tad nervous after all, he thought, musing for a moment that she had incredibly long, dark eyelashes.

"Do you have experience in working with children?" He asked immediately; she blinked and corrected herself in her seat, as if prepared for the question.

"Only in terms of working with them in sewing workshops." She answered simply, without any further explanation, which pleased him.

She was letting him draw his own conclusions, rather than imposing them on him so as to present herself in the most favourable light.

"My brother has mobility problems. How do you imagine helping him, for example, if he needs to go to the bathroom?"

"I think he's old enough that he can tell me himself what he'll need help with and what he won't, and what he'll feel comfortable for me to help him with and when he'll want me to leave." She said without thinking, shrugging her shoulders as if it was obvious. He squinted, intrigued that she was allowing herself to say unthoughtful things in front of him, as if she wasn't afraid of the consequences they might bring.

"And your studies? How will you have so much time to come here?"

"From what I understand, I would be expected to turn up on Tuesdays and Thursdays from eight in the morning until sixteen. I have practice classes then, the costumes I'm sewing I can bring with me and finish them while he's eating or watching something, maybe he'll even like it and want to practice with me?"

"What will you do if I don't hire you?" He asked dryly and she looked at him surprised, a light smile on her face indicating that his words didn't worry her.

"Then I will continue to work in the café. But my words about the superhero costume stand. Even if I can't work for you, sir, I would like to meet him and give him something. Children can be so brave." She said softly with sincere, bright joy and some kind of pride, as if Daeron was her brother and not his, something in her innocence, something in her attitude endeared him.

He could smell a lie a mile away, she wouldn't be able to pretend so well even if she were an actress.

These reactions were natural, she was saying exactly what she was thinking about.

"I will contact you once I have made my decision." He said indifferently, getting up from his seat and pointing with his hand towards the exit, suggesting that their conversation was over.

She stood up and smiled, undaunted by his behaviour or the length of their conversation. Both of them flinched when Daeron appeared in the living room, pushing the wheels of his wheelchair with a light flick of his hand.

"Good afternoon. Who is this lady?" His younger brother asked him, obvious curiosity on his face. He swallowed loudly and glanced at her – she answered nothing but waved at him vigorously, Daeron smiled shyly and waved her back, embarrassed.

"No one. I needed to talk to her." He replied, opening the door for her. She said a polite goodbye to him and his brother, waving at him once more, Daeron waved her back again, looking at him with questioning eyes as he closed it.

"I like her. She seems fun."

With no other choice, he decided he would give her a chance.

The first day she was to be left alone with Daeron he was all nerves despite the fact that his little brother hadn't seemed this excited to him in many years. He told him about his toys and the cartoons he was going to show her.

"First the lessons. Then two hours to play and free time." He replied dryly, tense, glancing at his watch, thinking with rage that she only had fifteen minutes left, that she was sure to be late or not come and leave him in the lurch when he had already cancelled his presence at the centre's classes.

They both flinched when they heard the bell ring; Daeron said, moving briskly forward in his wheelchair that he wanted to open for her and indeed, after a moment the girl he had hired appeared on the doorstep of their house, smiling and content – her cheeks flushed again, her dark hair loose, pleasantly framing her bright face, on her body only a black top and tracksuit shorts as it was a sunny, warm spring morning.

"Good morning, Daeron, nice to meet you!" She said with fondness and satisfaction in her voice, extending her hand in front of her, which his brother shook confidently. Daeron moved ahead of her, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"Come, I'll show you my room. I'll explain everything to you." He said, rolling his wheelchair up to the door, which was located on the ground floor of their house so that he could move around easily. The girl nodded, pulling her trainers off her feet, saying that she will come to him in a minute.

He took the opportunity to walk up to her, towering over her, and she threw him a quick surprised look.

He thought her eyes seemed even bigger than before, he wasn't sure if they were blue or green, both colours blending into one.

"You are to take care of him. I want you to go through all the material that was prepared for today. Only two hours of free time, no more. Behave responsibly and only call if it's really urgent or if something happens to him." He said matter-of-factly, and she swallowed quietly, nodding quickly, clearly horrified by how close he stood and how cold his voice was.

Good, he thought.

He wanted her to be afraid of the consequences of her actions.

He sat in the office all day terrified, stressed and unsure, trying to focus on the file in front of him, while involuntarily still glancing at his phone, checking to see if she might have called him.

Was everything okay? What if something had happened but she was afraid to call him? Maybe he should go home and test her, see what was going on?

He thought he would go mad if he didn't, so he left work an hour early – Alys threw something at him as he walked past her, probably something about a meeting or an evening out together, but he didn't answer her, heading for the stairs and the underground car park.

He drove forward, trying to calm himself down, thinking about how oversensitive he was, that surely everything was fine.

He pulled up in front of their house hearing music in the distance, wondering if any of the neighbours were having a party outside at this hour.

However, as he pressed the key to the gate and it slowly swung open he saw in disbelief the girl he had hired riding with lightness and grace on roller skates in his driveway to the tune of the Scissor Sisters song Don't Feel Like Dancin. Daeron laughed out loud, spinning beside her in his wheelchair, both of them wearing elbow and knee pads, in addition to his little brother wearing a bike helmet on his head.

What the fuck was that supposed to be?

He got out of the car, furiously slamming the door, his brother wheeled up to him briskly, his companion spinning slowly around them on roller skates – she raised her eyebrows with a smile, seeing the look on his face and waved at him.

"Look how well I dance, brother!" Exclaimed Daeron, spinning the wheels of his wheelchair around his own axis again.

He, however, instead of looking at him grabbed aggressively the arm of his carer who was doing another spin – she nearly fell over because of his tug and caught him abruptly by his jacket in an attempt to catch her balance.

"Ah!"

"What the fuck are you doing? Is this what I pay you for?" He growled and shook her hard. She stared at him with wide-open eyes, her lips slightly parted in accelerated breathing from fear, her face red from exertion, strands of her hair stuck to her cheeks.

"Let me go, sir. I will not speak to you like this." She said warningly, her brow furrowed. He pressed his lips together noticing that something had changed in her gaze, suddenly confident and angry, ready to fight if necessary.

He felt that look in his trousers, he'd never had the urge to slap a woman's ass as hard as hers before.

He glanced at his brother, who was looking at him in horror, only realising after a moment that the song had long since ended and there was a tense, awkward silence around them.

He let go of her arm, seeing with satisfaction that he had left a bruise on her skin in the shape of his fingers – she massaged at the spot, furrowing her brow.

"You're fired. You're irresponsible. Good thing I came back earlier." He said with mockery and fury, walking over to his brother, unbuckling the helmet he wore on his head. Daeron burst into a loud, uncontrollable sob.

"I don't want to. I don't want to, I don't want to go back there, I want to stay with her. It's my fault, I told her I wanted to dance, please, please, please, I want her to stay, I don't want to go back there." He babbled, running his hands over his shoulders in some helpless, childish pleading gesture from which he felt a squeeze in his throat. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, her gaze fixed on his little brother, sad and resigned – she was leaning over, untying the laces of the roller skates that had once belonged to his sister.

"Something could have happened to you. You could have fallen over and hit your head on the ground." He replied coldly, kneeling in front of him, unbuckling his knee pads.

"But I had a helmet on my head. After all, normal boys fall off bikes and stairs and they're fine! Nothing would have happened if I'd bruised myself a bit, I'm not made of glass!" He burst out suddenly with a fury he had never seen in him before, burying his little face in his hands, all red from tears and despair.

"I won't go back there, I won't go there tomorrow, if she doesn't stay, never, never again, I'd rather kill myself!" He whined out loud, falling into another attack of hysteria in recent months – he had trouble catching his breath, his lungs were wheezing all over. He took his face in his hands, but he closed his eyes, not wanting to look at him.

God, why?

"Remember what I told you?" She asked walking up to his brother in just her socks, kneeling beside him, grasping his hand. Daeron immediately fell silent, looking at her with wide eyes.

"That boy who calls you Quasimodo is just mean. You are my Phoebus, you have his beautiful hair, humour and valour. I'll sew us costumes and we'll go to the carnival ball together. His jaw will drop when he sees that you came with your Esmeralda. What do you say?" She asked softly, and he looked at her in disbelief, wondering if that was the reason his little brother didn't want to go there.

That boy who calls you Quasimodo.

He felt a twitch in his throat and swallowed loudly, his brother nodding quickly, drawing in air loudly, his eyes full of hope.

"Promise?" He asked in a trembling voice, and she smiled broadly, sincerely, squeezing his small hand.

"Promise."

They entered their house as his brother calmed down; he told Daeron to go to his room and leave them alone, which his brother eventually did with great reluctance, crying for a while longer, not wanting to say goodbye to her.

As soon as he heard the door close behind him at the end of the corridor he slipped his wallet out of the back pocket of his trousers, took out a few banknotes and threw them on the table in front of her in a careless gesture.

"Get the fuck out of my house." He said coldly, looking her straight in the eye. He saw her lower lip twitch, the pain of humiliation in her gaze, her eyebrows arched in disbelief that such words had left his mouth.

He wasn't paying her to make a circus of herself dancing like some fucking Esmeralda, exposing his brother to danger and injury.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and trembled with rage as she took the money and tossed it in his direction, the banknotes flying scattered around his feet.

"You could dress up as Frollo for the carnival ball, sir. It would suit you." She said drily, turning away tensely – he moved behind her, feeling anger buzzing strongly in his veins at her words.

He grabbed her by the neck with an aggressive flick of his hand and slammed her back against the wall, her voice stuck in her throat in horror, her big, bright eyes open wide in disbelief.

He took a step closer to her, feeling her warm body quiver all over in his grasp, digging his fingertips deeper into her skin, finding with delight that she was obscenely soft.

"Do you have anything else to say?" He asked in a low whisper filled with threat – she shook her head quickly clearly feeling the situation was out of her control, obviously fearing if he was really going to do something to her.

"No, are you sure? I'm listening to you. Tell me something else interesting about me." He said softly, encouragingly, moving even closer to her, the tips of their noses almost touching.

He could finally get a good look at her and he found curiously that he still couldn't tell what colour her eyes were, now slightly reddened from tears of fear.

She shook her head quickly, not making a sound; all he could hear was their quickened, raspy breaths, her hand touched his wrist as if she wanted to make sure he didn't strangle her.

He was somehow delighted by how delicate, long and slender her fingers were, feeling a pleasant pulsing in his trousers at the thought.

"Look at you. So silly. Because you're a silly little girl, aren't you? You would benefit from someone teaching you a lesson. No? Then apologise and I'll let you go and pretend I never met you." He said calmly, her whole body quivering with terror.

"Never." She said quietly, and he felt involuntarily that his lips curved in a dangerous, satisfied grin, his fingers clenching tighter around her neck.

"You're asking for trouble, Esmeralda." He muttered lowly, her nostrils twitching in accelerated breath.

"I will report what you are doing to the police." She said dryly and he smiled even wider, feeling her tremble all over as he leaned over her ear, his nose sinking into her soft, flower-scented hair – he closed his eyes and savoured the experience for a moment before whispering something she froze from.

"I am a prosecutor −"

Her hand clenched tighter on his wrist, a moan of despair escaping her lips, as if what he had said had really shocked her, as if she was only now realising what she had gotten herself into.

"− and I've never lost a case yet." He whispered in her ear, sliding his face lower, to her jaw and then to her neck, pressing his full lips to her skin, leaving wet, hot marks on it. He heard her draw in a loud breath.

"− w-what are you doing, sir? − no −" She whimpered, he felt her lift her arms up in a defensive gesture, trying to pull away from him, but he pressed her against the wall with his body, letting go of her neck, his erection throbbing hard in his trousers, pressing again and again against her stomach.

She felt it, a terrified cry escaped her lips as his lips pressed tightly against her neck – he began to suck painfully hard on her skin, wanting to leave her a crimson reminder of himself.

"− how did you put it? − who do I remind you of? −" He asked tauntingly, running his rough tongue over her red skin, feeling the veins pulsing rapidly under her soft, warm skin.

"− I'm sorry − I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry − please, please let me go −" She mumbled out in despair on the verge of crying, her voice trembling all over in terror, her breathing raspy and uneven, her small hands clenched on the material of his black turtleneck that he wore under his jacket.

He gasped at her words, sliding his mouth lower, repeating the same process, rubbing against her with his hips – his cock was all swollen and hard, pulsing with pleasure, his hands roaming down her back, sliding at last to her buttocks where they clenched.

"− look at you − so you can be polite after all, hm? −" He asked softly, lowering the material of her tracksuit shorts a little, his large hand grasping her plump, firm buttocks and slapping it hard – she clamped her lips together, trying to hold back the whimper that squeezed its way down her throat.

"− that's what I thought − turn around and let's get this over with −" He murmured, soothingly massaging the place that was now pulsing from his slap, grinning as she did so wordlessly, tears of helplessness and fear on her cheeks.

"− please −" She muttered and he sighed softly, sliding the material of her shorts and underwear down, revealing what was underneath – she shuddered and wept quietly as the tips of his fingers ran over her swollen folds, focusing their pressure on her sweet spot hidden between them, digging into her fleshy skin in circular, calm motions.

"− shhh − this way it will be easier for both of us −" He explained in a soft tone of voice, as if he was telling her something obvious, as if it would benefit her in the future and teach her something.

He heard her shy moan full of fear, then another, a tad louder as his fingers sank more firmly into her skin. He licked his lips at the sight of the wetness that began to leak slowly from inside her and slapped his hand with a short, rough movement into the space between her thighs.

"− quiet −" He ordered, and she pressed her lips together, stifling whatever wanted to come out of them. Daeron was far away, locked in his room, but he still preferred him not to hear anything, and he didn't have the time or desire to take her upstairs to his bedroom.

This situation, her bent figure and her lovely buttocks pushed up towards him, suited him completely.

"− good girl − see? − it's not that hard −" He murmured pleased with how obedient she was despite the fear and terror from which her whole body was twitching. The confident movements of his fingers were accompanied by the louder and louder click of her moisture, her cheek pressed against the cold wall where her hands were helplessly trying to find support in this position, her eyes closed as if she just wanted to wait it out.

She opened them when she heard the sound of his zipper being opened – her lips pressed together with difficulty as he guided the fat, swollen head of his throbbing cock against her opening, leaning with his free hand against the wall just above her head, trying to force it between her tight folds with the motion of his hips.

"− wider − that's it, there you go −" He exhaled as she opened her thighs a little more and he spread her wide on his cock, feeling her muscles gave him a wonderful squeeze – he sighed loudly, surprised at how pleasurable the sensation was.

"− fuck −" He hissed out, clamping his hands on her buttocks, spreading them like a ripe fruit; she squirmed in discomfort as he forced her to take him deeper inside her, filling her so much that he felt like he was going to rip her skin apart.

"− barely fits −" He scoffed, moving his hips back and forth with a splat of her moisture dripping down her thighs – he heard her begin to pant along with him as he deliberately rubbed against her lower wall just above her very entrance, teasing the spot inside her from which her whole body was quivering.

"− here? − do you want me to fuck you here, little one? −" He gasped as he stretched her skin enough to fit all of him inside her, rooting into her again and again with increasingly brutal thrusts of his hips, digging his fingertips into her buttocks, looking at the spot where their bodies joined, at her muscles clenching against him greedily in panic, sucking him inside.

"− please −" She cried out, squeezing her eyes shut, her lips parted in disbelief at how pleasurable and terrifying the experience was. He sank his hand into her soft, dark hair and tilted her head back, burying his nose in the hot skin of her cheek, speeding up, stretching her weeping folds with a loud, lewd slaps of his thighs against her buttocks.

"− use full sentences −" He commanded, his other hand from her hip slid down between her thighs – she squirmed helplessly as his fingers sank again into her fleshy skin, sticky from her moisture, teasing her clit with circular, slow motions.

"− here − fuck me here, sir −" She mumbled with difficulty in a voice trembling with exertion, her cheeks all red, the beautiful curls of her dark hair clinging to her sweaty face – he felt with satisfaction that her hips began to respond to his eager thrusts.

"− good girl − that's my good girl −" He breathed out with a quiet groan of pleasure, seeing and feeling her walls squeeze his fat cock at his praise – he licked his lips thinking that Alys had never responded to him the way she did, so frightened and aroused at the same time, relying only on his mercy, his goodwill.

"− you understand that this is necessary, don't you? − that you need to be taught a lesson −" He muttered, feeling that he was losing his temper, thrusting into her so fast that he was barely slipping out of her, slamming into her again and again, his cock throbbing with desire, signalling to him that his peak was coming, her wonderful scent filling his lungs.

"− y-yes − yes, I'm sorry −" She mumbled out –he wasn't sure if she was saying what he wanted to hear or if she really believed it herself for a second, but she clamped her eyelids shut and spread her mouth wide, helpless, girlish, sweet moan of relief burst from her throat as she came, sucking and squeezing his cock, soaking it in her moisture. He sighed in relief when, after a few desperate, deep slaps he spilled inside her, feeling the wave of hot pleasure shake his body.

"− fuck − oh, God, little one −" He muttered, their bodies involuntarily moving for a moment longer, wanting to prolong this surprisingly shocking experience, both of them panting embarrassingly loudly, her body trembling all over – if his arm hadn't been holding her around the waist she would have fallen for sure, her legs completely numb.

He looked down at their joined bodies, his half-hard, throbbing manhood sinking into her again and again, all sticky from his semen and her wetness.

He swallowed loudly, sliding out of her slowly, realising now what he had actually done to her – he heard her quiet hiss of discomfort and sigh of relief, her face flushed from exertion and tears.

"− are you all right? −" He asked in a trembling voice, quickly zipping up his trousers, her shaking hands slipping her underwear and shorts back onto her buttocks.

"− y-yes −" She mumbled in embarrassment, horror and disbelief, not looking at him, in some automatic gesture reaching for her trainers, putting them quickly on her feet.

"Come back on Thursday as we agreed before." He muttered, feeling the rapid pounding of his heart and the panic rising inside him, a complete void in his mind.

What had he done?

"I can assure you that you will never see me again." She whispered in a trembling, broken voice, quickly put her backpack on her back and walked out, slamming the door, leaving him with complete silence, remorse and horror.

He pressed his forehead against the wall, hiding his face in his hands, and burst into tears like a small child.

How could he treat a strange, innocent girl like this?

What if she didn't take her pills, what if she got pregnant?

How could he have been so irresponsible?

What if she really does report it to the police?

I'll destroy her, he thought with a bitter certainty that, after a moment, turned again into terror, regret and shame.

He grabbed his phone quickly and dialled her number, wanting to beg her forgiveness, but she didn't answer. He sat down on the couch and drew in the air loudly, devastated, not recognising himself, realising what kind of man he was.

He laughed desperately, shaking his head, thinking with painful amusement how well she had judged him.

He didn't even have to pretend.

He was like Frollo.

_____

Author's note: Many of you may believe that Quasimodo is the best and most worthy of imitation character, not Phoebus, and this is true when it comes to the book, but I assume that if anything, Daeron at this age has only seen a Disney fairy tale, in which Phoebus is a handsome man with a noble heart. The whole idea of this scene, in which the heroine says that he will be her Phoebus and she will be his Esmeralda, is that Daeron wants to see himself not only as a person with a disability, but as someone handsome, a warrior that a woman could love one day. It's easy to understand how children's minds work and why his works this way, and his "Esmeralda" only wants to help him become the person he wants to be and encourages him not to give up on these dreams and this self-image.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96

[two-white-butterflies]

peaches - am. targaryen

Description: Your father decided to marry you to the elusive, Aemond Targaryen. After a year of marriage, he still refuses to acknowledge your existence - that is until after Criston Cole becomes his son's teaching instructor. Cole isn't only interested in teaching your son. (MODERN AU) Rating: Mature 18+ (breast play, jealousy sex, desk sex, slight breeding kink, size kink, spit kink because it wouldn't be an aemond fic without it.)

There was nothing to love - no personality or show of appreciation. He kept to himself and expected you to do the same. "Aegon, please calm down." you mumble aware of Aemond's gaze from inside his office. "I wanna go swimming!" the child demands staring at the pool with his adorable purple eyes.

Aemond has shown no interest in helping you raise his son. He's there for parties and events - there when the child has a nightmare, but when it comes to Aegon's day-to-day activities - he's absent. You sigh. Aemond is a great father, but he's occupied with his work.

"We have to wait for the instructor, ñuha tresy." you smile, adjusting the skimpy swimsuit that you wore. It was revealing - it exaggerated the best parts of your body, while hiding the parts that you hated. Any husband wouldn't be able to keep his hands off you - but he was able to. Aemond has never touched you before - not even a strand of your hair. "Please, I won't go in the deep parts." he promised, jumping up and down with excitement.

A laugh escapes your lips, not trusting the little boy.

You lean down to his body - pushing a strand of his hair away from his face. "Have patience, little one." you answered firmly, prompting the boy to give you his best puppy eyes. You were about to allow him down the pool but someone clears their throat from behind you.

Criston Cole was staring at you - specifically your endowments. Your posture shifts as your body regains it's full height. He had that porno look in his eyes. The one that a man has before fucking a girl in a pornhub video. You didn't like it - you felt disgusted.

"Well, Mr. Cole will take care of you now." you walked to the side - gathering the robe on the daybed. You walk away from the pool - trusting the maids to supervise your step-son.

Completely unaware of Aemond's gaze.

He tried to focus on the mountains of paperwork on his desk - but he couldn't. His mind was elsewhere. He imagines you wearing that red swimsuit. The fucking swimsuit that you bought for him - the swimsuit that he should be the only one looking when you wore. He sees the way Criston Cole stares at you.

He places his pen down, opening his venetian blind slightly to watch his son learning to swim. You were standing there again - hovering over them with a blue-towel on your hands.

His son wasn't learning to swim - he was on top of a fucking floater while the instructor ogled at your breasts. His grip on his fountain pen tightens, spilling ink on his brand new pants.

He'll fucking gouge that man's eyes.

He reaches for his telephone, dialing his sister. "Helaena, are you there?" he pauses waiting for his sister's reply.

"Yeah?" she questioned.

"Can you escort Mr. Cole to his car? We won't be needing his services any longer." he commands, earning a snort from his older sister. "Is this because of his wandering eye?" she inquired, and he could hear the faint sound of someone slurping milkshake on the other line.

"If you have a problem with him staring at (your name)'s body, then you should fire all of your house-staff." she taunted, not telling the full truth - but also wanting to see how the situation would turn out. You were a pretty little thing - the eye-candy inside the Targaryen manor.

Everyone but Aemond seemed to be engrossed with you.

"What?" he interrogated, voice suddenly raising with anger. He could imagine all of his servants staring at you, watching you strut like a model on fashion-week.

"Fire Mr. Cole, right? I'm on it." she promised, ignoring his outburst and hanging up on him.

You were annoyed with everything.

Annoyed with Aegon singing his favorite nursery rhyme while underwater. Annoyed by your husband's lack of emotion and annoyed with Cole trying to talk to you.

Helaena comes to save you.

"Mr. Cole." she looks down with her sweet voice. "Yes?" he asked, pretending to hold little Aegon. "The maids have prepared your towels and the shower that you will be using. We do not need your lessons anymore." she announced and his face falls flat on the ground. "What? That's impossible - Aeg doesn't know how to swim yet." he defended but Helaena's thin-lipped smile proved that he wasn't doing shit.

"We can have that arranged, but as of the moment we have no need of you." the woman added, one of the maids held unto the boy while Criston emerged from the pool - mumbling strings of insults.

There were three rules before your marriage to him. One, don't do anything that would ruin his reputation. Two, remain loyal to him. And three, never go inside his rooms.

This was your first time stepping on the carpet that was outside his office door.

"Aemond." you call out.

The door opens automatically and you welcome yourself inside.

He doesn't stare at you - or even acknowledges your existence. He keeps on jotting down his notebook. "Did you have to fire Mr. Criston? I don't like him but Aegon adores him." you ask in a soft tone, careful to not offend him.

It was impossible to offend him - no matter how hard you tried, he always kept his cool.

"He's incompetent. There's no room for that in my household." he replies in a cold tone, continuing to sign a few bands of contracts. "I suppose," you look around the room - scanning around his decor. There were pictures of history around the walls - the beginning of industrialism and the decline of tradition.

He was a man of the arts - and you didn't know that.

You knew nothing about your husband. How fucking stupid.

" - and don't wear that swimsuit again." he added after a deep breath. Your eyebrows merged into each other. He wasn't going to tell you what you could and couldn't wear. "I beg your pardon?" you inquire.

He looks up from his paper - and unto you. The girl who was still wearing the said swimsuit.

"It's not appropriate." he asserted through gritted teeth. He couldn't understand why he was riled up at the thought of other man staring at you - and your round and perfect peaches. "What is appropriate to you? I cannot wear my pajamas around the pool." you responded in a brash manner, his eye widens at your show of rebellion.

"You can wear a bikini but not around men." he tried to reason, navigating himself around the labyrinth of his own reasoning. He didn't make sense. "Not around you, then?" you take a step forward, dominating over him in front of his desk.

He stands up, reaching for the collar of the bathrobe that you wore - he pulls your body closer, merging his lips with yours.

What is his is yours.

His money, his empire, even his son - but you were only his.

His to fuck. His to breed.

A moan escapes your mouth as you began climbing over the desk. Kneeling but you weren't able to reach his height. Your head only reached his eyebrows. "He was staring at you, huh?" he asked, slowly untangling the strings that held your top.

With a tug of a string, your breasts were revealed to him. Taut and bouncy, like he imagined them. His hands fondled your breasts, playing and teasing them. He lowers his head, sniffing your neck and placing a nipple inside of his mouth.

He was sucking you - like a newborn babe searching for milk.

"Aemond." you moaned, pulling his head closer.

His right hand trails down to your mound, teasing it through the cloth. "You are mine." he announced, pressing kisses on both of your breast - alternating between the two of them. "Yours." you replied, his hands untangling the string that held your bottom - letting it loose.

He frees himself from your grasp, reaching down to unbuckle his belt. He lowers his boxers - freeing his cock that stood tall and proud. Your eyes widened at his length - it was going to fit, but it was going to hurt.

You sit properly on his desk, legs wide open as you welcomed him. "Do it." you demanded earning an amused chuckle from the business magnate. He places a hand on your face - cupping your cheeks. He inserts a finger inside your mouth, allowing you to suck on it as his cock enters your hole.

It was pleasure - breath taking pleasure.

Your grip on his shoulder tightens, telling him to go deeper.

"Harder." you moaned.

He complies with your order, lifting your leg to reach the top of his elbows. "Fuck - shit." you cursed, entering a new realm of pleasure. There were stars in your eyes. You hold unto his shoulder, eyes gazing up to interlock with his.

His eye was beautiful.

It was a deep shade of lavender.

"Keep moaning and I'll cum." he threatened, pulling your body closer and rocking his desk. The paperwork was forgotten - all in favor of his beautiful girl. "Cum inside of me." you moaned again, feeling his length prod inside your cervix. "You want to give our son a sibling?" he chuckled darkly.

"Yes!" you moan. His cock was reaching places you didn't believe was possible.

You hear the desk rock loudly - like an earthquake. Your leg falls on his side, and he raises the other one over his shoulder - slightly tipping your body to be lying down. "Oh - Aemond!" you scream feeling otherworldly bliss.

His hands squeeze around your cheeks, staring at your face - mouth wide open with lust. "Who owns you?" he asks, squeezing it tightly. "You do!" you answer, and he smiles.

Rocking on a steady rhythm.

"Open your mouth, princess." he commands and you follow him, opening wider. He closes his mouth - gathering the spit on his tongue, releasing it on your mouth. "Swallow." he ordered and you obeyed him - the faint taste of whiskey lathering inside your mouth.

"I love you," you confess feeling a hot sensation in the bottom of your stomach. "I love you to, princess." he replies, merging your lips together as thick ropes of cum populate your ovaries.