Summary: With Madame Sylvi indisposed on the evening Prince Aemond comes to visit, he requests someone different | Word Count: 1.7k~ | Warnings: sex work, smut, hair pulling, biting, titty sucking, darkish Aemond
A/N: saw ep 3 and felt silly 😁 not proofread an inch
“The Prince has asked for you.”
She could not help the wide-eyed look and the familiar flipping of her stomach, now feeling entirely different with the words that had come from her fellow woman’s lips. The Prince. Well, it could have meant either of them only weeks before, but no longer. They frequented this establishment quite often, as an upper-class brothel, with only the finest whores and service, it was only natural, and they had the coin to pay for it.
Suddenly, she felt quite cold in the sheer dress she had chosen that evening, doing very little to conceal the flesh that hid beneath, her nipples having formed peaks against the satin. What could she possibly say to that? There was no possibility of refusing.
“Very well,” she responded, knowing it was not her place to question. There was no question as to which now, it was most certainly the very same who frequented for the warm embrace and soothing voice of Madame Sylvi, who spent hours in her company and paid her a hefty price for it. For secrecy. But she knew just as well that the only reason Aemond had requested her instead, was because on this night, his usual appointment was indisposed.
Her heart raced as she slalomed through the scantily clad crowd, each step bringing her closer to the corner where the prince awaited. The halls were dimly lit, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows that danced along the walls, alongside those of curved figures, twisted with pleasure. She could hear the muted sounds of such from the other rooms, but they did little to quell the nervousness that gripped her.
When she reached the curtain, she paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady herself. The Prince. Aemond Targaryen. Known for his fierce demeanour and sharp intellect, he was not a man to be trifled with. Yet, beneath that cold exterior, she had heard whispers of a man burdened by the weight of his family.
Sliding the curtain across, met with the Prince, eyepatch already discarded and down only to his breeches, sat with cup in hand on the plush settee, his lone eye raising to her as she dipped for a curtsy. She felt her throat close at the sight of the sapphire, somewhat mirroring what was happening between her thighs.
"Madame Sylvi sends her apologies, my prince. She is unable to attend to you this evening."
Aemond's gaze lingered on her for a moment, and she felt her cheeks flush under his scrutiny. "I did not call for Sylvi tonight," he said finally, his tone giving nothing away. "I called for you."
Her lips parted to question. But she dare not let the words free. She was not one to ask about his intentions, a mere whore.
“Undress.”
The Prince’s eye never wavered as he watched, flesh revealed as she bared herself to him. He stood as if uncurling himself, finishing what was left in his cup before moving his hands to unlace his breeches, his head gesturing to the settee.
“Get on your hands and knees.”
His commanding tone made those flutters awaken once more. She had been employed at this establishment for so long, of course being naked and bared to an abundance of men was second nature. But there was something about the way he wanted her, the way it seemed not spurred by desire of any kind, but a need, like air, that ignited her nerves that she had not felt since her first few days in this line of work.
Still, bare arsed and exposed to a Prince, was a different matter entirely.
She felt his presence behind her, knowing he was naked as his thighs brushed against hers. He nudged her knees apart and pushed gently on her spine, encouraging her to arch her back. Though she could not see his face, the rippled design of the copper in front of her reflected enough for her to sense the detachment in his actions. So, she remained silent.
Prince Aemond guided himself to her centre, barely wet, and pushed his cockhead inside. He had barely breached her when his hands gripped the flesh of her buttocks, watching intently as his cock slowly slid deeper into her cunt, being swallowed by her body. She closed her eyes, the lack of preparation making the act more uncomfortable than pleasurable, but she hoped that with time, her arousal would ease the discomfort.
As Prince Aemond continued to push himself inside her, she focused on her breathing, trying to relax her body and ease the discomfort. The room was silent except for their breaths, the flickering candlelight casting shadows that danced on the walls. Each inch he gained felt like a stretch, a challenge to her body's readiness, but she bit her lip, determined to endure.
His hands, firm on her buttocks, began to knead her flesh, his grip alternating between gentle caresses and possessive squeezes. The friction built steadily, her body slowly acclimating to his presence. The initial pain started to fade, replaced by a growing warmth and the stirrings of pleasure.
Aemond moved with a deliberate pace, his thrusts measured and controlled. He seemed intent on watching every inch of his cock as it disappeared inside her, his breathing heavy and laboured. She could feel his intensity, the way he held back his own urges to maintain that slow, torturous rhythm.
Despite the initial discomfort, her arousal began to build. Her body responded to his movements, her inner walls slickening and accommodating his length with increasing ease. Soft moans escaped her lips, unbidden but honest, as pleasure began to mix with the remnants of pain.
Aemond's hands slid from her buttocks to her hips, pulling her back against him with each thrust. The new angle allowed him to go deeper, hitting spots inside her that sent jolts of pleasure through her body. Her fingers clenched the sheets beneath her, seeking some anchor as the sensations intensified.
He leaned forward, his breath hot against her ear. "Do you feel that?" he murmured, his voice husky and edged with restraint. "Do you feel how you take me in?"
"Yes, my prince," she gasped, her voice trembling with the effort to maintain composure. "I feel it."
Aemond's pace quickened slightly, his control slipping as his own desire took precedence. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, a rhythmic, primal music that spoke of need and release. Her moans grew louder, her body arching and pushing to meet his thrusts, seeking the pleasure that now consumed her.
With a sudden, possessive grip, Aemond's hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her neck. His lips found her skin, teeth grazing lightly before he bit down, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to claim. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine, her body responding with an involuntary clench around his cock.
He groaned against her neck, the sound vibrating through her. "Take me, all of me," he whispered, his voice filled with approval and satisfaction.
She surrendered to the sensations, her body melting into his as pleasure overwhelmed her. Every thrust, every touch, every whispered word from Aemond drove her closer to the edge. The discomfort was a distant memory now, replaced by a wave of ecstasy that built with each passing second. His movements so erratic, his stones clapped against her womanhood with every harsh push, slapping against her bud in a steady, unyielding rhythm.
The sensation pushed her over the edge, her own climax washing over her in a powerful, all-consuming wave. She cried out, her body convulsing around him, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. Finally, with a deep, guttural moan, Aemond drove himself to the hilt inside her once more, his body shuddering and then withdrawing quickly as he found his release and coated her buttocks and thighs with his pearly spend.
They stayed like that for a moment, both catching their breath, their bodies still joined. Slowly, Aemond released his grip on her hair and hips, his hands soothing over the marks he'd left. He pulled out of her velvety walls gently, leaving her feeling both spent and fulfilled.
She expected him to leave, to gather his clothes and slip away into the night, as most men often do with a flick of their coin into her lap. But instead, Aemond surprised her. He curled into her body, his head resting against her chest. His lips found her breast, mouthing at her skin with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity of their earlier encounter. His hand moved to her other breast, caressing it with a gentle, almost reverent touch.
She looked down at him, her fingers threading through his silver, moonlit hair. He seemed to take more pleasure in this simple intimacy than she did, as if seeking comfort rather than mere satisfaction. His eyes were closed, his breathing steadying as he continued to nuzzle her chest.
"I hate it," he murmured after a long silence, his voice muffled against her skin.
She blinked, unsure of his meaning. "Hate what, my prince?"
Aemond shifted slightly, his hand stilling on her breast. "Sometimes, I think Madame Sylvi just says anything to appease me. She tells me what she thinks I want to hear, not what she truly believes."
There was a bitterness in his tone that caught her off guard. "Why do you think that?" she asked softly, her thumb stroking the back of his neck.
Aemond's grip on her breast tightened slightly, and she felt a shiver of unease. His lips brushed against her nipple, then his teeth grazed it, sending a jolt through her body. "Because it's easier for her," he said, his voice lower, more dangerous. "Because I'm a prince, and she fears offending me."
She gasped softly at the sensation, the mix of pleasure and pain reminding her of the precarious balance between comfort and control. "But you deserve honesty, my prince," she managed to say, her voice trembling.
He bit down a little harder, enough to make her wince. "Do I?" he asked, his tone a warning. "Or do I deserve the truth, no matter how it feels?"
Her heart raced, the threat in his words unmistakable. "The truth, my prince," she whispered, trying to maintain her composure. "Always the truth."
Aemond's teeth released her nipple, his tongue soothing the sting. He looked up at her, his eye fierce and unyielding. The sapphire lodged in the other piercing and dark.
"Good," he said, his voice a soft growl. "Because I have no patience for lies, no matter how pretty they are."
General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blackswxnn @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch
-ˋˏ| summary: Failing the class just for one point, and you ask Michael Gavey his help to pass the exam. Tutoring isn't his strenght, neither is yours.
✧ | Pairing: Michael Gavey x reader
✧ | word count: 2.8k
✧ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, public masturbation (m receiving), humilliation, Michael is a virgin and he doesn't last long.
It was practically a tradition that Mr. Bynes posted the results of the class in the (most important) headboard in the whole university, and people practically crowded around the single paper sheet searching for their grades and to see if they were at risk of failing the course entirely. If so, they had to do the mandatory exam which was by no means friendly.
He isn’t as worried as people around him, trying to make his way in the crowd to see the paper. He had to awkwardly pass through some people crying over it before he could see the paper.
He approved it all. He expected it, of course, since he always participated and was one of the few who understood something the professor said. Sure, he didn’t have straight 100%, but nothing lower than 80%, which was really good upon seeing some people had more than one 0.
It was a relief, but again, expected. He shrugs and goes on with his life as he walks away, thinking of going to his dorm and annotating his grades to later on calculate his final average score.
“Michael! Michael Gavey” a voice calls him, as he sets his feet on the grass. He turns around, seeing you walking closer to him, as quickly as you could.
“Ehm… yes” he says, awkwardly, looking at you.
You shared calculus and some other classes, and you were good. Not bright, exceptional or anything, but good. And you were so much better at other things, more social and bold things he doesn’t dare to do.
“Hi… how did you do?” You ask, slightly out of breath as you try to be polite.
“Ehm… fine, I guess” he doesn’t get why you talk to him now.
“You passed?” You ask tentatively. “I… I saw your grades, and it was awesome, really impressive…” You hesitate before adding “I am sorry, I know… it’s weird, but… You were like one of the few people who actually passed.”
Michael shrugs. as he nods. “I guess so.”
“And you see…” You say taking his arm to interlock it with hers, as you and your friends did when walking together. It was so womanly, he felt weird. Or maybe everyone did it and he didn’t know…? “I had good grades, I did well in that essay that everyone hated… But I had one test in which I got 40%, because I transferred badly one of the gross numbers, and before you ask, I did calculate it… But since I transferred it wrong, the final value was wrong”
“Ah…” he says, not sure what to say “That sucks”
It didn’t suck. To him, it was like a stupid mistake easily avoidable.
“Well, I was one point away from pass the course, and I explained this to the professor but… didn’t listen, you know him, he said that one point is missing, so I have to give the exam, and I need like 20%, but still..., and now I desperately come to you to beg you to please help me and tutor me” she says, as she turns to look at him.
He blinks. He didn’t do tutorings on his free time. He did them for extra money, for credits or whatever reason.
“Please Mikey!” You say, grabbing his hands. “Please please please, I only needed one more point to pass the class, I know about the subject, and it was a silly mistake. You don't even have to teach me from zero, only... go over the things we studied and that... please!”
He isn’t willing to do this. He doesn’t want to do this, yet he is weak. After all, he is a man. And he isn’t blind, you are pretty. Like out-of-his-league pretty. And you are prettier closer.
“Fine…”
You lean to kiss his cheek with a smile, and you nod. “It’s a date then. Tomorrow in the library? Could it be at four?”
He blinks a few times, trying to process the whole thing. He was supposed to finish the semester quickly, and… now he is caught up trying to teach you so you don’t fail a course, all because his mind betrays him.
So, he tries to do the whole ordeal as smoothly and quickly as possible. He doesn’t want to do this but whatever. At least you are not dumb on the matter, you know something. He has heard some of the answers you give in the classes, and they weren’t as bad as one would hope.
He’s sitting at one of the study desks, right beside a large shelf, and the library was with a few other students, concentrated in their own thing. He brought his notes with him, even if it was illegible. He tries not to be impatient, as he checks the clock on his wrist.
“Sorry for being late, I– I got caught in something and…” You say, and you were breathing a bit heavily.
“No big deal…” he stutters, as his gaze darts down to your blouse. Logically, since summer was getting closer and closer, you wouldn’t be wearing a sweater, but he didn’t expect… Well, he didn’t know what he expected.
Why was he being so weak around you?
“Sit, I have my notes to show you…” He says, and so you take a seat by his side as you curiously lean to check his notes. Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly, he was very neat in his handwriting, even if they looked like the handwriting of someone in the 1700s.
You are not such a bad learner, and he was rather enjoying teaching you after some time. You actually heard him, as he explained in depth how to have the correct answer for all, as he tries to address everything. You asked good questions, and pointed at the mistakes he had given you, to see if you could identify them in an exercise.
As close as you were, Michael could smell how your perfume was nice. It smelled sweet, but not so much that he would like to throw up. Besides, everytime you stared at him, he could feel a bit uneasy, since he got a bit nervous. Your gaze was deep, and he didn’t know what it meant.
Clearing his throat, he writes a new problem for you to solve. He had done a lot when studying, so he copied one of his. He hopes that focusing on the study will help him to distract himself from the weird feelings around you.
“Here, try this one” he says, handing the notebook to you. It is complex, but doable.
He manages to explain really well, as he gets into the theme and all. You do the work, and slide it over for him to check it.
“You have a girlfriend, Mikey?” You ask softly.
He looks at you, before turning back to check the answer. “Eh… no” he mutters, trying not to be ashamed.
You were actually great, you are very tidy when unfolding the exercise and actually took in his advice, he can see it. Yet, you make the same mistake, you took the gross value as the final one.
He made a circle, and he was ready to explain.
“He-Oh” he gasps, feeling your hand on his thigh. He was frozen.
Maybe it fell onto it. Maybe it was by mistake, it was surely by mistake, there was no way it was intentional. And surely it was a mistake how you caressed his inner thigh so… slowly.
“Oh, did I get it wrong?” You ask, looking at him as if you didn’t have your hand at his thigh.
He felt his head doing a short circuit, as if trying to understand what this meant. Was he imagining things? He surely must be.
“Y-Yes, here… here you took the gross value…” he mutters pathetically, he was confused, he didn’t know what was happening. He wasn’t complaining, at all, but what does that mean?
What did it mean that you had your hand on his thigh? Surely, it was something… reasonable.
“I’ll re-do it” you say, taking the notebook. And you didn’t take your hand away.
He was frozen. This can't be happening. He's supposed to be helping you with your studies, not... not whatever this is. And yet, his body is betraying him, his skin tingling under your touch, his pants beginning to feel uncomfortably tight.
He grips on the edge of the table, looking at the ceiling of the library. Suddenly, he is very aware of his surroundings, looking around as if everyone knew that your hand was sliding up as you did the exercise. Women surely can multitask…
“Eh, well, now… we can use the formula… you-you know it” he says, his throat feeling dry as he tries not to whimper.
“Yeah, yeah. Like the rosary.” You say with a confident nod.
“Yeah… so, what’s the next step?” He prompts you, as your hand is higher and higher, and he is starting to lose his mind.
“Replace the values, a… with this, and b…” your hand brushes higher and he lets out a little whimper, thinking you were about to stroke his cock… yet it doesn’t happen. It’s a pathetic sound he emits, and he gets red after it. “With this…”
He sees you replace the values, rewriting the formula, ready to be used.
“Right?” You ask, with one of your sweet smiles as if you didn’t know what was happening.
“Eh, yeah… yeah, that…” he says, trying not to sound that pleased, even if he starts to feel the arousal pool on his stomach.
He starts to feel himself straining against his pants. It was painfully arousing, and he tried to play it cool. He didn’t want for you to notice, as you caressed his inner thigh.
“I… I need a break” he says suddenly, looking at you.
You look at him a bit pouty even, as he grips on the edge of the seat trying to breathe in and breathe out. “But I am learning” you say to him “I really am”
You were driving him insane. He didn’t even know if he should address the elephant in the room. Maybe he’ll say something about it, and you’ll stop, be disgusted and leave.
But he tries to keep inside his whimpers, since the library was the worst place ever to do this. Everyone quiet and it’s open for anyone to see.
“I think… I..” He hesitates, falling to being able to finish a sentence. He moans softly, feeling your hand brush against his notorious erection, and he can’t bear it anymore. “Ah, please…”
Michael was blushing, embarrassed of it all as he tries not to move his hips to follow the touch of your hand, since it isn’t where he really needs. How could he be so weak? His cock wasn’t even being touched now, but he felt so dizzy already. Maybe it was because, okay, he had never been with anyone else, but it was… embarrassingly little time to be so… needy.
When he feels your hand on the tent of his pants, he whimpers, the sound too loud and filthy that his left hand goes instantly to his mouth, covering it to mute himself before he does another embarrassing thing that gives them away.
“Y-You.. You have to stop” Michael murmurs, the words muffled against his palm as he looks at you, glasses sliding through his nose slightly. He was so flustered, he looked cute.
“Why?” You ask in a pout, not wanting to.
“I can’t– I need…” He tries to say, to make a coherent thought as your hand moves to follow the shape of his erection. It sends shivers on his spine and he practically melts on the seat as his eyes are rolled back in pleasure. How could it feel so good? “I… I… We can’t…”
He seems so confused with his own thoughts. “We can…” You murmur, looking around as nobody was actually watching them. “If you really want me to stop… I’ll stop”
Michael doesn’t want you to stop. He really didn’t. But he didn’t want to get caught, it would be embarrassing.
“We are in public” he says, his eyes searching yours.
“Yes, I know” you say, not stopping the strokes on his cock above his clothes “But look at how much you like it”
He’s already made a small, wet patch at the front of his pants. Oh, god, he thinks. He looked away, it felt embarrassing, his face feeling hotter as embarrassment creeped into his gut alongside pleasure.
He liked it, but he was trembling with a mixture of emotions, and he didn’t know what to think. He was so close too…
“Please…” He begs senselessly, he doesn’t even know why he is begging. “I don’t wanna make a mess…”
Your hand touches him with the clothes in between, but the fabric of his light brown pants was thin, and it felt almost delicious. He would hump your hand if you two weren’t in a library.
“You are making a mess…” You coax him softly, as he tenses his shoulder and falls slightly against yours, as his body was trembling with arousal.
“I don’t wanna stain my pants” He murmurs embarrassed, in a little voice as he feels his balls tighten up as your hand insists on the head of his cock, stroking it through the fabric.
“It’s hot” you murmur back to him, and your hand is on the wet patch “And when you cum, I’ll feel it here”
He can’t form a proper sentence as he feels you hand caressing his dick, he felt the wetness on the tip of his cock, and even if it was so unlike him, he found himself so aroused. He is on the verge of cumming on his pants, just from the touch of a woman. Damn, you aren’t even touching his cock directly.
He felt like a teen, needy and so hormonal. He wasn’t like this fromages ago, and he finds himself leaning on you, his forehead against your shoulder as he whimpers softly, his hips searching your touch as he is close.
The thought of cumming in his pants, making a mess was both humiliating and arousing, as his body tense with each stroke. “I can't… i… I'm going to…”
His hand goes to cover his own mouth as he reaches his peak, a strangled moan coming from his throat and his hand muffles the whimpers he lets out. He can feel his cock spurting cum into his underwear and trousers. He doesn’t want to call attention, but he cums so hard, his body basically slumps back in his seat as he feels his balls tighten with each rope of cum that his cock leaks.
You are awfully quiet afterwards, moving your hand away as you clean it and he tries to gain his breath, feeling dizzy already and so pleased. He wants to hide his face in shame, and the other wants to beg you to do it again.
“I’m sorry” he murmurs.
“Don’t be” you whisper back to him, looking at his wet spot on his crotch. “To me, it was amazing. You definitely made one of my fantasies come true”
He blushes, he feels very self conscious all of the sudden, and he makes sure no one in the library paid attention to them and what they were doing. He moves slightly as if trying to cover up the wet patch on his jeans.
“You enjoyed it?” You ask him, not pushing him too hard.
“Yeah…” He admits, slightly embarrassed but also very much pleased.
You look at the forgotten notebooks, and then to him, as he accommodates on the seat and moves his hair slightly as if that would make him go unnoticed by everyone else.
“If it is worth anything, your tutoring did help me tons” you say, taking your notebooks together to save them in your pack.
He is glad that he could help. Maybe this was your way of repaying? He couldn’t know or decipher it. He takes his things and saves them up in his bag as well. He wanted to go to his dorm and take a shower, and put on pajamas and think about this.
“I’m not great with words…” He starts, his tone hesitant but trying to overcome it. “But… Thank you. I really… Hm. It was cool”
You smirk, nodding slightly as you appreciate his words.
“A bit riské” you tease him playfully.
“Yeah…” he chuckles softly, scratching the back of his neck. “I am a mess”
As he adjust the glasses on his nose, you hum, “Well, nobody really cares but you and me”
“I can’t believe we did… that… in here…” He mumbles, dumb founded. “And I was… so… I completely lost it…”
“Do girls usually make you… lose it?” you ask in a whisper. “Or do you last longer, and I happen to have magical hands?”
He blushes to the blunt question, looking anywhere but to your face as he avoids answering. “Well, um…” he doesn’t want to admit his lack of any experiences with girls “Girls don’t…. touch me like that” he says in a whisper. “So I can’t say…”
You didn’t judge, looking at him, and you nodded.
“Well, next time we’ll see”
Next time. He looks at you with eyes slightly wide, as he tries not to stutter his words. “Next time?”
“Obviously” You say smiling to him. “If I pass the exam, we are doing it without the pants” You say smugly “And… more”
He was so lucky you missed one point to pass the course.
Summary: Michael and his girlfriend are spending Christmas with Michael's family. One morning, when they both just want to enjoy their togetherness, they are both rudely interrupted by somone who what not fucking invited.
Word count: 904
Author's note: Somehow I seem to have an urge to let Ewan's characters get caught.
She doesn't know what she thought Michael's family would be like, but definitely not so... normal.
His father was quite a successful builder. His mother was a hearty housewife. His older brother was training to be a car mechanic and the family dachshund, Baloo, had hip problems.
It had been strange when she first entered the house. He had invited her round for Christmas. He said it was because he wouldn't have a single lively conversation otherwise. But he seemed slightly nervous, when he introduced her to his mother.
A warm, slightly chubby woman who almost broke her back the first time she hugged her. Just like his father crushed her fingers, when he shook her hand.
It was all unexpectedly unremarkable. Most of the time the two of them withdrew and spent a few quiet hours together, but somehow his brother always found a way to interrupt them both.
Whether they were discussing their last lecture, gossiping about fellow students or just sitting together in silence. He found them.
Michael always looked more annoyed than the time before. Siblinglove didn't even seem to spare geniuses.
Only in the morning did they really had their peace from him. He was a late riser and therefore no danger until about eleven o'clock.
They were both still lying under thick down on chistmas day. The sun was just about to stretch over the horizon. She looked at his face. Relaxed. His eyes closed. His glasses were on the bedside table. His hair was tousled. Only his thumb, lazily tracing circles on her hip under the blanket, revealed that he was already awake.
She bit her lip. It had been quite a while. The pre-Christmas stress and preparations for the final tests for the semester had kept them both apart. And nothing had really happened since they'd been here.
But his thumb on her skin made her sigh silently.
She pushed herself even closer to him. With a mischievous grin, she put one leg over his hips and pulled herself as close to his body as possible.
His eyes fluttered open and looked at her questioningly. With a grin, she slipped the pantys off her legs and simply threw them away. Michael's eyes showed her, that he understood.
His gaze flitted briefly to the bedroom door, but then he too pulled his pyjamas and shorts out of the way. They caressed each other lazily. Kissed without haste. He slipped his hands under the sweatshirt he had once 'lent' her. They cheered each other on quietly and then he sliped into her.
Under the protection and warmth of the blanket, they gave themselves to each other.
She knew he liked this kind of sex. There was something meditative about it. It calmed his otherwise restless mind.
She ran her nails lightly over his back under his shirt. He buried his face in his-her sweatshirt. The world was perfect.
Until the door opened.
"Get up already. There are presents.", his brother whined.
They both looked at him, perplexed.
"You're 24! Can't you wait until after breakfast like any normal person?"
"No!"
"Get out of my room!"
His brother leaned against the doorframe. She realised in that moment all too well, that Michael was still inside her. Involuntarily, her centre tightened at the thought. Michael's breath hitched.
"Am I interrupting something?", his brother grinned.
"Always.", Michael bit out. His hips jerked forwards slightly.
"Then come down." He said sweetly and disappeared. The door still completely open.
Michael took a deep breath. "Fuck.", he whispered. "You like that.", he simply stated. There was no question to be found.
My hips twitched slightly at the thought of the open door.
"It's surprising us both.", she whispered.
Michael picked up his rhythm again. Faster than before, but his hips only moved minimally to minimise the rustling of the blanket.
She buried her hands in his hair. Moved towards him just as quickly. His thumb found its way between her and onto her bundle of nerves.
The knot inside her tightened. Her nails clawed into his shirt and then she fell. With her head buried against his chest, she jerked haphazardly and pulled him into the abyss with her.
They lay there, slightly out of breath. Still entwined. He buried his face in her hair. She savoured the soft, washed-out fabric of his T-shirt on her cheek.
They made no attempt to break away. They both enjoyed the feeling of still being connected. They both let themselves drift with the cosy lightness.
"Are you coming for breakfast? Your brother is driving me crazy.", they both heard Mrs. Gavey's cheerful voice.
"Yes Mum.", Michael said far too quickly and watched tensely as his mother disappeared down the corridor again.
He jumped up frantically, completely ignoring the fact that he was half naked, and quickly slammed the door shut.
"Fuck.", he whispered.
She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. "Sorry.", she whispered back.
He just shook his head. "We'd better get dressed or my dad will be standing here too."
She smirked, but fished for her knickers and reached for her toiletry bag. She planted a quick kiss on his lips and wanted to leave to the bathroom, but he stoped her by the upper arm.
"Don't think we're not repeating this in the library.", he clarified.
She smiled, but her stomach fluttered excitedly at the thought.
Hi there! I am a novice fanfic writer who just got back into writing after a decade long hiatus, and currently focused on Aemond Targaryen from House of the Dragon. I have plans to eventually explore other characters once I get the inspiration.
Inbox/ask box is open, I am always open to new ideas :)
summary: The accident happened. There was no miracle or anyone to save Billy. No one was willing to let him go no matter what he has done in this life. Especially his past-lover that was very dear to him.
There was almost nothing left of him.
No one wants to know what was left of him.
“In loving memory of Billy Washington.”
The words sat heavy on the page—on the pamphlet they’d handed out at the door. I stared at them, but even days after the announcementThere was nothing left of him to see, like as if his death was…
The church smelled of lilies and old wood. He hated going to church. I could still hear him, mouth full of leftover sandwiches, muttering “Church is crap.” The wind would always toss his sandy blonde hair around, and I’d wipe ketchup from the corners of his mouth. “I’m not a baby,” he’d say.
The thought almost made me smile. Almost.
I didn’t want to sit in the front. That was for his mum, his brother, the uniformed officers with medals on their chest and clenched jaws. People who had still mattered to him at the end.
I sat near the back. Third pew from the door. Close enough to hear the priest’s words, far enough that no one would ask me what we were to each other. Somehow some of them still knew and said their condolences to me. I would only nod and smile— or thank them for coming. Some even thought I was still a big part of his life.
People got up to speak. Lana, his parents, some childhood friend who called him “Billy-boy” and made the room chuckle through their tears. I didn't go up. What would I even say? That we fought towards the end of their relationship? Never mending the bonds? That I was the reason why he died? How the last words they said was how much we hated each other?
That he died without knowing I forgave him?
I couldn’t even feel anything. Not properly. Sadness, anger, denial, heartbreak—maybe all at once. It just pressed down on me like fog.
I rubbed my bare face with both hands, trying to keep myself together. Then I felt it. Cold metal against skin.
The ring he once gave me—just a silver band from a Camden market stall—dug into my finger like punishment. “It’s nothing much— hey! it fits just right!” That specific memory flooded my brain. “I’ll get you a fancier one once I get a better job.” He added with a crooked smile.
A smile I could never forget.
Now the ring means more than any gold or diamond in the world. It was all I had left of him.
As they carried the coffin past us, draped in the Union Jack. Honoring him. He would love it, I thought. But I didn’t dare to look up.
I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.
Instead I prayed.
I loved him. God help me, I still did.
“The funeral’s over, sweetheart.”
Lana’s voice echoed softly through the now-empty church. They were stacking chairs near the back. I looked up. I hadn’t even realized I’d moved—I was now sitting on the steps just outside the main doors. The cold wind bit through my jacket. “I…of course..I lost track of time-.”
“It’s alright,” she said. “Ya should’ve told me you were gonna stay a bit longer.”
Lana sat down beside me.
Like old friends would.
She has always been kind to me. Even after everything.
I kept my eyes on her as she let out a sigh, arms folded against the cold. “He talked about you,” she said, after a moment. “More than you’d think.”
That’s when the lump in my throat returned. I looked straight ahead, avoiding her gaze. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” I didn’t even try to hide the bitterness in my tone. Lana hesitated, eyes on the ground.
“It mattered to him,” she said quietly. “Right up until the end.”
I flinched, just slightly. She didn’t mean it as a knife, but it landed like one. Right in the place I’d spent days trying to ignore—the guilt, coiled and festering just beneath my ribs.
I exhaled, slow and shaky.
“We-“
“I know-“
“No.”
I cut her off, voice breaking.
“I didn’t mean— I didn’t mean to. I was angry. He was angry.” My chest tightened. My throat burned. “He was supposed to lend me his car that day. We were fine, we’ve talked again a few days before- but we got into an argument that fucking day, and I screamed at him—”
I couldn’t even finish my sentence. All of my words dissolved into a sob. I crumpled forward, arms wrapping around myself like I could hold the grief in place.
It hurts. Like as if my body was experiencing grief. My head hurts, my chest hurts, I couldn’t breathe properly— I wanted to slam by body to the ground.
“I was the one who should’ve been in that car,” I gasped. “Not him.”
I couldn’t look at her.
I hugged myself tighter, as if it could keep me from falling apart completely.
“I didn’t mean to... Lana, I’m sorry—”My voice cracked under the weight of it.
“It’s all my fault.”
I couldn’t stop crying. Even after Lana moved closer. She didn’t speak right away. Just pulled me gently into her arms like she used to when we were younger—before the distance. Like when I used to cry to her whenever I had problems with Billy before we dated.
“Stop,” she said softly, steady but not unkind. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
“You both fought. That’s all. People fight. It doesn’t mean you put a bomb in the car.”
“But if we hadn’t argued—”
“He still would’ve taken the call,” she interrupted gently. “He still would’ve gotten in. That’s who he was. You know that.”
I didn’t respond. Still drowning in my own grief and sadness.
“You loved him,” she added. “He knew that. Even if you didn’t get to say it again, he knew.”
I wished I could believe her. Really, truly believe her.
“I just want him back,” I croaked out.
Lana gently pushed a few strands away from my face. “Me too, love. Me too.”
The key turned stiffly in the lock, like even the door wasn’t ready to let anyone in.
Lana stepped aside to let their parents go first—I followed, hesitating in the doorway like I was stepping into something sacred. Or haunted.
It was like as if time froze in there.
It smelled like him.
Laundry detergent, a hint of aftershave, and cigarettes or burnt toast maybe, or the lingering memory of Sunday mornings that no longer existed. No one spoke for a moment. We just stood there, surrounded by the life he left behind.
His trainers were still by the door.
His jacket was still slung over the back of the couch. Everything untouched. Like as if he never left. Like as if he’s currently on a trip with his lads to London— or overseas.
I didn’t know what I was supposed to touch. What I was allowed to. I was quite surprised when they asked me to help them clean the place up. Not his so-called current girlfriend, Becky.
Am I allowed to touch his clothes? His computer? His guitar?
I walked to the shelf by the window. His books were still there—dog-eared thrillers, a beat-up copy of 1984 he pretended to read more than he actually did.
Silly Billy, I’d call him.
I smiled as I picked it up. As I did, the lights in the hallway flickered—just once. A soft buzz. Then silence.
I turned, but no one else seemed to notice. Just faulty wiring, perhaps. It was an old flat. But still.
I set the book down and walked toward the desk.
Everything was the same.
His keys are still in the tray. A wrinkled parking ticket tucked under a coaster.
I walked towards his bedroom.
It was still a mess.
A family picture shattered on the floor, his guitar untouched. An empty can of beer on his gaming desk. His unmade bed.
A hint of nostalgia as I remember restless nights with him in this bed. Happy days whenever I throw dirty laundry at his face. Watching him gaming as I drift of to sleep. It all felt so familiar. Through this journey of grief, how could I fully let him go?
Touch his stuff to take them away forever? Like as if he never existed?
The curtain moved slightly—no breeze, no window open. Just a flutter, soft and almost curious.
I turned.
Nothing.
But still… I felt it.
A presence. Not threatening. Not even sad. Just... watching.
Lana’s voice suddenly called for me gently from the hallway.
I blinked, startled.
“Yeah?”
“You alright, dear?”
I stared at the curtain a moment longer.
“Yeah,” I lied. “Just... taking a minute.”
She didn’t press.
Later that afternoon, as the sun sets and turned the sky into a warm orange color, Lana zipped up the last suitcase from his bedroom.
“We’ll take the rest in the morning,” she said, brushing her hair back with a tired hand. “There’s no rush.”
Billy’s mum was sitting quietly on the sofa, holding one of his old hoodies in her lap like smoothing it out again and again like she was trying to memorize the feel of him.
His dad stood near the window, arms folded. Watching the street. He hadn’t cried once—not where we could see. But I saw his knuckles whitening around the curtain edge.
“I could stay here,” I said suddenly.
Lana looked up.
“What?”
I cleared my throat, already regretting how impulsive it sounded. “Just… for a few days. I can finish sorting through the smaller stuff. You know, go through the mail, take care of the fridge, help with the laundry runs. Might be easier to keep it moving without too many people coming and going.”
Lana glanced at her parents. “You all have enough to deal with,” I added.
Billy’s dad turned then. Studied me. “You sure?” Lana asked. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” I said too quickly.
There was a beat of silence.
Billy’s mum finally looked up at me. Her eyes were red, but steady. “He always said you looked after him better than we ever could.”
“I think he’d want you here.”
She glanced down at the hoodie. “He was messy. He was always messy, but you knew how to find the order in it.”
Billy’s dad gave a faint nod. Not quite approval, but permission.
He stepped forward and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out the keys. The worn silver one still had the little Arsenal keychain Billy had found hilarious because his dad didn’t even like football. But Billy adored football. “You don’t have to do everything,” he said, placing the keys in my hand. “Just… be here. For as long as you need.”
The keys were cold in my palm. But his hand on mine was warm. Rough.
It said more than words ever could.
“Thank you,” I said firmly and appreciatively.
Billy’s mum stood slowly and walked to me. Without a word, she pulled me into a hug. “Take care of our boy’s place. Let it feel like home for a little while longer.”
The echo of the front door closing behind them felt final — like they’d sealed me in with his ghost.
I stood in the middle of the living room, jacket still on, the ring of keys cold and heavy in my hand. The same space we had fought in. Laughed in. Kissed in. Fallen apart in.
The apartment was quiet.
Too quiet.
But I wanted it to be quiet.
I just wanted it to be me and his place. The kitchen light hummed softly. A leftover mug still sat on the counter with the faint outline of a tea stain at the bottom. I didn’t move it. Not yet.
Night time came. I was just done showering and putting on my pajamas. It was a quite impulsive decision but, I was planning to stay here for a week if I do manage to pack most of his things up. I got up and moved slowly, brushing the wall as if it might steady my steps. The door creaked open.
His bed was unmade.
I left it unmade.
We managed to sweep the floors and placed everything back in place yet I simply left the bed and his gaming chair unmade. Like as if I was waiting for him to come back after a lazy day.
Pillows piled like he left in a rush. A crumpled t-shirt still lying across the sheets. A bottle of deodorant tipped over on the nightstand, like it had been knocked off mid-morning. I sat on the edge of the bed, one hand tracing the dent in the mattress where he used to sleep.
I looked around.
Nothing has changed, physically.
But he was gone.
He’s gone.
Billy’s gone.
My Billy.
One tear.
Then another.
I could only hear my own sobs echoing through the empty apartment — his apartment — hoping I’d feel his arms around me like he used to. Whispering little nothings, soft promises only I ever heard.
I let myself collapse into the bed, clutching the blanket.
It still smelled like him.
It wasn’t fair.
I just wanted him back.
I miss him.
So much.
“Come back,” I choked out. “I just want you back.” Burying my face to the mattress. “I’m sorry…I just miss you- Billy I-,” I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
The curtain moved. I didn’t notice.
“I didn’t mean what I said.”
The light flickered. I didn’t notice.
“I miss you,” I confessed desperately. Tracing the empty space next to me. Trying to memorize how it felt like having him next to me.
And I swore—
The blanket shifted. Just slightly.
Like someone had laid it gently across my back.
So subtle, I might’ve imagined it.
But it felt… right. Familiar.
The way he used to touch me.
The way he rubbed my back when I cried.
The way he’d hold my hand in the dark and say, “I’ve got you.”
That very same feeling.
I rolled onto my back. Staring at the ceiling.
I let out a scoff, wiping my tears away.
“I’m going crazy.”
I didn’t even dare eat breakfast at the kitchen table.
Instead, I sat on the floor, legs crossed on the cold tiles, as I poked at the reheated chicken with a plastic fork. The silence was deafening. The scent of floor cleaner still lingered faintly — lemon and something synthetic.
Most of his clothes were boxed up now. His dishes had been washed, dried, and tucked back into their drawers. His world, once messy and loud and lived-in, was slowly being stripped down into something clinical.
Manageable.
I stabbed a piece of chicken, watching it tumble off the fork.
What would happen to all of it, once I was done?
Would his parents keep it?
Sell it?
Donate it to people who never knew him?
I sighed and leaned back against the wall, head tilted up, eyes unfocused. I looked over to the coffee table. A silly picture he kept of the both of us.
It was a picture Lana took of us on Christmas day. He looked handsome in it. But he poorly chose the frame.
Silly Billy.
I placed down my plate and head over to the picture.
“It’s leaning. It’s annoying. Just let me fix it,” he would say. A chuckle came out from me as my fingers reached for the frame. I straightened it slightly, out of habit more than anything. Just like he would’ve.
As I stepped back — click.
The hallway light flickered.
Once.
Then again.
My smile vanished.
I stood still, listening.
The apartment was quiet.
Too quiet.
But not empty.
My chest rose, then fell. I swallowed hard.
Then I whispered into the air. The words only a mad man would say;
“…You’re still here, aren’t you?”
No answer.
But in that moment, I could feel it.
A soft shift in the air, like something brushing past my shoulder. Not cold. Not warm. Just… familiar.
I turned back to the coffee table.
The photo frame was crooked again.
Not much. Just a fraction of a tilt. Just to annoy me.
I stared at it for a long moment. Not moving. Not breathing.
Then finally — a shaky breath, a smile tugging at my lips through the weight in my chest.
I left the photo as it was.
I didn’t want to disturb him. I wonder if he wants me to disturb him as I packed his stuff, placing them into boxes— sorting them out how he would like it, maybe?
While also letting his place breathe every single day. Letting the windows stay cracked open. Letting the dust settle slowly.
Not rushing.
While also making peace of his departure.
Sometimes I would try to talk to him?
For example using his favorite mug, misplacing his toothbrush on purpose. Sometimes I even talked to him. Silly things. Small things. Things I knew would’ve made him roll his eyes.
Can’t believe he’s haunting me.
Well, I mean…
I did ask him to.
It was one of those nights — tangled in bedsheets, skin warm against skin, breath mingling in the dark. “Please haunt me if you leave me behind,” I whispered to him as I traced his face. Trying to remember his face even by touch.
Billy chuckled softly, the unexpected request tugging at his heartstrings. He pulled me tighter, his arms strong and sturdy around me.
“You’re a damn weirdo, you know that?” he teased, his voice affectionate. “Just in case,” I pouted.
“But hell, if I gotta haunt you in our old age, you better believe I will. I’ll be the most annoying ghost you’ve ever seen.”
He always made me laugh.
“Please do,” I whispered back.
“I’ll be the ghost that keeps moving your keys just when you’re looking for them. The one who turns the lights on and off right when you’re nearly asleep. A real pain in your ass.”
“And the ghost who would hold me at night? Sit beside me as I sit on my wheelchair when I’m old?”
I recalled how his expression softened, the teasing note in his voice replaced by tenderness. “Of course, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hand gently caressing my cheek.
The sound of dragging furniture scraped against the silence.
We had spent the whole day lifting and wrapping. His dad grunted under the weight of the couch, while his mum wordlessly folded Billy’s old bedding into plastic bags. No one said much. The only thing that spoke was the sound of tape tearing, drawers opening, and the creak of old wood being disassembled.
I did what I could. Boxed the picture frames. Labeled the storage bins. Handed tools to his dad in silence. I kept busy because I had to — because standing still felt unbearable.
It was late afternoon when the last item left the room.
I stood in the middle of the living room, my palms dusty, sleeves rolled up to my elbows. His parents were by the front door, talking softly — something about the storage unit and when to drop the keys off.
But I couldn't hear them.
Because the flat was...empty.
No furniture. No mugs in the sink. No clothes flung over the arm of the sofa. Nothing but scuff marks on the floor and faint outlines on the walls where shelves once hung.
It echoed.
The space where his laugh used to fill the air — silent.
The corners where we once kissed, fought, forgave — hollow.
His absence was being packed away.
I knew it was time but, I just realized how painful it was.
I slowly walked across the floor, each step making the emptiness louder.
This wasn’t his apartment anymore.
It was just a place.
A shell.
Tears blurred my vision.
I sat down on the bare floor, in the exact spot his old rug used to be, the one we bought together on a stupid whim because he said it “felt soft as hell.” I pressed my hand against the wood, wishing I could feel something of him left behind.
“Are you mad at me?” My voice echoed through the empty space. I stood there, waiting for an answer. Anything!
There was no answer.
Just silence.
But then—
A flicker of warmth.
The air shifted, not cold, not sharp — but soft. Gentle. Like a hand hovering just above mine. Not touching, but close enough that my skin remembered what it used to feel like.
Then, a subtle breeze—one that didn’t come from any window or draft. It brushed against my hair like fingers threading through it, careful, slow. Like how he used to do when I couldn’t sleep.
“Honey? You coming?” His mother called out from outside. I looked around the empty unit for a moment. Reluctant to leave but— “I’m coming!” I said.
The keys felt different in my hand that day.
Lighter. Final.
Like they knew this was the last time they’d be passed from me to someone else.
Lana had texted me earlier.
“Mum and Dad are meeting the realtor Thursday morning. They’re selling the flat.”“Thought you might want to stop by before then.”
So I did.
The apartment was completely empty now — not just cleared out, but stripped bare. Even the curtains were gone, leaving the windows wide open to the grey afternoon. The walls, once lined with photos and posters, were blank. Patches of paint slightly lighter where frames had hung too long. A ghostly outline of a life.
I stepped inside slowly, keys dangling loosely between my fingers. My footsteps echoed more now. Everything echoed more now.
I stood in the middle of the room.
Tried to remember the sound of his laugh bouncing off these very walls.
The smell of burnt toast on lazy Sundays.
The click of his controller.
The way he’d call my name like it always meant something more than just syllables.
I stepped into the other room- once his bedroom. It looked smaller now, without the bed and shelves. The dent in the wall from when he once threw a pillow too hard during a fake argument — still there.
“I’m not going to ask you to haunt me anymore,” I said, quietly. “I think you already did enough of that. In your own way.”
There was no reply. No flicker. No wind.
Just peace.
Walked towards the door.
Paused once more at the threshold.
It felt silly, he’d mock me for it.
But I kissed the door.
“I’ll always miss you, I’ll carry you with me wherever I go,” I whispered gently as I looked down to our ring. “I’ll see you on the other side.”
And for once, the air felt lighter.
The bonds that once chained him down was set loose.
We were free.
The unit was no longer haunted.
The fog has lifted.
He’ll see me on the other side.
Billy chewed his gum, sliding into the driver’s seat with a grunt. He glanced at his phone. No messages.
Not from her.
He stared at her name sitting quietly in his contacts, thumb hovering.
She won’t pick up.
He knew that.
But still.
He tapped the mic and started recording a voice note
“Heya love, hope you got there safe. I know things didn’t end well back there— but I’m not mad. I get it, I suck. I shouldn’t have said all those stuff. I just don’t want,” he paused. “To lose you again, ya know?” He chuckled awkwardly. “I’m a piece of shit, aren’t I?”
A note to self.
“Ya know what? Let’s go to that sushi place you like. On me. I wanna talk and I wanna say sorry— properly. I’ll even break up with Becky if you asked me to,” he chuckled. “I’ll pick you up when you’re done with your shift, ‘kay? Love ya.”
And send-
Lana
Mate. I’m with Becky. She came to mine looking for you. Call me NOW.
Billy blinked.
“…Fucking hell.”
His thumb hovered again and exited the chat.
not delivered.
a/n: hey everyone, it’s me i’m back lol. I had a really bad writer’s block. I felt like everything I write is shit and I hate everything I write. I scratch everything I write so I’m so sorry for the lack of activity. But here’s a little treat for you. Something I wrote overnight hehe. Enjoy🫰🏻Thanks for reading💫
summary: new sensations envelop you when you are with Aemond, especially when you learn more details about his relationship with Alys and an unexpected news fills you with nerves.
word count: 6.6k
previous part • series masterlist
new chapter finally!
probably won't be as exciting as the other chapters, however...there is something here going on and I want you guys to figure it out in the comments and we'll see if you are catching what I am👀
the next chapter will be full of drama, believe me, so expect it to come very soon as I'm focusing on finishing writing this story without making new ones and considering I have no more fics pending, just this one🤗
now yes beautiful people, enjoy!
warnings: cursing, language, mentions of cheating.
The sound of birds in the distance reaches your ears.
Today the sky is cloudy, with no chance of rain, the temperature is pleasant and you are thankful that there are no intense sun rays burning your skin when you are outdoors.
You find yourself immersed in your physics homework, sitting on the bleachers of the sports field, where you can only hear the sound of the birds and also faintly the sound of the soccer team training.
You sit in tranquility, undisturbed and unobserved by anyone, when suddenly the sound of footsteps stepping on the metal bleachers pulls you out of your concentration.
You look up and see Aemond approaching, a small smile on his face. You return his greeting with a shy smile and make a small space beside you for him to take a seat.
Aemond plops down nonchalantly next to you, letting out a sigh, then curiously observes what you're doing on your lap.
"What are you doing?"
You deliberately ignore his question and instead, take a loose leaf you had tucked away among your folder, pick it up and hold it out to him, with a gentle yet expectant look.
Aemond takes it and frowns, reading what you've written on it, only getting more confused.
'Pride and Prejudice' by Jane Austen.
'Romeo and Juliet' by William Shakespeare.
"And what is this?"
"Have you already forgotten my conditions of the contract?" you tell him amused, "For every party I go with you to, you have to read one of my favorite books or watch one of my favorite movies or shows," you remind him, "So now, you have to pick one of these two of my favorite books."
Aemond rolls his eye with amusement.
"And why exactly do I have to pick one of these two? Don't they seem... repetitive and so usual?"
"That's what people always say, obviously they know these books by the title and their authors, but how many people actually read these books?" you look at him with your tone full of expectation, "I'm sure you haven't read either of them."
He shrugs indifferently, with his nonchalant air.
"So? There are movies," he says confused, "I haven't seen them either, but I know how they both end. In the end they both get married," he points to the title of 'Pride and Prejudice', "And here they both die together and their families stop being rivals," he points to 'Romeo and Juliet'.
You let out a small chuckle at his witty response, but you are not intimidated.
"Yes but there are a lot of things that in the movies they don't show, so... what will be your choice, Mr. Aemond?"
He lets out a laugh.
"Well, we'll see how this 'Romeo and Juliet' is," he decides.
"Perfect."
And when he least expects it, from your backpack you take the book, handing it to him with your clear satisfaction and he still confused but amused examines the book in his hands.
"Good, then give me the other one at once, because there's a new party on Saturday," he tells you, completely grabbing your attention.
You open your eyes wide and stare at him in disbelief and surprise.
"What? So soon?" you ask with clear irritation and disappointment in your look and tone.
"Why are you so disappointed? After all you come out on top too since I'm going to read two of your shitty boring books," he says as he raises them slightly in the air.
"My books aren't shitty and they aren't boring!" you exclaim indignantly giving him a gentle tap on the shoulder, "And it's okay, I just didn't think it would be so soon."
"We'll just go for a little while. Then we can both go get some dinner and I'll drop you off at your house early. Sound good?"
"Yeah, it's fine."
And as soon as you say that, you also hand him the second book with a good forced look, making Aemond laugh and take that book too.
"As much as I like seeing you with a wrinkled nose, take it off or it's going to stay that way," he says amused, crinkling it between his fingers briefly, making you laugh and you immediately move his hand away from your face.
Then he says goodbye to you, before getting up and heading off to his next class. And also not before telling you that he'll see you at lunch.
And as you watch him walk away, you tell yourself that these little interactions are part of pretending, since after all, the guys on the soccer team can see them clearly from this distance.
However, that slight fear returns to yourself that things may get more complicated than you expect.
Fortunately, the rest of the week goes smoothly, the teachers seem to be in a good mood and the homework is not heavy.
And you clearly continue to pretend along with Aemond.
Both he and you continue to act as usual, he is attentive and affectionate when you are together in full view of everyone at school. His gestures and looks full of complicity make you feel special, but at the same time remind you that it's all part of a game.
You also keep your word with Helaena, taking time to sit together for lunch at break time and occasionally Alysanne joins in as well, where you gradually start telling her about Cregan.
Until the day of the party arrives.
You tell your dad that you're going to a birthday celebration for a class friend, nothing big and everything quiet.
Then you opt for a pair of black pants, low-heeled ankle boots, a strappy blouse in a vibrant shade of cherry and a jacket to complement the outfit. And once you look in the mirror, you feel ready, although the nerves begin to settle in your stomach.
And of course, Aemond arrives promptly at your house.
His relaxed expression and smile greet you before you even get into the car. And driving to the party, the atmosphere is comfortable and calm.
And when you both arrive at the house where the party is, it's not a big, loud party like the previous one. But the atmosphere is full of energy, there is music, people dancing, drinks and cigarettes.
And you together with Aemond follow the same procedure to pretend to be a couple in love.
This time, you both decide to be more present with Aemond's friends. You sit between Trevor and Aemond, who immediately puts an arm around your shoulders, pulling you towards him, starting to make conversation with his friends.
And as always, he makes sure you're always included, just like during lunch in the cafeteria.
And while everyone is talking, the guys and Aemond make you laugh, feeling more and more comfortable with them. And as the night goes on, you realize how natural it feels to be next to Aemond, as if you fit perfectly into his world, at least for tonight.
When he at your side looks at you attentively and with some curiosity.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah," you nod nonchalantly, "Why?"
"Just asking," he shrugs, then lifts his hand and tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, "Can I get you something to drink?"
You shake your head.
"I don't want to drink beer or anything like that."
"Then a soda? Or water?"
You let out a small laugh.
"Okay, soda's fine."
"Alright. I'll be back soon," he says then leaves a soft kiss on your forehead and gets up to head towards the kitchen.
He leaves for a moment and you are left talking to his friends, who are a lot of fun and in fact, because of them and Aemond, you begin to understand lacrosse as such, since that's all they talk about, besides their nonsense.
And also about some of the girls they like.
And also in that small moment that Aemond leaves, as you briefly observe the party around you, you see Alys with her group of friends in another corner.
You just casually watch them, you don't plan to give them any attention, but just as your eyes watch Alys, she watches you back.
And you are struck by how she says something to her friends with a smirk of superiority without taking her eyes off you and then everyone in her group watches you and laughs too.
You snort as you look away, as if you really care.
Aemond returns with your soda and only a glass of beer for himself, resuming conversation with both you and his friends, having a good time together.
Time passes and you feel the need to go to the bathroom, so you leave your now empty glass on the small table in the center.
"I'm going to go to the bathroom," you announce, catching his attention, starting to stretch a bit to get up.
"Do you want me to come with you?" he asks you thoughtfully, "I mean, wait for you outside."
"No need, don't worry. I'll be back soon," you assure him, standing up.
"Okay," he nods at you with a small smile.
With a nod, you walk away towards the second floor bathroom, where you'll mostly take a moment to recharge your batteries before heading back to the party.
Luckily the bathroom is empty and you do everything you need to do without pressure.
Then you take a deep breath, allow yourself a brief moment of calm before returning to the party, wash your hands and mentally go over how you should behave around Aemond in front of everyone.
As you exit the bathroom, just down the hall, you notice Alys' presence in the area near the stairs.
You think about just ignoring her and walking past her, but when her eyes watch you, as if she is waiting for you, a mischievous smile curves her lips and she turns fully towards you, giving you her full attention.
"What do we have here," she mutters sarcastically, moving towards you while holding a red plastic cup in her hand.
You watch her completely unconcerned and walk past her, as you don't plan on dealing with her right now or ever.
"How does it feel to be Aemond's new pet?" she asks with a mocking laugh, planting herself in front of you, stopping your steps, "Or did you just think you could replace me so easily?"
Your heart begins to pound in your chest, but you stand your ground, reminding yourself that you will not let his words affect you, as his expression is filled with disdain.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," you reply calmly, trying not to give her the pleasure of seeing you affected by her comments.
She glares at you, before a sly smile spreads across her face.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she says with false sympathy, "I really thought you knew."
You frown.
"He's always done this, ever since we started dating," she says, "When we'd break up, he'd date the first girl in front of him as a pathetic attempt to replace me and make me jealous, so you're not the first and won't be the last, sweetie," she tells you with a fake pout, feigning pity for you.
You fix your gaze on Alys, feeling a mixture of anger and frustration coursing through your body. Who does she think she is to talk to you like that?
"I don't need your false sympathy," you reply with determination, your voice resonating louder than you expected, "What Aemond and I have has nothing to do with you."
Alys rolls her eyes in exasperation, as if your words are irrelevant to her.
"Oh, please," she replies dismissively, "Don't lie to yourself. He's always been like that, he's just looking to distract himself and you're just the last in line," she points out to you irrelevantly, "When we broke up, he was crying like a baby for me, begging me to get back together."
Your heart clenches at her words, with a surge of emotions surging through your chest.
For a moment, doubt takes hold of you.
Did Aemond really do that? Was he so affected by their breakup?
You tell yourself that maybe if he hadn't, he would never have asked you to do this. But this was mostly so that Alys would stop making a fool of him at school by cheating on him, not to get his attention and make her jealous... right?
"I'm not surprised you don't know," she continues to tell you dismissively, "But do you really think he loves you? Please," she snorts derisively, "He'll dump you in a few weeks when I give him the slightest hope because he's still crazy about me," she says superiorly, "Look at you and look at me. I know what he's into and that's definitely not you, especially you."
You try to ignore the stinging pain and keep your composure, clenching your jaw.
"I don't care what happened between you," you reply bravely, even if your voice shakes a little, "Ours is different."
She lets out a mocking laugh.
"Oh you poor little thing, you're so naive."
"If that's all, thank you so much for that vital information for my life," you tell her just as mockingly, walking past her, determined to leave her behind.
But just as you pass by her side, Alys moves along with you and purposefully slams your shoulder and arm with brutality, causing the beer in her hand to spill in a dull motion onto your chest and clothes.
The cold, sticky liquid slides down your blouse and pants, leaving you drenched and shocked by the suddenness of the moment.
You feel the liquid soak through your clothes and a shiver runs down your back. And you look down, watching in disbelief as the drink spreads through your clothes.
Then you look back at Alys, who has a mocking, amused look on her face.
"Oh, gosh, how clumsy of me," Alys scoffs, her tone of voice full of fake concern, "I'm really sorry, it was an accident."
You take a deep breath to contain your frustration, but her words spark a small spark of anger inside you. How can she be so brazen?
"An accident?" you repeat, disbelief in your voice as you stare at her with a frown.
Alys just smiles mischievously, enjoying your discomfort and what she just did to you.
"Enjoy the party, honey. But first, maybe you should clean yourself up," she says before turning away, leaving you soaking wet and clearly feeling very proud.
You don't even know what to do, feeling this way leaves you paralyzed for a moment, until you finally make your way back to the bathroom.
At the sink you further wet your clothes with water, which looks worse, but at least you won't stink of beer.
Drops of beer also splashed into your hair, so you wipe that off as well, feeling the humiliation wash over you and you don't even know exactly why.
But you do.
You look down at your ruined booties too, soaked from the front with beer and water.
The skin on your chest and collarbone feels chuckling from the beer, so you wipe it off too, when suddenly, there's a knock on the door.
"One moment!" you exclaim grumpily, still cleaning yourself.
"Y/N?"
You hear Aemond's worried voice outside.
"Fuck," you curse in a whisper.
"Are you okay?"
You bite the inside of your cheek and let out a long breath, already having the idea that you won't be able to hide this from him.
You were only supposed to come to the bathroom and you've already been late, of course he must have sensed something was wrong and come looking for you.
You leave the wet towel in the sink and open the door, where Aemond instantly notices you and opens his eye wide, seeing your clothes and some of your soaked hair.
"What happened?" he asks worriedly, moving quickly towards you, examining you.
You struggle to keep your composure, but can't, a bad mood overcomes you and you make your displeasure clear.
"Alys threw her drink on me," you finally say, stepping aside to let him go into the bathroom with you, reaching back for the damp towel to clean your skin.
Surprise crosses your face before it morphs into an expression of restrained fury and disbelief.
"What?"
You hiss, looking in the mirror at yourself as you wipe your sticky skin.
"Did she say something to you?" he asks, his voice serious but full of concern.
You let out a gesture of disbelief.
"She said things many things," you say seriously, not watching him for a moment, trying to dry your hair with the towel.
Aemond frowns, clearly annoyed.
He walks over to you and takes the towel from your hands, stopping your attempt to dry your hair. His gaze meets yours through the mirror, searching for answers.
"What things did dhe say?"
You sigh, feeling the weight of the situation on your shoulders.
"It doesn't matter, she just said bullshit," you reply evasively, looking away.
Aemond watches your face, urgently wanting you to look him in the eye, but you don't, you avoid his gaze and are obviously annoyed with the situation, which he doesn't blame you for.
He's annoyed too, because he knew he should have been near you to protect you if Alys is in the same place as the two of you.
He sighs in frustration, feeling the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, watching your soaked clothes and how you continue to clean yourself.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs sincerely, his voice full of regret, "You shouldn't have gone through this. She's totally out of her mind."
You remain silent for a moment, fighting the emotions that threaten to overwhelm you. As he looks at you with anguish and regret for not protecting you from Alys' comments and actions.
"It's not your fault," you finally say in a serious voice, still not looking at him, then set the damp towel down on the sink and inhale softly, "Can you take me home?"
Aemond nods, feeling guilty.
"Sure," he murmurs, "But first... you can put on my jacket," he says as he starts to take it off, "I'll be waiting outside."
He takes it off and gently hands it to you, his hand brushing against yours with a gesture of tenderness.
"Thanks," you murmur.
He exits the bathroom, closes the door and you remove your blouse and soaked jacket, leaving your bra down and immediately wrap his jacket around you, zipping it up almost to your throat.
With your clothes in your hands, you walk out of the bathroom and Aemond watches you silently, attentive and concerned, with a sadness and frustration in his eye that he can't hide.
He hates your distance.
A few moments ago the two of you were having a good time and now that Alys has done this... he hates that you are apart from him.
You both return to the party and Aemond doesn't even say goodbye to his friends, thinking he'll text them later, grabbing your shoulder and walking out of the house with you.
Together, you walk to his car in silence, where he doesn't dare to say a single word to you and you don't really want to talk either.
And all the way to your house, that nagging feeling doesn't leave your system.
But is it specifically because Alys spilled her drink on you or is it the interesting information she shared with you about Aemond?
You don't.
But you do.
Aemond tried to talk to you about what happened but you wouldn't let him.
You feel it's something you shouldn't make a big deal about. After all, he and you are not really 'dating'. So before he dropped you off at your house, you just reassured him that everything was fine and nothing more.
Now it's your father who drops you off at school on this day and you head towards your locker, immersed for a moment in thought.
You carelessly take your backpack off your shoulders to open it at the same time you open your locker, but as you do so, a polaroid falls to the floor.
You frown and bend down to pick it up, confused, since it's not yours.
And as you look at it, your heart begins to beat too hard in your chest as you see a picture of Aemond and Alys as if at a school dance or a party, both of them hugging.
But that's not what catches your attention, what does is seeing how there's is a picture of your face overlaid over where Alys' face should be, indicating just that, her replacement, a second place or temporary substitute.
But the thing about you and Aemond is not real.
So... why are you so affected by something you know isn't real?
It's a question that haunts your mind as you struggle to maintain your composure, beginning to tremble and feel your breathing heavy.
You swallow hard and press your lips together, when just then, you hear it...the giggles.
You raise your gaze and in the distance, you see Alys with her friends watching in your direction and laughing, clearly mocking you.
Although your relationship with Aemond is fake, the pain you feel at this moment is real.
And before you can react, Aemond's voice is suddenly heard.
"Hey, I was—
You turn your head towards him instantly and your eyes meet his, but his words hang in the air the moment he sees what you hold in your hands.
His soft expression slowly transforms from confusion to fury as he sees the picture. His whole face hardens completely and he purses his lips.
And sure enough, it's a matter of him realizing what's happening, as he hears Alys and her friends' laughter and looks in their direction, hardening his gaze even more.
"Aemond—
You try to speak but he instantly walks over to where Alys is standing without saying a word to you, taking the picture from your hands.
Your heart beats harder, opening your eyes wide and you want to walk towards him, to stop him, but somehow, you are paralyzed and you don't know exactly why.
Tension begins to feel in the air and you feel like your heart will burst out of your chest at any moment.
Aemond arrives in front of Alys with a determined look, his jaw tense and his fists clenched at his side. Instead of shouting, however, his voice is firm and controlled.
"From now on, I don't ever want to see you keep bothering my girlfriend with your fucking little girl pranks again, do you understand me?" he says angrily to then throw the photo at her.
The photo hits her face lightly and Alys looks up at him, surprised by the sudden intensity of his voice and his movements.
Instead of showing fear, however, her face hardens with an expression of disdain and disbelief.
"Oh, look who thinks he's the hero," she replies with her cynical smile, trying to hide her discomfort behind her façade of superiority, "I didn't know you had to protect your little girlfriend, Aemond. And come on, we were just joking."
Aemond clenches his fists, his jaw tense with frustration. But he continues to maintain his composure, his eye fixed on hers with determination.
"Oh yeah? You were just joking?" he repeats, "And the party thing on Saturday was a fucking joke too?"
Her face tenses slightly at the mention of the party, her smile fading momentarily before her regains his composure.
"That was an accident—
"Yeah, right. Everything to you is an accident, something you didn't meant to do, something that got out of hand. How could I not know about that, right? It's always the same fucking story with you."
She purses her lips.
"Who the fuck do you think you are to talk to me like that—
"Leave me and my girlfriend alone," he tells her slowly and clearly, "I'm not going to tell you again and I don't want to know that you're doing your shitty jokes again," he warns her, making it clear with his tone that he's not willing to tolerate her childish games anymore.
Alys recoils slightly at the annoyance and determination in his voice, her confidence waning slightly.
And before she can say anything else, Aemond turns and walks back along with you.
The students around you are still fully attentive to the confrontation, shocked and delighted by the drama, while you watch Aemond in awe of the way he has defended you.
"Come on," he murmurs to you in a softer, gentler way, closing your locker door and taking your hand, leading you with him away from the watchful eyes.
After what happened, he takes you with him to a nearby empty classroom and once inside, he gently closes the door behind him and turns to look at you, his expression attentive and full of concern.
He doesn't say anything right away and you just bite the inside of your cheek and lower your gaze, not knowing exactly what to say or what to do.
Until he exhales deeply, releasing the tension built up in his shoulders.
"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice soft and comforting as he watches you intently.
You nod slightly, though your hands still tremble slightly.
"I'm fine," you reply, trying to sound unconcerned.
He sighs, tearing his gaze away from yours for a moment.
"I'm so sorry. I-I didn't... I didn't expect something like this to happen. And she..." he runs a hand across his forehead in frustration, "It's not fair for you to be dealing with this."
"You have nothing to apologize for, Aemond," you tell him softly and sincerely, "But thank you for standing up for me."
He sighs.
"And you don't have to thank me, Y/N. It was the least I could do. But I promise you this is the last time something like this happens."
"You can't control what Alys does or doesn't do."
He exhales again.
"I know, but we never agreed that you would go through these bad times in the contract."
"Hey," you take a step towards him, your gaze soft as you see the frustration and worry on his face, starting to get upset, "Aemond," you call his name in a calm manner, "It's okay. I'm fine. Yes, the party thing and today was difficult but..." you shrug, "I'm fine. It's nothing I can't handle."
Still the worry doesn't leave his face.
"Are you sure? At the party you were upset and I don't blame you, but I don't want this to affect between us. You were distant and now...
His words float in the air and you try to place a small, comforting smile in his direction, though it appears more of a grimace.
"We're fine," you assure him softly.
His gaze reflects a mixture of relief, watching you without another word, then briefly glancing around.
And then an idea seems to cross his mind and he watches you again, attentive.
"What do you say we skip this first class?"
"What?" you immediately inquire.
"I know you don't like skipping classes but just one missed class isn't going to hurt you."
You frown.
"And what do you want to do?"
He shrugs.
"Just talk."
You bite your lower lip, hesitant.
But it's only enough to see the look on Aemond's face and his posture, utterly determined and solely waiting for you, that you finally let out a resigned sigh and nod.
Soon the two of you are sitting in the bleachers, with almost no one around, just the cheerleading squad training in the corner of the huge soccer and lacrosse field.
The atmosphere is quiet and you like that, just like the last time you were here and he chose the book of 'Romeo and Juliet' to read.
And once both of you are silent, just looking around and feeling each other's presence, Aemond decides to speak.
"What did Alys say to you at that party?"
He dares in asking, his gaze searching yours with a mixture of curiosity and concern, while you remain silent for a moment, not expecting that he would try to bring up the subject again.
And inevitably Alys' words echo in your mind, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.
And you don't understand why.
You don't understand why you feel this unpleasant sensation when you remember her words.
"Well, she wasn't very nice..." you're silent for a moment, "Actually she wasn't at all but..." you lick your lips and avert your gaze from him, focusing on the lacrosse field, "She called me... your new pet, a new pathetic attempt to replace her."
He frowns, his gaze hardening as he hears your words, incredulous and annoyed. And he doesn't need to say anything, his face speaks for itself.
"She said you did that all the time when you both broke up... you know," you clear your throat, "Going out with other girls to make her jealous so she'd come back to you. That I was just a distraction and that pretty soon you'd drop me the moment she gave you the slightest hope of getting back together."
His lips tighten into a line, closing his eye for a moment and shaking his head, still intent on your words. And you prepare to say the next thing more softly and tactfully.
"She also said that you cried to her and begged her to come back this last time you both broke up."
He snorts, more incredulous than ever.
"Of course she said that."
And before he can speak further, you feel the need to clarify your behavior a bit.
"I always acted with her as if we were a real couple," you clarify, "I wasn't bothered by what she said," what a fucking lie, "What bothered me was her talking to me that way and throwing her drink on me."
"No, no, it's okay, I understand that," he assures you instantly, in a soft voice, "But everything she said to you is not true."
You watch him with your parted lips, slightly surprised and beginning to feel your heart knot.
"It isn't?"
"No," he says more firmly, incredulous, "It's true that I begged her to get back together, but that was a while ago, practically in the beginning of our relationship when it was fun for her to break up and come back," he explains to you, serious and honest with his words, "I was crazy about her, I even grew to love her and gave her all of me. But I was just a fucking child experiencing his first love... and that wasn't enough for her."
His confession takes your breath away for a moment, revealing a vulnerability you didn't expect, watching his serious and frustrated face clearly from what happened at the party and an hour ago at your locker.
You have no idea what to say, not wanting to minimize his feelings from that time nor now by saying the wrong thing.
"It's also not true that I was dating other girls to make her jealous to get her to come back to me, I-I..." he shakes his head, "I've never been like that. And you're certainly no distraction or... my new pet," he says with distaste.
You let out a long breath.
"I'm sorry," you say softly, "She said it in a way that made me believe her. I don't know what I was thinking," you say sincerely, "And I'm also sorry she made you feel that way," you mumble, feeling a lump in your throat.
"Don't worry, it's okay," he says softly, with a bitter little smile and his gaze lowered.
He shakes his head regretfully, as if he's remembering a past he'd rather forget and you feel guilty.
"It's just..." he starts to say, "Why would I want to go back to her if she cheated on me?" he asks incredulously, "She was the one who cried and begged to get back together this last time. And you know why? Because I found her fucking that guy in her car after she told me she was feeling sick and didn't feel like seeing me or going out with me."
Fuck.
His words echo in your mind, bringing with them a wave of sadness and empathy, definitely not expecting to hear that.
You never knew how it was that Alys cheated on Aemond, it only began to be said that it was with a college guy, but it was never said under what circumstances exactly she cheated on him.
You feel a sharp pang in your chest and suddenly feel outraged at what he had to endure, that she betrayed his trust in that horrible way.
How could she do that to him?
You don't have a heart made of stone to put a person through that.
You feel grateful that he shared this with you. It just shows you the level of trust you both have built. And you take a moment before you speak, trying to find the right words.
And the first thing you do is raise your hand and place it on top of his.
"I'm so sorry," you say softly, sincerely, "I'm so sorry you went through that. You didn't deserve it."
"You don't have to apologize, Y/N," he replies gently, accepting your touch, "None of it was your fault."
Then he sighs and you realize there's a weight to his words, a pain he's carried with him for some time.
"It's just... "he continues speaking, his voice heavy with mixed emotions, "Even if this thing between the two of us was real, why do this? Why tell these lies and want to hurt you with her cruel words and actions? Why won't she let me move on?"
You press your lips together and your heart clenches as you listen to his anguish.
"Maybe she's still in love with you," you mutter, trying to find a reason, "In her own twisted way."
He shakes his head, incredulous.
"This isn't love. It wasn't before and it isn't now. She just wants to have me eating out of the palm of her hand, like always."
His words are blunt and make you feel even more helpless about the situation.
And there's really nothing you can do, you can only be here for him, listen to him, support him in whatever he needs and be... his friend, like you've really been all this time, putting aside your facade of a girlfriend in love.
Right?
He lets out another sigh, this time heavier than the previous ones, and then leans against the metal of the bleachers behind you, leaning back.
You think he will let go of your hand, but he pulls you along with him, both of you close, shoulder to shoulder, both of you suddenly falling silent, saying nothing more, just staring at the horizon.
Until he speaks again.
"I don't want to think about it anymore," he says as he watches you and you look back at him almost instantly, feeling his thumb gently caress the back of your hand, sending a kind of electricity through your body.
And you propose the first thing that comes to mind.
"Do you want to listen to music until the next class starts?" you say in a soft voice and he nods immediately.
You take your headphones from your backpack, your phone and settle back down next to him, handing him an earphone and then you play your Spotify playlist with the songs you keep listening to lately.
You don't even know if he also likes the same style of music as you, but he doesn't complain or say anything to you the moment you start playing The 1997, Harry Styles, The Weeknd, Chase Atlantic, Cigarettes After Sex and Lana del Rey.
Until he closes his eyes and suddenly uses you as a pillow, dropping his head on your shoulder, immediately this catching your attention and feeling a strange sensation in your lower stomach.
Despite being surprised and feeling confused for a moment, you do absolutely nothing to push him away and after a moment of hesitation, you slowly drop your head on top of his as well.
He doesn't open his eye or say anything to you, he just settles in better and then you both get very still, continuing to listen to music.
And you can't help but wonder; are the two of you even pretending now?
You honestly don't know.
"We have a problem."
That's the first thing Aemond says to you on a Tuesday morning when he stops by to drive you to school.
Immediately this catches your attention and you look at him slightly concerned, closing the passenger seat door to the side of you and watch him completely attentively.
"What's wrong?"
"My mom knows about you."
Shit.
Your whole body tenses and you watch him with your eyes wide open in surprise.
"And of course, she wants to meet you."
Oh shit.
"B-but...
You try to speak, not finding the right words watching him confused, not understanding anything and Aemond helps you with that as soon as he sees your completely disbelieving and surprised face.
"Aegon told her," he lets you know, "The fucking cunt talked out of turn and before he knew it, I'd already told her everything."
Oh God.
"And what did she tell you?" you ask, feeling a knot in your stomach.
"She wants you to go to dinner Friday night."
He tells you in a soft voice and looking just as worried as you do, still trying to convey calm.
"I told her I'd talk to you about it, but..." he lets out a resigned sigh, "I know her. And she won't leave me alone until she meets you. She's really nice, I swear, she's the sweetest person and... I know we agreed not to involve families but I had nothing to do with this."
Your mind is spinning as you finish processing the information, feeling an unexpected uneasiness and anxiety.
The mere thought of meeting Aemond's mom already makes you feel nauseous from the same nerves. However, you empathize with him, as this wasn't something he planned and it was by third parties who think he and you are actually dating.
But still, you feel incredibly nervous and the day hasn't even come close.
"I get it," you mumble, trying to hide your nervousness, licking your lips, then looking at him hesitantly, "You want me to?"
Aemond averts his gaze from you, running a hand over his face, not knowing exactly what to say to you, as you wait for his thoughtful response.
Until he lets out a long breath and moves a little closer towards you, placing his hand on top of yours.
"I know this is a lot to ask, especially after we agreed not to do this," he tells you softly, "And my mother is insistent, I do want you to meet her, but... if you don't want to do it, it's totally fine with me," he assures you, "The least I want to do is pressure you into doing something you're not comfortable with."
His words comfort you a little, but you still feel the nervousness wash over you, as well as feel a slight pang of guilt.
You bite your lower lip, struggling with your own emotions and thoughts.
"It's just that I feel remorseful that I'm going to meet her and she's going to meet me when this isn't real," you say in a sad, worried tone.
"I know," he says with compression, holding his hand tighter with yours, "Me too but you won't have to do this again. I'll take care of it, I promise."
You let out a long breath you too, lowering your gaze to the clasped hands in your lap as you feel Aemond's attentive and concerned gaze on you.
"All right," you finally reply, "If it's important to you and your mother, I'll handle it."
"Are you sure? You can tell me no and I'll understand."
"No, don't worry," you assure him, "I will."
He smiles softly at you with gratitude, but also with a hint of concern in his eye.
"Thank you. I really appreciate it."
And despite your own misgivings, you return the small smile.
"It's okay, really. I just... need a little time to think."
