#bestie ily | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eddiemunson-reader-shame · 1 day ago

Text

NO BUT THE FUCKING FACT THAT YOU POINTED OUT SPECIFIC SCENES ALWAYS GETS ME ILY

Be My Wife: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: A “friend” freaks out when you split a Coke with Eddie the Freak.

Warnings: references to A Clockwork Orange, bullying, STI/STD mention, backwash drinking

A/N: So… I know this isn’t a Christmas fic. But I wrote this because I had those times in my youth where someone spread horrid rumors about either me or my friends, and I had to make those split second decisions to determine my loyalty. I always try to be loyal as best I can.

Thank you to @writhingg for giving the green light on this fic. And big thanks to @rxqueenotd and @melodymunson as well. And big thanks to viewers like you. Thank you. ❤️

Resources: @strangergraphics-archive for the dividers.

Taglist: @ali-r3n @melodymunson @twihard28

“Hey droogie, can I have a sip of your Coke?”

You looked up from where you were perched on the pony wall by the Seven Eleven bike rack. You had been chatting with a classmate, Chessie Hagar, about purchasing a purse from her mother’s Avon Colorworks catalog. It was a new collection for the year 1977. Said eye catching magazine with its spread of rainbow themed products was currently held between the two of you, and the pages began to rattle as Chessie shook in fear upon hearing the deep voice.

A flutter-smack sounded from the girl dropping the catalog when Eddie The Freak approached. His stride was casual as one could be, whilst battling both midwestern humidity and pit sweat in a white hand-me-down Jimi Hendrix shirt and sleeveless denim vest. As one of the middle schoolers who had been blessed with a growth spurt, his lanky height, shredded second hand clothes, and shaved head often made those in your grade— and some of those above— piss their pants.

You alone did not fear him.

The Fates had elected to weave you both in a tangled web of coincidences: you had been his project partner in every shared class since you started at Hawkins Middle School together, and you just so happened to live in the same neighborhood on occasion. The distance from Al Munson’s janky two bedroom home to yours was but a hop skip and a jump. Eddie used to ding dong ditch your house when he was six, until one day your mother caught him by the ear and brought him in to mend his tattered jeans and offer up a hot meal.

To any other rando, he was an unstable pariah. But to you, he was just Eddie Munson— the cute boy next door who sometimes ate at your place. And you had become his droog after spending winter 1972 sneaking into the Hawk Theater, and making Stanley Kubrick films your new big boy personalities.

Without thinking, you handed the soft drink over. His fingers brushed against yours as he took the Coke out of your grip and went for a swig, with plush pink lips wrapping around the transparent jade glass of the lip and neck. His protruding Adam’s apple was bobbing with the rhythmic gulping, and you couldn’t stop staring.

“Thanks.” He belched out.

“You said a sip, not half the goddamn bottle!” You whined.

Eddie grinned sheepishly and backwashed a good mouthful. Giving a half assed apology and a promise to pay you back mumbled under his breath, he handed the bottle back.

“Still up for doing last minute project prep?” You asked, swirling the leftovers he’d saved for you.

“Nah, let’s take a break from the train wreck brothers. Catch you tomorrow, though?” He said, scratching a blackhead off his nose and snorting a bit, “I had an idea for the oral report that might earn us a little extra credit. Think you can mimic a British accent?”

“Eh. Can’t do an accent without sounding like fucking Alex DeLarge.” You groused.

“We can work on that. Leave your milk-plus at home, though. Don’t want me own droog reenacting some Roman ultra violence on me.”

“Just don’t go popping out from behind your curtains at me again, that’s a good way to get stabbed in the neck with my mom’s kitchen scissors.” You snorted.

“Ahhh, the droog’s no fun. I guess I can tone down the surprise pop ups, though. If you insist. Catch you later?” Eddie said, waving.

“Later. Peace out, man.”

Chessie let out a shaky, sobbing exhale when you made to drink the dregs of your soda, and you turned and raised an eyebrow.

“Whassamatter?” You asked.

“Are you nuts?! You just shared your drink with the freak!” She blurted out.

… since when the hell was sharing with Eddie a crime?

“Yeah, so? It’s hot out. He looked thirsty.” You said.

“Did you seriously forget everything we’ve heard about him?!” She whisper-screamed, “Don’t you care what everyone talks about?!”

You rolled your eyes. Everyone talked about Eddie. If you hadn’t heard at least one rumor from a faceless student whenever he walked by, you were either stupid or living under a rock. They said he was a bad boy— yes, even with a full vocabulary of slurs and insults available, they still called him a bad boy. Like if he was still in diapers drawing with crayon on the wall, and needed a spanking.

Depending on who you asked, Eddie either did or sold drugs, it was never clear which. Some of the other trailer park kids said he was a mean scrapper when he went to his uncle’s on alternate weeks. Women’s restroom lore stated that he carried a switchblade in the back pocket of his Wrangler jeans, and that he used it to torture animals for his Satanic rituals.

A million and one things were said about him on the daily, but you knew none of them were true in the slightest. None of the talk deterred you from spending time with him. Sometimes he came to your house, more often than not you went to his.

Every other day found the two of you parked in front of his mom’s turntable, jamming to Deep Purple and putting together an elaborate poster board with some spray painted fake leaves made into laurel crowns, along with a block of text about your chosen co-emperor of the early Roman Empire.

You had wanted to write about Caligula so you could use the word ‘orgy’ in the report without getting in trouble, but Eddie had insisted he had a better idea when he discovered a two years tumultuous ruling of brothers from 209 AD to 211 AD.

“As much as I love a good sex party on paper, you just know that’s what everyone else is gonna write about. Let’s write about this nut job Caracalla instead! Dude killed his brother in the arms of his mother, and struck his name from the record. That’s like, the most metal shit ever! Also, here’s a better word for you to learn: fratricide. Apparently there’s a whole list of technical terms for when you kill a family member.”

“… what’s the rumor mill gotta do with my Coke?” You deadpanned.

“If you drink after him, you’re gonna get mono like Cindy! You gotta throw it out!”

Cindy Bishop in your science class had told everyone that had functional ears— swearing up and down on her life— that Eddie Munson had kissed her and given her mononucleosis. A dreaded affliction whose nickname to you sounded like one of the variations of sound formats for any sort of audio.

“Mono…?”

“Yes! Or the syph!”

You knew Eddie had to have heard Chessie’s vitriol. Turning around, you could see him staring at the two of you from across the parking lot, one leg over his bike. There was a stinging look of betrayal on his face. Telltale signs of a wet cherry nose and shameful red cheeks gave away his mistrust; as if he was expecting you to do as your friend told, and throw the bottle he drank from in the trash.

His imaginary affliction was just that: imaginary. You knew that to be gospel.

The kiss with Cindy was real, unfortunately. It happened way before Cindy was kept home with mono, and you remembered the incident well. Eddie had come running to your house just to brag that he’d finally gotten his first kiss, and that pretty soon he’d be popping girl’s cherries left and right.

Just learning about the simple kiss had pissed you off, because the closest you’d ever gotten to kissing Eddie was sharing the same fork whenever you both roasted Vienna sausages on the gas burner in his kitchen. Eddie hadn’t been sick when Cindy stayed home, he came faithfully to school to trap you on the playground and speculate about the thousand and one hidden meanings behind the kiss.

With all the excitement, he never noticed the smallest details like you did. One of the guys in your PE class had been sent home with a rash and a high fever, and it was only a month after Cindy was rumored to have also kissed the collapsed boy that she got sick. You had always shared cups, utensils, and other things requiring mouth use with Eddie and had been fine. Yet Cindy and Tommy Hagan swapped spit once, and both were out of commission.

But no one would ever say anything about Tommy Hagan getting mono. They’d always redirect every disease outbreak to the poor loser who split time between Cherry Street and Forest Hills Trailer Park. The same poor loser who had the misfortune of wasting his first kiss with Cindy; a girl who frenched behind the portable classrooms with anything that had a pulse. People could be so blind and stupid, they failed to notice the sickness timelines were not matching up.

No one deserved their first anything to be with Cindy. Not with the way she stabbed people in the back.

You took a long, hard pause as you stared into Eddie’s wet brown eyes. He was asking you a silent question you already knew the answer to: were you a stinking traitorous droog, or a loyal one? Were you, his one friend in the entire world, going to stand against him?

Without saying a word, you looked at Chessie, then looked back again at Eddie.

In a world of traitors— where brothers stabbed brothers in the arms of their mothers, or where violent men disowned each other with drug laced milk bottles to the face, you would always pick instead to be Eddie Munson’s loyal droog.

You lathed at the lip of the bottle and stuck your tongue down the neck, and shotgunned all of Eddie’s backwash.

Chessie’s mouth dropped open as she began to gag, and Eddie opened his mouth in an obnoxious and breathless laugh as you chugged the entirety of his germs. The carbonation caught up to you, so you let a belch rip before turning back around to face him.

“I GOT YOUR MONO NOW, MUNSON!” You screamed out to him, “NOW YOU GOTTA MARRY ME!”

“IS THAT HOW IT WORKS, DROOGIE?” He shouted back, a shit eating grin stretched across his face, “YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME KNOW BEFORE I TOOK A SWIG, I WOULD HAVE MADE SURE I GOT YOU A RING POP FIRST!”

“IT'S GODDAMN ROMAN CONFARREATIO LAWS, EDDIE! YOU GAVE ME MONO INSTEAD OF SPELT BREAD, NOW YOU GOTTA MARRY ME!” You joked.

You noticed from the big, smart ass grin that he was about to do something outrageous, and your heart began to sing. He immediately got to his knee on the asphalt, everyone in the Seven Eleven parking lot watching as he began to scream like an orator in the colosseum. He used your full government name and everything when he called out to the small parking lot audience.

“HEAR ME, CITIZENS OF HAWKINS! I AM BUT A VESSEL FOR THE GODS, A BEARER, A MESSENGER OF THAT MOST HOLY WORD FROM MOUNT OLYMPUS! I HAVE SHARED OF THE COOTIE WITH A WOMAN, AND THUS OUR MARRIAGE BETWEEN EMPEROR AND DROOG IS SOLEMNIZED-…!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, FREAK!” Someone called out, immediately flinching back when Eddie rounded on him.

“THE GODS. HAVE. SPOKEN!” Eddie screeched, a glob of spit flying out of his mouth and onto the hot asphalt.

He was wide eyed. Deranged. Eddie lifted up the hem of his denim vest and held it out and to the side, to look like wings unfurling, screaming to the heavens as you began howling with him.

“YEAH!” You screamed out, raising your bottle and shouting every bit of nonsense you could think of, “GOD SANCTIONED DROOG MARRIAGE CO-RULER ULTRA-VIOLENCE! MAZEL TOV!”

“THE IMPERIAL HUSBAND NOW DEMANDS TO KISS THE DROOG BRIDE!” Eddie screamed, “PLANT ONE ON ME, GODDESS DIVINE OF THE REPUBLIC OF HAWKINS!!”

You looked at Chessie, who looked as if she was going to throw up or scream. It wasn’t immediately clear which. Instead of ending the joke, you grinned. Shrugged. The glossy magazine paper pages of the forgotten Avon Colorworks catalog ripped under the tread of your shoes when— without warning— you took off towards Eddie, and planted a fat wet kiss on his mouth. He froze for a moment, but returned the kiss with fervor, making an obnoxious hum and wet smack when you pulled away.

“Yum.” You gushed, licking your lips and changing your cadence to the unhinged Kubrick Cockney, “Them’s tasty cooties, they are, brother sir!”

“Yeah? Them false cytomegalovirus germs are what taste good to ya, droog?” He laughed, wrapping his arms around you and putting on his own terrible accent.

“That they are, sir, that’s what gives all me food and drink that plus flavor.” You grinned.

The two of you cackled, thoroughly enjoying throwing out random quotes and various insanities that to the normal person would put them off of your insanity and edge-lord humor. Chessie had long since taken off for the gated community of Loch Nora on her bike, but you didn’t care. You could live without a selection of eyeshadows, a rainbow tote purse, and all of your false friends if the choice came down to choosing them, or Eddie.

“Wanna go into the gas station and split another bottle of mono before we blow this joint?” You asked.

His grin could have rivaled that of Malcolm McDowell.

“Now, how can I say no to my new wife?” He grinned, holding out his arm for you to take, “But I am a man of my word, so you’re getting a new Coke, plus that Ring Pop so’s we can make this thing official.”

“Spare no expense, huh?” You grinned, and he pulled you in closer. Both of your hips knocking together.

“Hey… Only the best and finest gems and refreshments for Empress Droog the First of Hawkins, Indiana.” Eddie said with a confident smile.

You smiled at him, nudging one another with your bodies all the way into the gas station, until he pulled you in for another sloppy kiss in the middle of the snack aisle.

#comment reblog #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #bestie ily

173 notes · View notes

howyouloveyourdragon · 2 years ago

Text

I WILL SCREAM

MY NEIGHBOURS ARE ON THEIR WAY TO RN

Indulgence

Synopsis: You moved to the UK for two reasons. One was to escape your past life. The second was to maybe find yourself or a career or get rich or famous, you didn't know. Everything is sort of going to plan until a new regular appears named "Aeg". Either he was going to be your divine savior or your inevitable downfall.

pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Reader warnings: possible alcoholic aegon WOO word count: 2k note: this is self-indulgent as fuck. A series I intend on actually following through with. This is inspired by people head-cannoning that Aegon would be famous irl so yeah.

As you slowly open your eyes, feeling a sense of grogginess, that doesn’t seem to go away. You roll over, hoping to catch a glimpse of the time and ease your worry, but instead you're hit with a stark realization.

It's already 1pm.

You let out a groan, realizing that you've slept through most of the morning. The room is still shrouded in darkness, and the clouds outside seem to be determined to keep the sunlight at bay. You feel a pang of regret as you think about all the things you should have been doing with your day, all the errands you were supposed to run, all the work you could have been finishing up.

But instead, you spent the morning sleeping in, and now you're paying for it. You reach for your phone, seeking a crutch to help you cope with the stress of the day ahead. You scroll through your not so popular Tumblr, hoping to find some escape from reality.

You recently made a bold decision to start a new life in the United Kingdom, hoping to escape from the haunting memories of your past. The experience has been completely new and different for you - everything from the climate to the cultural nuances. Gone are the harsh winters and hot summers that you were used to, now replaced by an overabundance of rain.

It was a friend you met online during covid, Ellie, who ultimately convinced you to make the move, and you're grateful for her support. Though she wears a hard exterior more often than not, she is kind, generous and undeniably compassionate.

You've settled into a small yet charming town that's just the right size - not so big that you feel lost in the crowds, but not so small that there's a lack of amenities or resources. There’s still stores for clothing, groceries, and hardware. Bonus fast food joints and several restaurants. It’s basically like a college town without most of the college shenanigans.

All in all, while there have been challenges in adjusting to your new life, you're grateful for the opportunity to escape your past and start anew. And with the support of your friend and this vibrant community, you're confident that you're on the path to healing and finding happiness once again… Unless another man comes along and tries to ruin it.

As you take in a deep breath, your nose is filled with an alluring aroma that immediately evokes images of delicious, fresh food being cooked to perfection. The scent is warm and inviting, with hints of savory herbs, sizzling spices, and the sweet notes of caramelized onions.

You can almost feel your mouth start to water as the fragrant scent swirls around you, tempting you to leap out of bed and follow your nose straight to the kitchen. With sleepy eyes, you make your way towards your chef-in-training roommate, who is perhaps the only source of such mouth-watering scents at this time of the day, and you cannot help but bother her for a bite.

It was a new hobby Ellie had recently picked up after her writer’s block eventually became too much to handle. Your stomach grumbled in anticipation. There is no denying the irresistible scent of freshly cooked food is the perfect way to wake up, and you cannot wait to indulge in its delectable goodness. “What’s on the menu today?”

You spooked her, Ellie, as you lovingly call her, dropped the spoon she was stirring the pot with and let out a less than manly yelp. The small kitchen is quickly filled by your own giggles as she curses, politely. “I- god- can you maybe not sneak up behind me.”

You grab a spoon and dip it into the pot… French onion soup. “Hey! Don’t eat all of it, my boyfriend is coming over soon.” You groaned and dropped the spoon into the sink. “Another date? Haven’t you spent all weekend with him?” You hear the ruffling of blankets coming from the living room. A less than put together Mina slowly enters the kitchen and sits herself on the countertop. “Ew men.”

Ellie moved her hands to her hips and stared at you both in disbelief. “He is not like most men.” Mina and you gazed at each other before chuckling silently. “You both should be more worried about yourselves; you look like hell.” You scoffed, “I had a late shift at the pub. It’s a miracle I even woke up.” Mina began mumbling to herself. “All I do is work and study every hour of every day. Of course, I look like shit.” Medical school was slowly kicking her ass.

“Shouldn’t you be at school anyway?” You raised an eyebrow at her. She faked three coughs, “i’m sick… which is why you need to let me have your soup.” She flashed her big brown puppy dog eyes. Ellie began stirring the pot more ferociously than before. “How convenient.”

As you sat there at your desk, staring at the glowing screen of the laptop, you could feel your mind wandering off into the realm of self-indulgent daydreams. It's funny how easily you can escape reality with a few taps of the keyboard. You weaved elaborate fantasies that offered an escape from the monotony of your everyday life. Sometimes you’ll do this for hours, other times only minutes.

The reality is you’re just wasting time, avoiding the fact that you have to get ready for yet another late shift at the pub. And it's not a job you particularly like or want, but it's all you could get. You didn’t have the luxury of attending college like most people so the job pool for you was small.

You know you should be doing something more with your life, but it's easier said than done. When you're stuck in a dead-end job with no hope for the future, it's easy to lose motivation.

So, you continue to write your little stories, dreaming of a better life, even if it's only in your imagination. And then, with a heavy heart, you dragged yourself away from the desk and got ready for work. It's not the life you wanted, but it's the life you have, at least for now.

When you arrive at the pub for your shift, you take a moment to assess the situation. It's a rather slow day, unlike the bustling activity you had last week when the band was playing. There are only a few people present, scattered throughout the pub and engaging in quiet conversations amongst themselves.

As you pour drinks and tend to the occasional customer, you can't help but overhear the conversations around you. It's a typical weekday, so it's not surprising that most of the talk centers around work and daily life. Despite the slow pace and lack of excitement, it’s not too bad. It's easy to distract yourself with the soccer game on tv… It’s soccer not football.

Occasionally, you notice a dude trying to make a pass at you but brush it off as you know that it's only because you’re American. It can be tiring at times, but you’ve learned to handle the attention with a smile and a polite rejection.

Then the entrance bell rings and the person walking inside catches your attention. As you watch him walk into the bar, you can't help but notice the stunning presence that he brings with him. His white, blonde hair is styled in a natural, carefree way, with short strands that cut off before his shoulders. The sharpness of his features really stands out. His jawline is well-defined and tapers down to his chin, giving him a distinguished look.

But it's his piercing blue eyes that really pull you in. They seem to have a magnetic pull, drawing you closer to him. And yet, as you look closer, you can see that there's a hint of darkness hidden behind them. Or maybe it is because of his deep dark circles.

The way he's dressed isn’t all that impressive. His black hoodie is casual enough, but the gold chain around his neck is anything but. It shines brilliantly in the light, catching your gaze and holding it there. There's something about gold chains that instantly makes you think of trouble. Only fuck boys wear gold chains anymore.

Even with all the warning signs pointing to him being trouble, there's no denying the fact that he's overwhelmingly beautiful. It's the kind of beauty that leaves you breathless. He definitely wasn’t from this area, unless he was. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but you couldn’t remember where you had seen him.

He sat down right in front of you with a big grin plastered across his face. He totally saw you starting; he looks even more familiar up closely! “What’s your special?” You blinked twice, “My special?” He nodded his head in an almost mocking way, “yeah… what is the drink your best at making?”

“Negroni… Sbagliato with prosecco in it.” His eyebrows raised and his lips made an upside-down U shape. “Sounds posh.” You took that as a ‘yes I would like that’ and started making it. “It’s not as posh as it sounds… just a fancy name.”

He downs it one go, not even attempting to savor the flavor. “Another?” He nodded his head with a smile. You weren’t exactly sure if he was an alcoholic, but the signs were there. Four refills smashed in minutes; you were surprised he wasn’t completely sloshed by now.

Honestly, the conversation started to flow faster than anticipated. He was charming but in a ‘I’m fucked up but relatable.’ His voice was deep, an accent you assumed was from Manchester. He didn’t use much slang either, so you assumed he was probably a rich boy.

As you spoke to this man, his charisma drew you in like a magnet, like the sun pulling the earth into its orbit, his every word commanding your attention. You made small talk, served him drinks, and listened to his stories. His presence, his laughter, and his smile seemed to surround you. And then, all of a sudden, time ceased to exist. The other customers faded away, the noise of the pub muffled, and you became lost in a world of your own with him. You found yourself laughing at his jokes and enjoying his company.

As the night progressed, you became so engrossed in conversation that you lost track of how long you had been talking, and how many drinks you had served him. Although it changed from your ‘special’ to whiskey, said it reminded him of America.

Even though from his perspective, he may have just seen an overworked bartender babbling on about her life, to you, it was something more. It was a moment of pure connection that made everything else stop from mattering. You were stuck in place with him, unable to look away or pull yourself away.

When the last few customers began to head out your conversation paused. Three hours! You’ve been chatting your head off for three hours! He didn’t seem to mind at all as long as he was getting spoon fed alcohol. You turned back to look at him and watched as the gears in his started to turn. “What days do you work?”

“Thursday through Sunday and holidays...! Why?” For a moment, you believed it was because he enjoyed talking to you. Maybe he even had an interest in you, and he could be your British boy. “You’re the only one who hasn’t cut me off.” It felt like an earth-shattering blow even though you barely knew him. Actually, he didn’t really say anything about himself besides a few side remarks.

He had been to America, he had a dog, he called soccer football, and he can handle his alcohol well. “Should I?” You raised an eyebrow at him as he grasped his glass. “Not unless you don’t want a big tip.” It was that cheeky smile again!

“If you’re meant to be one of my regulars, I’ll need your name.” His face paused as if you asked a life altering question. His mouth opened slowly as he drawled out his name, “aaaeg- it’s Aeg.”

“Like an egg?” He nodded, “like an egg.” That totally wasn’t the weirdest name you’ve ever heard. Before you could ask why he stumbled out of his chair and pulled out a wad of cash. He’s paying for my silence, you thought. “I’ll see you tomorrow, America.”

“I have a name!” As he stumbled to turn around, he flashed you another smile and pushed himself out the door. You were left utterly speechless and mildly disappointed. At least he promised to come again tomorrow…

His existence was shocking to say the least, especially in this area. Sure, there were handsome guys but not ones like him or ones who talked to you. His charm was like a gravitational pull, drawing in all those around. With each grin, the room lit up around you. Making you forget all work, lost in the sound of his voice, so soothing and deep.

Every stomach flip and cheek flush made it clearer you were helpless in his presence, leaving you in a trance. A spell that lingered long after he left. That unforgettable smile and flushed cheeks danced around your head for the rest of the night. Who exactly was he...? Probably an alcoholic running from rehab if you had to put money on it.

Aegon felt a pinch of regret shoot through his body as he uncomfortably shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His mind kept replaying the moment he had blurted out the nickname 'aeg' in a bid to conceal his real identity. He realized how stupid it was, but now it was too late to take it back.

The conversation with you had been easy and comfortable, unlike others he had recently. Aegon was genuinely enjoying his time with you, and the last thing he wanted to do was ruin it by you finding out who he was. Well, it actually offended him at first you didn’t recognize him but that quickly dissipated.

Aegon yearned for genuine human connection, but it seemed out of reach, blocked by his popularity, family name, and past bad behavior. Except you didn’t know who he was at all, so he didn’t have to deal with that.

As he walked away from the conversation, Aegon couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment in himself. He had missed out on the opportunity to sleep with you. Though you definitely were into him he got the sense you would reject him if he tried too early. He was good at reading people, one of his many talents. Another time, he thought to himself.

Aegon found you to be a breath of fresh air compared to the people he was used to being around. As an American with an accent, you stood out. Your beauty also caught his eye, as it was different from what he was used to seeing in Britain. Everyone looked related here, and your unique features made an impression on him.

Oh! and the best part about you was you kept serving him drinks even after he was past his limit. Not once did you try to mother him or act high and mighty in the face of a possible alcoholic. It was fucking amazing.

Your cute little giggle also drew him in, you never fully laughed. Maybe you could be his American girl, like the song. Or he would finally learn self-restraint and form a genuine bond with someone other than his dog. There was always the possibility if he did get close to you, you would leave like everyone else. Aegon wouldn’t blame you, he was a hard person to exist with. Time would tell of course but for now he intended to bother you a little longer for his own satisfaction.

And in case you’re wondering how a person like Aegon ended up in a college town instead of London… he was visiting his cousin, he got lost, his car broke down, and his dog threw a fit because it was cooped up in a vehicle too long. Aeg wasn’t some mysterious stranger with a cool backstory, he was just an idiot whose luck had obviously run out this year.

#bestie ily #thank you for blessing my eyes #aegon targaryen #aegon x you #aegon x reader #aegon fic #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fic #modern aegon #modern hotd #hotd fic #house of the dragon

101 notes · View notes