̇ . ꒷ 🎉 AEMOND TARGARYEN

Ever since you and Aemond Targaryen met, it had been nothing but war. The two of you clashed like fire and ice, each encounter a battleground of sharp words and petty schemes. You would always find ways to humiliate each other, trading barbs and plotting minor victories, the hatred between you growing with every exchange. Yet, beneath the venom, something else simmered—something unspoken but undeniable.

His friends always leapt to his defense whenever his actions crossed the line. “He’s dealing with stuff at home,” they’d say, or “He’s got anger issues. Just let it go.” The excuses were endless, shielding him from consequences. Meanwhile, whispers spread through the school, rumors claiming that you and Aemond were secretly in love. You dismissed them as ridiculous. Yet, there were moments—fleeting, charged moments—when you wondered if they might hold a sliver of truth. But the idea of trusting him, of risking your heart, was something you couldn’t allow.

One night, one of your classmates decided to throw a party while his parents were away, inviting everyone at school. You had no particular interest in going but tagged along with your friends, bored and curious. The house was packed with music, laughter, and the smell of alcohol.

And, of course, there he was—Aemond Targaryen, holding court with his friends near the kitchen, a drink in hand. He leaned against the counter, exuding that effortless arrogance that grated on your nerves. When his eyes caught you entering the room, he scoffed, barely acknowledging you before turning back to his group. He ignored you for most of the night, and you were content to do the same.

That was until a guy—some acquaintance whose name you barely remembered—approached you and asked you to dance. On a whim, you accepted, deciding to test a theory that had been nagging at the back of your mind. Maybe you wanted to see if Aemond was as indifferent to you as he pretended to be.

As you moved to the music, your dance partner’s hands respectfully placed on your hips, you felt it—a burning gaze boring into you from across the room. You glanced over your shoulder and caught sight of Aemond. He stood frozen, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, his sharp jaw clenched as his eyes locked on you.

You turned away, ignoring the heat in his gaze, and leaned in closer to your partner, laughing at something he said. The tension across the room was palpable, and you could feel Aemond’s anger radiating like a storm about to break. Your heart pounded as you danced, not from your partner’s proximity but from the intensity of the moment.

When the song ended, your partner excused himself, melting back into the crowd. You barely had time to process his departure before you felt a firm hand on your arm. Startled, you turned to find Aemond standing before you, his face a mask of cool fury.

Without a word, he grabbed your wrist and dragged you through the house, weaving through the throng of partygoers. She barely managed to draw a breath before he acted, leaving her no room to argue or resist. His grip wasn’t painful, but it was unyielding, and he moved with purpose.

He pushed open the door to a nearby bathroom and practically shoved you inside, locking the door behind him with a decisive click.

You turned to face him, anger flaring, but before you could speak, he stepped closer, his tall frame towering over you. “Are you trying to make me jealous, princess?” His voice was low, edged with a mixture of amusement and something far darker. His tone dripped with sarcasm, but his eye betrayed the truth—it was burning with jealousy.

He scoffed, running a hand through his silver hair. “Don’t play coy with me,” he said, his voice dropping into a growl. “Why were you dancing with him?”