#spring shades | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arcielee · 2 years

Text

Hazy Shades of Spring

Summary: A professor runs into one of her students. Paring: Modern Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader Word Count: 3483 Warnings: Nothing too spicy, so please don’t report. ♥ There will be a part 2 though for the smut. Author's Note: This is for the poll you all voted for. I hope you enjoy and a huge thank you to @sapphire-writes for your read over/feedback, your modern Aemond has definitely set the bar (for me anyway). Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @sirenofavalon

It was the fourth walk-by from your waitress when you decided to request your bill and just accept that you, in fact, had been stood up.

You were single and freshly thirty and dating had seemingly become a monstrous thing to attempt. You kept your humor with dating apps, but you also held a mild regret that curled in your abdomen that you ended things with Cregan; as amicable a break-up as it was, you were beginning to believe that complacency might have been the best option.

Now you only had yourself to blame because you finally caved to the incessant needling of your colleague, Johanna Lannister, when she cornered you, again, and pressed her suggestion of a blind date with her husband’s brother.

“It’s his twin brother,” she added to her attempt to make her point. “So you know he’s handsome…”

Your nose involuntarily scrunched with her closing statement, but you decided to set aside your judgment and agreed to it, if anything to shut her up.

Numbers were exchanged and you texted back and forth a bit; he was amiable enough with some wit to him, though not enough to laugh out loud, but it was enough to agree to meet for dinner. The semester had ended and you had submitted your grades, allowing you several weeks of freedom before the spring semester would begin.

He suggested and seemed adamant about the new upscale restaurant that opened up downtown, which was an old theatre that had been purchased and repurposed for fine dining. When you arrived, its renovation was breathtaking: the inside arched upwards and there was a new mural of brilliant colors on the ceiling, with marble columns that led to a grand staircase and red carpeting that was a walkway over the polished floors.

You knew it would be ritzy and opted for a black, flitted dress that complimented your figure and cut off just above your knees, with tights that showed a definitive black seam centering the backside of your legs and a heel with a clasp. You removed your cardigan before you approached the hostess, checking your phone to see the text, running late, be there soon.

Your grip tightened on the phone, with a fleeting moment to retreat homeward but you had put effort into your look tonight and you ignored the call of comfort for a baggy shirt and sweats. Instead, you get a table and order a glass of red wine while you wait.

The time rolled away and your glass neared empty; you checked your phone to see that the courtesy text you sent to see if he was still alive had been left on read. It sends a bolt of vexation in your chest and you finish the wine; you were nettled by the inconsideration being shown by the damn Lannister twin.

An annoyed sigh leaves you and you can feel the pitied look of your waitress. “We do have a bar upstairs,” she offers with a small smile. “It isn’t as crowded as down here.”

Fuck it. You tip her well and decide to climb the grandiose staircase, to make most of your night out as well as escape the music and murmur of the dinner crowd. The lighting was not as harsh and you seated yourself at the end of the bar, ordering a second glass of wine and retrieving a small notepad you have tucked into your purse. “Do you have a pen?” You asked the bartender and he is polite enough to retrieve you one.

You allow the new scenery and your new muse, the feeling of absolute annoyance, to help create something for your editor; lost in your scribble and half a glass later, you are interrupted with a question.

“Professor?”

Your hand stilled on the glass stem, your grip so tight you would think it would crack under the pressure.

Living centrally downtown did mean you would often run into students, present and sometimes past. You knew you were not as old and dusty like some of the other professors, but you kept your reservation with social interactions, giving a tight smile when they acknowledged you and looked for a segue out of any pleasantries they attempted to exchange.

It wasn’t that you did not care for them, it’s just that you did not want to be reminded of your occupation outside of your working hours.

This voice was familiar, with a distinct, low hum from the chest.

Aemond Targaryen.

He was one of the top students at the university; he was never late with assignments, would always push for extra credit, and would meet any opinion with his own educated intellection, which often led to heated debates in business law.

In the beginning, you struggled with your prejudice when he entered your classroom; you noted his gait and composure, how he held himself with an eerie elegance as opposed to his brother and his frat boy persona. Aegon had been a handful, often showing up under the influence of something and once making a crude pass when he asked about extra credit.

You halted the attempt immediately and pushed him from your office; the thought of fraternizing with a student never crossed your mind.

That was until you had Aemond.

His family was known in King’s Landing, their family empire owning most of everything and their standing revered, with a hand in everything within city limits. Aegon only had passed your class, begrudgingly by you, due to the family’s repeated and generous donations to the university, though he hardly deserved the lowest grade you gave him.

It was why you were not surprised when Aemond followed the same academic route, as it was expected for him to get a business degree of some sort and contribute. He had a different drive than his brother, he was present and moved with a determination, some unforeseen drive that pushed him and it gave him an almost arrogant air.

The interactions you shared throughout the semester was a stark contrast to his stern demeanor; his voice was low and commanding, with a genuineness to his tone. He was never inappropriate and you found you actually enjoyed the interactions shared.

He is also so very handsome, you cannot help but admit to yourself, your cheeks flushed when you turned to see him standing and watching you.

Despite the scar that marred his face, a childhood accident was all he shared with you, his mien was still breathtaking. It was apparent he came from old money with the sapphire stone chosen to replace his missing eye and you could still see the gash that cut through from above his brow into the sharp contours of his face. His lips were curled, his head with a slight tilt as he peered at you. Tonight, he wore dark, fitted slacks and button up shirt, with a cashmere sweater and dress jacket. His silver chain peaked underneath his collar and his long, silver hair was not knotted back in his usual low, messy bun, but instead was draped over his broad shoulders.

“Oh, hello, Aemond, how nice to run into you,” you are quick to tuck the notepad back into your purse. “What brings you out tonight?”

He always had this damnable, perpetual smirk that played at his lips, like he is aware of the effect he has on you. Aemond moved to take the seat next to you and you notice how the bartender is quick to serve him a drink. “My father insisted I help my uncle with the grand opening,” he explained, touching the glass but not drinking it. “I am shadowing the ordeal.”

Of course they own this restaurant, your cheeks burning with the realization, but before you could excuse yourself, he instead asks, “You look lovely tonight. What brings you here?” He looks around, “Were you meeting with someone?”

You fidget with your glass, clearing your throat. “Um, I was supposed to meet for a date and…” you faltered on the lie prepared on your lips and instead admitted, “I was stood up.”

His expression is unreadable and he shrugs. “This seems to happen to the best of us,” and he finally lifts his glass to you. “Cheers to the best.”

You give a small smile and the cheers allow you to finish your drink. Aemond gestures for a refill, but you push to stand. “Thank you, but I should probably leave. You are a student, I’m your professor…”

“The semester is over,” his voice is low, his expression almost amused and you note how his eye takes in your form when you stand up. You pull your cardigan on, but it does little to cover your black dress and you burn from his steady gaze. “I’m hardly a student, except for a few filler courses this spring, but then I will be done. And besides, I already turned in my paper and you, actually, already submitted my grade.”

“Oh, did I?” Of course I fucking did.

Aemond hummed. “Yes, in fact. I appreciate the good score.”

The bartender rests the new glass in front of you and you lift it, “Well, it was well earned. And cheers, then, to the semester ending and good grades.”

The soft plink of glass and you see his perpetual smirk playing on his lips again. “You do look lovely tonight and I am obligated to be here. Enjoy your glass of wine and keep me company until it’s finished.”

Since you had not eaten and were on your third glass of wine, it makes you agreeable to accept his company; you know your cheeks are rosy as you are swept up into conversation with him. Aemond always had a wit that would make you laugh, or maybe it was the wine, but either way you found you were enjoying yourself.

With your third glass almost gone, your eyes catch sight of the cigarette case he placed on the bartop; the embossed design glinted under the lighting. “It’s a family insignia,” he explains, pushing it towards you.

You pick it up, your finger trailing the dragon design. “This is in the mural in the lobby,” you muss and he nods. There is a satisfying click when you open it and the waft of cinnamon reaches your nose, which crinkles with your smile. “Clove cigarettes?” You cannot help but giggle with the discovery.

He narrows his gaze on you, but his lips are still curled upwards as he leans over to take it from your hands. “It is my guilty pleasure, a treat when the semester ends,” he closes it.

“We all deserve a guilty pleasure,” you agree, your attention falling to the empty glass in front of you. “I will have to ask for one, though,” you gestured towards the case. “I feel I need to indulge just a bit more, on this night in particular.”

Aemond stands up and pulls your chair back, his hand offered to you so you can find your balance on your heels. You look up at him through your eyelashes and notice that even with your heel, he is taller still.

He is gentle to take your hand in his own, his other hand on your lower back to guide you as you weave through the few patrons and staff. You eventually slip through a threshold that leads out to a secluded balcony that is decorated with lights, giving a golden hue.

With the approach of spring, the night air is crisp and you wrap your arms around yourself and your thin cardigan. “Oh, this view,” you cannot help but smile, despite your shiver.

Aemond hums his agreement, pulling off his dress jacket and handing it to you. You try to decline, but he insists, “I run warm. It’s a family trait.”

You pull it on, engulfed in the fine fabric and his scent, a mixture of clean laundry with an expensive cologne. He walked towards the ornate balustrade that stems around the balcony and leaned his elbows on top; you followed him, the soft clicks of your heels on the stone and rested on his visible side, peering out towards King’s Landing.

He pulled out the case and retrieved a black clove cigarette, lighting it and passing it to you, smoke pouring from his smile as your fingertips touch to take it. The drag is a mixture of the best and worst feeling; you allow your exhale to snake over your features and lick your lips to taste the cinnamon on them. “I haven’t had one of these,” you blush again. “It has been a while, but thank you, this is just what I wanted.”

You watch him pull another and balance it between his lips. Wordless, you tuck yours into the corner of your mouth and place your hands to cup the flame as he lights it. With his exhale, he says, “Thank you.”

The silence allows a moment to enjoy the city bustle below, but the sound of him clearing his throat brings you back to the balcony. “What about you?” You tilt your head to look at him, your brow quirked and he clarifies, “I had answered your questions and shared about my interests outside of my degree, but what about you and your passions?”

You take another drag to mull over your reply. “Perhaps teaching is my passion,” you reply, your brow raised at him.

He hums a moment. “I don’t think so,” his voice is so low that you need to turn to hear him, facing him and leaning one elbow on the bannister. His brow is cocked and his perpetual smirk playing on his lips. “I saw passion when you were focused on your notebook earlier, you had a glow with your penning.” Aemond blows the smoke above his head, “You do not have that same expression with your lectures.”

You turn away and focus straight ahead, hoping the city lights would wash away the embarrassment that rushed to your cheeks. He makes almost an aha noise and steps closer towards you, peering at you. “I am correct about your passion outside of your teaching,” his tone is teasing.

“Well, yes,” your mind is buzzing from the wine, the cigarette amplifying it ever-so-slightly. He graduates after the spring, you reason and then decide to share, “I enjoy writing.”

This confession breaks the levy and your passion spills as you babble about your love for science fiction and how your interests were piqued by the classics like Ray Bradbury and Kurt Vonnegut, plus his pseudonym. Then you stop, your hand covering your mouth. “Sorry, I am rambling,” you blush again.

“It’s cute,” he encourages. “Please, continue.”

You sigh. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much else to add. Science fiction does not have the same audience it once did and it definitely isn’t what sells as far as digital books,” you finish with a grim smile. “What sells then?”

You focus your eyes on him and cannot stop the fit of giggles that spill from your lips; he peers at you, his cheeks dimpling with a pursed smile of his own. “Smut, mostly,” you confess and he chuckles. “It is all,” you wave your hand flippantly, “porn with plot and I happen to have a knack for it. Plus, I am very fond of the residual income from my sales,” you finish your cigarette.

“A knack for it?” His tone is still low and he flicks his own cigarette over the edge. “Like, the ability to incorporate it into any situation…?”

“I mean, within reason,” you are unable to hold his gaze, feeling almost childish in his large jacket, your fingertips playing with the button stance. “It depends on the ratio of porn to plot, really. It kind of comes down to a science with the method.”

“Oh?” He sounds amused and shifts himself, edging closer still, his gaze still locked on your face. “Enlighten me.”

“Well,” you hem for your words, your wine-addled brain unable to stop them from leaving your mouth. “Obviously, as a writer, you wish to set the scene for your reader, the build-up to the moment, but you also don’t want clutter it so much when they are obviously looking for one thing-”

Your words are stopped by the soft press of his lips to your own, his hands covering your hold on his jacket and bringing you against his chest. Your eyes widen for a moment before you relax against him, enjoying his taste, the mixture of clove cinnamon, smoke, and whatever whiskey he had at the bar.

His large hands move to your hips, pulling you closer with a soft squeeze and you moan into the kiss, your fingers curling around the back of his neck and tangling in his hair. Aemond presses against you and your back against the bannister; you can feel him through his dress slacks, your own body betraying you by the warmth pooling between your thighs.

“Wait, wait,” you break the kiss, your eyes wide again and looking him over.

The pupil of his eye is blown, almost black with his stare, and his lips curl upwards. “We should do this somewhere else,” he suggests, his tone velvet. “Take me home?”

You bite your bottom lip with your pregnant pause before nodding. You feel his finger curl beneath your chin, tilting your head to meet with his gaze. “I require verbal consent,” his tone still teasing you.

“Yes,” you say, your cheeks are red, and his usual stoic expression brightens slightly. He takes your hand into his and you follow, Aemond pulling his phone and texting, his grasp tight as he helps you down the stairs. You avoid the looks of the staff and follow him to exit the restaurant.

Out front is some black luxury car idling and Aemond moved to open the door for you, helping you seat yourself before closing the door and walking to the other side. Your eyes burn into the back of the driver’s seat, who turns and offers a smile, asking for your address before he closes the partition.

You can feel the shift in the back seat as Aemond sits next to you, his expression unreadable once again. A beat of silence follows as the car begins to drive and only then does your liquid courage take its hold. You reach to pull him towards you and his mouth finds yours. His lips are so soft, so warm against your own, his tongue moving into your mouth and yours meeting with his languid movements to continue to taste him.

He pulls you to straddle his lap, your dress bunching around your hips and his large palms are warm as they grab into the softness of your thighs, pulling you slow to grind against the growing bulge of his pants. A soft moan spills from your lips with the pressure and his mouth falls to your chest, his tongue following your clavicle and closing on the junction of your shoulder to your neck. You mewl when you feel his teeth bite into you, moving your hips against him which elicited a guttural groan from the back of his throat.

You had forgotten how much fun kissing could be, the intimacy of hands pawing with purpose and the soft pants from the passion. The car stops and when you realize it is parked in front of your apartment building; you break the kiss and fall into your seat, your hands moving to righten your skirt.

Another beat of silence follows and he finally says, “Is this your place?” His voice is gentle.

You nod your head yes, you mind whirring with what had unfolded this evening and your eyes falling to his hands; you watched his slender fingers slowly drum the leather seat between before moving to palm your hand, his thumb gentle to run the length of your knuckles and back. “Nothing more needs to happen,” he offered you an escape. “But could I ask for a kiss goodnight?”

Your eyes lock onto his, your tongue wetting your lips and leaning to find his mouth once more. His lips fit so perfect against your own, his tongue trailing your bottom lip with a soft nip before he pulls back.

You open the car door and climb out, hearing him shift in his seat to lean forward. “Goodnight, professor-”

But you turn on your heel, leaning over and well aware of your cleavage in this little black dress you wore tonight. “Aemond,” your eyes rest on his face, your cheeks growing warm once again. “Would you like to come up?”

With the familiar curl of his lips, he tells the driver to go home. He pulled himself from his seat and reached again for your hand. Your cheeks burn with the feeling of how your hand fits in his own and you lead him inside.

#hazy shades of spring #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x female!reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd fanfic #modern aemond #there will be a part 2 #for the smutty stuff #thanks for reading #♥

519 notes · View notes