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Chapter Text

You think you’re going to kill someone.

Today has been stressful, with the insurance claims piling up, and the congestion on the parkway did not improve your mood. You have road rage, you are pissed off, and you are going to get your goddamn Jamba Juice, come hell or high water.

You pull into the parking lot, and to your fury, it is packed. All the spaces from the Starbucks down to Gold’s Gym are occupied. You turn and hiss as someone honks at you.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it,” you wail, as you make your third round. Nobody is leaving.

Then finally, blessedly, you arrive on a Subaru backing out. You bang on your steering wheel as you see a Mercedes Benz creeping in.

No way. Not on your watch.

You swerve in with remarkable speed. You know you should feel bad, but the adrenaline coursing through your body simply makes you all the more ready for sugar.  

You get Aloha Pineapple with extra strawberries and are happily sipping and walking to your car when one of THEM shows up.

Oh god.

“’’Twas my spot,” Aemond Targaryen says, and he lifts up his jaw to look down on you. He only has one eye, and you don’t want to be a dick about it, but he does stare twice as hard with it.

The Targaryens are freaks, but super rich so they can get away with a shocking amount. They’re like a cult, and live in a weird compound and raise pitbulls. You even heard that they fuck each other.

 Last year two branches of the family split and had a ‘war’ with flamethrowers until the Fire Marshall and the Park service went apeshit.  Now they just walk around town glaring at each other and trying to drag everyone else into their weird feud.

They also look and talk like Lord of the Rings elves. You think it’s some Renn Fair thing, but the Eileen from Supercuts says the hair is 100% real.

“Sorry, bud,” you say, rolling your eyes as you pass. He bangs his hands on your minivan, pinning you in space. You slurp your juice nervously.

What a freak. Not bad looking though.

His voice is withering. “You think you can flit about the Stop n’ Shop center, after stealing my parking spot, at no cost?”

Fuck, you’re getting kind of turned on.

“You’re going to rue the day your father whelped you on a tavern whore.”

Your dad met your mom when she was working Applebee’s on wings night, so it’s not exactly wrong but not right either.

You shove him backwards, but he snatches your wrist. “My, you are Strong.”

Not this again. Everyone in town knows your stepdad adopted you, and your bio dad is Wayne Strong from Strong HVAC and Plumbing. The dude got around so there are lots of Strong kids in town, but Aemond is absolutely obsessed with them, probably because Wayne hooked up with his sister.

“What’s the matter?” He smirks and you notice his gaze run over your body. He’s unhinged as hell, but you’ve known worse.. “’Are you not strong? ‘Twas only a  compliment.” He hones in closer, and his breathes meets yours. You almost forget what a goddamn dork he is.

You lunge at him, faking him out, and he pulls back. His nostrils flare. “Come at me again, and I’ll feed you to my pit bull.”

You slurp, batting your lashes. “You mean the one that ate your nephew?”

He slams his hand against the van, but face goes pale as he stares into the distance, towards the TJ Maxx. “My father says that Targaryen control over their pit bulls is an illusion.”

“No shit,” you say. Those dogs are constantly escaping and pissing everywhere.

The kiss is hot and fast and comes as a surprise, mainly because the Aloha pineapple falls on your sandals and freezes your foot.

 “Damnit, Aemond,” you say. “That was $6.”

But you gasp as he nibbles on your neck as a family of five waits patiently in their SUV. You see them sigh, and leave, you know everyone and their mom will hear about this.

“I know with your Strong blood, you must support my sister’s claim.”

Because your dad fucked her? Now you’re just confused.

He grinds against you, your arm pins against the minivan, and his lean form feels good between your legs. “The pit bulls will bring this city to its knees. We can never be together, that much is clear.”

“Okaaay,” you say. His long fingers are sneaking up your tank top, and you don’t want him to stop, but you’re pretty sure that’s your eighth grade social studies teacher staring at you from across the lot.

“But I still intend to claim you, as mine.” His hand is slipping under your bra, and you whine and also worry the cops will show up. He hisses into your ear. “You enrage me. You break me. I will have your innocence.”

A bit late for that, buddy. “Cool,” you say. “Your place or mine?”

Chapter Text

This week was intense, a shitshow that ended in a screaming match with HR. You just went home and crashed last night, and you are so ready get some coffee.  But it’s not so much coffee you want, as decadence. Sugar, cream, pure lard, who cares, inject it into your veins. You scroll through Instagram, looking at custom drink ideas before you stride into Starbucks.

You’ve finally made it to the front of the line, when you realize.

It’s him.

Aemond Targaryen. You can’t imagine what crime he committed against his family that they made him get an actual job. Targaryens don’t work. They barely even speak to anyone outside their family besides a few weirdos they’ve inducted into their little cult.

He looks so miserable, pouting in his little cap and green apron that it’s hard not smile. His pin says ‘Almond,’ but Starbucks always gets your name wrong, so it doesn’t surprise you. And he’s still an extremely attractive man under the parade of red flags. You had a pretty hot make out session in the parking lot month, but he refused to take you home with him. You wince just thinking about it.

“I cannot take you to the Red Keep,” he had said, his voice nearly breaking. You didn’t know what that was but you supposed he meant the weird brick compound with massive walls his daddy built. “I cannot shame my mother so.”

“Harsh, man,” you whispered.

“But perhaps you would care to host me.  I will eat of your bread and salt under guest right, partake of your hospitality, and warm your bed. Only if you have proper accommodations for Vhagar, of course.”

Vhagar was a massive pit bull, famous in town for eating Aemond’s nephew in one of their little backyard battles. You liked nice, normal pit bulls but you didn’t exactly want a sleepover with that one had savored human flesh.

“Eh, I’ll pass,” you had said, wiggling out of his grasp. You were really horny but not like, drunk horny.

So it’s a bit awkward, but it’s not like he’s your ex or something.

“You!” he says, so loudly the other customers gape. He stares even harder than normal, if that’s possible.

“Ha! Yes, it’s me” you say with a tight smile, looking down at your Instagram. You just want to get your drink, and get out. “Ok, I’ll take a Venti Caramel Crunch Frappuccino.”

“Mmm,” he studies you, and wags his fingers over the cash register. You start to worry he’s never used one before. “Very well,” he says, looking up. “Though I admit myself surprised. I rather expected you would order a coffee. And ask for it-“

“Strong,”  you finish, and he seemed so absolutely deflated that you feel almost guilty. But now you think you know why he picked this job. “Ok, and I’m not done yet. I want that with coconut milk,” you add, “Not soy! I’m allergic.”

He hums, his lips pressing together. His finger lingers near the register.

“Ok, good,” you continue. “Extra ice, extra whipped cream-“

“’Tis passing strange,” he says, his violet eye pulsing.

“Huh?” you say.

“You ask me for soy milk, and yet you also seek whipped cream? Can you not see the contradiction?”

You narrow your eyes. “I said, extra whipped cream. Ahem, and extra caramel crunch, extra caramel drizzle-“ You frown. He is not typing out your order.

“Are you even getting this?”

You hear only hear a growl escape from his throat and the tip tapping of the register.

“2 pumps of hazelnut syrup,” you continue, counting off on your fingers. “2 chocolate, 2 cinnamon, double blended, cold foam.”

“Seven Hells,” he mutters. He is almost visibly shaking, his nostrils flaring as is typing. And he STILL manages to stare at you. People behind you are starting to mutter, but you don’t really care.

“Hmmm…” you’ve accidentally scrolled to another drink on Instagram, and it looks a lot better. “Actually, can I start over?”

Aemond leaps over the counter. It would actually be kind of majestic actually, if it weren’t so startling. “Vhagar, dohaeris!” he shouts as he throws you against the muffin display and sweeps the entire shortbread collection and three Adele albums onto the floor as he spins.

The biggest, ugliest pitbull you’ve ever seen comes bounding from the back, wet foam on her lips, and starts barking like a maniac at the crowd. The Targaryens think that their pit bulls respond to this fake culty language they made up, but this is the first time you’ve actually seen it work. Though you suspect the dog just knows her name.

“I just wanted a drink,” you whimper. But now that he’s sprawled over you, straddling you so that the lean muscles of his thighs flex over your hips, you realize you want a lot more than that. You’re weirded out, for sure, but after a week poring over accounts, at least you’re not bored.

“You seek to unsettle me, bastard!” He cups your face with a shaking hand. “I have sought refuge from the burdens of court and the roar of the pit bulls. I tried to find peace in this simple lowborn life, and now you seek to rile me, to drive me back into war?!”

“I was thirsty.” You try to shrug, but his powerful hands grip your arms. You should be mad but you’re just horny again.

“Was it Larys? Did he send you here?” He pants. He has to mean Larry, a guy with a cane who sits on a milk crate by the diner. He just preaches and talks shit about people all day, but Rhaenya’s side of the family hates him and think he’s a spy. Aemond’s side is convinced he’s on their payroll. Larry seems pretty happy about the money but you don’t think he does much for them.

He sighs, raggedly. “I knew he would find me, that I could never escape the burdens of my family, especially after Vhagar-“ he looks sadly at the pit bull, who has driven everyone out of the store and is now chomping on shortbread and Adele.

“Ate your nephew?” you finish, helpfully.

“Does that bother you so, Strong?” He says bitterly, as he trails a warm hand over your cheek. It smells like Caramel Macchiato. “I suppose blood runs thick, and you will want your vengeance.”

“No. I don’t really care,” you say. You’re wondering how he keeps his hair so shiny and if it would be a bad moment to ask him.

“Yes, deny it to your dying day,” he says, his voice uneven. “Deny that you seek to rile me, deny that they sent you to me.” His eyes flit to your lips and his mouth nears yours as he speaks but he yanks back suddenly. He works his jaw and seems to think, before slowly pulling back his eyepatch, taking the Starbucks cap with it. “Deny that you find me monstrous.”

You wonder if he’s rehearsed this moment before and how many people have seen it. It’s sort of sweet how try-hard it is, the glittering blue stone in his eye socket. Like he really wants to impress everyone. “No, it’s cool.” You mean as in ‘no big deal’, but he looks legitimately happy.

“You find it intriguing then?” His good eye sparkles and he nears you almost shyly and tilts up your chin. “To you I am not One-eye or Kinslayer?”

“I mean, nope…” you answer, shaking your head. This is getting interesting though you are sorry you didn’t get your Frappuccino. Maybe he can make you one after.

He presses his mouth to yours hungrily. He tastes of peppermint java.  “I care no longer,” he says, pulling back. “for the dictates of our families.”

“Yeah?” you say. He’s hot enough that he can be a little delusional if he wants.

Aemond holds your face in his hands. There’s some chocolate syrup on his cheek, and it’s cute. “I will gift you a pit bull pup to shore up your legitimacy. If he takes to you, no one can deny your birth. Then we can be wed in the tradition of our house.” He kisses you again, hungrily, and you lean in this time. You think he just proposed to you, but if you reject him he might stop.

Things are beginning to get interesting when you hear police sirens in the distance. Vhagar growls. Oh shit.

“Come,” says, Aemond, grasping your hand “We must away before the City Watch discovers us. They’re under Daemon’s pay, though they claim otherwise.” Aemond’s uncle Daemon is always bragging that the local police force is under his command. They denied it until it just became easier to agree with him.

“To the Red Keep. You must meet my grandsire and lady mother.” He pulls you at the door as a policeman gets out his car and sigh, realizing you’ll have to wait for coffee, if you don’t want to get caught up in a police scuffle.

Vhagar dashes out the door. “Dohaeris, Vhagar!”  and the next thing you know she’s violently humping the policeman’s leg.

“Vhagar, nooooo!” he screams/