#Faithfully AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

say-al0e · 2 months ago

Text

Want You

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: Aegon had no desire to ruin you, so he buried himself in his favorite wine and favorite whores to keep his blossoming feelings at bay. Only, his efforts seemed to work too well and he has to convince you that you’re all he needs. Warnings: No Dance AU, inaccurate use of some characters (Tyrell was an infant during this time but here he's in his early 30s), two smut scenes (Aegon is a dick in the first, much better in the second), infidelity (Aegon), Targcest (Aemond x Helaena), nice guy Criston Cole, unprotected PinV, oral (f!receiving), miscommunication. Anything else, let me know and I'll tag. Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x fem!Reader (Manderly!Reader - no features mentioned) Word Count: 22.8k (....I'm so sorry) HotD Taglist | HotD Masterlist

The Red Keep was rarely, if ever, silent.

There were moments - fleeting, few and far between - where a hush befell the Keep with only the quiet noise of servants and guards dutifully moving about to shatter the illusion of solitude. But, no matter the hour, it was rare to find a silence so unbroken that it teetered on the edge of maddening.

However, as Aegon sat in your chambers for the first time in weeks, slouched in a chair adjacent to the couch you lounged on, you found the silence drawing on long enough to surpass discomfort and edge into pain.

Aegon - sobriquet still undecided, though he’d dismissed ‘The Magnanimous’ the moment you frowned as he spoke it, the moment Aemond snickered - sat with a cup of wine in one hand as he used the other to flip the pages of a book. It was one you’d left on the table, brought to you by Aemond and next on your list to read, and you hoped Aegon couldn’t see the way you winced every time wine sloshed a bit too close to the text for comfort.

As silence persisted, there was little doubt that the reason for his presence was his mother’s insistence.

Alicent, as well intentioned as you imagined her to be - and, where you and Helaena were concerned, she seemed to be truly well intentioned - chided him relentlessly these days. Since he became king, there was no end to her and Otto’s lectures. They urged him to play his part as faithfully as you played your own, to act as your husband and try to keep from embarrassing you. Time and again, you heard Alicent’s furious whispers, instructing her eldest son to think of the shame he continued to bring upon you, but you knew as well as she did that the time for his acquiescence had passed.

Everyone knew the kind of husband Aegon was, the kind of man he’d grown to be.

Though there was little chance he might, it he would have thought to ask you for your opinion - as he once did in the earliest days of your marriage - you wondered if you would’ve been able to stop yourself from sharing the sobriquet you chose but did not dare speak aloud; Aegon the Shameless.

Despite becoming Queen Consort, looks of awe and excitement had shifted into looks of pity that burned into your skin each time you found yourself in court. There were few who did not know where your husband spent his nights - in the throne room, deep in his cups and surrounded by idiot guards and naive squires; or, perhaps, lost in the streets of silk, deep inside one of his favorite whores. The only boundary he seemed to respect was that now his trysts were kept from the Keep, his whores bedded elsewhere.

Though eleven moons had passed since you were married, he’d shared your bed only a handful of times. Once, on your wedding night, to consummate the marriage; a drunken attempt or two at creating the heir the realm demanded; and once, not long ago, when he stumbled into your chambers by mistake and couldn’t be roused to move until morning.

Yet, as much as you hated to admit it and as unbelievably foolish as it made you feel, you’d somehow grown to love him.

In the very beginning, you had hope that your marriage might be a happy one.

Aegon was not perfect, you knew that. But for all his faults, he was kind to you in the light of day. The cruelty you caught glimpses of, the derision and bursts of anger, was never leveled at you. In fact, it often seemed that you were the only person he deemed worthy of sparing his unpredictable moods. He softened whenever you entered a room and made an attempt at levity. Though there were whispers of his sharp tongue and quick temper, you saw little of it.

The words he leveled at you were often kind - compliments, jests - and, if not kind, at least cordial. He gifted you beautiful gowns, glittering jewelry, perfumed soaps and oils, and allowed your youngest sister and a cousin to serve as your companions, all the while remaining very far from them himself.

When you chose to eat your meals outside of your own chambers, he kept you near and included you in the conversation at hand, no matter how little attention you paid. When decisions were made, he seemed to take your counsel more seriously than anyone else’s - save, perhaps, Aemond’s. When you took your daily walk around the gardens, he joined as often as he could, though he typically fell behind you and your companions and departed halfway through to return to the small council.

During the early days of your marriage, you spent a great deal of time seeking him out. Whatever moments he could spare for you were cherished and you treated them as gifts worth more than anything gold could buy. As far as you were concerned, Aegon was trying his best. You knew that his reign was young, that he was young, and took no offense to his frequent absences.

Though much and more of your time was spent with others - your companions, Helaena, Alicent, even Aemond - Aegon was present. Time alone with him, however, was scarce. And, despite Alicent’s repeated assurances that his absence was merely a matter of his duty to the Realm, you began to believe the truth was much simpler.

Aegon simply did not wish to be alone with you.

Of all the things Aegon had done to, according to Alicent, bring shame upon you, none hurt quite so much as the realization that you were nothing more than an accessory to his reign.

Much like his crown, you were only there to solidify his status as king.

Despite the fondness you sometimes felt from him, you realized very quickly that Aegon did not want to be married. He had been forced to wed and you were the least offensive choice. You were nothing more than a pawn chosen by his grandsire for the strength of your house, and meant to be nothing more than an acceptable queen to stand beside the king.

Still, the realization was one you struggled to make sense of.

Affection was, at least in the beginning, a somewhat regular occurrence. Though you did not lie together, he never turned down a kiss or a soft caress of your hand. If anything, he sought those fleeting gestures out. He also seemed to favor the soft press of your hand to his thigh beneath the table - a calming gesture, offered whenever his grandsire or another council member undermined his authority - or a gentle squeeze of his hand more than anything. And, for a while, even initiated the gestures himself.

There were moments when Aegon seemed to make an honest attempt at being a husband.

Though he did not spend much time with you alone, he sometimes sat with you in the evenings as you and your ladies sipped tea. He sought your company when settled amongst a crowd, standing close and smiling every time you caught his eye. He remembered the little details you shared with him and asked about things you’d only mentioned in passing as a thousand other conversations carried on around you.

The first time you wore the green of his house, he complimented your gown and granted you a brilliant smile with each green gown that followed. When you passed him in the halls, one of you rushing to someplace else, he would always catch your eye and allow his hand to graze yours.

Thus, for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to believe the hollow reassurances.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to believe that you truly meant something to Aegon. The bitter sting of rejection, of humiliation, that accompanied his lack of desire to see you alone - his near refusal to bed you, unless he’d drowned in his cups and found himself on the receiving end of a lecture from his mother - was rationalized away.

It was easy, for a time, for you to believe that you simply meant more to him. Whores were meant to be bedded, a way for men to rid themselves of frustration - something a king had in spades. You told yourself that Aegon’s distance was a kindness, a form of respect. Your affection meant more to him than your ability to warm his bed. And for longer than you cared to admit, you allowed yourself to believe it; to love him, despite it.

Only, the lie grew harder to believe with each moon that passed.

Gradually, the little affection Aegon seemed to hold for you began to fade and the distance between you grew. While his visits to the streets of silk were few and far between in the early days of your marriage, the longer you were wed, the louder the whispers that he’d resumed his trips grew.

With every whisper came a lecture from Alicent, from Otto, from Aemond. And with every lecture, the more eager Aegon seemed to disappear into the deepest corner of his favored brothel.

One by one, every ounce of Aegon’s affection and attention seemed to disappear. The lingering glances he’d once spared in the halls, the brilliant smiles he leveled you with when you opted to join the family for dinner, the soft caresses of your hand when he passed you in the halls; they were no more and your heart ached with each disappearance.

Soon came the day of realization; if you did not offer affection, you received none.

After the passage of seven moons, it became obvious that Aegon merely tolerated. While he may once have even liked you, with the passage of each moon, you came to realize and accept that he did not love you.

While you found yourself grateful he was not unkind to you, that he did not seem to loathe being married to you, the realization that he did not love you was one that shattered the glittering illusion you’d been clinging to so desperately. You’d hoped that he would settle, that with time he would grow to love you as you were growing to love him, but there was no use.

Every day that passed, he seemed to drift farther from you and only proved there was no sense in waiting for him to love you back. There was no point in inserting yourself into places you weren’t wanted or making gestures that went unnoticed. So, you stopped trying.

And, if Aegon noticed that you’d stopped putting in the effort he’d grown accustomed to, he did not mention it.

In the beginning of your marriage, you rarely went more than a few hours without seeking Aegon out. Even if he could only spare a moment, even if you were only at the periphery of his attention, you accepted it happily. Now, it had been two days since you last saw him.

A simple change in your routine kept you from seeing Aegon much at all these days.

Whereas you would normally walk the gardens at midday, your companions in tow and occasionally accompanied by Helaena or Alicent, you chose to spend that time perfecting your needlework instead. The walk was pushed to either early morning or afternoon - when Aegon was busy with the small council. And, as for dinner, more often than not, you ate along in your chambers. Your sister and cousin joined you occasionally, even sometimes Helaena, but your goal was to avoid Aegon and that you did.

Still, you played your part dutifully when called upon.

As requested, you stood beside him to welcome the first of the lords arriving in King’s Landing for Daeron’s six-and-tenth nameday tourney. There were a handful of lords from the Reach accompanying the Hightower host and Aegon pulled you close, standing tall with pride as they all complimented what a beautiful couple you made.

Though your heart was no longer in it, you put on your happiest face - thanking the lords whose names you would doubtlessly spend the rest of the tournament whispering to your husband before he could ask - and resisted the urge to step away from him before you were granted leave.

Embarrassment and shame now burned in the pit of your stomach, heated your skin and left an acrid taste in the back of your throat, each time you stood at his side. The glances shared between the ladies of the court, the whispers you knew would inevitably follow - blaming you for not yet giving him an heir, for not being enough to keep him from straying - needed at your already frayed nerves.

Believing that he ever loved you was foolish and you were reminded of your delusion with every pitying glance you were spared.

Now, despite the silence that stretched unbroken for nearly an hour, instead of pitying glances, you felt the weight of Aegon’s gaze upon your skin intermittently. Violet eyes observed your stillness, watching with an uncharacteristic intensity you’d never seen directed at you before, and you wondered if that was worse. However, before you could wish for an interruption - someone to step in and save you - Aegon finally placed his cup onto the table.

“What troubles you, dear wife?” Though his words were beginning to slur, there was still a coherence to his speech that sometimes surprised you. “I’ve been here a while and you’ve yet to turn a page.”

“I believe I chose the wrong volume,” you sighed. The lie fell from your lips easily - unwilling to confess that it was the weight of his attention that distracted you, his very presence that left you unable to concentrate on the words you wanted desperately to read - as you lifted your head to meet his intense gaze. His attention remained on your face, eyes searching for something, as you placed a ribbon between the pages and placed the book onto the table, far from his glass. “This one is… dull.”

“They’re all histories written by maesters,” he reminded you with a laugh that rang a touch hollow, a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Dull is expected, is it not?”

Though Aegon could be kind to you - when he so desired - and once took an interest in what interested you, you were often reminded that you had little in common. Aemond was the studious brother, well-versed in the histories and philosophy, while Aegon found it all dreadful. Where Aemond could spend days locked away in the library and never grow bored, Aegon had only read what was required of him as a boy - sometimes - and only occasionally listened when you read aloud to him in the early days of your marriage.

“Perhaps,” you allowed, after a moment of thought. “Some of the stories about the Conqueror have been interesting,” you defended, “but Aemond assured me this was a favorite of his.” With a shrug, you leaned back into the cushion of the couch and admitted, “We must have different tastes.”

Aegon laughed, a derisive sound that made you frown as his eyes flashed with an emotion you couldn’t place so quickly you almost considered it a trick of the light. He reached for his glass once more and swallowed a scoff. “Of course you do,” he exclaimed, with a touch of venom you were unused to, “you are married to me and he can barely stand to be in the same room these days.”

With a sigh, you reached for your own glass. “That’s not true,” you reminded him, though not as gently as you supposed you should have. “Aemond’s part of the small council and plans with you, not over you. He’s loyal to you.”

“All one could ask of a guard dog,” he declared, lifting his cup, though there was little bite to the insult - as if it were spoken reflexively, rather than intentionally.

“I wish you wouldn’t antagonize Aemond,” you chided, almost wincing as you heard an echo of Alicent in your words. “He means well. He’s trying to help. All of your family is.”

The moment the words left your lips, you regretted them. Though you had grown uncomfortable in his presence, you did not wish for him to leave - not really. But you could see the flicker of warmth that lingered in Aegon’s gaze, the slight fondness he still regarded you with, cool completely as you uttered your admonishment. However, before you could apologize, blame the comment on your exhaustion, Aegon stood.

“As I’m often reminded,” he scoffed, though he attempted to cover it with a smile. “I’ll leave you to your dull volume, then. Goodnight, my queen,” he bade, smile tight and not reaching his eyes.

“Goodnight, Your Grace.”

Aegon bristled at the formal title - one you’d taken to calling him earnestly, no longer in jest as it had been the first few moons of your marriage - but paused only for a moment before striding out of the room. Behind him, the doors to your chambers fell shut with a heavy noise and you were, once again, alone with your thoughts.

For a few long moments, you sat with only the crackling of the hearth to fill the quiet. Somehow, the silence felt more overwhelming without Aegon’s presence, more oppressive, and you hated that you missed him.

Though you now felt a pinprick of bitter shame in his presence, you still felt guilty any time you pushed him away. Aegon was the one who began to pull away from, to place a wall between you and dismiss your attempts at affection, but you loved him. Despite realizing the few precious moments he spent with you alone were forced upon him, you cherished them, just the same - regardless of how ill they now made you feel.

To be the center of his attention, if only for a moment, still filled you with an awful, overwhelming, lovesick feeling. It once was the highlight of your day, the bright spot in an otherwise dull pattern of needlework and gossip. Now, however, the once bright light only served to further illuminate your own foolishness.

The giddy feeling was now replaced entirely by a roiling in the pit of your stomach, a bitter nausea that heated your skin and made your head spin, and you couldn’t help yourself as you stood to pull on a heavy cloak.

Despite being queen, you often felt an afterthought. There were only a handful of guards lingering near your chambers - none directly in front of your door - as most were keeping an eye on Aegon, Helaena, Helaena and Aemond’s children, or Alicent. It was easy to slip past them undetected and trace a familiar path through the halls.

At night, the Keep was almost peaceful.

Though a few lords lingered about, and others were on their way, there always seemed to be less pressure at night. Most were too deep in their cups or too weary from a long day to pay you any mind. The guards who kept watch at night were often less steadfast than their day-shift counterparts and most ladies who sent you pitying looks - or openly lusted after your husband - were locked away in their rooms.

Wandering about the Keep under the cover of darkness had become something of a routine for you and, with practiced ease, you made your way through the labyrinthine halls to the riverwalk.

Standing in the cool night air, the breeze surrounding you and filling your lungs with the familiar salt scent of the sea, soothed a touch of the homesickness you sometimes felt. King’s Landing was not White Harbor, not even close, but standing atop the riverwalk, you were able to pretend and felt your heart begin to calm. It was the hour of ghosts, a quiet time where the full moon shed bright white light over the bay and illuminated the water below just enough for you to watch it crash onto the shore.

There was no way of knowing how long you stood there. The only real measure of the passage of time was how cold your hands had grown. However, you realized that it had been long enough for your absence to be noticed as the clink of armor approached.

“Your Grace,” Criston began, voice carrying on the cool breeze as he stopped a few steps from where you stood, “the hour grows late and the night grows cold. You should return to your chambers.”

The question was no longer where you’d gone. Criston himself was the first to find you on the riverwalk one night, shortly after Aegon summoned you to his chambers in a drunken attempt to produce an heir that left you wondering why he would willingly bed everyone but you. The question was now how long you would remain.

Despite being from the North and used to far colder nights - longing for them, even - as winter began to creep into King’s Landing, Criston seemed to allow you less and less time in the cool night air.

“Why?”

If the question was unexpected, or confusing, Criston did not let on. Instead, he stepped closer - moonlight glinting off the silver of his armor with every step - and sighed as he watched your fingers trace the smooth edge of the stone barrier. “You are the queen,” he reminded you, simply, as if it were answer enough.

“I am the queen,” you agreed, voice quiet amidst the crashing of waves. A rueful smile twisted your lips as you shook your head. “Though, it is easy to forget.”

With a quiet sigh, Criston turned to face the water and watched the waves crash silently for a long moment. There was an affinity you shared with Criston, an understanding as he knew Aegon better than most - and regarded you with an affection similar to the one Alicent held for you. He seemed to share your disenchantment with life in King’s Landing, life in the Red Keep, and did not turn to face you as he asked, “Trouble sleeping again?”

“Mm. I do not wish to rely on the maester’s dreamwine to find sleep. The cool air helps. I apologize if I’ve caused worry.” A small part of you doubted anyone else knew you were missing - certainly not Aegon, for he was likely half-conscious in the throne room or already hidden inside the walls of a brothel by now - but you felt obliged to apologize, anyway.

Criston nodded, remained silent for a beat, and then pressed for another answer - the one he truly wanted. “What troubles you, Your Grace?”

Despite yourself, you found it easy to admit your upset to Criston. If anyone understood, you supposed it was him.

“I was excited to marry Aegon,” you admitted, a mirthless laugh escaping as you lifted your gaze to the moon. “I knew little of him but when we met, I found him charming. He made me laugh and he’s handsome. When he chooses to be, he can be good. Upon meeting, I forgot why I was afraid to marry, and my mother gave me reason to believe it would be… joyous, I suppose, too marry someone like him, to live in a place like this. I imagined a life that, looking back, could have never been mine.”

“Life rarely happens the way we imagine it will,” Criston reminded you, though it was gentler than you were used to. “We live the lives the gods see fit to allow us.” Those words, though spilling from his lips, were Alicent Hightower’s and you struggled to bite back a laugh as you recognized that you both pined for someone whose love eluded you. You wondered if this was the life he imagined for himself - a Kingsguard, hopelessly in love with someone who would never love him back.

“In that case,” you began, shoulders rounding as you wrapped your arms around yourself, “I can’t help but wonder what I’ve done wrong, what I’ve done to anger the gods so.” Your voice faded to a near whisper, lost in the wind, and Criston stepped closer to hear you as you continued. “I have no children to attend to, though if I did, there would be a nurse dedicated to them. They would not being to me, but to the realm.”

Another sigh escaped your lips as you blinked back the tears stinging at the backs of your eyes. “My only friends are two members of my own family. The rest of the ladies at court all cower in fear of my goodbrother or regard me with pity because of my husband’s reputation. And my husband…” Another laugh, this one bitter and harsher than you intended, escaped as you shook your head. “My husband drowns in his cups or remains too lost in the streets of silk to even consider wanting for an heir.”

With a hand brought to your cheek, brushing away traitorous tears that fell despite your best efforts, you felt a lump of emotion form in your throat. “Why does he seem so eager to bed every woman in King’s Landing, save his own wife?” Your voice broke, betraying your hurt, and you could see Criston tense beside you - uncertain, though hurting for you. The comment lingered for a moment before you shook your head once more and cleared your throat. “I apologize, Ser Criston,” you sighed, as the realization sank in. “Please forgive my outburst. It was inappropriate and I did not mean to… Perhaps you’re right, it is time for me to retire.”

“Your Grace,” Criston began, hesitant as he always seemed to be where matters of Aegon’s indiscretions were concerned, “it is understandable that you feel this way. Your patience has been impressive. Aegon is… he is young, but he will settle. Just give him time.”

“I’ve given him nearly a year,” you declared, suddenly angry as you turned to face him. “I knew, entering into this marriage, that it was little more than a political arrangement. I am but a pawn in the games of men. But I thought I might at least find a companion in Aegon. Now, I wish it did not feel so obvious that he cares little for me. I don’t want a husband to settle for me,” you declared, stronger than you intended. “I want a husband to want me, to desire me, to care about me. Aegon, I fear, barely knows I exist.”

A moment passed in which you sought to regain control of your own temper, your own tongue, and just as quickly as your anger arrived, it began to ebb. Exhaustion replaced it and you wrapped your cloak tighter around your body as you gave Criston a rueful smile. “Some in the realm consider that a blessing.”

Without waiting for his reply, you turned and set off in the direction of your chambers.

Criston followed close behind, remaining silent as you stepped through the halls much quicker than you had earlier in the night. It was only when you approached the door of your chambers that he spoke.

“For all your concerns,” Criston began, voice low and wide brown eyes meeting yours as he held the door open for you, “know that Aegon loves you deeply. It may not be visible in the way you wish, but it is there, in his heart.”

It struck you how deeply, how truly, Criston seemed to believe the words himself. There was an earnestness in his tone, a hope that you might believe him, and you desperately wanted to. But the best you could do was offer him a sad smile. “If only that were true,” you hummed. “Goodnight, Ser Criston.”

With the heavy, wooden thud of your door closing, you found yourself blinking back tears and hoping that the coming days would distract your husband enough to give you time to gather yourself. Every whisper convinced you of something different - that Aegon could someday love you, that he had no use for you, that he meant well, that he wished he was married to anyone else - but falling apart would do you no good.

The swirling thoughts in your head, the bitterness gathering in the pit of your stomach, had you on edge but it would only hurt you in the long run. You would have time to try and make sense of it all later, after the tourney ended and the Keep once again returned to its normal state of being.

For the moment, you could only hope that Aegon himself would remain distant.

Aegon was certainly distracted by his responsibility as king. Council meetings, petitions, private meetings; all took up valuable moments he once might’ve spared for you. He wasn’t fond of any of it, though he suffered through at the behest of his mother and grandsire. Like his father, however, he found a certain joy in hosting. Feasts, tourneys, dances; Aegon enjoyed them all in a way that you and his siblings did not. Merriment pleased him as he found himself at the center of attention, amidst happy revelers and praise directed at him.

Though the tourney was being held to celebrate Daeron’s nameday, Aegon still found himself at the center of every conversation. And his youngest brother, like Aemond, allow him to do so without complaint.

And while you would have preferred engaging in conversation with the other Targaryen siblings - or, perhaps, Aegon’s Velaryon nephews, or even the ladies who pitied you - you dutifully remained at Aegon’s side as he drank and laughed and feasted with lords whose names he could barely remember.

The few ladies surrounding you remained polite, though you could see their shared glances every time Aegon’s attention drifted from you. Regardless, he remained as close to his best behavior as he could and kept his hand in yours as Lady Redwyne offered you a smile that even he could see through. Aegon squeezed your hand - in comfort, you supposed, though you refused to read into it, even as your heart leapt - as she opened her mouth.

“How are you faring in the South, Your Grace? I imagine King’s Landing is wholly different from White Harbor,” she declared, taking a sip from her glass as she awaited your answer.

“It has been an adjustment, to be sure,” you returned, as polite and pleasant as you found yourself capable after hours of cordiality with women who openly snickered at your marriage. “But it is nice to experience a change of scenery. There is no shortage of excitement in King’s Landing.”

“An understatement,” Lord Tyrell declared, laughing as he shared a conspiratorial look with Aegon that you didn’t very much like. “Though, one can assume you’re glad of the coming winter,” he continued, gesturing to the gown you wore - a lighter fabric, compared to the warmer gowns the other ladies had opted for in response to the biting chill that settled into the air.

“An understatement,” Aegon parroted, tipping his cup for a cupbearer to fill. “She’d spend all night out in the cold, staring out the water, if she could,” he revealed. “Cole has to drag her in at night,” he continued, and you felt a sharp pang of disappointment as you realized Criston had informed him of your whereabouts.

“A reprieve from the warmth of the Keep,” you agreed, smiling politely - even as you couldn’t help but wonder what else Criston had shared with your husband. “And a marvelous view of the Bay,” you continued, pulling your hand as naturally from Aegon’s grasp as you were able, unwilling to spark any questioning looks.

“A marvelous view, indeed,” Lord Tyrell agreed, a salacious smile curving his lips as his gaze dipped to the curved neckline of your gown. Though your stomach roiled at the way he glanced at you, you kept your expression neutral as he continued. “And a wondrous place to share with a child, if the gods should allow it.” A few heads turned, then, all certain of the direction Lord Tyrell intended to steer the conversation as you reached for your wine. “We are all thankful to be celebrating Prince Daeron’s nameday, but cannot help wondering when we might convene to celebrate the birth of the crown’s heir.”

Luckily, before you were forced to offer a polite response to the inquiry made countless times in such a short timespan, Daeron appeared at your side and offered a brilliant smile. “I would be honored if the queen would grant me a dance,” he declared, glancing first at Aegon for permission before offering a hand when he was granted it.

Eagerly, you grasped Daeron’s outstretched hand and allowed him to lead you into the throng of people - still within reach of the guards and within Aegon’s line of sight. “Thank you,” you sighed, allowing Daeron to take the lead with a practiced ease. “While I’ve enjoyed having so much excitement around the Keep, I’m not quire sure how you deal with all the fine people in the Reach regularly.”

Daeron laughed, violet eyes glimmering in the light and untroubled by life in King’s Landing as he moved gracefully in time with the music. You almost envied his weightlessness, his freedom, as he revealed, “Thank the Seven, my days are spent training. Conveniently, I am exhausted any time there is to be a dinner.”

With a hum, you asked, “Do you think one of the guards might train me, so I could have the same excuse?”

“No.” He twirled you, smile bright as he watched the soft green fabric of your gown shift with each motion, and kept pace with the other dancers easily. “But you’re the queen. You can do as you please.”

“If only that were true, my prince.” Despite your best efforts at levity, the statement sounded as disheartened as you felt, a note of bitterness - acrid and biting in a way you had no desire to be with the youngest of Aegon’s siblings - laced every word. However, before you could apologize, Daeron’s smile softened into something understanding.

“If only,” he agreed with a wistful shake of his head. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten what life is like here,” he admitted, not bothering to pay any attention to the others hoping to cut in. “But I do hope you can find joy in it someday.”

“Tell Aemond and I will adamantly deny I said anything,” you began, smiling conspiratorially at Daeron, “but I do believe you’re my favorite goodbrother.” When he grinned, smile bright and boyish in a way that reminded you of Aegon - painfully similar to the way he smiled at you so early in your courtship when you complimented him - you returned it with a soft smile of your own. “I’m happy Oldtown has treated you so well but very glad you’re here to celebrate with us.”

“I suggested a progress to mother and grandsire,” he announced, grin brightening when you blinked. “Aegon’s never visited the Hightower and grandsire was inclined to agree that he should. While my brother entertains Lord Tyrell and the other fine people of the Reach,” he parroted, laughing as you rolled your eyes at him, “I’ll give you a tour. Perhaps we’ll even find a few new volumes for you to bring back to King’s Landing.”

That anyone - let alone the youngest of your husband’s siblings who’d only been at court a few short days - could see that you needed a respite from the halls of the Red Keep and would advocate for it pressed a weight to your chest in a way that might’ve concerned you had Aegon not become so oblivious to your distress.

For a brief moment, the time it took for the music to change and you both to begin the new routine with practiced ease, you wondered if anyone else could see what he saw so easily or if his distance from the Keep gave him clarity others did not have.

Idly, you wondered if your husband’s family had all become so blinded by the mundane - by their own gilded cages - that your growing discomfort was simply regarded as part of the life you now lead. There was nothing anyone could do about your discomfort, nothing that could be said to Aegon that hadn’t been repeated a thousand times over. This was now your life, as it had always been their’s, so they simply allowed you to suffer in silence, as they did.

Though they tried to placate you, it was often confined to the Keep. They never gave you the freedom to wander, to disappear when the walls of your gilded cage began to close in on you, and you wondered if it was because they never considered leaving.

Regardless, you were touched by Daeron’s considerations. “I no longer believe you are my favorite goodbrother,” you announced, trying and failing to hide the emotion in your voice. “I know it for a fact.”

Daeron’s gaze softened for a moment, violet eyes alight with an understanding wise beyond his years - a kindness, an empathy ingrained in him by Gwayne, you realized - before he leaned in conspiratorially. “Let me further establish my place in your heart by promising to share word that the queen regrets her absence but fell ill with a sudden headache and decided to retire for much needed rest before the tourney begins,” he offered, and it was only then that you realized how close to the door he’d managed to guide you both.

“Well, now you’re just unabashedly courting the favor of the queen,” you teased, the words weak though the smile you offered him was genuine. “Thank you, Daeron,” you whispered, squeezing his arm in a gesture of appreciation.

“I hope your rest revitalizes you, my queen,” he bade, “so that you might attend the tourney.” His voice carried just far enough to attract the attention of the few lords and ladies surrounding you and, with a nod of acknowledgement, he allowed you to slip through the small group near the door before turning to pass along your regrets to Aegon.

Despite how exhausted you suddenly felt as you left the feast - the noise from the hall fading into a muffled cacophony with every step you took - sleep was the last thing on your mind. Since the arrival of the first lord, your days had suddenly become filled with noise, an endless, mindless stream of sound that deeply unsettled you. Though the Keep was never silent, it was mostly tolerable.

Now, however, you knew that every place you sought solace was like to be filled with lords and ladies from every corner of the realm. The gardens, the courtyard, the entire Keep swarmed with people. There was no solace to be found in your usual perch atop the riverwalk, not tonight - not after Aegon’s laughter - so you opted for a place you knew few would venture.

The library was, even in the bright light of day, usually deserted.

Very few people, aside from the maesters - and a septa or two - set foot in the dim room. Even when the Keep was filled to the brim with people, it was rare to find anyone in the darkness sifting through volumes kept in the royal collection.

As such, you were pleased to find yourself alone for the first time in hours as you lowered yourself into one of the chairs scattered about the room.

For a few long moments, you were left alone with your thoughts. There were very few that many any sense, all jumbled into a cacophony of noise that did, unfortunately, cause an ache to form at your temples. It felt as if each thought was made of smoke, impossible to catch and examine in the way you often felt necessary to make sense of them all, and you released a heavy sigh as you sank deeper into the chair and closed your eyes.

“Quite concerning how quickly your headache appeared, Your Grace. Though this is not the place to sleep it off.”

With a start, your eyes flew open and a hand lifted to your chest as you inhaled sharply.

Aemond stood in the doorway, illuminated by the dim orange glow of candlelight, and studied you with an intense understanding you’d started to grow used to. The green leather he wore looked black in the low light and you sighed as you settled.

“By the gods, Aemond,” you huffed, shooting him a look that might’ve caused anyone else to wither but seemed to have no effect on him, “you frightened me.” As he stepped into the room, moving to sink into one of the chairs across from you, you sighed. “I do have a headache,” you defended, lifting the hand from your chest to your aching temple, “and I did not intend to sleep here. I just needed a moment alone. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to check on my goodsister,” he declared, lips curving into a smirk as you rolled your eyes. “I only wanted to see that you were alright, my queen. And remind you that you shouldn’t leave accompanied. There’s no telling who might be lurking in the darkness.”

“I’m afraid you’re the only one who worries about such things. I doubt anyone else would notice my absence,” you declared, tipping your head to rest on the edge of the chair. “What are you really doing here, Aemond?”

Though your comment earned a frown, thoughtful and calculating, Aemond ignored it for the moment. “The same thing you are; escaping the mindless, drunken chatter of our king and his esteemed guests,” he declared wearily, tipping his head to study you - daring you to deny your true reason for leaving the feast.

There was nothing you could say that would convince him otherwise and, besides, you made it a habit not to lie to Aemond. He always seemed to find the truth in the end; it was easier this way. So, instead of playing coy, you simply asked, “How did you know where to find me?” When he raised a brow, you barely refrained from rolling your eyes once more. “Stupid question,” you admitted, sighing as you raked a hand over the intricate fabric of your gown in an attempt to distract yourself.

“Your absence is noticed, by more than me,” he declared, voice quiet in the still of the room.

When he offered no elaboration, you heaved a heavier sigh and asked, “Is Aegon still entertaining Lord Tyrell?”

Pursed lips served as your only indicator of Aemond’s contempt as he hummed. “Hatching a plan to escape the Keep and explore the streets of silk, no doubt,” he declared casually, only pausing to gauge your reaction. When you swallowed, he continued. “Lord Tyrell’s appetites are… notorious.”

“No more so than Aegon’s, I’d wager.” Aemond tipped his head in silent agreement as you sighed and stood. As you began to pace, a slow back and forth across the stone floor, your goodbrother’s violet eye tracked your every step as he waited for you to continue.

“I try,” you began, with a shake of your head, “relentlessly, it sometimes feels, but it all seems so pointless. I heard the whispers before we were married, there is no woman in the real that hasn’t. But I hoped, naively, that he might change when we were wed. Foolish, I now realize, but I still don’t understand why he seems so particularly… displeased with me.”

As you paused, inhaling a shaking breath, Aemond sighed. “Aegon is a fool,” he declared, strong and certain in a way you only wished you could be, “though I believe you knew that when you were wed.” Despite yourself, you cut your eyes at him - discouraging the insult, though you knew it to be true - and he repented with a tip of his head. “But you are as much a fool as he if you think he is displeased with you.”

With a frown, you continued your pacing. “What other explanation is there? I care, more deeply than I suppose I should, that he continues to spend his nights haunting the streets of silk. But it is more painful to hear the whispers at court. Those women who denigrate me, claim it is some fault of mine own that he strays - that there is no heir yet… I know I shouldn’t care, but by the gods, I do. We have lain together only a handful of times while he’s bedded every whore in King’s Landing thrice over by now. Eleven moons have passed and we have no child. I tried, in the beginning, but he’s turned me away at every chance lately.”

Another moment, another beat of silence, as you blinked back the traitorous tears that you refused to allow Aemond to see. You swallowed the emotion settling at the back of your throat and shook your head. “Do you know how humiliating it is, to know that my own husband would rather lie with every whore on the streets of silk than take me to bed? I just wish he would tell me what it is he dislikes, what displeases him, so that I might try and change it.”

Aemond sighed heavily and you could feel his intense gaze burning into your skin. You knew that if you looked at him, you would break - the dam keeping your emotion at bay would burst and tears would flood your eyes - so you kept your gaze cast to your shoes and waited, with an anxious need, for his response.

If there was anyone who might understand, anyone who might offer you the truth, it was Aemond.

As he stood, your breath caught in your throat. With only a few steps, Aemond met you in the center of the room and urged you to lift your head. “There is nothing wrong with you. If anyone needs to change, it is Aegon. You are… formidable,” he declared, unflinching as he took in the way your eyes shimmered in the dim light. “That is a compliment I do not spare lightly. Aegon, despite his foolishness, has never wanted for anything. Except, I believe, to be worthy of you."

The declaration settled over the library with a finality only Aemond seemed to possess, a certainty that nearly made you believe him without question, and the words reverberated in your mind for a long moment. Aemond granted you silence, understanding as your jumbled thoughts began to make even less sense in a desperate bid to make something of his certainty, and you inhaled sharply as you tried to follow a single train of thought for longer than a moment.

However, before you could beg for clarity - for him to speak plainly, as if he were explaining the concept to one of his children - your sister’s voice interrupted. “Apologies,” she began, sparing a glance between you and Aemond with a look you recognized as something akin to regret. “The king has asked for you to visit him in his chambers, sister. He was told you did not feel well,” she announced with a sigh, “but he insists.”

“Very well,” you acquiesced with a sigh of your own. “I can see myself to his chambers. If you could make sure a bath will be waiting for me when I return to my own, you can retire for the night.”

With a pitying look you did not much care for - especially not from your youngest sister - she nodded. “Of course. Goodnight, sister."

As she took her leave, Aemond hummed once more. “And here you thought him displeased,” he teased, lips twitch with the ghost of a smirk. “He could be perusing the streets of silk with Lord Tyrell but he wants for his wife. How touching.”

“You are insufferable,” you declared, turning to make the journey to Aegon’s chambers, though there was no heat - save for a fond warmth - in the statement.

“Yet you seek my counsel and company,” he reminded you. “If I am insufferable, it is a burden you willingly bear.”

“Gladly,” you corrected, easily. “A burden,” you confirmed, though Aemond knew you did not truly consider him one, “but one I gladly bear. Goodnight, Aemond. Bid Helaena goodnight for me, as well.”

Despite the growing resentment you felt toward Aegon, the bitter sadness that started to fill your heart, your found a sort of comfort in his family. They all seemed determined that yours would be a happy marriage, no matter the doubt you now felt, and you appreciated their efforts. Though it seemed to be something of a coping mechanism for them, brushing truth aside for something happier - something lighter, even if it was unrealistic - it brightened your considerably gloomy outlook in a way you needed.

Though you were not a Targaryen by blood, they all stood with you - sheltered you from the outside world, even if they could not shelter you from one of their own.

And as you stepped through the halls in the only vaguely familiar direction of Aegon’s chambers, you wondered if he would even be awake to greet you - a cynical thought that once would’ve never crossed your mind as you rushed to Aegon as soon as he asked.

Much to your surprise, however, he was wide awake and waiting near the foot of his bed for your arrival.

“My queen of ice,” Aegon slurred, grinning at you as you entered his chambers. The doors fell closed behind you, the hall and the guard disappearing, and you bit back a sigh as you stepped deeper into the dimly lit room. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight? Green suits you,” he complimented, though the words were broken by a hiccup and a scrutiny that you believed to be his curiosity as to whether the gown was one he’d given you.

“You have,” you assured him, though not a word of compliment had been uttered in longer than you cared to admit - the sentiment in his words now unsettling your stomach rather than setting your skin alight. You also did not bother to remind him that the green you wore was the color of your own house, not Hightower green, as you watched him pour himself another cup. “Perhaps you should rest, Your Grace. It has been a long day, filled with excitement. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

“Not until I have done my duty as your husband,” he declared, before downing the contents of the cup in a long gulp. “Lost count of how many times I was asked when there might be a feast welcoming an heir to the throne.”

A small sense of satisfaction lingered for a moment - at least you were not the only one facing the repeated question. However, the satisfaction was short lived as conflicting emotions surrounding lying with Aegon began to cloud your mind.

For nearly a year, all you wanted was for him to want you. With each day that passed, you hoped - despite yourself - that he might seek you out and offer some of the affection you once received. You hoped that he might spare you the most fleeting glance, the softest touch, the smallest smile. It made you feel pathetic, but you wanted it so desperately.

Anything Aegon wished to give you, you realized you would gladly take.

However, now that he was offering you something of the affection you dreamt of each night you spent alone, the throbbing in your temples grew greater and the churning in the pit of your stomach nearly overwhelmed you. Thoughts - wondering if he would lay with you and then depart the Keep with Lord Tyrell, anyway; wondering if he might someday slip up, call you the name of one of his favored whores; wondering what might happen if you did fall pregnant, if he no longer had a reason to call for you - swirled so quickly that they stole the air from your lungs.

The room felt as if it were spinning around you and, for a moment, you felt drunker than Aegon seemed. Regardless, you could not bring yourself to deny him.

As pathetic as it made you feel, you grasped the opportunity to be closed to him with both hands.

“As you wish, Your Grace.” The acquiescence was soft, spoken in a breathless whisper to keep your voice from breaking, as you stepped deeper into his chambers. Despite the glassy sheen to his violet eyes, a flash of something dark - something angry, all too aware - flashed in them.

“I wish for you to call me anything else,” he sighed, pouring himself another cup of wine. The words were sharper than you imagined he intended, exhausted in a way you’d never heard him sound, and you felt yourself falter.

Breathing his name had once been your greatest joy. Calling him ‘Aegon’ or ‘husband,’ where others addressed him so formally, made you feel as if you had at least one piece of him others did not. Now, however, it brought you little comfort as you knew there was nothing you had others wanted for. You wondered, only for a moment, what the other women called him, before you bit the inside of your cheek to anchor yourself to the present.

There was no longer anything you possessed that was solely yours. No matter how badly your heart ached at the thought, no matter how angry it made you, there was nothing left. The only thing you could even hope for was a child born from your own body, though you knew even that would belong to the realm first, as Aegon’s heir.

With a swallow, you reminded yourself there was no sense losing the moment. Aegon wanted you, if only because he had to, and you would take it. You steeled yourself, willed yourself to remain upright and calm, and resumed your path.

“Very well, my king,” you agreed, stepping closer to the bed - unable to make yourself call him anything but. The possessive ‘my’ seemed to soften the title some, deemed it appropriate somewhere in the recess of his wine-muddled mind, and those violet eyes cooled some. They were beginning to glaze over, beginning to lose their focus, as he beckoned you closer.

Aegon drank deep from the cup, a few drops of wine escaping down his chin, and you sighed quietly as your fingers tugged at the intricate laces of your gown to keep from reaching for him. You wanted to, wanted nothing more than to reach out and brush the deep red from his pale skin, but you were uncertain how he would react.

However, before you could make much progress, Aegon pushed himself away from the bed and closed the distance between you.

Standing so close to Aegon left your heart beating wildly in your chest. You could feel it throbbing in your temples, in the balls of your feet that ached after spending the day standing to receive guests, thudding heavily against your ribcage. The scent of him filled your nose - the soaps and oils used earlier to prepare him for guests, the heady combination of wine and dragon fire that lingered on his skin - and it brought an ache to your chest.

Though it once might’ve made you swoon, brought a girlish warmth to your skin and sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach, it was now almost entirely unpleasant. As badly as you wanted this, wanted him, you also wanted to turn and run. But you kept yourself standing and schooled your face into an impassive mask as his fingers tugged at the laces.

Even drowning in his cups, he managed to make quick work of the ties that held your gown together - and, bitterly, the only thought you found yourself capable of forming was a question of how much practice that had taken.

Long ago, the first few times he’d taken you, there was some semblance of effort. Though you knew he did not want you, did not yet love you - though you still had hope then that he someday might - he tried. He kissed you softly, caressed your skin, whispered compliments in the dim of the room.

Now, he could barely keep himself upright as he helped you out of your gown.

Despite his drunkenness, Aegon still managed to remove the gown easily. The laces came undone quickly and it fell to the floor, piled into a heap around your feet. He stepped away, just enough for you to step out of the fabric and climb into his bed, before placing a knee onto the bed to follow.

Only then did he pause, seeming to remember himself. He stepped away for a moment, searching the small table near the privacy screen, and grabbed the oil the maesters had given you in hopes that it might aid the process.

A small part of you resented it - it hadn’t been necessary, in the beginning - while the larger part was thankful. It made the act more tolerable, easier to withstand, easier to pretend that the want was mutual and Aegon was not simply ‘doing his duty.’

Aegon tossed the vial onto the bed and peeled himself out of his clothes. The undershirt and breeches were tossed away, along with his small clothes, before he returned his weight to the mattress. He was half-hard, another surprise with how much he drank, and you contented yourself with watching as he reached for the vial and poured a few drops into his palm.

You were conflicted as to whether his refusal to glance at your face should be seen as an insult or a kindness as he worked himself to full hardness.

The man above you was somewhat unsteady, wobbling precariously as he climbed over you, and you had half a mind to reach out and steady him. However, you kept your hands fisted tightly in the sheets as he absentmindedly reached for your thigh with a slick hand and settled between your now spread legs.

Aegon’s eyes closed as he situated the head of his cock at your entrance, brows furrowing, and you followed suit as he pressed forward.

Unable to help yourself, a noise - louder than you would’ve liked - escaped your throat at the stretch. It had been nearly two moons since you last laid together and you couldn’t make much sense of how you felt in the moment as his weight descended upon you.

“Keep your voice down,” he slurred, shushing you - though you knew he would soon grow louder. “There’s still a feast going on.”

None of the guests would hear you, the feast was far enough away. If they did, it wouldn’t have been a bad thing - perhaps they might stop asking when to expect an heir, they might stop whispering that he refused to lie with you. But you relented and kept quiet, as he ordered.

The act itself was not wholly unpleasant, not when you relished in being the center of Aegon’s attention if only for a moment, but it was nothing like you’d hoped.

Aegon did not love you, nor did he desire you. The realization was enough to have you counting down the moments until you were allowed to return to your own chambers.

However, though the moment was less than idea, you held it dear. Despite yourself, as Aegon found a sloppy rhtzhym, you reached for him and held him close. One hand lifted to his hair, clean and soft as he’d been in the presence of so many guests and needed to keep up with appearances, while the other pressed to his chest. You could feel the beat of his heart beneath your fingertips, rapid but steady - or, maybe it was your own, echoing in your ears - and the way his chest rose and fell in search of breath.

Pleasing you was not his objective, nor was it even remotely on his mind, so you distracted yourself with watching him seek his own release.

Though you hated it, you still felt your heart beat a touch faster at the sight of him.

There was plenty of Targaryen beauty evident in Aegon - his fair hair, his violet eyes, his beautiful features - but there was something else that captivated you. Aemond was angular, fierce, serious; Helaena, soft and bright, with mournful moments of melancholy interspersed; Daeron, a mixture of both, blessed with a lingering, youthful ignorance his siblings were not granted.

Aegon, however, was something else entirely.

Even at his happiest, there was something so sad about him. His eyes, perhaps, where the smile never quite reached - holding a depth you were not privy to understanding - or the frown he wore so often when he thought no one was looking. The weight of the world rested on his shoulders, more so now than ever, but you’d long ago given up the hope that he might someday allow you to cary some of his burden.

Though the entire world had been placed at his feet, he wanted for something. If only he would tell you, you knew that you would provide it without a second thought.

In the pursuit of his own pleasure, Aegon still did not look entirely happy. There was a pinch to his brows that never quite left, a faraway look in his eyes that made your chest ache in the most unpleasant way, and a seemingly never-ending war waging in his mind as to whether he should touch you or not.

Hands, calloused from years of dragon riding - and the occasional session with a sword, though he’d long since given lose up - hovered near your skin. His violet eyes were conflicted, uncertain, and you could see his hands fluttering about before he settled on placing them near you. When he moved, his skin brushed yours and that seemed to be enough for him in his altered state. The weight of your own touch against his skin was something he leaned into, something he accepted eagerly, and you felt as if you could cry as he decided against returning the gesture.

However, you weren’t given long to dwell as his thrusts grew erratic after only a few short moments.

The time you spent together grew less and less frequent, as did the time it took him to ‘do his duty’ as your husband. With only a few thrusts, he buried himself deep and spilled inside of you, pressing himself close enough to steal the air from your lungs.

Disheveled blonde curls filled your vision as he leaned forward. Aegon stared at you, violet eyes clearly and blinking, and, for a brief moment, you felt a sliver of hope that he might kiss you.

It stung only a little when he did not.

“Gods,” he sighed,” leaning forward to press his face into the crook of your neck as he attempted to catch his breath. “You really look just like her,” he mumbled, voice slurring with sleep and wine. “Sound like her, too. And smell like her.”

Aegon breathed in deep, inhaling the scent of your hair and skin - perfumed oil doubtlessly dulled to barely any scent after a long day - as your heart began to beat even faster and your stomach clenched. A part of you had no desire to know who he imagined you were, who he pictured beneath him as he pressed his nose into your skin, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Like who?” If he noticed the shake to your voice, the way your hand trembled in his hair, Aegon said nothing as he hummed.

“My wife,” he answered, lifting his head and blinking bleary eyes at you once more, “the queen. Must be paid well.”

It was a wonder he couldn’t hear the beat of your heart as it threatened to hammer right through the wall of your chest. A thousand conflicting feelings ran through your head all at once. It was you he’d thought of, you he saw, and that was something of a balm for the ache in your heart. However, he thought you were a whore who merely looked like his wife, a whore he’d rather allow warm his bed.

A question lingered on the tip of your tongue - did he seek out one who looked like you or did he merely find your presence so improbable that he chose the most logical explanation.

Either way, he pulled out and moved away, rolling onto his back beside you. He allowed his head to fall against the pillow and muss his hair. “‘M sure there’re more than I care to imagine that want to fuck her,” he began. “That Tyrell cunt couldn’t take his eyes off her at dinner,” he huffed, eyes closing as he brought a hand up to scrub at his face. “Can’t fault him, though,” he sighed, “she’s beautiful.”

“Then why don’t you lay with her?”

The question escaped before you could consider it, before you could wonder if it was appropriate to ask, but Aegon seemed unbothered.

“Would you fuck me if I didn’t pay you?” Though the question was spoken blandly, meant to prove a point, it made your heart ache. Aegon thought so little of himself and you wondered how much a part you played in his self-doubt.

“I would, my king,” you whispered - you did, you would, if only he wanted you. “Gladly.”

“Don’t deserve it,” he declared, lips parting with a heavy sigh as he reached for the sheets to cover himself. “Leave me,” he ordered, not bothering to open his eyes and spare you another glance. “I want to sleep.”

The question of who he meant, of what he meant - who was undeserving of what? - lingered on the tip of your tongue, but rather than face his ire as he would doubtlessly turn his infamous temper upon you in the moment as he did not recognize you, you climbed out of the bed and pulled your dress on as best as you were able without the help of your handmaidens and slipped out of Aegon’s chambers.

Criston was the only guard lingering in your path - a calculated move, no doubt, to spare you further humiliation - and he dutifully cast his gaze aside as you approached your door. Any other night, he might’ve bid you goodnight, but thankfully, he remained silent as he held the door for you. You were uncomfortable and exhausted and grateful as the door shut with a soft click, plunging you into silence once more.

After bathing - alone, unwilling to allow anyone to see you after spending time with Aegon, too lost in your own thoughts and questioning your own feelings to care about propriety - you climbed into bed and waited for sleep you knew would not come.

The next morning, however, you awoke with a certain resolve. Following the night you spent with him, the questions that now lingered, you took greater care to keep yourself out of his reach.

Keeping away from him wasn’t all that difficult. Aegon had distanced himself enough that your routines were entirely different, living almost wholly separate lives despite sharing the same home. The only times your paths seemed to cross was in the middle of the day and at dinner.

Though, with the entirety of the realm now watching as you were supposed to be together for appearance sake, you were meticulous with your excuses.

The beginning of the tourney was a joyous affair, celebrated loudly by all in attendance.

With any number of events happening simultaneously, you made it known that you wanted simply to experience it all. Northern tourneys were different, you explained to anyone who asked - though all tourneys paled in comparison to those hosted by the king. This was simply an experience you wanted to remember, and Aegon encouraged your wandering.

There were but a handful of Northerners present - a few minor lords and ladies, two knights, and a handful of cavalrymen - and, while you were disappointed that your family was not among them, you were still glad to see familiar sigils. And, instead of sitting with Aegon in the royal box and watching as the tourney began, you made it a point to visit with those you knew, offering your greetings and welcome, and even a favor to the one knight who boldly asked.

Throughout the day, you wandered.

With your sister by your side, you watched the mummers and the archers, the puppets and the poets. You nursed a cup of wine and, when asked why you were not sitting with Aegon, confessed - feigning sheepishness, an emotion that earned you soft coos of delight - that you did not much care for the sport, that you worried for the knights and took no pleasure in watching them be carted off, injured.

In reality, it was Aegon’s act you did not much care for.

Without the attention of the realm placed solely on the pair of you, he might not’ve noticed your absence. It had taken him days, after all, to find you before the guests began to arrive.

However, this time, it took him only hours.

As the day crawled to an end and you found yourself stepping through the crowd to settle into your seat beside Aegon at dinner.

“Where have you been?” He frowned, paying no mind to the lord he cut off in the midst of a story. “I stopped by your chambers to escort you to dinner. You weren’t there,” he added, almost an afterthought - the words softening what he realized could’ve made you defensive, what could’ve made others suspicious.

“The bay,” you admitted, smiling your thanks at the cupbearer before sipping your wine.

Confusion wrinkled Aegon’s brow as he leaned in to get a better look at you - searching your face for any hint of a joke. “The bay,” he wondered, “why? Was the tourney not entertaining enough?”

“Lady Mormont wished to see it,” you answered, smile patient though you wished to roll your eyes. “It reminds us both a little of home.”

“There is water in the North? I thought it all miserable and frozen.”

When you frowned, incensed by the lord’s quip and the laughter that followed, Aegon sighed and reached for your hand. “It was a jest, my queen,” he soothed you. “I’ve heard stories of the beauty of White Harbor. Grandsire suggested a progress - perhaps we can go to the North and you can show it to me.”

“The Conqueror held court at New Castle three times,” you recalled, a fact you read in a book long before you married Aegon. “I’m sure my father would welcome you as my ancestors welcomed your namesake.”

“Alysanne held court there, I believe,” he declared, almost uncertainly as he glanced to you for confirmation. When you nodded, he hummed - pleased to have remembered his own history, something Aemond could have recounted with startling ease.

“A women’s court,” you confirmed, reaching for your cup with the hand Aegon left free. “I grew up hearing stories of how kind she was and how much the women enjoyed the opportunity to speak and have the queen hear them.”

Daeron, who had taken the spot occupied by Lord Tyrell the previous night, turned to you with a smile. “Perhaps it might be worthwhile to use this gathering to your advantage,” he interjected. “I know some women do not much care for tourneys. Perhaps you could hold court with them, afford them an opportunity to speak directly with the queen.”

“A marvelous idea,” Aegon agreed, squeezing your hand and smiling as he tipped his cup in his brother’s direction. “You’ve sat with me, listening to petitions before. You’re well trained,” he teased.

“Oh, how wonderful that would be,” Lady Baratheon declared, offering you a knowing smile - easily detecting the discomfort your husband so eagerly ignored. “All of the ladies could gather and share, so that you might know more about the concerns around the realm, Your Grace.”

“It’s settled, then,” Aegon concluded, smiling brightly as he nodded. “A women’s court; a perfect opportunity for my queen to become better acquainted with the women of the realm.”

Of the group, only Daeron seemed to sense your discomfort and you could see the pang of regret in his eyes as you spared him a glance. Regardless, you nodded your agreement and offered a smile to the new sets of eyes now turned to you.

“Of course. Tomorrow, then,” you confirmed, “I shall begin holding court for the women who do not wish to watch the tourney.”

In hindsight, the women’s court was, truly, a marvelous idea.

Though it was not something you wished to be put upon you without notice, there was a desire in you to take a more active role as queen. You grew bored easily, tired of needlework and idle gossip. The books you read were a nice distraction, as were the infrequent High Valyrian lessons your husband’s siblings spared you, but you needed something more.

Spending your time learning more about the plight of the women of the realm made you feel as if you were accomplishing something.

The women’s court also gave you a reason to disappear throughout the day, a reason to avoid Aegon entirely without having to explain yourself to anyone. As your mornings were spent working through the previous day’s findings and dinner was eaten alone - exhausted by the very valid concerns shared by so many women - you never needed to flounder for a reason to seek solitude.

However, that did little to stop the whispers.

From your sister - and your cousin - you heard the few whispers, those who correctly deduced your dedication as an excuse to hide from your husband. But you had little reason to believe that Aegon heard, or cared, about the whispers himself.

Until he sought you out.

On the third day of the tournament, late into the night - after the feast ended and the lords and ladies had retired for the evening - the door to your chambers flew open at the hour of ghosts.

Aegon, doublet undone and hair mussed, stormed in. His eyes were wild, violet darkened by an emotion you found yourself too exhausted to attempt to read, and his cheeks tinted pink as he stared at you for a long moment. “What have I done?”

The door to your chambers had barely swung shut when the demanding question echoed through the room.

Aegon looked less the part of king and more the part of upset husband as he began pacing before you, only pausing to glance at you incredulously when you flipped a page.

“The offense very likely depends on who is chastising you,” you declared, tone detached, uninterested - despite the unsteady beat of your heart and the sharp inhale you took great care to conceal, “your mother, your brother, or the hand. Perhaps you should ask one of them.” Your exhaustion kept you from standing yourself, from reading too deeply into the situation as you knew there would not be a satisfactory answer, but that seemed to only fuel his upset.

“The offense is yours,” he clarified, resuming his pacing as he ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “What have I done to offend you?”

With a sigh, you finally placed the book onto the table and leaned into the couch - just as you’d done only a few days earlier. It was clear that he had no plan to leave without an answer, though you found yourself at a loss for why he thought he’d offended you or why he cared. “I take it Alicent chastised you, then,” you deduced, the only logical answer as you finally lifted your gaze to watch as he stepped evenly - without the drunken sway you so often spotted. “Order the Guard to keep your trips to the streets of silk quieter and she might leave you be.”

Violet eyes narrowed as his brows furrowed in frustration - he seemed more upset that you weren’t listening than by the thought of causing offense.

“This has nothing to do with my mother,” he insisted, stopping to take a seat in the same chair he’d occupied only days earlier. Now, instead of waiting in silence for you to acknowledge him, his intense stare was accompanied by a frustrated frown. “I’ve done something to offend you but I don’t know what. Tell me, so I can fix it and apologize.”

For a moment, you simply stared at him, attempting to make sense of his sudden line of questioning, his sudden interest in you - in whether he’d offended you, when you both knew he’d spent nearly a year doing little else. If Alicent had not chastised him, if Aemond or Otto or even Criston hadn’t pressed upon him the importance of soothing your aching heart, why did he seem so rattled?

“If your no one has reproached you,” you finally began, words slow and deliberate, your confusion evident, “what makes you think you’ve done something to offend me?”

Aegon huffed a frustrated sigh as he gestured to where you sat, glass of wine, a stack of papers, and a book on the table. “You’ve been avoiding me. This is the first I’ve seen of you in days.”

With a sweeping glance around your chambers - at the papers and the book, at the gown waiting to be worn for the next day of court - you blinked at him. “I’ve been entertaining the ladies of the realm,” you reminded him, words still escaping slowly, evenly, even as you raised a brow at the way his knee bounced. “We decided to hold women’s court, like Good Queen Alysanne. I believe you called it a ‘marvelous idea’.” Aegon huffed at the reminder, incensed by your response, and you sighed. “The ladies are glad to spend the day unburdening themselves. I’ve been working through their concerns,” you explained, gesturing to the stack of papers, “discerning which are in need of further attention and which can be solved without the crown’s intervention.”

A moment of silence passed in which Aegon scrutinized the papers before he huffed once more and stood, resuming his pacing. “You’ve been avoiding me long before guests began to arrive,” he declared, nearly startling you as you hadn’t realized he’d noticed. As you blinked, surprised, he shot you a look, something angry - wounded, almost - and shook his head. “Don’t deny what we both know to be true."

“You’ve been busy.” Deflecting blame to him was not how you intended the conversation to go, not when you could see him bristle at the acknowledgement you had, indeed, been avoiding him. So, you added, “I did not wish to add more of a burden.”

Aegon sighed, a defeated sound that you’d never heard, and sat once more. He seemed to consider reaching for the flagon of wine, perhaps even stealing your cup, but thought better of it as he settled into the chair.

Silence enveloped you both for a long moment, thick and unbroken by even the faintest of sounds outside your chambers - by design, you assumed, as Aegon seemed intent on understanding why you’d been avoiding him, for reasons you could not fathom - and you nearly allowed yourself to ask why he seemed so desperate for an answer, when it was he who began the whole ordeal.

Violet eyes studied you, settled on your face and searched for something - anything - in lieu of an answer to an unspoken question, a question even he couldn’t seem to form. You nearly shrank beneath the intensity as Aegon finally uttered, “You are my wife. Nothing about you is burdensome.”

Though the words were soft, sincere in a way you did not expect, you found yourself unable to stop the bubble of laughter that erupted from your throat. “A relief.” The comment was biting, sarcastic in a way you’d never been with Aegon, and he frowned - wounded, violet eyes sad - as he regarded you.

“You do not believe me.” It was not a question and the realization seemed to do little to settle him.

Aegon was not someone you spoke openly with, not someone you shared your feelings with, but you couldn’t help yourself. Exhaustion set in and your desire for propriety was long gone. Instead of feigning acceptance, you simply reached for your wine and offered him a sad smile. “I often feel my presence is little more than a burden your family insists you bear.”

“That’s not true.” A near whisper, though the declaration held far more conviction than you ever imagined Aegon capable of. The hurt was no longer prominent in his sad eyes, replaced, instead, by disbelief - anguish, nearly, that you believed your words to be true. “Surely, you don’t believe that.”

Eager to move on, to keep from sharing your innermost feelings with Aegon in a way that you would surely come to regret when he drunkenly spilled them to the entirety of the realm, you shook your head. “It does not matter what I believe,” you declared, waving a hand to rid yourself of the conversation. “I fear there are more pressing matters at hand than my feelings. Court has been… enlightening.”

For a moment, you feared Aegon may not allow you to move on - that he may dwell on the subject until you broke, shed the tears that stung at the backs of your eyes. He seemed eager to push, to argue, but after a nearly uncomfortable stretch of silence, he finally asked, “What have you learned?”

The question was hollow, detached, and you nearly apologized. Instead, you turned your attention to the stack of notes on the table.

“Every solution the crown offers only seems to create a dozen more problems,” you related, sighing as you poured more wine before nudging the cup across the table toward him. “For every petition answered, a dozen more appear in its place.”

Aegon sighed, momentarily redirected, and reached for the cup with a nod of thanks. “We’re learning the same things, then,” he announced, rubbing at his eyes. “There is not enough grain or land or livestock. The winters are too cold, the summers too harsh, boundary stones are being moved and duels are breaking out over cows grazing on the wrong grass.”

The complaints were similar to the ones you heard, though yours were more nuanced - filled with heartbreaking accounts of cruelty and anger.

“The men are cruel, taxes too high, inheritance laws unfair; I’m sure we’re hearing similar stories.”

“The men are cruel?” Aegon frowned, hand pausing midway to his mouth as he blinked, uncertain as to what you meant.

“Mm. The men share the complaints about taxes, I’m sure, and maybe inheritance laws, but the women have unique concerns,” you explained, brushing a hand across your nightgown in an effort to distract yourself. “Alysanne decreed an end to the First Night but it seems the decree only held for royal or highborn women. Lesser ladies only escape the ritual if they have a kind husband. And inheritance laws mean second or third or even fourth wives are left with nothing if a husband dies, unless she or her husband has kind relatives.” Aegon frowned as he returned the cup to the table and shifted in his seat to get a better look at you. “Marriage is a political alliance for most,” you informed him, though you assumed he already knew. “But, for others, it’s a means of survival.”

“Gods,” Aegon sighed, “what did my father do all those years? Nothing seems to have changed. It’s all fucking miserable.” He leaned forward, placing his head in his hands for a brief moment, before he returned his gaze to you. “They told you all of this?”

“They did,” you confirmed, sighing as you clasped your hands together to keep from reaching for him. “I believe they just wanted someone to listen.” For a moment, you simply studied him - your gaze sweeping across his face, eagerly drinking in the soft look in his eyes - before you laughed, a soft sound lacking mirth. “I suppose I am lucky,” you confessed, standing to begin your journey to Alicent’s chambers for your nightly tea with her, Helaena, and the children.

“You’re married to the king,” Aegon surmised, standing to follow - to head for his own chambers, or perhaps out of the Keep.

“No.” With a shake of your head, you paused to meet his eyes. “I would be just as happy as a lady,” you confessed, watching as he frowned. “I am lucky because, even though you do not love me, you are at least kind to me. That is more than I could have asked for, more than most women hope for.” Aegon blinked, violet eyes going wide as his lips parted in preparation to respond, but you gave him a tight smile. “It’s alright,” you assured him, straightening your robe. “I’ve accepted my fate and am grateful for your kindness. I would not ask more. Goodnight, Your Grace.”

With quick steps and a racing heart, you left Aegon standing in the middle of your chambers with blinking eyes and parted lips. There would be time later to dwell on how much you said, how awful you felt for confessing such a thing, but you did not imagine it would be before the tourney ended.

However, you were surprised to find a request from Aegon the next morning - the king wished for you to join him in his chambers to break fast, as early as you were ready.

The request itself was odd - in the eleven moons you’d been married, you’d only broken fast together once or twice, and always after Aegon woke. Part of you feared you’d offended him, that you might finally become acquainted with his infamous temper, while the other part feared the rats shared your conversation with Alicent and this was her doing. There was little you could do to calm your racing heart as you considered both possibilities, neither pleasant and neither comforting.

Either way, you hurried through your morning routine. A part of you wanted to make him wait, to take your time or even send your regrets with the excuse that you had other plans. The greater part, however, knew it was better to get the whole ordeal over with and pushed you to your way to Aegon’s chambers - skin alight with an unfamiliar warmth as you did so.

Though you half expected to find Aegon still asleep, he was stood - pacing, silver hair clean and brushed - waiting.

As you entered, heart thundering in your chest, Aegon stopped in his tracks. “Good morrow, my queen,” he greeted with a tentative smile and an outstretched hand. “How did you sleep?”

Without thought, you accepted Aegon’s outstretched hand and allowed him to guide you to the table. He pulled out the chair beside his own, one you’d never before occupied, and gestured for you to sit. As you did, you noticed that the table held most of your favorite foods - items you normally requested for your own morning meal - and you nearly forgot the question as you turned to meet Aegon’s gaze.

With a great effort, you attempted to mask the confusion you felt. “Fine,” you assured him, offering a smile you hope he believed real. “And you?”

Undeterred by the obvious concern in your tone, Aegon nodded. “Fine,” he parroted, reaching for the tea to pour you a cup. “No wandering in the night for you?”

A confused curiosity filled you, settling into the pit of your stomach alongside a sinking feeling you couldn’t quite make sense of. There was no reason for Aegon to care - none that made sense to you, anyway - but being at the center of his attention, if only for a moment, sent your heart soaring.

So, with a rueful laugh, you shook your head and decided to humor him. “No, not last night.” Aegon hummed as he offered you a piece of fruit - your favorite, though you weren’t sure if he remembered it from the early days of your marriage or if a servant simply filled the table with things you liked - as you continued. “It seems some of the lords and ladies wished to see the riverwalk after I spoke so highly of it. They are curious what it is that calls to me.”

Aegon winced, his violet eyes flashing with regret as he sighed. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he declared, eyes cast down and lips curved into a frown. “I did not mean to…”

With a tight smile, you nodded. “I know,” you assured him. He’d been drunk, caught up in conversation with Lord Tyrell - who seemed to bring out the worst in him - and you did not blame him. Not entirely. “It’s for the best, anyway,” you continued, shrugging. “Alicent has chided me relentlessly for wandering about alone so late. I do not wish to face another of her lectures. I suppose I’ll just read, instead.”

The pair of you shared an understanding laugh - though your lectures were, doubtlessly, far kinder than any Aegon had ever received - before his thoughtful frown returned.

For a moment, Aegon allowed his searching gaze to sweep across your skin. There was a question written on his face, one he seemed unable to articulate, that he sought an answer to. Finally, he asked, “The reason you wander, is because you can’t sleep?” When you sighed, sipping your tea instead of denying what he now realized to be true, Aegon’s frowned deepened. “Is it the sound of the water or the cool air you seek, on the riverwalk?”

When he affixed you with wide eyes, a look that begged for the truth, you sighed. “The sound is soothing, but I wish for the cool air, more than anything. I leave my windows open when I can but as the air grows colder, someone will catch a glimpse and I am scolded - reminded by the maesters again and again that I could fall ill any time a breeze blows. It’s as if they forget I’m from the North.”

At your indignant huff, Aegon laughed - a soft sound that you’d missed dearly - before his thoughtful frown returned. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

Aegon’s concern left you mildly unsettled, confused, as you searched for an appropriate answer.

“We married in winter,” you finally reminded him, shrugging lightly. “I slept well enough then and we haven’t spoken about it since.” We haven’t spoken much at all since went unsaid but Aegon’s wince assured you he heard it, just the same. “It does not matter anyway,” you continued, “as there’s nothing to do but wait for cooler weather. I’m growing used to the heat. I wander a bit, cool off, and return to my chambers. Ser Cole was the only one to notice my absence. If he hadn’t said anything, no one would’ve known.”

“I’m sorry.”

The apology caught you entirely off guard and you found yourself turning to face Aegon with a frown. “What for?” With a laugh, you reached for your cup once more. “You’re the king, but you cannot control the weather. I will just savor the cool air whenever it appears.”

“I did not even know you wandered until Cole told me,” he confessed, swirling the cup of tea in his hand. His brows furrowed in frustration - though, you could tell it was not directed at you as he huffed. “I should’ve known you were not sleeping.”

With a sigh, you shook your head. “Just as you cannot control the weather, you cannot expect to know my every waking move. There are more important things to concern yourself with.”

“I’m your husband. You are my most pressing concern,” he declared, words soft - guilty. “I should know all there is to know about you.” Before you could argue - something Aegon could see written clearly on your face - he continued. “The next time you find yourself unable to sleep, perhaps I could wander with you. I do not enjoy the cold but I will brave it with you,” he offered, a hopeful smile lifting the corner of his mouth as wide violet eyes met yours.

A spiteful comment lingered on the tip of your tongue - certainly, if you are in the Keep and not lost in the streets of silk - but you swallowed it with a sip of tea. “Of course,” you agreed easily, though you had no intention of seeking him out when sleep inevitably refused you once more.

Sleep would only be harder to find when coupled with disappointment.

Regardless of your intention, Aegon seemed settled by your easy agreement. Assured - of what, you were uncertain - he turned the conversation to the remaining days of the tourney and began to eat as you began to worry.

Though all you’d wanted for nearly a year was Aegon’s attention, having it in spades made you overwhelmingly suspicious. There was little about the situation that brought you joy or comfort. If anything, it set you more on edge than you’d been since stepping foot into the Keep.

There was a part of you - the rational, pragmatic part - that understood. Aegon wanted to keep up appearances. Alicent and Otto had spent much of his life instilling in him the importance of maintaining an image. What happened in the privacy of the Keep when the crowds departed did not matter, so long as they all believed the happy facade put on for their benefit.

It made sense, then, why he insisted on breaking fast with you - so the lords and ladies would see you depart from his chambers - and why he insisted on escorting you to dinner. It even made sense to you why his hand found yours when you were amongst the crowd of revelers at dinner.

The part that worried you, however, was the attention he paid you when no one was looking.

Just as he had in the beginning of your marriage, Aegon’s hand brushed yours in passing as he went his way while you went your own. Throughout the day, you felt his intense gaze on you - searing into your skin across a crowded room, across the field as you spoke with the ladies of the realm when he should’ve been watching the tourney. And when night fell, he escorted you back to your chambers after dinner and sat with you, sometimes without so much as a word shared, until you deemed it time for bed.

For two days, Aegon paid more attention to you than he had over the course of your entire marriage - all without drowning in his cups.

And by the final day of the tournament, you found yourself utterly exhausted.

Being surrounded by people - those who meant well and those who certainly did not - was enough of a discomfort. The sometimes curious, sometimes accusing, sometimes pitying gazes of the lords and ladies of the realm set you on edge. But attempting to make sense of Aegon’s sudden burst of attention was what kept you awake at night.

Every reason you considered made little sense.

Initially, you assumed it was Alicent’s doing. However, the moment she expressed her surprise at Aegon’s sudden change of heart, you found yourself more perplexed. She seemed assured, however, certain that her eldest son was finally settling, and rejoiced at the sight of Aegon escorting you to the gathering of women two mornings in a row.

Aemond also seemed surprised, though his was better hidden than his mother’s as he watched Aegon offer you a hand to pull you into the fray of dancing bodies. And your assumption that it was he who’d spoken with his brother vanished into thin air the moment his violet eye met yours - a question of ‘what’s happening’ dancing curiously in it.

All logic failed you, each conclusion vanished as quickly as it arrived, and you found yourself confused and alone - away from the madness so that you might catch your breath and think.

However, you were not left alone for very long.

Without warning, no guard and no crowds of people vying for his attention, Aegon approached you as you sat far from the madness of the tourney.

The Conqueror’s crown glimmered atop his head, silver and ruby shimmering in the sunlight, and he looked the part of king. Royalty suited him, you decided - his features regal, his poise now unencumbered by drink as he’d done his best to remain sober in your presence - though you kept the thought to yourself as you bit back a sigh at his presence.

Aegon had taken to asking you what was wrong - a question he took seriously, as he attempted to remedy whatever it was that bothered you - but you turned to him before he could.

“What does it feel like?” The question was asked in desperation, a deep-seated desire to turn the conversation away from yourself - a need to return to some semblance of normalcy, despite his newfound attention - and Aegon’s brows furrowed. “Riding a dragon,” you elaborated, gesturing to Sunfyre in the distance. His prized dragon had been brought from the Dragonpit to be seen, marveled at; the most beautiful dragon in the realm, the king’s pride. “I’ve asked Aemond and Helaena, even Daeron,” you confessed. “They all say the feeling is indescribable.”

For a moment, Aegon regarded you with a smile - something bright and true, genuinely happy; something you saw little of in him - before he turned to glance at his golden dragon. “Do you want to try it,” he began, stepping closer and tipping his head to meet your eyes, “find out for yourself?”

With a hollow laugh, and a touch of fear at the prospect, you shook your head. “A beautiful thought, to be sure,” you acknowledged, “but if I stepped closer, I fear I would only learn what death by dragon fire feels like.”

Unbothered, Aegon stepped even closer - his arm now brushing yours. “If you stepped closer to Vhagar, surely, but Sunfyre is less inclined to violence,” he teased, sparing his dragon an admiring glance. “He listens well and will take to you, so long as you are with me.” When you frowned, uncertain, Aegon smiled softly and reached for your hand. “I should’ve introduced you sooner,” he hummed, apologetic as he squeezed your hand, “but we will just have to make up for lost time.”

Slowly, carefully - for your benefit, you realized, as Sunfyre seemed entirely aware of Aegon no matter how he moved - your husband guided you across the field to where Sunfyre rested. The keepers offered you both polite greetings before stepping aside to allow Aegon to interact with his dragon, unbothered.

Though his commands were nowhere near as sharp as the ones you’d heard from Aemond, nor as fluid as those you’d heard from Helaena, Aegon’s word still struck a chord with Sunfyre. His High Valyrian was clumsy, almost broken, but Sunfyre still responded just as eagerly as the others - if not more so - as the great beast made a rumbling noise and nudged Aegon in the chest.

Aegon cooed, returning the greeting happily as he offered the dragon a few soft strokes of his hand, and you felt a smile curve your lips - in spite of the thundering of your heart at your proximity to such a fearsome creature.

“Give me your hand,” Aegon urged, turning his head to glance at you when Sunfyre settled and turned a great eye upon you. “He trusts you because I do.”

With a tentative step, you moved closer to Aegon. He accepted your outstretched hand eagerly, tugging you closer, and placed a steady and on your waist. Every inch of your skin felt warm - from the great breaths Sunfyre took, warm air billowing around you; or from the heat of Aegon’s body pressed to yours, unfamiliar and easily stealing the breath from your lungs as his hand stroked your waist to calm you.

Aegon tipped his head to offer you a reassuring smile before turning his attention to Sunfyre once more. With a few quiet words - mostly in Valyrian, though a few words in the common tongue caught your ear - Sunfyre lifted his large head and repeated the affectionate gesture he’d shown Aegon.

A noise resembling a purr escaped the large beast and, with Aegon’s hand still clasping yours, your hand was pressed to his scales.

For a single, nerve wracking moment, you waited - half-afraid Sunfyre might turn on you, temper as unpredictable as his rider - but when he simply leaned into your touch, you exhaled slowly. “He’s beautiful,” you whispered, voice awed as your fingers trailed lightly across the warm patch of golden scales. “And so warm.”

The moment Aegon’s hand released yours, it fell to your waist as his chin rested atop your shoulder. Sunfyre rumbled another pleasant noise, as if he understood the compliment, and you laughed. “See? Nothing to fear.”

“You are well matched, I believe,” you nearly whispered, as if Aegon had not spoken at all. “The most beautiful dragons in all the realm.” The compliment escaped without your notice, unintentional, but Aegon’s hands squeezed your waist gently as he inhaled just a bit too sharp.

“He is beautiful,” Aegon agreed easily, reaching out to stroke the scales just above where your hand rested - thankfully sidestepping your compliment of him. “He’s also quick and loves to soar over the sea, something that reminds me of you.”

Sunfyre released another contented noise, happily basking in the attention, as you hummed thoughtfully. “The view must be incredible,” you whispered, still in awe of the beautiful creature before you. “I’m not sure how you find the strength to return to the ground.”

“It helps to have something worth returning for.” Aegon’s declaration was soft, as was his gaze as violet eyes fell to you. “Do you want to see for yourself? You’ll be safe, I promise. There is nowhere safer, in fact.”

The prospect of riding a dragon set your heart beating overtime once more and brought butterflies to your stomach. It was terrifying - and tantalizing - and you could not understand why Aegon offered. Still, you tipped your head and offered him a playful smile. “Do not let Vhagar hear you,” you teased, voice nowhere near as strong as you hoped it would be. “She might take offense.”

“The old beast is asleep in a field, she couldn’t hear me if I stood right next to her.” Aegon grinned at you - expression brightening considerably when you laughed - before he stepped away. His hands left your waist but grasped your own, fingers intertwining with your own, as he guided you to the rope connected to Sunfyre’s saddle. “Come, my queen. We won’t be missed.”

A lie - his absence would be noticed immediately - but you said nothing.

Conflicting feelings swirled in the pit of your stomach as you allowed Aegon to help you climb into the saddle. There was fear - a natural instinct, when faced with the prospect of riding a dragon - and doubt, uncertainty as to your safety. There was concern, an ever-present wonder as to why Aegon seemed so intent upon getting you to bond with his dragon. There was worry, a curiosity as to why Aegon was acting the part of husband you so desperately wanted.

But, above all else, there was an overwhelming happiness.

Excitement coursed through your veins as Aegon helped you situate yourself in the saddle, despite your dress not being appropriate riding gear. Warmth coursed through your veins as he settled in behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist and offering you a bright smile as you turned your head to glance at him.

The reason why mattered so little when it felt so intoxicating in the moment.

Though the question danced on the tip of your tongue - more of a demand, a need to know what had changed - you kept quiet as Aegon spared a few words for Sunfyre.

With an eager rumble, the dragon began to stand.

“Ready?”

Before you could answer - nod your agreement or beg to be returned to the ground - Aegon shouted a command you couldn’t understand. The golden beast took a few steps forward before bolting toward the sky, clearly as eager to fly as his rider.

As you hurtled toward the sky, your heart leapt into your throat and making any noise at all seemed impossible.

Though you would’ve agonized over the decision any other time, there wasn’t a single thought in your mind as you reached for Aegon’s arm. You held - perhaps too tight, you realized, as your nails bit into the leather of his riding jacket - and held your breath as the burnt, fading colors of foliage began to give way to the white stone of the city and then the dark water of the bay.

Cool air rushed around you, growing cooler the higher you climbed, and you delighted in the contrast of it biting at your skin as Aegon’s warmth bled into your back.

Part of you wanted to close your eyes, to savor the feeling of weightlessness as Sunfyre began to level out and soar above the water, while the rational par demanded you keep them open and drink in the sight of King’s Landing from above.

There was no guarantee you would have another opportunity to witness the beauty below you.

The city you’d grown to early loathe - the streets of silk that claimed your husband, the stench that sometimes wafted through your open window - was undeniably beautiful atop Sunfyre’s back. A thousand thoughts ran through your mind, though none seemed to provide an adequate description of the beauty below you.

Rather than attempt to speak, you simply breathed deeply and reveled in the quiet.

Atop Sunfyre, everything you’d spent nearly a year agonizing over seemed to fade into nothing. It all seemed so trivial, so meaningless, when the world was so vast and beautiful.

For a moment, you understood what your husband’s siblings meant - there was certainly no other feeling in the world that could compare to the experience at hand.

As you caught your breath, lungs filling entirely for the first time since leaving White Harbor, Aegon remained quiet behind you. For the first time, his silence was entirely comfortable - not something to be wary of, not something for you remedy. It was blissful, a shared joy, and you appreciated it.

Aegon’s chin rested atop your shoulder once more, blonde curls brushing your skin, and as you glance out at the dark water, you were nearly convinced it was all just a beautiful dream.

Having Aegon so close, his affection flowing so freely - his attention so rapt, so complete - was al you’d wanted for longe than you cared to admit. However, now that you had it, you were uncertain of what to do with it. You remained suspicious, concerned there was some sort of string attached to his affection, but a he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, you felt your concern begin to melt away.

It had been so long since Aegon kissed you, so long since he offered any kind of affection, that you couldn’t help yourself.

With a turn of your head, your gaze met his. As Sunfyre soared, you felt your heart begin to beat just a touch faster when Aegon leaned to press his mouth to yours. The kiss was soft, nearly chaste, and you could feel the familiar ache in your chest at the gentle nature of it. There was something so intimate about the gesture, something that meant more than all the attention in the realm, and you struggled to blink back your tears as Aegon broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to yours.

Everything around you ceased to exist with those violet eyes trained on yours.

Sunfyre rumbled a pleased noise - something bright and joyful - and Aegon smiled as he tipped his head to glance at the golden dragon. With your husband distracted, you swallowed the emotion lingering in the back of your throat and held tight to the saddle as the flight continued.

Just as you’d imagined, there was little desire to return to the ground - to the life that awaited you both, the crowds of people seeking your company, the expectations that overruled your happiness - but with a single command from Aegon, Sunfyre began to descend all too soon.

Though the flight had been short, nothing more than a quick trip around King’s Landing, it meant the world to you.

And when you landed, your feet firmly on the ground and Sunfyre returned to the keepers, Aegon’s expectant gaze met yours. “Well,” he began, smile knowing, “what did it feel like?”

“I fear I owe your siblings an apology. It was truly indescribable,” you admitted, heart still pounding in your chest - though you weren’t certain if it was from the adrenaline or the way Aegon was looking at you, bright eyes so intent on your face. “King’s Landing is beautiful from above. And I believe Sunfyre is the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen.”

“Dragon, certainly,” Aegon agreed easily, stepping closer and bringing his hand to your waist. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

The compliment was nothing more than flattery, almost certainly untrue - he’d spent his nights with Lyseni women whose beaut was famed - and shattered the moment entirely. Reality crept back in, startling you back into your own body, and drew the tears you’d been keeping at bay since the kiss.

With a shake of your head, you attempted to pull away from him as you lifted a hand to brush at your cheeks. “Aegon,” you whispered, voice cracking as you addressed him by name for the first time in several moons, “please, don’t.”

Like a strong wave, every emotion you’d felt over the course of your marriage crashed into you.

Each feeling was stronger than the last, shattering your resolve with astounding ease, and you could see the flash of panic in Aegon’s eyes as he stepped closer. The nudge you offered in response was weak, nowhere near strong enough to dissuade him, and Aegon ignored the gesture completely as he began to guide you back to the Keep.

Neither of you wanted the moment to be witnessed - Aegon did not wish for his mother’s ire, as she knew your tears were his fault, nor did he wish for more speculation on behalf of the realm; you did not wish for more pitying gazes - so you allowed him to steer you through the halls without complaint.

Aegon guided you through the halls of the Red Keep, stepping without thought in the direction of his chambers. However, before he could turn down the hall leading to his door, he seemed to think better of his destination. Instead, with a few retraced steps, he turned and guided you to your own chambers.

The moment the door shut behind you, effectively sealing you both away from the realm, Aegon did something he’d never before done - he wrapped both arms around your waist and held you tight to his chest.

It was a clumsy gesture, almost uncertain, and crushed your arms to your body, but you appreciated it, just the same. His proximity did little to stop the tears that spilled, though you pleaded with your body to offer you some sort of respite, and Aegon made a broken noise as his own eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

“Please, don’t cry,” he whispered, voice quiet in the still of your room. “I’m sorry.”

Despite yourself - despite the truth you both saw plainly - you shook your head. “Not your fault,” you denied, reflexively.

Aegon scoffed, wholly disbelieving, as he shook his head. “It is,” he acknowledged, tipping his head to press his forehead to yours the moment you glanced at him. “I have not been the husband you deserve. I have been no husband at all.”

For a moment, he seemed to falter - uncertain, unused to such emotion - before he lifted a hand to cup your cheek.

“I wanted to spare you,” he admitted, so earnest it made your chest ache. “This place, this life; it seems to make everyone fucking miserable. My mother was happier before she was queen, Helaena is happier when she is far from King’s Landing. There is no joy to be found here. I didn’t want to subject you to the same misery.”

The sincerity with which Aegon spoke struck you. He truly seemed to believe it - truly believed that he was sparing you - and you couldn’t help the fresh wave of tears that fell.

“As noble as your intentions may have been, I am here,” you reminded him, voice thick with emotion. “There is no sparing me, not when our lives were intertwined in front of the realm and in the eyes of the gods. It might be enjoyable if we sought happiness in one another.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever made anyone happy,” he confessed, voice a pained whisper, “as a son, a king; certainly not as a husband.”

“You have made me happy,” you asserted, brows furrowing. When he frowned, disbelieving, you gestured to the embroidery of Sunfyre adorning his doublet. “Soaring over the city with you on Sunfyre was the most joy I’ve felt in all my time in King’s Landing and I felt it because of you. The first few moons of our marriage, you were kind - affectionate, present - and that made me happy. The past few days, you’ve been kind again, you’ve been with me, and my heart felt as if it might burst. Being with you made me happy, Aegon.”

Aegon’s eyes fell shut, his breath stuttering as he shook his head slightly. “I know less about being a husband than I do about being king,” he confessed, violet eyes glassy as they reopened. “I’m afraid I’ll only disappoint you.”

“You’ve never been a husband, nor have you been a king, just as I have never been a wife or a queen,” you reminded him, tone gentle. “I also know little of either role but I want to learn. With time, both will become easier, but learning together would make me happy. I don’t want perfection, Aegon. All I want, all I have wanted, is you.”

“And I you,” he agreed, quickly - easily, his hand squeezing your hip. “I am not too late, then?”

“I’ve spent the last few moons wishing to hate you,” you confessed, lifting a hand to caress his cheek - your heart aching in your chest as he flinched, expecting a blow instead. After a moment, he leaned into the caress and you struggled to keep yourself from crying once more. “I wanted nothing more than to feel indifferent, or even angry, in your presence. But all I’ve wanted is your love. I’ve taken what little of you you would give but I want all of you. I fear it will never be too late, not when my heart belongs entirely to you.”

“How can you love me, after all I’ve done?” Sad violet eyes met yours, downcast and filled with a self-loathing you understood all too well, as he leaned into your touch.

“Because love is irrational. It lives in the heart, not the mind, and my heart has been yours for a long while.”

“I don’t deserve this,” he whispered, “I don’t deserve you.”

The whisper sharpened the ache in your chest, made your heart hurt for Aegon, as you caressed his cheek. Your thumb brushed away a few errant tears, brushed the dark circles beneath his eyes, as you studied him. His drunken words, whispered in the dim of his chambers, returned to you and you sighed as you met his eyes. “You do. You deserve love, Aegon.”

The declaration hung in the air for a long moment, lingering between you in a silence that seemed to stretch endlessly, before Aegon moved. He surged forward, eager to press his mouth to yours in another kiss.

This kiss, unlike the soft display atop Sunfyre, was desperate. It brought forth every emotion you both struggled to make sense of and stole the breath from your lungs. It was searching, starving, and you allowed it to consume you completely as Aegon’s grip on your waist grew tighter and you hand moved to tangle in his hair.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the turn you day would take, for the onslaught of Aegon’s desperate affection, for the sheer force of his kiss, but you surrendered to it without thought.

Even as your lungs burned with the need for air, as your chest ached and your skin felt as if it were blistering, you refused to part from him. And, to your surprise, Aegon seemed just as reluctant.

Each breath was stolen with lips only inches apart, with violet eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort.

Whereas affection had been nonexistent for so long, it seemed as if the dam had broken and you were both desperate for some semblance of the other’s love.

Despite Aegon’s emotional whispers, his open display of concern, you could feel the doubt lingering in the back of your mind as he walked you backward. While he navigated your room with an ease that should’ve surprised you, you wondered what might happen in the aftermath.

How long would Aegon’s affection last before you were left alone again?

As if sensing your hesitation, Aegon broke from the kiss and pressed his forehead to yours as you approached your bed. He took a moment to breathe - to allow you to breathe - before he whispered another apology. “I can’t change what I’ve done,” he acknowledged, “how I’ve treated you. But I can be better. I will be.”

Before you could speak - and say what, you did not know - Aegon recaptured your lips in another searing kiss.

With a practiced ease, he unlaced the ties of your gown - Hightower green, laced with the gold of his dragon - and brushed the fabric from your shoulders.

Unlike the night of the feast, Aegon took a long moment to study you as you stood before him in only your small clothes. And when you attempted to cover yourself - arms stretch across your chest, your stomach, your hips - Aegon gripped your wrists.

“Please, don’t hide from me. I want to see you.”

Wide violet eyes met yours, so sincere in their desire, and you found yourself unable to deny him. With a nod, you relaxed your arms - allowing them to fall to your sides when Aegon released you - and he hummed, a pleased sound that warmed you from within.

Though you only laid together a handful of times, and though Aegon had been attentive in the beginning, no experience compared to the one at hand.

There was a desperation in his touch, an eagerness you’d never before witnessed, and your breath grew harder to catch as Aegon crowded closer. His lips - chapped, but warm and not entirely unpleasant - pressed to every inch of skin he could find; your cheek, your chin, the column of your throat, your shoulder. He inhaled deeply and laughed, a surprised sound, as his gaze lifted to meet yours.

“You stink of dragon,” he teased, eyes glimmering with a mirth you’d missed - a lighthearted joy you hoped would remain - as his words recalled the words you leveled at him in the early days of your marriage. “It suits you, my queen.”

“A worthwhile exchange,” you assured him, hand returning to his hair as he nosed at the hinge of your jaw.

“We’ll ride again,” he promised you, pressing a soft kiss to your skin. “Any time you want, all you need is to ask.”

Aegon pressed you back, then, allowing the backs of your knees to press against the footboard of the bed, and you squealed as he tipped you toward the soft bedding. When you rested on the bed, legs hanging over the end, Aegon followed you down.

“Look at you,” he hummed, voice low as he ghosted kisses across your skin, “my queen of ice, melting beneath your dragon’s touch.”

Without thought, you heard yourself ask, “Are you?” Doubt still lingered in the back of your mind.

Though his lips pressed to your skin, Aegon responded with a somewhat distracted, “Am I what?”

“My dragon?”

The possessive was clear, easy to hear, and the question was unmistakable. The doubt that lingered shined bright, obvious, and Aegon sighed as he continued to press kisses to your skin.

“I am yours,” he promised, fingers lacing with yours as his lips pressed to the warm column of your throat, “entirely.”

It was not a promise you could yet believe, not a promise that you would allow yourself to fall victim to, and he seemed to understand your reluctance as you whispered, “Aegon…”

“I know,” he confirmed, tone softening as he continued pressing kisses to your heated skin. He trailed down your chest, blazing a path down your stomach and over your hips, and the beat of your heart pounding in your ears nearly drowned out the words he spoke. “I’ve been a terrible husband,” he acknowledged, violet eyes lifting to meet yours. “Worst of all, I’ve not exposed you to the most incredible joy of marriage - pleasure,” he declared, sinking to his knees at the foot of the bed. “But, from now on, I devote myself to seeking pleasure with you.”

A breath caught in your throat. Though your thoughts were muddled, uncertain - rational thought disappearing with each kiss he pressed to your skin - your stomach flipped at the potential weight of his declaration. “Does that… are you…?” The question would not escape, mostly for fear of misunderstanding, but Aegon understood.

“No more streets of silk,” he whispered, lips pressing to the heated skin just above your knee, “no Flea Bottom. You are the only one I want, the only one I need.” There was a certainty in his voice, a desperate need for you to understand, but you were hesitant. And when you blinked, uncertain, Aegon pressed his forehead to your heated skin. “You have no reason to believe me, to trust me, but I will prove myself to you. I will be worthy of you.”

“Oh, Aegon,” you sighed, fingers carding through the silver strand of his hair as he busied himself with pressing eager kisses to every inch of skin he could reach - lighting a fire that burned bright within you. “You are worthy.”

Aegon hummed, acknowledging he’d heard you, before he returned his gaze to yours. He searched, for just a moment, before he confessed, “I’ve been drinking, waiting while the knights and squires enjoy themselves. I’ve not… The only whores I’ve bedded as of late are the ones that look like you and even that is not enough.”

“The night of the feast,” you whispered, nodding. “You marveled at how much I looked like your wife.”

“Gods,” he huffed with a shake of his head, “I hoped that was you. I wasn’t sure. It felt like a dream, seeing you in my bed. I… I’ve been frustrated, as of late. I thought you would not want me. When you told me you felt as if you were little more than a burden I must bear, I… All I’ve wanted is you. I’m sorry I allowed you to believe otherwise.”

“Then have me,” you encouraged, as an understanding began to creep into your mind. “Take what you need from me, my love.”

Aegon’s fingers dug into the plush of your thigh, grounding himself to the moment for fear it was all a dream - something pleasant he would wake from violently, with his mother ripping the sheets from his body or his grandsire yelling insults at him - before glassy violet eyes lifted to meet yours.

“You are kinder to me than you should be.”

“Love is meant to be kind,” you whispered, your heart aching as he clung to you. “I want to be kind to you.”

For a long moment, Aegon simply stared at you. Words seemed to fail him - all thought lost to the ether as your statement lingered in the silence - but you both knew he preferred action.

Without sparing another moment, he returned his attention to your body, splayed just for him.

In the beginning, though he was attentive - pressed kisses to your cheeks, your lips, your throat - Aegon offered little in the way of true pleasure. Sex was a duty, a chore you shared in an attempt to secure an heir for the throne, but this was something else entirely.

Little seemed to exist outside of the pair of you. All you could find the strength to focus on was the eager press of Aegon’s mouth to your heated skin.

The warmth you felt was unfamiliar, indescribable, as he pressed his mouth to the plush of your inner thigh. He nipped at the sensitive skin, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh, and you could feel a fluttering in the pit of your stomach as his eyes began to darken.

With each nip of his teeth, with each swipe of his tongue, you allowed quiet gasps to fall from your lips unbidden and each noise only spurred him on.

And as his fingers tugged at the fabric hiding you from his searching gaze, you resisted the urge to cover yourself and, instead, relaxed beneath his touch. Though you felt an overwhelming vulnerability, you were offering Aegon the opportunity to earn the trust he sought.

“My beautiful wife,” he whispered, fingers digging into the plush of your thigh as he spared you a glance. “I intend to make up for lost time when our guests leave us. For now, I’ll settle for introducing you to pleasure.”

Before you could question him, Aegon leaned in and licked a stripe along the length of your slit with the flat of his tongue. Your fingers tugged at his hair as a gasp escaped your lips, and you could feel his mouth curve into a grin as he settled between your thighs. The sensation was new, odd but you hated the thought of losing it as he licked at you leisurely.

Though your absence had doubtlessly been noticed, Aegon was clearly in no rush.

Settled between your thighs, he seemed to struggle to decide whether to close his eyes and enjoy himself or keep them open and watch the bewildered look on your face morph into unabashed pleasure as his hand lifted and his thumb pressed to your clit. As your thighs jerked, fingers gripping his hair tighter, Aegon hummed against you.

“Better than the sweetest wine,” he mumbled, words muffled by your skin a he lapped at your leaking arousal.

Every swipe of his tongue, every press of his fingers, sent shockwaves down your spine. Your skin felt warm, feverish, and you suddenly found yourself understanding the few women who eagerly disappeared with husbands who lavished them with affection.

Pleasure was something foreign - a concept you’d only read about - but the experience was better than you could’ve imagined as Aegon eagerly sank into you. His fingers began searching, gathering the slick that coated his lips and chin, and pressed to your entrance. As you tensed, preparing for the uncomfortable intrusion, Aegon hummed.

“Relax for me,” he whispered, warm breath fanning over your skin and earning him a shiver. “This will feel good,” he promised. “Let me make it good for you.”

With a little effort, you attempted to relax beneath Aegon’s touch. It was difficult, when the only experience you had to call upon was the discomfort of your earlier encounters, but he seemed so earnest. And, as he waited, he continued lapping at the slick gathered between your thighs.

Throughly distracted by the press of his tongue to your aching cunt, the foreign sensation of warmth in the pit of your stomach, you managed to keep from tensing as Aegon pressed a finger to your entrance.

The ease of his touch was different than the quick, rough thrusts you’d grown used to and you found yourself sighing in a mixture of relief and pleasure as his thumb rubbed circles over the bundle of nerves. As foreign as the entire experience felt, you found yourself enjoying it more with every passing moment.

Until, however, a pressure began to build at the base of your spine.

When you tensed, gasping as you attempted to make sense of the new sensation, Aegon cooed. “Don’t fight it, my love,” he urged, fingers continuing to press into you - touch further igniting the spark blazing across your skin. “Let go for me.”

With a cry of pleasure, a noise you lifted a hand to cover, you felt the blaze swallow you whole. Aegon pressed forward, eagerly lapping up your release, and your vision began to white around the edges as he hummed.

For a moment, everything ceased to exist.

There was only the ragged sound of your breathing and the uneven thump of your heart as you attempted to make sense of the intense warmth you felt.

All too suddenly, however, a pang of discomfort drew your attention back to Aegon whose teeth sank into the soft flesh of your hip. “That was your peak,” he explained, grinning as his thumb continued to rub soft circles over the bundle of nerves - eyes glimmering with an unrestrained joy with every twitch of your limbs. “How did it feel?”

Unable to make proper sense of your own thoughts, and unable to choose your words with your usual careful precision, you hummed. “Fine,” you whispered, though your twitching thighs and hips chasing his touch as he pulled away betrayed you. He met your lackluster review with a raised brow, waiting for elaboration. “I think I need another to truly understand the joy of it.”

A laugh, genuine and all too pleased, escaped Aegon as he stood. He made quick work of his own clothing, pushing the fabric to the ground without a care, as he shook his head. “I’m afraid you were meant to be my wife,” he teased, climbing onto the bed to join you with a look that only served to bring a reader warmth to your skin. “And I’m afraid I’ll have to spend the rest of my life between your thighs, making up for lost time.”

“You’ve a duty to the realm,” you reminded him, though it sounded weak in your own ears - a flimsy rebuff as he tipped his head to press his mouth to your throat once more.

“Mm, but my first duty is to my wife and I’ve neglected her long enough. The realm can wait,” he announced.

Aegon settled above you and, for the first time, there was no stench of wine - no fumbling hands, no unsteady swaying. He was present, eager, and overwhelmingly affectionate as his mouth pressed to your heated skin.

Any lingering doubt, any fear that this time might be like the few others, dissipated as his hand explored your heated skin. His touch was light, almost teasing, as his fingers brushed your chest, your stomach, your thighs. You could feel his lips curve into a smirk with every soft noise you made and, as something of a reward, his touch grew steadier the louder your noises grew.

“I want to hear you,” he assured you, his hand dipping between your spread thighs to gather the slick pooling there. “Sound divine, moaning for me.”

As he babbled, words of praise escaping his lips in a near incoherent stream - never once falling quiet, though you found yourself unsurprised - he reached for the base of his cock. The head dragged through your folds, gathering slick, before it notched at your entrance.

Unlike previous encounters, Aegon took his time sinking into you.

With one hand pressed into the mattress near your head, the other gripping your hip so tight you feared it would bruise, he pressed forward slowly - deliberately. There was no rush, no frantic urge to reach the end, and you felt your breath catch in your throat as his forehead pressed to yours.

The noise Aegon made rivaled your own and you found yourself lost in him.

Soft silver curls, disheveled from your fingers raking through them; darkened violet eyes, torn between watching your face and eying the way you took his cock; parted lips, swollen and red from kissing you - he looked beautiful, and you wasted no time telling him so as you lifted a hand to cup his cheek.

“So beautiful,” you whispered, voice cracking with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Aegon paused - slow, deliberate thrusts stopping - as he blinked in surprise. His lips parted, however, before he could speak, you offered him a reassuring smile. “My beautiful king,” you continued, fingers brushing his flushed cheeks, “my beautiful husband.”

A strangled noise escaped his throat at your compliment and his cheeks and chest flushed a deep pink, a stark contrast to the fine silver of his hair. In lieu of response, however, he simply lowered his head and pressed his lips to yours.

The hand on your hip moved, thumb returning to the bundle of nerves that sent shockwaves down your spine, and for the first time, you found yourself enjoying the moment.

There was no worry as to whether this would provide the realm the heir they so desperately wanted, no worry as to whether Aegon may leave you wanting - there was no worry at all. Instead, all you felt was a pleasant warmth, the eager press of your husband’s lips to yours and the weight of him atop you, and you allowed yourself to revel in the feeling as the pressure you’d felt earlier began to return.

Aegon seemed to be near his own end, his thrusts gaining speed and force - though it was still far more pleasant than anything you’d ever experienced - and his lips parted from yours as he inhaled sharply.

Time seemed to slow and speed, all at once. Everything blurred into a searing warmth, all-encompassing and overwhelming. The edges of your vision turned white and you felt yourself plunge headfirst into the depths of pleasure as Aegon buried his face in the crook of your neck. His own release followed yours, the end sweeter than anything either of you had experienced thus far, and you couldn’t help but cling to him as he buried himself deep inside.

For several long moments, Aegon remained above you - more of his weight pressing you into the mattress with every second that passed. You both fought to catch your breath, chests heaving and ears ringing, and you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled in your throat as he lifted his head to glance at you.

“I’m dying, and you’re laughing?” He rolled his eyes, though there was a fond warmth in the question as he pulled away to lay beside you.

Rather than placing distance between you, Aegon tugged you into his side - wrapped an arm around your waist and nearly hauled your body atop his - and returned his face to the crook of your neck as you laughed a bit harder. “I just, I didn’t know it could feel like that,” you explained, still marveling at the lingering warmth you felt.

Aegon remained silent for a long moment, seeming to gather his thoughts, before he sighed and pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. “I’m sorry. It should’ve been like that all along,” he declared, hand returning to your hip as he attempted to pull you closer. “I didn’t want to disappoint you, or make you unhappy, but that seems to be all I’ve done,” he lamented. “But I promise, that will change.”

“So long as you’re with me, I think I’ll be happy enough,” you assured him, reaching out to cup his cheek once more - smiling as he leaned in to the touch. “I was happy to be betrothed to you, you know. I thought you were handsome and funny, charming.” Aegon leaned in, then, and stole a soft kiss - unable to part from you now, it seemed, now that something had shifted - and you laughed as you sank into him. “Perhaps there will be another tourney come summer,” you hummed, lips barely parting from his, “to celebrate the king’s heir.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed, nose brushing yours as violet eyes searched your face. “But heir or no, I’m glad to have you by my side.”

Though a small shred of doubt lingered in the back of your mind, a nagging feeling that made you nauseous, you swallowed it with a smile. Aegon’s attention was yours, his love was yours, and that was all you wanted. Certainty would come with time, with practice, and you were glad to spend as much time with him as he wanted.

The only thing you’d ever dreamt of - a husband that wanted you - was finally yours and, despite the rocky start to your marriage, you found yourself glad that it was Aegon.

_________________________________________________________

Author's Note: This may be fanon!Aegon but I just wanted something a little soft. He deserves some love. I was also a little nice to everyone but you know what, why not? It's fiction. Not sure how it got this long but here we are.

Taglist: @anaya-rhys, @holypeacecrown, @marvelously-flawed, @travelingmypassion, @letsgotothehop, @reynacrawford, @liannafae, @ffsg0jo

#aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen smut #hotd smut #hotd imagine #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen x you #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #v's fics

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adelheidvonschicksal · 6 months ago

Text

⋆｡°✩ DARLING, DON'T BE AFRAID

Summary: Despite living with Xavier for the past few weeks, you still haven't taken the plunge to see if all this time together make you anything more than roommates especially when he disappears again in the middle of the night. Determined, you decide to question him on where his feelings lie. You just never thought a simple kiss on the cheek was the only push needed.

Pairing: Xavier x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: Roommates AU, Vanilla Smut (A lot of it. Like 7k words of smut), Love Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Emotional Sex

Word Count: 12,000~

Note: Sequel to Do Roommates Sleep Together. This part can be read as a standalone. So not necessary to read part one but it adds more context.

AO3 Link

You make a final decisive pull of the trigger. A loud pang resonates in the air and smoke spirals off the barrel. The Wanderer disappears in a wisp of debris and dust that is quickly caught in the wind.

Xavier stands a few feet in front of you. His sword twirls with one final arc of light illuminating behind the sharpened tip before it dematerializes in his hand. You’re oblivious to the way his eyes search and find you on instinct as you run eager fingertips on the warm barrel of your pistol.

“Mission completed. We should report back.”

You raise your head to meet his gaze while your gloved fingers remain faithfully on your weapon. The adrenaline from a successful mission is still surging through you.

“I want to test out my guns some more.”

His eyes soften at your response, but the weight of his gaze is still heavy as he walks towards you and places his hand on your head.

“There will be more Wanderers tomorrow,” he murmurs. His thumb gently brushes your forehead before his hand swoops back over your hair. Though your hands were still itching for another battle, your mind was weak to the calmness of his tone, like the slow tumble of waves on the shore, as he coaxes your head back to look at him more directly. “Let’s go home.”

This time you do not protest. Even if you did, what could you possibly say?

Your aggression relaxes along with your shoulders, allowing you to give in to his request with a quick holstering of your twin guns.

You return to headquarters and give your mission report to Jenna – pausing only to poke fun when she mentions how much Xavier’s reporting time has improved since the two of you became partners – then you start on the way home with the sun kissing at your back.

Laughter fills the air on the streets. Immediately, you feel warm inside. It was only thanks to the work you do every day that citizens could enjoy this peaceful dusk without fear of monsters scrambling to destroy the city like so many years ago.

It’s rewarding to know you hold some small part in the safety of the city after almost dying in the catastrophe as a child. You breathed it in fully, letting joy fill your lungs as you savor the calm moment. The emotion is only highlighted by the fact that when you look to your side, you can see Xavier there, putting weight to the empty space left in the wake of your family’s death.

Walking home together in the past was a random occurrence, happening whenever your busy schedules after missions aligned. As freshly cemented roommates, it was almost a given you’d walk home together now. Not just to the apartment complex, but to an actual shared home.

This path you go along every day has become special in that time. It’s full of promises, the kind you could only wish for on snowy New Year's evenings as you tied red ribbons to the shrine gate and prayed for good things to happen in your life. Not a lot of those wishes came true but Xavier did.

In that way, you were a fortunate person.

It was only your guess if he felt the same. You want to ask him. Unlike when you’re fighting Wanderers, you’re not brave when it comes to Xavier - a part of you prefers to leave things between you unsaid. It’s safer that way as you can keep living in a beautiful world of your own illusions.

Therefore, you’re unable to help yourself. Pinching the sleeve of his uniform, you tug on it gently to gain his attention; Xavier looks at you with glossy glazed eyes. He’s always so sluggish after missions. His steps slow and methodical, like a robot, as he barely manages to straighten his spine and raise his head.

“Chin up, Xavier. We’re almost there.”

“I’m exhausted,” he says.

You don’t need to hear him say it to understand. You think you’ve become good at reading his body language by now. Donning a sympathetic smile, you shift your hand, aiming for a lower target, and entwine your fingers with his under the guise of leading him faster.

“My next solution is carrying you by the way.”

A smile cracks on his face, impossibly light as his gaze drifts to the hold you have on his hand. “I don’t think you could carry me.”

“You dare doubt me?” Truth be told, he was right. He was tall and muscular and much thicker under that uniform than he looked. He would probably crush you under his weight if you tried to lift him. Despite how improper it was to think, you wouldn’t mind if he wanted to place his weight on top of you in another way. You tick up the corner of your lips into a surprisingly innocent smile opposite of the images in your imagination as you flash your bicep to him. “I’m very strong.”

“I think it would make more sense if I carried you.”

“I can walk.”

“I don’t see why that matters,” he says with a yawn, and you smile.

“Are you sure you won’t drop me?”

“If it’s a choice between falling asleep and dropping you then I’ll definitely stay awake. Otherwise, you might end up carrying me after all,” he says. Xavier always manages to be unfailingly charming. Given the mystery of his past and the way he carries himself, you often question exactly what kind of upbringing he had. You almost ask but your interrogation doesn’t have the chance to plant seeds when he stops in front of you and kneels.

You thought he was joking when he said he’d carry you home but that doesn’t stop you from wrapping your arms over his broad shoulders and letting him scoop your legs up around his solid waistline.

His clasp on the back of your thighs makes you shiver. You feel like a touch-starved virgin that the simple strength of his hands over the thickness of your pants incited such a reaction out of you, so you bury your burning face against the back of his neck.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

Xavier must feel your hair against his neck, and you use the fact he can’t see your face to your advantage as you nod against his nape.

“Just hungry.”

For his part, Xavier doesn’t question your sudden hunger. Instead, he asks what you’re in the mood for and starts to list the restaurants that you pass on the way to the apartment complex.

You lay your cheek against him, watching the many buildings pass you by until you point out one you don’t recognize, flashing with many signs about a grand opening.

“How about that one?” you ask.

Xavier chuckles, continuing on in his steps past the building in question. “It’s not that great.”

“How do you know?”

“I tried them out.”

You squeeze into his shoulders, pushing off of them in a childlike manner and an even more dramatic gasp. “Without me?”

“I was going to bring you something back, but they weren’t very tasty. I like your cooking a lot more.”

You know he can’t see you, but you puff out your cheeks anyway. You wrap your arms tightly around him again, willing your heart not to skip when his back tenses as your chest compresses against him.

“Are you asking me to cook dinner for you? I’m quite exhausted after all that running around,” you tell him sarcastically.

He accidentally makes you regret your teasing when he agrees with a compassionate offer, “I’ll cook for you today.”

Hearing the word cook from his mouth makes your stomach sour. If there’s one thing after all these months you learned, it’s that Xavier is a…creative cook to put it gently. Or rather, he has zero cooking ability if it involves electricity. You didn’t mind. The two of you make it work with you doing most of the cooking and him cleaning up after, at your own behest, because if he had his way, he’d be in the kitchen much more often.

“On second thought, I’ll cook.”

“You still don’t trust me,” he says with a sigh. Guilt tingles through you. However, your continued survival outweighs the guilt that the memory of his puppy eyes can draw out of you. “I’ll handle the cold stuff, and I’ll leave the meat to you.”

“Deal,” you say, nuzzling your head against his neck.

When you get home, the night pans out like it always does. The two of you take turns in the shower with dinner being cooked shortly after, and the human garbage disposal known as your roommate leaves very little work for you to do once all is said and done.

You decide to start on the last of chores for today while Xavier washes the dishes. It’s routine to check the plants before going to bed as the many potted flowers were like your own children after you spent so many hours tending to them, finding the perfect ratio of nutrients and water to keep them thriving.

It is also routine to hunt down the birds so lovingly named Fatso and Alarm Clock by the sleepy man of the house to give them some of the seeds and nuts you regularly brought home from the store. You told Xavier that happy birds would stop eating his strawberries when in reality you liked to spoil them.

So, you spread out the seeds on the ground for them, leaving them there for later.

“If you feed them, they’ll never leave.”

You can’t help the laugh that leaves you. As much as he complains about the birds, you think, if his constant curiosity about the birds’ day-to-day lives was anything to go by, that he’d miss the two fluffy creatures if they were to ever find new nesting grounds. You turn back to the balcony door with a cheeky grin. “I have experience with things that don’t leave after you feed them. You enjoyed dinner a little too much.”

It’s hard to see in the fading light but Xavier blushes and brings a shy grip to the back of his neck. “Last I checked you moved in with me.”

That silences you. There’s no denying his observation, and you fail to notice him getting closer until he reaches his hand out to help you up. You willingly reach out, hand sinking into his touch as he lifts you to your feet.

The coolness of your palms touching slowly births a lingering warmth. The soft squeeze around your hand makes it hard to let him go but eventually you must. Otherwise, you might say things that are better kept to yourself as you walk back into the house and close the sliding door behind you.

With a pounding heart, you retire to your room early.

This room is a little different from the master room at your old apartment. The wall color is a little different brighter and it’s smaller. Luckily, you made the space work pretty easily by migrating half your plushie collection into Xavier’s room, checking like a dutiful mother to make sure he was treating them right and placing them with love should they roll off his dresser. Sighing, you change into slightly more comfortable clothes, choosing a random pair of soft shorts and a tank top to wear before climbing into bed. It’s ten when you finally let your eyes slip shut, and it's around eleven you feel someone touching you.

Your eyelids are surprisingly heavy; you can barely pry them open enough to see the wisp of grey-brown hair shadowing medium-blue eyes. You don’t protest as you feel his fingertips brush along your waist or when his knee digs into the mattress, sinking you towards his weight.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he wants. You raise your arm enough to let your fingertips greet the curve of his chin in silent acceptance. Slowly, you drop your hand and squeeze his bicep. Like a good little soldier, he follows the order to fall into the bed with you.

The most comfortable position is to slot your arm on top of his as he hugs your waist, props his leg on top of yours, and spoons your back. There’s absolutely zero space between your lower halves; and if he notices how you, with a small amount of shame, subtly shift and push yourself back on him a little more, he doesn’t say as he lolls his head against the curve of your neck while his incredibly light exhaling on your skin comforts you after a long day.

With a flutter of your eyelids, you slowly slip back into sleep with the happiness that comes with being roommates with your crush.

It’s times like these that make you think maybe he loves you. It’s also times like these that make you forget that despite all of the endearing things about him and despite how much you care about him, you don’t truly know a lot about him.

Xavier has always been a man with a lot of secrets. You’ve known this since you first met him asleep in the forest. It’s true that you once accepted the fact you’d never learn all his secrets but that was before whatever this abnormal relationship that the two of you found yourself in.

Even after living together for more than two months now, you still had no idea where he would go when he would sneak off in the middle of the night. You didn’t question where he goes anymore, you found that he wouldn’t give you a straight answer to save his life. You merely stayed up until you heard the sound of the door opening or the warped echo of air being sucked into a vacuum, indicating he teleported inside.

So, when you wake up at two in the morning, finding yourself alone and the side of the bed where he laid mere hours ago already cold, you’re not surprised.

Getting out of bed, you slip on your slippers and drag your feet to the balcony. It’s a familiar situation when you collapse into the swing chair, with nothing but the cold and the chirping of the birds to keep you company until he undoubtedly returns with his body hosting a family of fresh wounds.

It’s incredibly frustrating because you love him and seeing him hurt, without you having been there to prevent it, drives you crazy. You wonder why he won’t tell you, and your heart sinks, as quickly as a stone cast in a lake, with the idea that maybe you were the only one thinking that your relationship meant more than it did. Because even after all this time, you still aren’t close to him in the way you want.

Clenching your fists, you shove your eyes against them. It was all so infuriating when he ran off to fight Wanderers or whoever and left you all alone to overthink and worry about him like some helpless house plant. It was enough to make you want to cry as the strange foreboding sense of losing him begins to echo inside of you, making you nauseous. There’s only one way to get rid of this feeling. Taking in a deep breath, you settle to give him a piece of your mind about sneaking off so much and also to bite the bullet to confess your feelings.

It was only a matter of waiting for him to actually return home and to get your heightened nerves to stop firing in every direction in the meantime.

By the time you heard the door to the apartment creaking open, you’d nearly fallen asleep in the wicker swing chair. You swallow down the bitter taste of fear, ignoring the tumultuous waves it makes when it hits your stomach. You’d never get anywhere if you didn’t face him.

Carefully, you hop up from your seat and make slow strides into the apartment. It’s still dark in the house; you hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights earlier. Yet Xavier carries a lightness around him, mostly imagined by yourself, that makes him easy to spot in the darkness.

For a moment, things seem normal as he takes a few stiff steps forward. Suddenly, he falls forward, the white of his uniform nearly a blur with how fast he collapses onto the sofa, but it is nothing compared to the speed at which you rush to his side.

You call his name, press two fingers to his throat, and let your eyes slip closed with a desperate concentration as you search for his pulse behind the blaring red of his collar.

It’s a gradual pace, averaging twenty beats a minute and slowly rising. For anyone else, you’d immediately rush them to the hospital. For Xavier, that number is a relief.

You hold your hand to your pounding heart, practicing deep measured inhales to calm it. It appears he fell asleep as soon as he entered the room, with only enough awareness to kick off his shoes at the door.

It looks like your lecture will have to be postponed for another day.

You’re thankful for all the training you had to take to become a hunter because it takes an enormous amount of effort to throw one of his arms over your shoulders and drag him to his bedroom. You make a mental note to never let him question your ability to carry him again as you sit him on the bed and shuffle off his uniform jacket, leaving him only in his pants.

In a tender motion, you gently cup his face and examine him. Dirt cakes his face; and when you brush it away, there’s a small cut on his cheek. It hits you again just how reckless and secretive he can be, echoing with a bitter thought that he didn’t bring you again. The only bright spot is the little cut is his only injury this time.

Laying him on his back, you leave for only a moment to get a warm washcloth and an adhesive from the bathroom. It’s a blue band-aid with a cartoonish pink bunny on it, something a kid would love and has probably been collecting dust in the drawer longer than you’ve been alive.

It takes all the seriousness out of your body when you return, clean his face off, and place the colorful bandage on his cheek. It’s hard to believe this narcoleptic pretty boy was the strongest member of the Hunters Association.

“I didn’t think when we moved in together I was going to become a babysitter,” you commented with a little huff and poke of his cheek. “You’re terrible at taking care of yourself. Can’t cook. Can’t stay awake. Can’t tell someone when you’re going out. I bet you didn’t even lock the door when you came in. …What if a Wanderer floated in after you and trampled all the flowers, or did you just not want to leave any for me tomorrow?”

You know your complaints are falling on deaf ears as he cuddles up to his pillow without a care in the world. But if you didn’t complain, you’d get depressed instead. Dropping to your knees, you sit on the floor and prop your elbow on the bed to get a better look at him.

He looks so peaceful.

There’s no tension, no crease to his expression. It’d be easy to mistake him for a normal young man if it weren’t for the strong humming of his Evol tickling at the wall of your resonance.

“I’ll let you sleep, but you’re getting it in the morning! I expect answers. Otherwise, I won’t cook breakfast for you,” you attempt to sound threatening in your words with every poke to his cheek a not-so-silent promise to follow through. “I’ll take my missions with the new recruit all the ladies at work gossip about. And the next time I get a snack shipment, I’m letting Jeremiah have first pick!”

With one last prod to his face and no reaction otherwise, you stop your demands and sit back on your legs.

Bit by bit, you feel your energy dissolving. It’s no use. It’s all empty threats. You’ll probably not cook for a few days, eat in front of him too, at least until he gives you those puppy eyes, and you’ll fold just like origami paper. You’ll still save him the snack you know he likes even if you allow Jeremiah first pick of the rest. And you’d never be interested in the new recruit or anyone else.

Xavier can be distant and formal. For others, his hyper-independence was evident. Taking on missions alone and avoiding group settings is just the way Xavier’s personality works. He’s reliable and gets along with everyone at a surface level and he’s known to go out of his way to help others without seeking validation for it so it never ruffled any feathers when he goes off on his own or rejects an invitation to drink with the others after work.

They didn’t see. They didn’t see how easy it was to care about him. They appreciate him but they weren’t aware of how intensely and passionately he could feel when he unfurls that independent nature. How he always quietly adjusts his dominant foot to point your direction whenever a Wanderer appears. How his voice drops and his touch becomes the smallest bit more graceful and careful when he sees you upset. How sweetly he looks when he sleeps.

It makes your resolve crumble and your heart squeeze, something only he can do without even being awake to know it.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you mumble to him.

As you lean closer, you easily ignore the stirring in your gut that tells you to stop.

The bandage is a little rough against your lips as you seize the chance to kiss him. It’s a short and small thing, much more delicate than your prodding from earlier because you want to indulge the romantic in you. You want him to somehow sense the feelings cultivated in your heart over the past few months though impossible when he’s asleep.

You don’t let it last long. Instead, the desperate urge to feel his heat against you spurs you to rest your forehead against his cheek. It’s warm and soft, and the faint scent of pine trees of the no-hunt zone fills your nose. You savor being this close to him, allowing yourself to indulge in it until the heat on your skin starts to match his, and you finally let him have peace for the night.

With no need to remain in his room, you stand and pivot towards the door, wondering how you’ll manage to grasp any form of sleep tonight. However, you don’t make it two steps before there’s a tug at your arm.

You yelp as you’re pulled towards the bed while the shock has you stumbling forward into it. The hand leaving your arm in favor of grasping around your wrist stops you from falling completely but your knees have already buckled. You’re left nearly a head under him when he finally swings his legs over the side of the bed and shifts into a full sitting position. This position is oddly familiar. When you uncertainly force your eyes up to meet his face, this vulnerable angle becomes unmistakable.

His voice is husked and rasped from sleep, sending a chill up your spine when paired with the swirling shadows darkening his blue eyes under his hooded lids and dark lashes. That’s the look of a predator, of the association’s strongest hunter, and you face the inkling realization that you’re the prey.

Nervously, you begin to divert your eyes. He takes a page out of your own playbook and reaches under your chin to guide your sight back to him as you fight not to whimper at the pressure of his thumb pushing down as if he wants to part your lips. It isn’t until now that you notice how close you are to his lap and how another few inches would drop you to your knees.

“Why worry about Wanderers following me home when you’re so much scarier.”

“What do you mean?”

Memory has never been your friend. This though is the first time you’ve forgotten how to breathe when his fingers completely close around your wrist. His hold is firm, preventing you from wringing your way out of his grasp, but it doesn’t hurt.

He might as well take that grasp and use it to squeeze your heart instead when he brings your hand to his face. You’re unsure what he’s planning; the awkwardness of the situation makes your fingers straighten and twitch away as he holds your hand closer to his face. Sensing your trepidation, he closes the last of the distance instead by tilting his head into your hand with the same affection as always as he lets your fingertip brush against the silly little bunny bandage.

The familiarity of the motion puts your heart a little more at ease but not enough to bring your breathing back to you as he mumbles, “I don’t remember giving you permission to kiss me.”

Your lips part with a silent puff while your brows push forward, highlighting the confusion in your mind onto your face. He takes advantage of the moment to nuzzle your hand. It’s a notion you can’t appreciate as his words finally sink into your mind and reform into a horrifying conclusion.

“…You were awake the whole time.”

He chuckles so easily at the dry peep that echoes from you, the rivet of that warm sound collects in your palm and makes your face scalding hot. You didn’t face a burning heat like this even when fighting one of those flame dragons. All the while, Xavier was laughing at you…

“Not the whole time.”

With your head catching up, you find enough of yourself again to actually glare at him and smack his shoulder. “That’s not the point!”

With another display of strength, he locks your other wrist, pulls you up, and then snatches you into him. Luckily, you’re able to flatten your palms against his chest to brace yourself. His heart as well as his face is unnervingly calm compared to your own organ that’s currently orchestrating its escape from your chest, battering your ribcage even harder as you unconsciously stretch your fingers over his naked skin.

You don’t like this. This bullying, which you only describe as such because you can’t think of a word more fitting for the way he’s treating you, is too one-sided.

“It was on the cheek,” you argue with a steeled voice. You fake the confidence to stare him back down, choosing to trade your determination to confess to him tonight in exchange for preserving your pride. “It was friendly.”

To your satisfaction, your declaration of war makes him the one to pause this time. His eyes widen and there’s a quiver in those waves of blue that he hides by glancing down and away.

“…Is that what it was?”

You nod. “I wasn’t…going to do anything else.”

Xavier smiles, shaking his head, and there’s a new determination in his eyes that causes your teeth to clench down on the inside of your cheek as he leans closer.

“In that case, is it okay to return the favor?”

He doesn’t give you the time to answer. He’s already closing the distance, his dark lashes already fluttering, and his lips already puckering to kiss you as you’re squeezed flushed against him, only your palms stopping your chest from colliding with his.

“Wait!”

Hearing your disapproval, he pauses, but that cheeky grin still doesn’t dissipate.

“What's wrong?” he asks with a sigh. You’re sure it’s not a true question. “Am I not allowed to give you a friendly kiss as well.”

The implications make your stomach twist while your thighs squeeze together pathetically with the sudden throbbing of arousal that spikes through you as you tumble further and further into this rabbit’s trap.

“I—that’s!”

“So, you were misbehaving,” he concludes from your sheepishness. “I guess that means I need to punish you instead.” He breaks his hold around one of your wrists to ghost his fingertips along your cheek and down your neck until all you can do in response is breathe out a moan, much to his surprise given by the rise of his eyebrows and the slight dust of pink on his bewildered face. “…I didn’t think you were that sensitive there.”

Your mind swims with the traitorous thought of wanting to show him where you’re more sensitive dancing in your mind before you can sweep it away. When his fingers dance along your neck again, you whimper and hold in another moan.

“Don’t hold back on my account. You know my most sensitive spot after all, as hunting partners, it only makes sense for me to know yours, right?”

You can hardly think of a response to that. It’s true. You know his biggest weaknesses and as you come to terms with the situation you run your thumb over the plump inside of your thigh hesitantly. It takes you almost an entire minute to decide on what you want to say, and you don’t notice his hold on your wrist weakening.

“My weakness—”

Suddenly, your arm drops back to your side.

“I’m kidding,” Xavier states; the small smile he normally wears comes back to his face as you look up at him with wide eyes. “I was only curious as to what your reaction would be.”

The tension in the air wanes and buries itself in your heart. The embarrassment clings to every cell living in you, unshakeable as you try to keep a brave face. “You’re cruel.”

“Am I? You were the one touching me, all the while promising to run off with some rookie,” he reminds you.

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t—you’re so frustrating,” you scream at him, and this is the first time he appears to take you seriously all night.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, with less teasing and more concern. He wraps an arm around your waist. His legs slot between yours, leaving your knees to collide with the plush of the bed as he hugs you tighter and tighter until you’re nearly seated in his lap. “Don’t be mad. I only thought—”

“Xavier?”

“Did you really mean it then?” he redirects. He snakes his other arm around your waist, this time when he holds you it feels…weak, and his pursed lips and narrowed eyes hold back a troubled emotion. “That it was in a friendly way?”

Your breath hitches at the swirl of his thumbs nervously circling the small of your waist. Nervously, he waits for an answer you long lost in the rapids of the constantly changing tides of the last few minutes.

“If you meant it…if you truly wanted to kiss me,” he pauses, trying to find his voice. The one to tell you that you’re all he thinks about. “Then you should have woken me up.” His face holds a serene glow that completely enraptures you as he looks up at you. “I wouldn’t have rejected you,” he swore.

He loved you so much it ached. Moving in together should have been enough to prove it. He guesses not; because when he thinks you want him back, you’re so hesitant to accept. Even now, you’re unable to respond.

This cycle has become painful, even for someone as patient as himself, the wait when you’re this close to him is agonizing. So, he decides now to be the one to end this circle the two of you found yourself in with one decisive motion.

He tests the waters, not knowing if he’ll swim or drown, but he has confidence in his ability to read your personality and actions as he cups the back of your head and pulls you in for a kiss.

Your mind empties immediately, your body on autopilot when it registers the warm, silky skin of his lips on yours. Closing your eyes, you willingly tumble and fall into the taste of him, chasing after it when he breaks away.

“There. We’re even,” he says, but to you, that’s far from the truth. You’re far from even after all the heartache and sleepless nights he’s been putting you through, after all the push and pull that left you aching and wanting both in your heart and between your thighs.

The self-satisfied smile on his face quickly fades as you grope his shoulders, digging your nails in like you’re afraid he’ll escape. Your knees press to the top of the bed as you plant yourself more onto his lap. He braces his hands on your hips to catch you as you run your hand into his hair and crane his head back, so he has to look you in the eye.

His ears pinken at your sudden brazenness, but it doesn’t reflect in his voice as he smiles at you. “Are you trying to get more?”

“Am I being too greedy?” you ask. He chuckles at the jut of your lips and the pleading eyes before you press another demanding kiss to the corner of his lips.

Xavier moans from his throat as he latches onto your jaw to redirect your kisses to his lips. Kissing him is nearly maddening, the twitch of his muscular thighs under your ass making your mind hazy. With one hard squeeze at your hips, he catches up to the zealousness of your kisses.

His tongue pokes and prods at your mouth. However, he doesn’t need much permission to keep going as you open your mouth wider. His mind skips and lags at just how quickly your mouth overtakes the slick appendage. It leaves him more than a little out of breath and flustered with the rate your mouths keep parting and meeting, tongues desperately searching and licking the inside your mouths as if this is the first meal you’ve had in weeks.

You’re hungry to memorize each other despite having all the time in the world now to do just that. When the two of you finally indulged enough and earned enough satisfaction, you’re able to calm down and readjust the pace.

“I think we’re both greedy,” he jokes about the both of you before sliding his tongue back into your mouth. This time he’s slower as he presses down on your tongue, causing your teeth to lightly graze over the top of his.

There are too many sensations going on for you to keep up. The way your breasts hug his hard chest has you feeling sensitive while the heat seeping from his tongue stroking in your mouth has your stomach bundled in tight knots that won’t know release until he’s inside of you.

Dreams were nothing compared to this. Nights filled with nothing but inappropriate thoughts of him turn into nightmares at the slim chance of having to face them again should this go wrong.

Impatiently, his fingers curve into the hump of your ass to anchor you and encourage you to grind on his lap, or rather grind against the hard tent brazenly making its presence known with each hurried roll of your hips.

You whine from the separation of your sexes when he begins to lift you up, but your complaints quickly die in your throat. They’re replaced by a squeal as he flips you and your back bounces on the mattress.

Xavier climbs over you, his face flushed, breath ragged, and overall, he’s just absolutely beautiful to you. Reaching up, you cup his cheek and play with the ends of his hair, unable to recall the last time you’ve felt this high.

“Xavier,” you whisper breathlessly as you swoop his bangs back to see more of his handsome face and save it to memory. “What are we?”

Xavier tilts his head, furrowing his brow at your question, and there’s a second where a ray of doubt breaks through the clouds of lust in his irises. “We’re…whatever you want to be.”

“I want to be with you,” you say. Those words tumble out more effortlessly than you ever thought.

Xavier overlaps your hand with his, holding on tight as if to prove a point. “You are with me.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” he corrects. Then, he dazzles you as he always does, “I want you to tell me so there’s no mistake, and you can’t take it back later.”

You inwardly become embarrassed when it crosses your mind that this is the first time you’ve ever confessed to him without multiple drinks in your system. It’s too late to turn back now that you’ve crossed the Milky Way and landed on the other side.

But why would you when you’re so close?

“I want to be with you always. Whenever and wherever you are. Whether that’s having fun together or fighting. I-I love you, and—”

“And I love you,” he answers. You’re not sure if you’re jealous or relieved that he can say those three words without hesitation.

“I don’t want anything to be between us. I don’t want any more secrets or hidden things. I’m tired of this. I just want to be real, more than partners or roommates or whatever other title that isn’t boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“Okay,” Xavier agrees as easily as he agreed to be roommates with you in the first place.

“Okay?”

“I want that too,” he agrees as he repositions himself on top of you and his lips curve into a small smirk, “girlfriend.”

You’re accustomed to the finicky organ known as your heart tightening with pain when you’re overwhelmed; this time when it skips a beat, it’s welcomed. Smiling, you gaze up at him as he releases a slow, strained breath. It’s validating to know he’s been just as nervous as you.

Everything suddenly becomes full force again when his knees move to either side of your legs while he pins your hands above your head in one tight fist. His teeth nip at your earlobe, and his free hand gropes at your breast, fingers outstretching to fully take it in his grasp. Wet kisses burn on your throat, each one firing off a rapid signal to arch your back.

“Slow down,” you whine before cutting it off with a moan as he hits a particular delicate spot. The discovery spurs him on, like a pet with a new toy, and he bites your nape once again causing your hips to jerk. With a burning desire building in your stomach at every touch, you pitifully hug your thighs together to try to ease it. “I didn’t get a chance to absorb all that,” you tell him, mostly to get some time to catch up. It backfires wonderfully as he grips onto the bottom of your tank top.

“I have a better way to help you understand.”

The sheets shift with his movement, your lower half dipping towards him as if he holds his own gravitational field. He settles between your legs and strokes against you with one slow, languid rock. It instantly makes you throb. It’s painful how hard you clench over absolutely nothing, panties gathering the lust that’s dripping from you.

You simultaneously hate and love him for causing this need that’s bubbling inside you.

Large hands press your shirt further up your torso. “Arms up,” he demands softly, which you have no problem obeying, and he quickly lifts your shirt over your head.

He lowers his hands to hold at your waist, and they fall still on you as he takes in your naked skin. You’re not privy to his thoughts. The silence of the room feels defean-ing now that your needy gasps of air aren’t filling it.

He pauses, eyes taking you in as you raise your eyebrows at his hesitancy. Xavier smiles, mumbling out, “Just thinking where to start.”

Xavier smiles at you so tenderly. Everything about him is incredibly soft on first appearance. He has big blue puppy eyes, he prefers white, cozy clothes, and his voice is just as gentle as his appearance. Everything about him is soft except for his hands.

Those are hardy and battle-honed, worn with calluses built up with every swing of the sword he’s taken since he was a child, enough of them to slay thousands of Wanderers over the years.

They drag.

Oh, they drag so dangerously slow over your skin, dipping into the pudge of your stomach and highlighting a small circle in the warm, buzzing glow of his Evol. The rays shine gold over your flesh, shimmering brightly in the dark of the room.

“Here,” he states before hunting down another spot on your torso. A beauty mark, like a beacon, earns the sharp eyes of a hunter. He zones in on the vulnerable location, creating a golden target. “Maybe here.”

You squirm with every mapped spot he creates. “Xavier.”

The residue of his power leaves your skin humming; you’re overly aware of each spot he highlights with his power. You like to think your senses would still be heightened regardless of this little game. After all, you’ve been wanting him to touch you forever.

Every night next to him felt like torture, being unable to touch him more than a hug when all you could feel on your back was his hard chest, his arm tight around your waist, and the outline of his cock against your ass as he sighed in your ear.

It runs through your head that he must have put more thought into touching you than you assumed as he continues to stripe lines over the top of your thighs right under your night shorts, making your breath heavy in your throat. You’re no longer sure if he’s marking you to tease you, to track what parts of your body he’s claimed for himself, or to simply make you laugh from the humming of his Evol tickling you like fuzzy static on an old tv screen. Even as he smiles at your shallow giggles, there’s no denying the aura of possession radiating from him that makes you antsy when he finally presses his finger to your sternum.

“Let’s start here,” he says followed by a soft hum as he tattoos a line straight between your breasts, leaving you highlighted in slowly fading graffiti.

“About time you decided,” you say with an playfully exaggerated roll of your eyes. He cocks his head at you with a sly smile.

“I can’t help if I want to touch all of you,” he murmurs. Any response you had ready dies when he licks the encircled zone of your shoulder then swiftly to the notch of your throat, drawing a moan out of you that you didn’t think you were capable of until you met him.

Tilting your head, you allow him more room to work as he kisses your chest. His warm tongue slips through the line he marked, his nose dragging against you as he litters your engorged skin with kisses.

“More,” you beg. Who was he to keep you waiting any longer?

He slips a fingerpad over the tip of your nipple, gently pressing down and then rolling it. It does nothing to satiate you. Satisfaction keeps escaping your grasp, the goalpost of what’s enough moving further out of reach with every pinch and pull of your pebbling nipples. Chasing it makes you brash, and you give a hard push to the back of his head.

Just as you want, he spoils you. He bites and nips the supple skin, drawing out soft pleas from your angelic lips. When he finally graces you with the slick, velvety lap of his tongue on your pert nipple, you mewl and arch. His lips are a little rough after being out all night, his hunger for you more palpable than ever as he gropes harder and sucks at your wet skin.

Your aching pussy throbs with every brush of his clothed cock. Your patience drains more and more as you crave something to fill you. It isn’t until he switches sides and gently nips and suckles around your other teat that you realize he’s been fingerprinting you with his Evol, the polka dots slowly fade away each time he adjusts his hand to knead your breast.

“You’re still being cruel,” you manage between moans.

“I think I’m being very fair,” he reasons, recapturing your lips to silence your complaints, and it works as your mind keeps repeating when his tongue makes a temporary reservation back in the confines of your mouth.

When he parts with you again, he cements it with a soft kiss then another. He keeps peppering them on you so fast that you almost miss the way his tongue darts over your bottom lip before his teeth bite down.

Xavier sighs between his kisses, each one adding more pressure, turning from loving, adoration-filled into needy, heavy smooches.

“Wanted.”

Another kiss that leaves you whimpering.

“To.”

He fondles your chest again, alternating between rolling and pinching your sensitive, puffed nipple then grasping your bare tits in his hands, molding and kneading them.

“With you.”

With your thighs closing at his waist, you curve your back and meet the sloppy buck of his hips. There’s a rush of excitement leaking from you when his kisses trail back over your breasts, hitting the tiny ring of bite marks he seared on you before tracing across the targets of light decorating your belly.

“So bad.”

Skin on fire, legs spread wide to accommodate his chest as he sinks lower to press wet kisses to your stomach, you call out to him. “Xavier, baby,” you whisper and brush his hair to get his attention. And does he give it to you when his eyes flick up to look at you from under the grey tuffs of his hair.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight.

You bring your finger to your lips, not only to pry them open so you can speak but also because you need to bite on it. Otherwise, the surge of lust in you at the sight of his head so close to your cunt and the back of your thighs resting on his broad shoulders would cause you to cum right there.

“My most sensitive spot…is my legs…”

It doesn’t take long for him to catch on, and he quirks his eyebrows up at you with false concern. He lowers his head to kiss your stomach again, this time noticeably closer to your mound. “Are you sure you want to tell me that in this situation? It isn’t wise for the prey to put themselves at a disadvantage.”

“I said no secrets,” you remind him, curling a finger to beckon him back up. Inwardly, you curse that he decides to bring your legs with him by keeping them propped up on his shoulders. Somehow, you manage to ignore his obvious teasing and poke at the cutesy adhesive still stuck on his face. “If you were listening, you should know you’re still in trouble for sneaking off so much without telling me.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” he tells you, a layer of remorse riding his explanation. “I wasn’t expecting to go anywhere.”

Amused, you shake your head at how boyish he sounds as he defends himself while he pulls off that wide and pleading look to bolster his cause. Even with your amusement, you’re not willing to let him off just yet. Sternly, you tap his cheek again.

“That’s not going to work this time.”

Pouting, Xavier holds onto your hand, stopping your playful jabs. “Please give me a chance to lighten my sentence, Miss Hunter, it was unintentional,” he negotiates with a kiss on your palm. The sincerity in his request eases your heart enough to allow him a little wiggle room, or perhaps it’s the slick trailing more between your folds.

“You only got until morning to make a case for yourself.”

“I’ll make you forget by then.” He snatches up your ankle towards his face, a much more pleasant position than your last, as your muscles were starting to ache from having your knees pushed to your face.

He caresses your ankle, pressing an airy kiss. The little bump of his nose against the ball of your ankle tickles, making a giggle cascade from your lips as you slide lower with the pull of your leg.

“Silly,” he mumbles before shuffling off your shorts. Your underwear comes off with more of a fight, the stickiness soaked into it causing the dainty fabric to cling lewdly to your skin and outline to the shape of your cunt.

You don’t often hear Xavier curse but that’s what happens along with his tongue rolling over his upper lip when he catches the image. He reaches out and his fingers twitch, threatening to curve against the spreading stain in your panties but he resists and hooks his fingers into the waistband. He takes his sweet time watching the doused material peeling from you with thin strands of cum sticking to it.

It takes him more effort than he’d like to admit to resist diving straight in. Instead, he keeps it slow, sensual, as much for his sake as yours as he skims his lips up your calf.

He does the same with your center, carefully pressing two fingers against you as he holds your leg up on his shoulder. His mouth stays on your inner thigh, but his eyes are entirely locked on his fingers and the way they effortlessly collect your cum and slip between your lips with barely a push. You can feel his breath shudder out against you before he forces it down with a bite of your thigh but that does nothing to hide the way his entire body tenses when his fingers slip from your clit all the way to your clenching hole.

It does nothing good for your ego or your sanity to think how normally calm and collected Xavier is losing his composure just by touching you. How he’s so obviously turned on when you haven’t nearly returned as much as he’s been giving you.

He presses his hands at the crook of your thighs, pushing your legs further apart, and quenches himself between your legs. His name leaves you in one low drawn-out sigh. Sure, you were baiting him when you told him your weakness, but you weren’t expecting him to abuse the knowledge so readily.

He held your legs blood cuttingly tight to keep you from squirming away from his wriggling tongue, and by the moan that reverberates from his chest and the strong jerk against the mattress when your juices hit his tongue, you think he would only be satisfied if you crushed his head between your straining thighs. When he suckles your clit; when his voice, muffled, hits your pussy; when his biceps tighten around your legs as if encouraging you to do so, and when his eyes meet yours with a silent demand, you know that’s exactly what he wants.

At the plunging of his fingers in you, you break down, catch his head in a vice-like grip, and push him into you. Your heart flutters and the remaining butterflies in your stomach migrate away at the growl he lets out. Your walls happily clench around those thick fingers, your dripping hole making it easy and smooth work to pump in and out of you. You’re not sure when he decides he would rather feel your muscle tightening around his tongue instead, but you can only respond with the tilt of your head back into the sheets and the stroke of your heel on his bare back when it happens.

The only thing better is his palm grinding down on your clit, alternating between slow rotations and rough sporadic grinding that has your toes curling and your eyes glossing with the buildup of tears.

“You’re too loud,” he comments yet he doesn’t stop, in fact, he presses down harder, making you whine. “You’re going to wake the neighbors.”

“Since when have you cared what the neighbors think?” you barely manage to whimper out.

“I’m not worried about them. I just don’t want anyone else to hear what only I should,” he remarks, lapping up the juices spilling down your legs.

His confession is a surprise to you. You never took him to be so possessive. But if that possessiveness is what kept his tongue swirling on your swollen clit and an intense moan escaping your lips then you didn’t mind.

However…

His fingers weren’t enough anymore.

Choosing to surprise him, you decide to turn the tables on him. You jerk your legs, catching him off guard but not enough to tip him over. He looks at you with concern. It doesn’t stop you from trying again with extra force this time until you can weaken his grasp and force him down on his back.

Having the world’s strongest hunter under you was only something you could dream of—first as a rival and now as a lover. The adrenaline has you tunnel-visioned as you straddle his stomach, your soaked cunt making a waterboard out of his abs, which Xavier has also picked up on if the dusky pink on his cheeks is anything to go by.

You grab his hands, gripping tight to regain his attention. Xavier looks taken back especially when your fingers interlock his and pin them back. Whether he’s shocked or curious you don’t know, and you also don’t ask to borrow his power.

“You’ve been having too much fun,” you tell him as you check to make sure your finger is sufficiently coated with light. “For my turn, I’ll attack here and here,” you whisper, marking off his chest and drawing a line across his neck.

There’s a hint of worry finally when he sees you’re aiming for his weak spot. “If you’re trying to teach me the best spot to kill Wanderers, I already know.”

“More like the best spots to defeat a Xavier,” you remark, flattening your palm over his heart, finding your own thumping when you verify that you finally managed to raise his heart rate to the levels of a normal human.

“You’re pretty forward today.” Xavier reaches out to hold your hips and cocks his head at you with an inquisitive glance. “Are you always this easy to excite or is it because of me?”

You feel your face heat at his question. As if he didn’t already know the answer. No one else could make you like this. Needy. Shy. Aroused. Flustered. Confused. Infatuated and in love more than you’ve ever been.

Your eyes soften. “And if I said it was you?”

“Then, you can use me all you want,” he confesses and gently coaxes you back to sit on his hard cock. You smoothly slide your hands to his shoulders, rotating loving strokes into his fair skin before you stop to free his cock from his pants.

It springs readily into your palm, so responsive. You reward him by letting him have a little taste of you. He tries to hide the hitch of his breath as if he could hide any reaction from you right now. It’s so hard to get him to react to anything, and your brain won’t let you miss a single moment as you sit back onto his lap and grind.

His cock slides between your lips, so big that you can feel it stroking you fully, his swollen, dribbling head making you whimper whenever it bumps your clit.

“You, you’re so—” he begins, his eyes flitting from the gentle shake of your tits to his cock glistening between your folds, but he loses his voice to a low whimper when you increase your pace. It’s not on purpose but you can’t help yourself; you’re aching for him just as much as he is for you. “Hah, please...”

His cock is leaking onto him with each sleek thrust, a little pool of precum glistening on his belly as your hips buck. It makes your stomach twist and your insides twitch to see him so excited for you.

“Not yet,” you tell him, brushing fingers across the length of his throat. His mouth parts with a croak that plasters a crooked smile on your face.

His eyebrows knit, and he frowns as you decide to tease him a little by slowing your strokes while your nails continue to follow the thick vein protruding from his neck as he desperately holds down his whines.

“And you call me the cruel one.”

He was gorgeous under you. Beautifully flushed and sheened with sweat. His lips were so close to quivering each time his swollen head was swallowed back under your heat. It’s strange how his pitiful expression actually excites you, leaving you wetter and funneling this cycle of him repeatedly scrunching his face before relaxing it with a moan.

“Please,” he asks again, this time more politely, pleadingly, and downright cutely. He knows what he’s doing because you decide to take pity on him when he gazes at you. “Please let me have you?”

It takes only a second for you to reposition yourself and hover over him. There’s a split hesitation when it registers that you’re actually going to have sex with him and how large he actually is with his cock standing tall and the tip kissing at your entrance. You press downward anyway.

The stretch is both painful and pleasurable, straining your nerves as you lower. The wince on your face is accompanied by a hiss on your lips. However, Xavier is there again to catch you.

“Let’s take our time,” he instructs.

You nod, slowly thrusting halfway onto him. Each rise and fall of your hips coating him with your cream little by little makes it a bit easier to sheath him each bounce.

“Good girl,” he whispers soothingly. Face constricting, he bites down on his lip to hold in a weak groan. It’s not your fault that the praise made your walls flutter and tighten.

When you finally suck him in completely, your eyes roll.

“There you go,” he continues. He slides his hand into one of yours, encouraging you to hold onto it as you slowly and pointedly follow the curve of his cock, “Just like that,” he rasps out. As you take him in fully, your pussy reaching his lap and pushing against his balls, you find it hard to concentrate on the exact words leaving him.

You take a minute to sit with him fully sheathed inside of you, allowing your stretched core to get more accustomed to his cock and also for the high of joining with him to cool off. Otherwise, you’d lose control.

You feel so full. It’s a wonderful sensation, and the pleasure increases tenfold when you lift your hips then have him stretch you again.

Rubbing your fingertips into the back of his palm, you lift and slam back onto him again, causing a ragged groan from you both that ricochets off the walls of the room. It isn’t until now that you recognize how bad you’ve been needing this.

Needed him.

You’re still nowhere near understanding why this need is inside of you. Anyone can give you pleasure, and he’s not the first, but nothing quite matched the warmth overtaking you when his cock pistons and rubs against your nerves as you ride him.

The thought that Xavier was right about fate being written in the stars barely breaks through the thick fog of arousal clouding your brain. The heat spurs you to bounce harder to meet his jerking thrusts.

He sighs under you; the pressure on his lower half increases while your eyesight blurs and your head angles back. You’ll both be each other’s undoing at this rate, he thinks, as he watches the beads of sweat accumulating in little shiny droplets on your forehead and on your bouncing chest in a light sheen.

Chasing that desire to see you undone, he pulls you to a halt, burying himself deep inside of you, before pressing his hand to your mound, brushing past the patch of damp hair to zone in on your sticky, swollen clit.

The instant whine of his name makes him dizzy. Centuries have gone by, and he’s never heard you say his name with such wanton desperation nor seen you grind onto him, stirring his cock in you as if your sanity depended on it.

His certainly depended on you. Always has especially in the many decades he thought he’d never see you again. That need is even clearer from how sensitive yet eager his cock is to you squeezing around it as you shudder on top of him while keeping an unbearably tight hold on his hand. Your movements come to a near stop except for the occasional rut to prolong the rush of your orgasm.

The sight of you breaking down on top of him threatens to make his eyes roll back as he squeezes onto your legs for grounding. Your strangled gasp followed by your muscles relaxing tells him that you’re coming down.

“I take it you’ve finished,” Xavier says with a smirk, and you only have half the mind to swat at his chest like a lazy cat. Your legs burn, your chest unable to fill with enough oxygen to catch your breath. You think you’ll skip the gym tomorrow but Xavier has other plans.

“I’m not finished,” he reminds you.

You look down at Xavier; you’d been so busy finding your own pleasure, you didn’t realize he hadn’t cum yet. You feel a lingering guilt but he swiftly takes the situation into his own hands.

You’re still too sensitive to fight back as he slides his cock out of you with a wet pop. It takes two swift movements for him to lift you off of him and roll you onto your stomach.

Your chest feels restricted, tight to the mattress as he presses on top of you, his grey-brown hair rubbing your shoulder as he cuddles your back. It’s an affectionate notion, distracting from the pressure in your lower half as he slides off the last of his clothes and thrusts his cock back inside of you.

You thought you were filled to the brim the first time, yet this angle was different. It felt much tighter, and the slightest shift of his hips had you muffling moans into your arms.

“I want to hear you,” he sweetly requests, yanking on your hips to raise your ass higher and pull you further away from the muffling effects of the bed. Your fracturing mewls mix into his grunts, both sounds washing out the sloppy, wet paps of his cock pounding into you.

His hand swoops down your bending back in one long soothing stroke before his head collapses onto you. His grunts are loud, tumbling right into your ear along with the slapping sound of his hips meeting your ass. Your legs feel like jelly, and the rest of your body becomes weightless as your mind only focuses on his cock recklessly burning its way through you.

Xavier’s breath rolls against your back along with his forehead as he buries you under his weight; his grip on your thighs tightens to an unbearable degree, leaving you to wonder if you’ll have marks in the morning.

You don’t really care if he does when he moans your name and heat fills you, spreading with each sporadic thrust until he finally bottoms out inside you one last time and holds until he completely empties.

Taking his time to enjoy the sensation, he waits before pulling out of you, making you whimper with the sudden void. Shakily, you collapse back into the sheets and flip onto your back with a sigh. His eyes are still half-lidded as he watches you; he chews briefly on his bottom lip, reminding you of the look in his eyes earlier.

“Xavier,” you question but he silences you with a kiss, which you tiredly return. His fingertips slide down from your knee to your thigh, and he teases your opening, the mixture of cum making it easy for him to stroke your still spasming pussy.

Xavier sighs against your lips before moving his kisses to the swoop of your neck. “You’re so beautiful and all mine.”

Your mouth parts with a dry moan as he slides thick fingers over your clit. It starts to ache from his touch but it’s hard to deny him, even as he tortures you with his methodic and precise rotations over the bead.

His name is on your mouth, each syllable heavy on your tongue. You leave garbled gasps in his mouth as he makes out with you while your hand draws down his chest, attempting to make a mental map of every twitching muscle and healed wound on the way down.

Your heart jumps with the twitch of his cock when you wrap your hand around it. There’s going to be no trouble getting him to rebound, you think. He’s already thickening again with the warm strokes of your hand and tracing of your fingers over the slowly beating vein lining the underside of his shaft.

Xavier doesn’t even let you finish exciting him before he rolls back on top of you and settles his head between your breasts. Between all the cum in between your legs and his half-hard cock, it isn’t as mind-numbing to have him inside you. What is different is to feel him twitching and growing inside you with his renewed thrusts.

You’re hiccupping by the time he pushes your legs back and starts to hit deep inside of you, leaving the corner of your eyes tearing. You’re overwhelmed with everything. The uncharacteristic amount of energy he possesses as his hips snap into you. How each powerful rock leaves tingles aftershock-ing inside you, ruining your chances to recover before he does it again. The heavy scent of sex mixed with pine overwhelms your nose. His sweaty chest blocks out any light in the room, sealing any notion that you can be distracted by anything other than him as he pushes up your knee towards your chest.

You’re quickly working up to your second orgasm; the painful cramping in your foot tells you it’ll be bigger than the last. You’re right. When you come undone again, it’s with a shrill sob. You’re too out of it to even register when he finishes until he starts kissing your neck again.

He’s still inside you, you realize once your mind finally lands back on earth. His cock is resting in the heat inside you, waiting for him to work the two of you back up again. You know that’s the goal when his thumb gently brushes over one of your nipples again. Your sore insides constrict and strain. You don’t think you could survive a third round.

“Xavier, please, no more.”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice dry and husky in your ear as he kisses under it.

“Too much,” you tell him, pushing on his chest to make some space between the two of you.

“I didn’t catch that,” he coos defiantly. When he notices that you’re being serious, he obediently pulls out of you. His kisses become smoother as he pecks your lips. “What’s wrong? Is it aching?”

You nod then puff your cheeks in frustration when you see the amusement on his face.

“It’s not funny!” you say, holding onto that angry, childish pout until his smile turns sympathetic.

“You’re right,” he agrees and shifts off you. Quickly, he locates his briefs on the corner of the bed. He steps out of bed and pulls them on. To your surprise, he leaves you, alone and cold.

“Where are you going?”

Xavier disappears without answering you and only the sound of running water gives you any sort of hint of where he might’ve gone. When he returns, it’s with a rag dangled in his hand.

“A boyfriend should help clean his girlfriend up after times like this,” he explains and leans over you; he presses the wet cloth between your legs; the rag is incredibly soothing on your bloated skin. It’s a blessing to your sore muscles as he starts to massage and clean you. “It feels better already, doesn’t it?”

“I guess,” you answer pitifully, grumbling a bit because the look on his face still seems like he’s teasing about your neediness.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s my fault you’re a little sore.” He’s definitely taunting you, but you don’t have the energy to fight about it. “All done,” he remarks, tossing the rag to a forgotten section of the dresser. He carefully climbs back on top of you, waiting for the moment your hand finds his bicep to guide him down next to you.

It isn’t the first time he’s been this affectionate, and it won’t be the last time. However, this time feels more special than any time you’ve slept together, and not just because you can feel the stickiness of his sex-clad skin against your naked body. Well, that’s part of the reason.

“Something on your mind?”

“Nothing. I’m really happy,” you explain.

“If it really makes you that happy, maybe we should do it more often,” he offers, and you pinch his unwounded cheek to punish him. Jumping back, he knocks your hand away and caresses his wounded face. “I’ll need another bandage if you keep doing that,” he complains weakly.

“You only have yourself to blame!”

Xavier sighs. “You’re always right,” he concedes, more so that he can cuddle you without fighting rather than actually agreeing with you, you fear.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Are you really doubting your boyfriend?” he asks. Heartbeat skipped, you clamp your mouth shut as he unfolds the blankets over the two of you.

It’s finally settling back into your mind that the two of you are a couple now. “I’m still…not used to it yet with you being that.”

“You will get used to it the longer we’re together. The same as I will.” Xavier sighs, happily so. “Although, we might run into the same problem again.”

You blink at him. “Why?”

Thoughtful, Xavier hums then explains, “First comes love then comes marriage as they say.”

He catches you off-guard once more. As always, Xavier is forever forging on ahead with little regard for convention. “Aren’t you thinking too far ahead?”

“Maybe,” he agrees but there’s no drop in his confidence as he smiles at you and draws his hand over your hairline. “But I loved you since we met.”

“Xavier, please,” you beg, finding your favorite place to hide your flustered face in the crook of his elbow.

He can’t help but laugh at you as he curls his arm around you. “Especially that,” he confesses and places one more kiss on the top of your head before inviting you to go to sleep.

You do, falling asleep against his chest less than thirty minutes later. For him, sleep is elusive for once as he mulls over the day’s events.

The word girlfriend on his tongue is sweet. The idea itself burns wonderfully in his chest, but it isn’t enough. He knows he still needs to wait a bit longer, take his time, your bashful response to his prodding was enough to tell him that it isn’t time yet. It’s hard not to rush when this is the closest he’s ever been to the one thing he truly wants.

Xavier guesses he’ll still have to rely on his dreams for a little while longer. It’s okay, he tells himself, it’ll work out this time. He’ll find a place to settle with you and have a quiet life, a place where he can see stars.

And this lifetime, when he asks you to marry him, he hopes you’ll say yes.

#xavier x reader #xavier smut #love and deepspace x reader #lnd smut #xavier love and deepspace #lads x reader #lads smut #notsfw #adelssmut

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