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Getting a job at the most prestigious university in Westeros is no easy feat, especially in the field of political science. You graduated at the top of your class from Winterfell University and knew you wanted to teach from the moment you took your first class. Your professor, Brandon Stark, was so passionate about the material he taught, no matter how dry it was, that he made you feel passionate about it too. And that’s the kind of professor you’ve always aspired to be.

When Citadel University had an opening after a recent retirement from their political science department, you knew applying was a long shot. You’re young, without the amount of teaching experience you’re sure the other applicants have. But when you have your interview with the head of the political science department, Daemon Targaryen, he sees something in you. Perhaps a reflection of himself when you were his age. You’re charismatic, friendly, and a hard worker. Your letters of recommendation are excellent and, in spite of your young age and relative lack of experience, you have had yourself published in quite a few journals.

So Daemon hires you.

You soon learn that there’s more than a touch of nepotism that goes into the hiring of professors at Citadel U, judging by how many Targaryens are professors there.

Professor Aegon Targaryen. Art History Department.

Professor Helaena Targaryen. Biology Department.

And finally?

The bane of your fucking existence. Professor Aemond Targaryen. Political Science department.

Yes, same department as you, aren’t you lucky?

The first time you meet Aemond Targaryen goes as well as can be expected. You sat in the chair he deemed unofficially his at a department meeting. Of course, he walks up to you, in that white button-down with his sleeves rolled up ever so slightly to reveal his forearms. Gods, this guy is one of those academia sluts, isn’t he? You look up at him, getting ready to introduce yourself. He’s kind of hot-

“You’re in my seat.”

Oh, this fucking guy.

“I’m sorry,” you smile at him, a little too sweet for his taste, your red lipstick stained lips curling into a feigned smile of politeness, “I wasn’t aware that there was assigned seating, Mr…?”

“Professor,” he corrects, “Professor Aemond Targaryen. And you are Miss…?”

“Doctor,” you take the opportunity to correct him and introduce yourself by name, “I have a PhD in Political Science. So the appropriate title is Doctor. Pleasure to meet you, Professor.”

From that day on, you two become sworn enemies. It’s melodramatic and it’s stupid, yes, but gods it’s fun making that man squirm, humbling the egomaniacal asshole like he deserves.

For your part? You resent how seriously Aemond is taken by the academic community. He’s dedicated to his work, most certainly, and he’s well-educated. But he doesn’t have a doctorate. Yet, somehow, everyone seems to think he’s this paragon of intellectualism, the epitome of what a perfect college professor should be. For fuck’s sake, you want to cry out, the man is a nepo baby, he clearly should’ve been required to get a doctorate before being allowed to teach. But, with how wonderful Daemon is as a boss, you choose to say nothing and seethe in silence.

You also resent how fucking attractive he is. Those glasses he wears that sit on the bridge of his nose - fuck, that nose itself… You remember what your best friend Maris said about guys with big noses… And when he rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt up, like he had that first day… Gods, those veins and his fucking hands, so goddamn big… The intrusive thought occurs to you that they’d make a very nice necklace-

And Aemond?

He resents that he was the youngest professor at Citadel U before you showed up, taking his title and all of the attention that goes with it. You with your little fucking pencil skirts and stockings with high heels that make your ass look like it deserves to be on the cover of a magazine. You with those red-stained lips that seem to smirk at him disdainfully no matter what he does. Your shrewd, calculating gaze that haunts his fucking dreams.

He’s also more than a little resentful of how easily you get everyone to adore you. Your students practically worship you, while his own are completely terrified of him, though he doesn’t stop to think that this might have to do with his own actions as well. He watches as you befriend his older siblings Aegon and Helaena, developing a close friendship, both of you having such an easy way about you. How Daemon treats you almost as his protege of sorts. You’re easy going and friendly when it comes to anyone and everyone.

Except for him.

It’s funny, he thinks, how your attitude does a complete 180 the minute he enters a room. From being warm and friendly, you immediately switch over to being snide, snarky, and combative. You’re always ready with a quick insult or some backhanded compliment. He doesn’t think you’ve given him one sincere compliment since the day he met you.

Aemond sits at his desk, entering grades for the most recent midterm exam he gave one of his classes. He’s known for being a notoriously harsh grader and, on more than one occasion, you’ve noticed students leaving his office in tears after having asked for extra credit or a re-grade. In all honesty? You realize that he just wants his students to succeed, as much as you do, the two of you just have different ways of going about it.

However, you’d drop dead before you ever fucking admitted to that.

You sit in the Political Science department lounge, eating the last yogurt from the fridge. 

Strawberry. 

His favorite flavor. You snicker to yourself, knowing he’s going to throw an absolute fit the moment he gets in here. Anticipating that, you’ve chosen to leave one extra button undone on your blouse, showing the slightest hint of your black lace bra, enjoying how fucking flustered he gets in the middle of an argument when he glances down at your cleavage.

You’ve got to play to your strengths, right?

You smirk to yourself, sipping your coffee as Aemond walks in, the door slamming open. You pretend to be minding your own business as he walks to the fridge, letting out a strangled noise of annoyance when he sees the strawberry yogurt is all gone. It takes every ounce of self restraint you have in you to keep from laughing at the sound. So fucking dramatic.

You hear him crossing over to the table where you sit, the legs of the chair beside you scraping against the floor as he pulls it out and takes a seat, glaring at you, “The strawberry yogurt. Really? Was that entirely necessary?”

You turn to face him, taking another spoon of yogurt, smirking to yourself as you part your lips, letting out a low moan as you taste it, making Aemond’s good eye go wide, “I just love strawberry yogurt, sorry, Professor. I think I saw some mango.”

“If I wanted mango,” he manages to say through gritted teeth, “I would’ve picked up mango. I wanted strawberry.”

“Well,” you let out a dramatic sigh, “That’s just too bad, isn’t it? So sorry, Professor, but it would appear they’re fresh out.”

“You’re doing this just to piss me off,” he grinds out, though his eyes don’t leave your lips.

He swallows thickly as your tongue pokes out to lick your lips, his eyes then traveling along your delicate neck to your chest, where he notices you’ve left one more button undone than usual, making his pants feel as if they’re a bit too fucking tight right now, “How’d your midterm go?”

“C plus average,” Aemond says, clearing his throat and looking away from you, “And yours?”

“Oh, wow, mine was a B plus average,” you give him a cheeky smile, “Something wrong with your teaching methods?”

“No, Doctor,” Aemond spits the title venomously, glaring at you, “Perhaps I just make more of an effort at grading my students fairly than simply telling them what they want to hear. They can call me harsh all that they want, but they’ll retain the knowledge from my class in a way they won’t with the way you teach them.”

“You know,” you muse, “Maybe if you were a little less harsh with your students, your nickname wouldn’t be Professor Cuntgaryen.” 

You smile at him, saccharine sweet, as you continue eating your yogurt.

Aemond looks almost offended at you bringing up his campus nickname and begins trying to come up with an appropriate response, “And maybe if you were a little more harsh with your students-“

You glance at your wrist, as if looking at an invisible watch before giving Aemond a catlike grin, “Oh, sorry. My daily time limit for talking to people I dislike is all used up. Same time tomorrow?”

Aemond scowls and watches you saunter off, insisting to himself that he is NOT admiring your ass in that pencil skirt. Not one bit.

Then, a slip of paper “falls” out of your hand. And you bend over to pick it up. Right in front of him.

Shit. Alright. Maybe he’s admiring your ass a little bit.

His eye is glued to your form as you leave the lounge and leave him entirely on his own.

Later that day, a bunch of the professors get together for drinks, celebrating the end of grading midterms. It’s a fun little tradition, one that you actually started. Aemond never partakes, of course, being too sophisticated in his own mind to go out for drinks with his peers. You tease him that he just doesn’t know how to have fun.

But tonight? He finally decides to join all of you, if only to prove you wrong. Though he wishes he didn’t, considering how cozy you look sitting in the booth you all occupy, planted between his brother and Cregan Stark. And judging by the looks of it, Cregan seems to want to get even cozier, considering he’s looking at you like a wolf ready to devour its prey. 

You continue talking to Cregan, his eyes trained intently on you as you speak, chatting about his abnormal psychology course.

“You’re more than welcome to sit in,” Cregan offers, giving you a grin, “It would be a welcome change from all the freshmen who think they’re going to be the next Clarice Starling and only ask questions about serial killers.”

“Oh, I’d love to sit in on your class!” you smile at him excitedly.

“It’s a date then.”

The words hit Aemond like a punch to the gut. He does not like the idea of you going on a date with Cregan Stark. Not even if it’s just to his fucking classroom to watch his stupid fucking lecture. Aegon meets his brother’s eye and seems to be able to pick up on what he’s thinking.

“I’d love to join too, can I come with you?” Aegon grins, tossing a lazy arm around you, “Still a date?”

You grin at your colleague, and closest friend, nodding, “Yeah, maybe Cregan can evaluate whatever is going on in that nasty little brain of yours.”

“I mean,” Aegon lets out a low whistle, “I’m Freud’s wet dream, let’s be honest.”

The entire table cracks up laughing at his comment, continuing to chat and have a good time. Aemond notices you haven’t touched your drink, nor has he. He recalls Aegon mentioning you’re usually his designated driver, and realizes that must be why. You get a phone call after sometime and excuse yourself to answer it.

Aemond watches you go, as does Cregan. The two stare at each other for a long moment, neither willing to back down.

When you return, Aegon slides in, taking your prior seat beside Cregan, gesturing for you to sit on his other side, between him and Aemond. You cringe slightly and take the seat, doing your best to ignore Aemond. But it’s hard to do that when he rests his hand on your knee, his forefinger drawing small circles on your bare skin. You choke on your drink and Aegon slaps your back, leading you to raise a hand, signaling to him that you’re fine. Aegon shrugs and returns to chatting with Cregan while Aemond’s hand moves further up, under your skirt.

You take a sharp breath, though luckily, it goes unnoticed by everyone.

“You have such a bitchy little attitude when it comes to me. But you’re so sweet to everyone else,” Aemond murmurs against your ear, his breath warm against your skin, “I think if I fuck that attitude out of you, I can get you to be sweet to me too. Don’t you?”

His fingers trail over the lace fabric of your panties, pressing against you over them, rubbing ever so slightly, though it’s nowhere near enough. You grit your teeth as he continues working his fingers against you, the fucking tease, before suddenly? He moves your panties slightly to the side and pushes two fingers inside you. And gods, his fingers are so fucking long, they hit spots inside of you that you didn’t even know existed. Aemond continues, smirking to himself as he listens to you try to answer Aegon’s questions about your plans for the upcoming spring break.

Aemond begins moving his fingers faster and faster until he adds a third, hearing you gasp under your breath, brushing it off to Aegon as it being your watching the football game on TV.

“Really?” Aemond muses, staring into your eyes, “What’s the score then, Doctor?”

He knows damn well you aren’t watching the game.

“21…” you swallow thickly and manage to say without moaning as he begins rubbing the heel of his palm against your clit.

“21?” Aemond repeats mockingly, “21 what? Goodness, how did you get a doctorate with that kind of attention span?”

“21-7, you fucking asshole,” you say through gritted teeth as he pinches your clit, your orgasm overtaking you, washing over you harder and more intensely than ever before, the pleasure curling up in your gut being almost too much to bear.

“Well done, kitten,” Aemond murmurs against your ear, “Next time? I won’t be using my hands.”

After that eventful evening at the bar, where Aemond literally fucked you to the point of almost being speechless with his fingers under the table, you make it a point to avoid Aemond, better known as Professor Cuntgaryen around campus. Though it is quite difficult, considering the two of you work in the same department and have similar schedules. 

You pass by him the following Monday, high heels clicking as you walk, feeling his heavy gaze on you as you walk toward Cregan’s classroom. He falls into step beside you, surprising you with his audacity.

“Heading to Stark’s lecture?” Aemond questions archly, chuckling when you keep your lips pressed tightly together, “Oh, come on, you were so very talkative at the bar on Friday, whatever’s got you acting like this?”

You scoff, “I’m not acting in any way, Professor. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking you over, “Sure. And I suppose there isn’t any reason you’ve been avoiding me either.”

“No one’s avoiding anyone,” you drawl, “I’ve had a really busy morning and now I’m heading to Cregan’s lecture. He’s an excellent speaker, you know?”

Aemond scoffs, “Hm, sure. When you can understand a word he says through that accent.”

You roll your eyes at him, “I like his accent, actually. It’s exotic. Sexy, even.”

His jaw ticks as you turn the corner, sashaying away from him, wearing that stupid pencil skirt and those stupid heels that highlight your ass as you sway your hips a bit more than usual, which he knows is just for his consumption. Despite his little stunt at the bar, somehow you have the upper hand, yet again. He wonders if you actually like Cregan or if this is all some elaborate stunt to get his attention. He’s pretty sure it’s the latter. 

But, shit, what if you do actually think his accent is sexy? He frowns to himself and heads off to the lecture hall he should’ve been at five minutes ago, trying to shake off this feeling. He can’t let you get to him like this. 

He needs to be a fucking professional.

Aemond struggles to get through his lecture, mind wandering over to you every so often. You get under his skin so easily, and he’s pretty sure he has the same effect on you. The two of you just… Irk each other. He despises how easily the other staff members and students seem to adore you while he has this awful reputation of being an asshole. And you’re so rude to him on top of everything! Where is this sweet girl everyone keeps talking about? He sure as hell hasn’t seen her. Aemond still remembers walking in on you in the teacher’s lounge eating that damn strawberry yogurt the other day. And he remembers how he felt burying his fingers inside of you, how you squeezed around him. How he promised next time, he’d be using something else. He wonders what kind of noises you’d make if he had his mouth on you. As he puts on a movie for his students, he continues imagining what it would be like, his tongue lapping at your folds, your hand tugging on his hair. He knows you must taste so fucking sweet. He wonders how your face would twist in ecstasy as he buries himself to the hilt, deep inside your pussy, a hand wrapped around your throat as he fucks you over and over until the only word you remember is “Aemond”, until you can, and want to, do nothing more than scream his name and beg him for more.

When his class is finally over, he all but rushes out of the lecture hall, heading to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He can’t afford to lose focus like this. Not when evaluations are coming up. He wants, no, he needs to get Daemon’s best in the department award. He refuses to lose it to you. You might be Daemon’s new protege, his new favorite, but Aemond’s been here longer, it’s just not fair. He’s earned this, he deserves this. Not you. 

Not you in your tight little blouses where he can just barely see your cleavage-

He shakes his head when he realizes how hard he is, just from thinking about you, from remembering your little encounter at the bar. He scowls, storming off to the department lounge, only to find you sitting there, your coffee cup beside you stained with red lipstick as you grade some papers. You seem engrossed in your work, so he takes a moment to lean against the doorway and admire you, eyes drawn to your red  lips, wondering how they’d look and feel around his-

His eye snaps up to yours when you clear your throat, indicating that you’ve noticed his arrival. Aemond smirks at you while you look at him with an unamused glare, those gorgeous eyes of yours narrowed at him in a way that drives him fucking insane.

“Enjoy Stark’s lecture? Were you even able to understand a word of it?”

The fucking nerve of this guy.

Well, no, you weren’t able to understand shit during the lecture, but this pompous prick can go fuck himself, you’re not admitting anything, “Yeah! It was soooo interesting. Talked about the psychology of killers like Bundy and Dahmer and Gacy. Cregan’s such a fascinating guy,” you gush, clearly trying to get a rise out of him.

And it works. Aemond scowls, stalking over to you, watching as you stand up, arms crossed, a smug little grin on your face.

“You think it’s fucking funny to tease me like that?” Aemond hisses, grabbing your chin with one of his hands, the other pulling you in by the waist, “Huh? You think it’s fucking funny?”

“I think it’s hilarious,” you drawl, “Because whatever happened at the bar last Friday was a one time fluke and is never happening again, Professor.”

“Well, Doctor,” he retorts sharply, spitting out your title as though it’s venom in his mouth, “With the way your little pussy was squeezing around my fingers, it definitely felt like you wanted it to be more than a one time thing.”

You roll your eyes, “You sound delusional. You should get some advice from Cregan about that. He studies a lot of your type of cases-”

Aemond shuts you up by slamming his mouth on yours, hands tugging at the tight bun you keep your hair in, letting it fall loose. You moan against his lips, allowing him to push his tongue into your mouth, moving it against yours in a battle for dominance, one that you decide to allow him to win, wanting to see where exactly he plans on taking this. He lifts you up by the hips, placing you on the table you were just sitting at grading your exams. His hands move to the fabric of your skirt, hiking it up to your waist, exposing the black lace fabric of your panties to him. He gets down on his knees in front of you, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh before pulling your underwear down your legs, exposing your already wet cunt to him, the sight of which makes him smirk.

“Delusional, hm? You’re so wet for me, I don’t think this counts as delusional, sweetheart,” he chuckles darkly, gazing up at you before burying his tongue deep inside your cunt, making you gasp with delight.

And you taste just as sweet as he fantasized. He flattens his tongue, dragging it along your walls, making sure that his nose rubs up against your clit with every movement of his face, reveling in every pretty little moan he elicits from your lips. He lifts your legs to toss them over his shoulders, moaning himself as you tangle a hand in his hair, tugging slightly, the barest hint of pain driving him absolutely wild with want as he increases the speed and intensity of his tongue against you, alternating between lapping at your folds and dragging his tongue along your clit.

“Fuck, Aemond,” you mewl, “Feels so good-”

He goes faster and faster, suckling at your clit, driving you nearly over the edge, holding your thighs apart so he has perfect access to your pussy. And just as you’re about to reach your peak?

He pulls away, making you glare down at him in genuine surprise while he chuckles to himself, “You didn’t think I was going to reward you for sitting in on Stark’s class, did you? Perhaps I’m not the deluded one here, Doctor.”

You’re about to let him know exactly what the fuck you think about the stunt he just pulled, when suddenly, he hears the doorknob start to turn. The two of you look at each other, panicking, before you shove him away, taking a seat where you were only moments ago, sans your underwear which sits very comfortably in Aemond’s pocket, a fact that neither of you realize until later that evening. Daemon walks in, giving the two of you a quick smile as he refills his coffee. You hope that he hasn’t noticed anything, and it seems, judging by the way he’s whistling to himself, that he hasn’t. You thank whatever higher power there may be for that small mercy and grab your papers, walking out of the lounge, feeling Aemond’s gaze heavy on you as you go.

This isn’t over, not by a long shot.

You end up confiding in Aegon, interestingly enough, about your close encounters with his brother. He finds the whole thing absolutely fucking hilarious, to the point that he can’t stop laughing.

“I knew there was some weird sexual tension there,” he cackles hysterically, waving away a student who wants to come in for his office hours, saying that they’re canceled as he pours himself a bit of whiskey, offering some to you, “I have a nose for these things, and yet again, I’ve been proven right.”

“It’s three in the afternoon,” you stare at him incredulously.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere, baby.”

You roll your eyes, “Anyway, we haven’t actually fucked, and I’m definitely not going to let this go any further than it already has-”

“Famous last words,” he cuts you off.

“Shut up! Anyway, Cregan asked out on a date. And I’m gonna go.”

Aegon bursts into laughter at this, much to your surprise, slapping a hand over his mouth as he giggles to himself, “You’re gonna go on a date with Cregan while you have my brother thirsting after you? You are bad. I mean, you think he’s just going to be okay with that considering his reaction to you fucking sitting in on his class? My brother’s a jealous little shit, baby, you have a storm coming.”

You scowl, “I didn’t ask for commentary, you ass, I asked for advice!”

“Okay, okay,” Aegon raises his hands in mock surrender, “My advice is fuck them both and see which one you like better.”

You give your friend and colleague the most deadpan look you think you’ve given another human being in their entire life, shaking your head and standing up, “Well, thank you for being completely unhelpful and not giving me any useful advice whatsoever.”

He gives you a wide, cheesy grin as you walk out of his office, “Just doing my civic duty, baby girl!”

You can’t help but laugh at his words, walking out of his office and texting Cregan that you agree to the date.

You don’t end up going on that date with Cregan, however, because the night the two of you had settled on ends up clashing with the dinner Daemon has planned to announce who has won the award for the best professor in the department. You bring Cregan as your date, making Aemond seethe with annoyance. He’s no better. He’s brought Professor Rivers from the history department, his arm around the back of her chair as he levels you with a look, the two of you waiting with bated breath for Daemon to announce who’s won. Cregan gives you a sweet smile, wishing you luck before glancing over at Aemond and wishing him luck as well. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Why does he have to be so fucking nice?

You look at Aemond, a feline grin on your face, “Good luck, Professor.”

“You too-”

“I don’t need it.”

Aemond rolls his eye, turning to his uncle, waiting for him to announce the name of the best professor in the political science department. And he lets out a nearly imperceptible growl of annoyance when it’s your name. He excuses himself to go to the bathroom when Daemon hands you the Rolex watch he gives the winner each year, Alys asking if she should go with him. Aemond shakes his head, giving you a dirty look when Cregan kisses you on the cheek to congratulate you.

You grin to yourself, taking a sip of your champagne before heading to the bathroom to touch up your makeup. That’s where you see Aemond, in the lounge, smoking a cigarette.

“There’s no smoking allowed in here,” you taunt, a smirk on your face.

He sneers at you and just takes another drag, “Congratulations, Doctor.”

“Thanks.”

He glances at your ankle, lips twisting into a slight smile, “Your buckle’s undone.”

Aemond moves to sit on one knee, surprising you when his fingers ghost over your ankle, redoing the buckle of your stiletto heels. He gazes up at you, his eye hooded, pupil dilated with thinly veiled desire. His hand traces your calf as he moves to stand again, facing you, so close that your breath intermingles with his.

And, like two magnets drawn together, his lips come crashing down onto yours, hands moving into your hair, ruining the meticulous curls you styled only a few hours ago. You can’t bring yourself to care, not when you palm at his cock over the fabric of his dress pants, feeling how hard he already is for you. Aemond lets out a low hiss of pleasure as he shoves you against the wall, hiking your leg up around his waist, smirking as he teases your bare cunt, delighted to learn you didn’t wear panties with your dress.

“Are you this wet for me or for that fucking date of yours, Doctor?” Aemond murmurs, his breath hot against your ear as you fumble with the zip of his trousers, “Hm?”

You moan as he lands a heavy smack on your ass, palming at the abused flesh as if to soothe it, “For you.”

Aemond buries his face in the crook of your neck as he sheathes himself inside of you, burying himself to the hilt with a near growl of your name, “I think that this is a teachable moment for you, Doctor. That you should remember who the fuck you belong to.”

He ruts against you, the noises the two of you let out being borderline pornographic as the head of his cock brushes against that spot inside of you that drives you absolutely mad with desire. You cling to him as he fucks you harder, faster, whispering in your ear.

“Been thinking of this since the first fucking time I saw you,” Aemond rasps, “You’re all fucking mine now, baby.”

“All yours,” you agree, finally giving into the attraction you feel for him, “Fuck, Aemond, I’m so close-”

His hand moves between where your bodies join, fingers circling your clit as he whispers, “Cum for me, sweetheart. Soak my cock.”

And you do, your entire body shuddering with pleasure, his own release following soon after.

“Staff aren’t allowed to date other staff,” you whisper as you come down from your high.

“Good thing I know how to keep a secret,” Aemond replies, his lips finding yours again.

Tagging Those Who Were On Teachable Moment Taglist (bold means I could not tag you): @ammo23 @boundlessfantasy @letmeloveyouuuu @leftdragonwombatroad @heavenly1927 @bellstwd @annoyingkittydetective