#so why are you getting so pressed over aegon fics? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

just-some-random-blogger · 9 months ago

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Losing Dogs

Neither you or Aegon wanted to get married. Neither you or Aegon wanted to marry each other. But at some point, you figured you should make the most of what you had, and so you offer your husband a deal he cannot refuse.

Aegon Targaryen x Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, arranged marriage/loveless marriage, smut (piv, virginity loss, rough/loveless sex) DD:DNE, alcoholism, violence, suicide/suicidal thoughts & ideation, mentions of domestic/child abuse, death, pregnancy/miscarriage, aegon's mommy issues, insecurities, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ... i had something to say about this fic but i forgot... maybe ill remember later???? edit: i did not remember. i thought of mitski while entitling this so go play i bet on losing dogs ig?

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @azperja @sloanexx @risefallrise

You don't know what you have until it's gone.

Aegon only truly understood what this meant the day he was married and he was forbidden to drink a drop of alcohol.

As if it wasn't painful enough that he was going to be married to a complete stranger from some house he's never fucking heard of, he was erratic and uneasy the whole day because of the withdrawal. He loathes the preparation, the ceremony, the fucking pageantry of it all.

He thinks it was worse that you seemed to be so chipper the entire time. You smiled with a halo, skin shining with the light. You also seemingly did no wrong, judging by the praises you received from his mother and grandfather. But, who was he kidding, of course they fucking loved you, they chose you to be his prison keeper.

You did not press him once, not when you were preparing for the ceremony, not when you were at the feast, not even after the Queen encouraged you to dance.

Anyone with eyes could see from how he slumped on his chair during dinner that Aegon would rather die than circle around the room to this grating noise echoing in the chamber.

The band begins to play another song and another round of dancing ensues.

He stares at the food on the table. Oh, to be a suckling pig.

The relief that coursed through him when he could finally leave was enough to knock him out. Except, he really wanted, no, needed a drink.

He crashes on his bed, belly down, and reaches for the cabinet door on his bedside table. He feels for his bottle, hand knocking into the corners of the compartment, but he sits up when he finds nothing.

He growls in frustration upon realizing this was definitely his mother's doing. Thief!

"I managed a cup."

Aegon struggles to look over his shoulder from his position. He rolls on his back as you walk to the side of the bed.

He stares at you. You offer a glass holding burgundy liquid. Your voice is soft and kind as you explain, "your mother would suspect me if I took a whole bottle."

Aegon pushes himself up and sits on the edge of the bed, facing you. He gulps at the wine you were offering.

Sure, he may not be the brightest, but anyone could tell this scene was the epitome of ulterior motives. Aegon leans on his thighs, "why are you doing this?"

You stare a moment. You clutch the cup in both hands and examine it. Again, your voice is gentle, "you are clearly in torment. It hurts my heart."

His eye twitches.

I see. It seems you were a fucking saint.

Aegon rips the glass out of your hands, some of the wine spills over. He downs the contents in one go, then chucks the glass across the room once he finished.

He looks back at you, glaring with watery eyes. He was exhausted, he was angry, and he wanted you to know it. But you don't flinch at the sound of the glass breaking. You didn't flinch at all when he showed aggression. Why didn't you flinch?

You press your lips and sigh. You step towards him and reach out.

He nervously straightens up and tilts his head back as you approach. His breath hitches when your warm hand touches his cheek. He blinks rapidly.

"It's been a long day. Would you like me to help you change?"

Again, his eye twitches.

And then he realizes what you mean.

Ah. So, this is what you wanted?

He releases a breath, eyes lowering. Your face falls into a slight frown.

He thinks about it for a moment. I mean, sex was sex and he was game. It didn't matter how he performed, his completion was all that mattered, really. And you were pretty enough, albeit irritatingly good.

When you stroke his hair, Aegon pulls at your skirts, causing you to squeak and topple, hands flying to his shoulders for support. Your faces are inches apart. He pulls you down until you have no other choice than to sit on his lap.

You can smell the remnants of the wine he just drank on his breath. Aegon brings his face closer to yours, and you let out a soft 'hmp'. You mutter, "I gather you don't want to change, but want to get out of your clothes."

He narrows his eyes as you shift on his lap and undo the buttons by his chest. He mutters dumbly, "this is what you wanted."

With knit brows, you retort, "I've not yet told you what I wanted." You shift on his lap again as you peel his top off. Amidst it, he asks, "what do you want?"

You grunt after ridding him of his top. You fold it in your arms then set it aside on the bed. You turn back to him. Aegon's breath hitches when you fondle with strings of his undershirt. He watches your lips as you mumble, "I want you to give me a ride on your dragon."

He furrows his brows. But that's what he just said.

You stand, only to lift your skirt and take your place back on his lap. This time, you straddle him.

Aegon gulps, hands coming to your hips like a magnet. He feels you grind on him; shaky breaths leave his lips in response. His hands scratch up your back and a moan escapes him when your nails trace his collarbones.

"Allow me one trip on Sunfyre, and in return, I'll be your magic lamp," you whisper, taking one of his hands, bringing it to the side of your ribs, "you may rub me where you like-"

His heart skips when you kiss his cheek.

"-and I will grant you all your wishes."

Aegon ticks.

The next moment, he pushes you down on the bed. He doesn't bother getting either of you naked, nor does he prepare you at all in fact. Thankfully, you were already wet.

You don't have the opportunity to ask him to be gentle, to explain you were a bride after all, and it was your wedding night.

Aegon grips your skirts as he fucks you like he means to prove a point. He snaps his hips roughly into you to assert dominance, to exemplify control. Sure, you offered yourself to him, but he was the one doing the work, and you were the one beneath him.

In truth, the pace he set gave you more pain rather than pleasure. And with how pent up he was, the rough tempo he set burnt him out way too quickly before it could make any of you feel good. And when he begins to lag, you start to feel good.

You notice this change and rub your nose against his. He recoils, unused to affection when fucking. It snaps him back into an aggressive trance.

You yelp. Aegon convinced himself it was a sound of bliss.

You kiss his jaw and work your way to his ear, hoping to calm him down. He tenses at the feel of your tongue on his lobe. It stokes flames in his belly and makes him involuntarily roll his hips slower to focus on the attention you're giving. In return, his pace is just enough for him to hit that spot that makes you throw your head back.

Aegon is startled by the scratchy groan that leaves your throat. He finds himself lifting his head to spectate, but you pull him into you by the nape and groan, "like that. Please- gods - that feels good."

His brows tense and he rolls his hips again, finding the same reaction.

You wrap your arms and legs around him, uncaring of how hot and sweaty you were getting. In the heat of the moment, you reach for his lips, needing them, needing something to wrap your own on.

Aegon kisses you. He kisses you with a strange twinge in his chest. He kisses you until he has to pull away and reposition himself to catch his building climax.

In a second, he's back to his fuck-loving self, only self-serving and lustful. As he gazes upon your writhing body, catching the beads of sweat on your skin, the concentration on your face, and the way you chant his name as you part your legs for him, he's overcome by another spirit. To watch you break, to watch you coil and collapse around him felt just as urgent as his need to come.

And so Aegon rubs your clit and forces you to peak first; you do it so well he curses loudly and comes after.

He lays on top of you for a moment, the overwhelming need to be held ripples through his body. He recalls how his whores shoo him away after he's done fucking them though. Before you can cradle him in your arms, he rolls off you.

You close your legs and and watch him strip himself and sequentially change. You watch him get back in bed and bring himself underneath the covers. He goes to sleep.

He fucking goes to sleep.

You feel hollow after this, but tell yourself it's nothing personal. You repeat this as you, yourself, get up and change, sequentially sleeping too. Or at least you try. You have fight the urge to cry for hours before you do.

The next morning, you bring up dragon riding to Aegon, and disappointed as you are, you are unsurprised to find that he was unwilling to give you such a thing.

It was a plain thing you were asking for, you explain. And it's exactly why he doesn't want to do it. It's clearly some trick, something to trap him, something he's going to regret. It was probably some ploy orchestrated by his mother.

Oh gods, he thinks, it's worse. It's a bonding experience so you can make him into your puppet. Fuck. No.

So, he does what he does best, and makes an excuse, "I don't feel like riding today. I'm still exhausted from the festivities."

You purse your lips and nod, "that's understandable. Would you like for me to get you something?"

Wait. You weren't going to argue about him not keeping his end of the deal?

You seem to catch this, considering your response and the way you take his hand. You place his palm on your chest. He can feel your pulse quicken as you mutter, "I am your magic lamp, husband. I wish to please you. I will prove this until you trust me enough to grant me a ride on dragonback."

He narrows his eyes, "you would grant me wishes, all in return for a ride on Sunfyre?"

You smile softly at him, "in return for respite, yes."

He doesn't trust your smile.

"I want to visit the Grey Cliffs. I have for a years now. I went there once as a child and long to go again."

"Why?" he knits his brows at your explanation, "what's there?"

You lower his hand and rub his skin, "respite, my prince."

Aegon pulls his hand away.

Very well. If that is what you want, then he will wear your wishes dry until you find it no longer worth the trouble.

Aegon wishes on his lamp everyday, and his wife sequentially plays entertainer, jester, servant, and slave.

He makes you bring a bottle of wine with you everywhere, and pour him a cup when he wishes. He loathes how you seem unbothered by it. He loathes how you don't even correct a visiting Lord who mistakes you for a cupbearer and simply serve him some wine. The Lord is mortified when he realizes you are his wife, a fucking princess. Aegon hates how you tell the man you were unbothered because you spent your whole life being a cupbearer to your father anyway.

He makes you do trivial tasks as well, sometimes tasks meant for more than one person at a time, and yet you still manage to do them, annoyingly better than the maids. When he demanded you cook him a full course meal, you did so all by yourself, and had the servants looking at you like you were some goddess.

He ripped a hole in his clothes then made you mend it. You covered the hole so seamlessly that he poked a bigger one right in front of you. And even then you don't give him the satisfaction of getting angry. You tell him you will embroider something on top of the hole and he storms off. He overhears you telling the servants, who applaud your level-headedness, that you were used to angry men, because your father was just the same.

You use each of these moments to somehow tell him you were the perfect wife and he had to oblige your stupid request at some point.

But then he found your flaw.

Aegon asked you to play the harpsichord for him, and you told him you did not know how. The woman who knew all did not know something? He would then proceed to hang this over your head. When he asked you for food, he'd tell you how much better it'd taste if he had entertainment. If he asked you to do something physically taxing for him, he's say that he wouldn't have asked you to do it, had you known how to play his 'favorite' instrument. He would use this as the reason why he could never bring you to Grey Cliffs.

It was all fun and games, but then you had to snitch, hadn't you?

"What are you doing to that poor girl!" Queen Alicent barked, making his ears ring.

Aegon groans from where he lies in bed. His mother rips the blankets off him, making him wake in a sour mood.

"She is your wife!" Alicent yells, "not your slave! Fine, you wish her to do tasks for you, tasks for your betterment. But to insult her standing by treating her like a maid is beneath a prince, Aegon!"

Aegon feels his throat tighten at the sight of his angry mother's face, "she is my wife," he growls, "I do with her as I please."

She strikes his cheek.

Aegon's head whips to the side. He doesn't have the energy to look back at her.

"You will no longer parade her as a cupbearer. I will have it decreed you are not ever served a drop of wine if you don't."

Alicent leaves after this. Aegon's anger explodes when the door closes.

He screams and rips at his hair. He kicks furniture around and eventually drops to the floor, exhausted, furious, and hurt. This was all your fault.

He screams again and claws the tears on his face. He slowly exhales through tight lips. His cheek is hot with saltwater. Who was he joking, this was all him.

This was all Aegon's doing.

His breathing is impeded by snot. He walks over to his window and stares at the ground below. If he jumps head first, not even the best maester in Westeros could fix him.

Before he can lean on the ledge, he is paralyzed in his spot by the sound of the door opening.

"I did not know she would be angry with you," you say.

Aegon looks back.

You see his red eyes and wet skin. He is a mirror to your younger self. You feel sick to your stomach. You try to explain, "I only asked if she could find a harpsichord teacher. I did not realize she would take offense in wanting to learn to play for you."

Aegon's heart aches at your naïve response. You were a stupid, perfect wife, and he, a stupid, petulant husband.

"I'm better off dead," he mumbles, looking back out the window. The call of the fall felt inviting, "want to push me, wife?"

You don't respond.

Aegon looks back at you, and suddenly you're only inches away. He tries to evade you, but you manage to catch his hand.

"We could jump together."

"What?"

Your face is blank. You part your lips, and for a moment, your eyes seem desperate, but then it's gone. You sigh, "dying is quite lonely," looking down, "I could keep you company."

Aegon stares at you. Tears stream down his face. "You're mad," he sniffles, yanking his hand away.

He walks over to his bed and collapses on it. He wraps himself in a blanket and feels sorry for himself, and angry at you for suggesting such a thing. Even now you want to be perfect by dying with him?

"I am," you mutter.

Aegon watches as you walk over to him. You sit on the floor beside his bed and look at your hands as you rub them.

"I cannot play the harpsichord, because my father does not like noise," you explain, "I was not allowed to make a sound or else I would be punished."

Aegon covers his head with a blanket but keeps his face visible, "he beat you, didn't he?"

You look at him, eyes melancholy, but still, he is the only one crying, "he beat everyone."

Aegon does not respond.

"I can sing though."

His brow raises, "how can you sing?"

"I would practice whenever he was gone, and sing for my mother in secret. It made her happy... happy enough."

He knew there was more to this confession, but he was too tired to ask about it, too tired to shed more tears.

"Would you like me to sing for you?"

"No."

"..."

"Would you like me to hold you?"

"..."

You stand from where you sat and get on the edge of the bed. Aegon watches as you slowly lie beside him. You bring an arm over him and pull him close. Aegon closes his eyes as you bring him into your chest.

You hold him until he falls asleep. Later that night, he asks you to hold him again. He also asks you to sing to him.

Aegon nestles his face in the crook of your neck. He wraps his arms around your torso, digging his fingers between your flesh and the bed. Your hushed voice reverberates in the bedroom, the song you sing is haunting and soothing. The vibrations from your chest lull him to sleep. You feel wetness pool by your clavicle but you make no note of it.

Aegon asks you to hold him the next morning after breaking fast. He asks you to stay with him in bed and to sing to him some more. When you have to leave his side, he asks to join you and waits until he can have you in his arms again.

Aegon becomes your shadow, and follows you around, under the promise of getting to share in your embrace. As you read and review letters or ledgers, your seat becomes Aegon's lap. He sleeps against you while you work without a fuss, cheek pressed against your back, arms fastened around your waist.

Sometimes, he notices the line that forms between your brows while you read and at some point, asks about it. You explain what causes it, and he is unmoved, as he is uninterested in politics that stress you. But when you read out to him, he finds comfort in your voice and asks you to read some. He falls asleep to your calm droning of circumstances he could not care less about. He groans and groggily awakens when you stop. He mumbles against your skin that you continue, pleadingly so.

When you had to leave the Keep for business, Aegon insisted that he joined you. When you brushed his cheek and explained to him why he could not go and that you would not be long, Aegon pushed you away and stormed off. You left without him anyway, and the treachery he felt was so great, he realized then how he could no longer go day to day without you. What was there to do, if you were not there?

And so Aegon desperately rubs his magic lamp and wishes upon you.

He wishes that you never leave without him again once you return.

He wishes that you promise to no longer make plans without him.

He traps you beneath him on your shared bed and wishes to be inside you. He kisses you and wishes to see you completely bared to him.

Aegon's mind is dizzy as he gazes upon the glory of your skin. He kisses your thighs, your hips, your breast, your lips.

Aegon wishes to surrender to you. He wishes that you undress him. He wishes to pull you on his body like a blanket. He wishes to see you take control. He wishes to see you cast your eyes upon him and lay your weight on his body.

He wishes to see you use him, to take what you need from him, to pleasure yourself, and to make him yours. He squeezes your thighs desperately when you moan out his name. This was much more maddening that what he imagined it would be.

He wishes to feel you come undone around him. He wishes he could forever feel the pleasure he did when he comes right after you do.

He wishes to hold you after. And when he holds you, when you lay on his chest and kiss him there, he wishes to never leave this moment ever again. He wishes to sing to you like you've sung to him.

"What are your plans tomorrow," Aegon asks as he draws nothings on your back.

You lift your head from his chest. He looks at you. You smile, "whatever you wish them to be."

He rubs your back and smiles, "I wish to take you to the Grey Cliffs."

Your expression drops, "what?"

He raises a brow at your reaction. You shift on your place. You straddle him again.

He looks up at you, noticing the line between your brows. He rubs your thighs, "you've granted me all my wishes. It's time I grant you yours." He shifts on his elbows and sits himself up, "it's time you meet my mount and-"

"We don't have to," you cut him off, placing your hands on his shoulders.

Aegon examines your expression. He listens to you sigh.

"I'd like to keep you-- wish to keep you..." you correct yourself, pushing him back down.

He looks up at you, feeling your hands rake up his body.

"...just like this," you finish, eyes solemn, lips curving into a soft smile, "I've not felt a thing like this in my entire life."

Aegon takes one of your hands and places it on his cheek. He whispers it like a secret, "neither have I."

You lean down to kiss him, "I wish to keep like this."

He kisses you back.

He is blindsided by how his wishes came to bite him in the arse. It's all crashing down on him. Suddenly, he wishes he didn't actually do any of those things with you.

He most of all wishes he heard you wrong. He wishes you didn't repeat yourself when he stupidly said, "what?"

"I'm with child," you speak slower, less excited yet excited still.

Aegon wishes you didn't look so excited. He wishes he fucking pulled out, but gods, you felt so good-- you feel so good around him, he felt so good inside you.

He realized the next moment, it couldn't be helped. You were going to have to bear his spawn at one point or another. He wishes you didn't have to. He wishes his seed wouldn't take completely. He wishes you don't take it to term. He wishes he won't have to be a father. Fuck.

He realizes he's been too quiet and you were waiting for a response from him. Your face began to twist. Your smile fades.

"Congratulations," Aegon musters. He feels like he swallowed a metal ball. His eyes wander to your belly. He mumbles mindlessly, "I suppose."

Your face falls.

Aegon looks back at you. Your face is devoid of any semblance of the glow it normally holds. You look sick. You feel sick.

"I see," you say, unintentionally allowing him to hear your voice break. Aegon's brows furrow at it.

He shakes his head, "you will be a great mother," he chuckles dryly, "you mother me so well."

You offer him a smile, but Aegon can see how disconnected it was from your eyes. You say, "thank you."

When you leave him after this, he wishes he hadn't said a word. He wishes he just left it at congratulations. He wishes he just pretended like the idea of having a child didn't mortify him and make him sick to his stomach. He wishes he wasn't so ill-suited to be a father.

Ageon no longer wishes for anything after this.

He no longer wishes to hold you, though he so badly wanted to. He no longer wishes to hear you sing, nor does he wish to hear you read to him. He no longer wishes to be around you, though his body urged him to follow you around like the lost soul he was.

He wishes he didn't wonder what you were doing at every moment of the day. He so desperately wishes to rid you from his mind completely that he drowns himself in his first and only true love, alcohol.

Fuck. He wishes he hadn't taken this route to his room. He wishes you hadn't taken this route to wherever it was you were going. He wishes he just turned around and fled like the coward he was, because then, you wouldn't have spoken to him.

"Husband," you curtsey.

Aegon stiffens and uncomfortably avoids your eyes.

You catch it, feeling your chest tighten painfully. You clear your throat and take a deep breath to steel yourself, "I thought you should know that I will be travelling."

Aegon looks at you.

"I have a ship ready and I'll be visiting the Grey Cliffs. Do not wait up for me."

His face falls. He opens his mouth, but doesn't have an opportunity to speak.

"I thought you should also know that I am no longer carrying."

His eyes widen.

"It's not an uncommon occurrence the first few months," you say simply, "I suppose the gods do not wish me to be a mother."

Aegon feels like a murderer. He wants to say something, to apologize, to comfort you, but he can't. He's too taken aback to do a single thing.

He turns into stone when you take his hand. You step forward and place his palm on your chest. Your heart is slow as you speak, "you won't have to worry about anything anymore, Aegon. Today is the end of our shared torment."

Aegon's stomach drops when you kiss him.

His eyes are glassy. You pull away before he can kiss you back. He wants to hold you, but the sadness in your eyes reminds him he is undeserving. You kiss his wrist, "goodbye, my love. I love you."

His heart thumps as you walk away.

Aegon is manic. He basks in the mess he's made and feels crushed by it all.

He finally acts after wasting so much time feeling sorry for himself. You were long out of his sight by the time he started running. This is why he headed to the dragonpit and got on Sunfyre.

"WAIT!" he screams, just as your boat leaves the dock.

Aegon watches as you run to the edge of the boat. He lands Sunfyre and runs as far to the edge of the docks as he could.

"Aegon-"

"Take me with you!" he pleads, "let me be the one to take you to where you must go!"

You look back. The ship stops. The crew brings down a boat and on it, you are rowed back to the dock.

He crushes you in his arms once he reaches you.

"Aegon," you mutter.

"Forgive me," he shudders, "I... I wish you let me do this for you."

"Aegon," your voice croaks. You push him away, "go home."

His heart drops. He breaks away to look at you. Your words feel like a stab at his thorax. It was presumptuous of him to assume you'd want him back, but it doesn't kill him inside any less.

"I've come to realize this is a trip I must go on myself," you mutter.

He shakes his head, "no. Please." He motions an arm out to his mount, "one wish. That I grant you one wish before you throw me away forever is... is--"

Your throat constricts at his words. Tears rush down your eyes, "I'm not throwing you away--"

"Please," he squeezes both your hands in his, "please, let me do this for you."

The flight to the Grey Cliffs is quiet, save for the whoosh of winds and the roars of the golden dragon you both rode. You always imagined it would be freeing, but only now did you know how it freeing it truly felt to fly. You knew now you'd forever chase the euphoric crush of air against your skin.

Aegon, who sat behind you, looks at your form as you outstretch your arms and close your eyes. Your body presses against him, and in this moment, he is unable to hold back from wrapping an arm around you and sparing a kiss on your shoulder. You are snapped out of your trance because of this.

The Grey Cliffs are dark and gloomy when you get there. Aegon realizes when you land that it got its name from the weather conditions.

He helps you down and surveys the area, trying to make out which part of this drear land was so special to you that you wished to go here.

You catch his expression and squeeze his hand.

Aegon turns to you.

You give a solemn look, "the view is better on the edge."

Aegon strokes Sunfyre's cheek, commanding him to stay before you lead him by the hand to the edge of the cliff. Once you get there, he feels queasy looking down at the crashing waves far beneath him. In contrast, you seem comforted by the view. His brows furrow at the deep breath you give out.

When you look at him, his stomach feels it, the comfort you felt upon witnessing the violent waves. Whatever it was that compelled you to this place was the same force that compelled him to kiss you.

He reaches out for your cheek, his other hand coming to you back. He pulls you close. His heart twinges when you stop him from kissing you.

"Aegon-"

"Forgive me," he cuts, "I beg."

You gawk at him. He brushes your hair which was wildly flinging with the breeze.

"You must know by now that I am craven. I lack the spine and the wit to be of any use to you."

Your eyes water. Your lips quiver.

"I would be a hopeless father, worse than my own, no doubt."

"Aegon," you babble as sobs overtake you.

Aegon, himself, succumbs to tears. He wipes the ones streaming down your face before taking a breath, "but you made me feel a love I do not deserve."

You swallow a heavy lump in your throat.

"I love you," he confesses.

"No," you pierce his heart. You shake your head in disagreement, "Aegon, this is a mistake. Bringing you here was a mistake."

"No!" he blurts louder than needed, "this was a choice," he looks down, "I choose to rip my insides out for you to devour. I am miserable, much more in the heat of your hate, but most of all without you."

His downturned eyes land on your face when you grab his wrists. You croak, "I do not hate you."

Aegon is not relieved by the admission, but he chooses to believe you mean it. He smiles softly, "good."

"But I do hate this life I live."

He clenches his jaw. Of course you do.

"You saved me," you press a hand on his cheek, taking your turn to wipe his tears, "even if for a moment."

"I made you miserable."

You chuckle. The sound makes his heart skip.

"You filled my life with purpose," you smile softly, "even when you did not mean to."

Aegon knits his brows deeply and takes your hands. He brings them to his lips and kisses them.

"But accidents happen. You must remember that accidents happen all the time."

Aegon shakes his head, "this is not an accident. Believe me when I say I chose to do this, I- ... I choose to love you."

You sob and turn to your feet.

"Please... believe me."

You sniffle and nod, slowly looking up at him, "I believe you."

You lunge into his arms and seal him into a tight hug. He hugs you back like it's his only way of surviving.

A crack of thunder startles Sunfyre. He becomes restless and steals away Aegon's attention, panicked that he might flee and leave them here.

He pulls away and takes a step towards her. He holds your hand, urging you to follow, "we should go before it rains."

You hug him from behind and press your face into his back, "thank you for taking me on Sunfyre."

"It was a long time coming."

"I've always wondered what it would be like to fly. And now that I know how peaceful it is, I'm ready to fly one last time."

He turns to you as you slowly come to his side. You hold his hand. He looks at you as you turn to Sunfyre. He promises, "I will take you on dragonback as many times as you wish."

You smile, but your eyes are fixed on his dragon. You release his hand and wrap your arms around yourself, "he is beautiful. You must never tire looking at him."

Aegon gazes upon Sunfyre. He takes in his golden scales and has newfound appreciation.

You take a step back.

"He is. To be honest, it's been long since I, myself, took him out of the pit. He must enjoy this day as much as you do."

"Aegon, you must understand that what I have to say has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me."

Aegon turns to you. He watches you tighten your arms around yourself. You must be cold. He rubs your shoulders.

You shake your head and turn him back to his dragon, "look at Sunfyre."

He knits his brows, "I'm looking."

"For so long," you release him, "I've wanted to fly free, to find my peace here in the cliffs. This was before I even met you." You point at the golden dragon, "I choose to love you too, but accidents happen, like if Sunfyre were to fly away, and you were to be left here alone."

Aegon stares at his ride for a moment as you lower your hand. He tries to makes sense of your words, but he cannot for the life of him understand.

He sighs, "what accident? Why do you keep-"

Aegon is flooded by confusion when he turns and finds you nowhere behind him. A split second later, he lets a horrified scream and the fear that claws into him makes his knees buckle. He crumbles to the ground and crawls to the edge of the cliff. He screams so loud that Sunfyre roars back and comes towards him.

Aegon watches as the red seafoam bubbles at the foot of the cliff. He watches as the crimson waves slowly slosh back into its original tint.

Rain begins to pour, and his tears taste no longer salty.

Was this the flying you ached for? Was this the relief you sought?

When he returns to King's Landing, dripping wet, he breaks down in front of his mother, weeping as he clutched his skirts.

Queen Alicent is obviously disturbed. She instructs her servants to get his son a change of clothes and some towels. She looks down at him, "what's happened? What's wrong, Aegon?"

"An accident-" he barely manages to say, "there's been an accident."

"An accident?!"

Aegon's mind goes blank. A bitter taste

You don't know what you have until it's gone.

#aegon fanfic #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen #aegon smut #aegon angst #aegon targaryen angst #house of the dragon angst #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon #aegon x reader #aegon x you #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon ii fanfic

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 6 months ago

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Can you do aemond x reader x cregan ?? Reader has a thing with aemond b4 the dance, but after aegon is crowned, she goes with jace to the winterfell and ends up with cregan ?? 🖤♥️

Request: Cregan smut pleaaaaase

A longer fic for Cregan is in the work (Jacaerys twin!Reader), but these take more time to write...so be patient

Warnings: 18+, smut, implied cheating (sort of), oral (f receiving)

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Cregan Stark wasn't immune to your charms. It didn’t take him long to fall under the spell of the Queen’s daughter, captivated by your breathtaking beauty and fierce determination.

Since the day you and Jacaerys landed in Winterfell, you and the northern Lord had many occasions of getting physically closer, but Cregan refused to engage in anything with someone who was already promised to another. He didn’t want that kind of trouble.

Yet, he found himself drawn to your presence, unable to deny the stirring of emotions you awakened within him whenever you were around. He felt drawn to you in a way he had never experienced before.

But control was more difficult when he had a few cups of wine at supper.

Cregan stopped at the junction of the guest wing and his private quarters, the flickering torch lights casting shadows on the stone walls of Winterfell. ‘’I should not accompany you to your chamber tonight, Princess,’’ he said, his voice thick with restraint as you walked through the corridors.

‘’Why not?’’ you asked, raising an eyebrow as you stepped closer to him. ‘’You agreed on a cup of wine.’’

‘’I did. But I'm afraid I will not be able to resist to temptations if I am alone with you,’’ Cregan admitted, his gaze locking onto yours with a mix of desire and hesitation. ‘’And I cannot give in to such desires.’’

You chuckled softly, leaning against the cold stone wall and looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. ‘’And what’s so wrong with a little temptation?’’ You paused for a moment, your gaze wandering over his tall frame, taking in his rugged features and muscular build. You bit your lower lip gently before continuing. ‘’Is the Lord of the North not allowed to indulge in pleasure?’’

Cregan's breath hitched as he struggled to keep his composure. ‘’I am allowed to indulge in pleasure, Princess. But you are already promised to another man,’’ he said, the long silver hair and black eyepatch of Aemond Targaryen flashing through his mind. ‘’Giving in to my desires would make my people question my honor toward others.’’

Your feelings for Aemond had once been true and pure, which led to your betrothal. It was also a good way to unite the families. A date had been set for your wedding and ravens had been sent through the realms announcing the big day, but your grandsire died and Aemond became a traitor to the crown. It didn’t surprise you that he stood by his brother’s side. Aemond had always been loyal to his family, it was part of who he was. What surprised you was the raven the Greens sent to Dragonstone to summon you to King’s Landing and bend the knee to their new King.

Saying goodbye to the person you once loved was difficult, but you could not see yourself at the side of someone who supported the man who stole your mother’s throne.

‘’Aemond Targaryen supports the usurper. Our betrothal is no more. I belong to no man,’’ you declared.

Cregan leaned closer to you, his body only a few inches apart from yours. His eyes roamed over your features, lingering on your lips before returning to meet your gaze. ‘’Does he know?’’ he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You slid your hand up the thick leather of his chest, feeling the warmth of him beneath your touch. ‘’Who I bed is no longer his concern.’’

Cregan held his breath as you touched him, holding back from pressing himself to you against the wall and crashing his lips on yours. ‘’Gods, Princess, you drive me mad with your words,’’ he confessed, his voice a low growl.

You pushed your teasing further, feeling his self-control about to snap. ‘’Are you afraid of taking a princess to bed, Lord Stark?’’

The control he had tried to maintain snapped. Your words and touch awakened something within him, igniting a fire that he could no longer keep at bay. A soft gasp left your lips as Cregan closed the distance between you, pressing you against the wall and kissing you. His strong hands found their way to your hips, gripping you tightly, and in one swift motion, he lifted you off the ground, pressing you firmly against the cold stone wall. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, both of you lost in the heat of the moment, forgetting you were in a corridor where anyone could walk by.

You moaned into his mouth as you felt his body pressed against yours and tangled one of your hands into his dark hair, your slender fingers running through it as you held onto his broad shoulder with the other. Cregan’s grip on your thigh was iron strong and possessive.

He wanted you.

He pushed his body even closer to yours, his lips leaving your mouth and trailing down your jawline, to your neck, where he began to nibble and kiss the sensitive skin there. You wanted to tear his clothes — and tear your clothes — and see if wolves treated their women better than dragons.

‘’I think we should take this to your chambers, Lord Stark. How scandalous would it be if anyone were to their Lord with the Dragon Princess?’’

The door echoed as it shut behind you. Without losing any time, Cregan pulled you in another kiss as he began to disrobe. You unbuckled your own cloak, letting it fall off your shoulders, and helped Cregan with the buckles of his leather doublet. Why were there so many?

Once you were both out of your clothes, he carried you to his bed. Depositing you gently on the soft furs before joining you, pinning you beneath him. The fire in the hearth was keeping your naked body from shivering, and casting a soft glow on your skin. You felt the press of Cregan’s cock against your thigh, hard and warm, and reached for it, air catching in your throat at the size.

The Northern Lord trailed kisses on your hot skin and moved further down your body until he was lying on his stomach, using his elbows to keep himself upright. He gently parted your legs, his fingers brushing over the inside of your thighs as he took in the beauty of your pretty pussy, his mouth watering for a taste.

Cregan placed a kiss on your mound, smirking when he heard you gasp softly. His lips moved lower, and his eyes drinking in your every reaction, the soft sounds of pleasure escaping your lips making him even more determined to drive you wild with pleasure. He was going to show you how men kiss their women in the North.

Soon, you were mess on the furs as he tongue licked and teased your pussy. Your legs were folded to expose you more, and Cregan kept a tight grip on your trembling thighs. Your back arched from the bed, accompanied by a loud whine as you reached down to grab his hair and guide his face closer to you.

‘’Kessa! Lua doing bona!’’ (Yes! Keep doing that!)

The High Valyrian words had spilled from your tongue without realizing. Although Cregan didn’t understand a single word, he assumed he was doing a good job and continued working skillfully with his mouth to bring you to the edge of madness.

He swiped his tongue over your swollen clit, relishing in the sounds he was drawing from you. He loved hearing the moans and gasps that escaped your lips, knowing that he was the one causing them.

You rocked your hips into him, practically riding his face, and Cregan moaned, his cock twitching — and leaking — between his stomach and the furs. ‘’Needy, are we, Princess?’’ he teased, his voice low as he looked up at you through half-lidded eyes.

Pulling on his hair again, you forced his mouth back on you. ‘’No more talking.’’

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale@mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08 @mymultiveres @secretsthathauntus @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit

All and more taglist: @kenqki@hawkegfs@gillybear17@black-rose-29@fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade@mellabella101 @vxnity713 @bisexualgirlsblog@queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis @katherinejess @rafesgirlstuff @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity @Anouknani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21

#cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark imagine #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon imagine

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divinesolas · 9 months ago

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Plagued by you

r.q: requesting this please, alicent's daughter x jacaerys… and an angry confession.. "I burn for you." type ❤️😭 like he wants to her to come with him and be team black.

c.w: Otto doesn't go to Dragonstone you do; alicents daughter!reader, minor angst, dialogue heavy, reader “hates” jacaerys, hints of rhaelicent, not proofread

w.c: 1.6k (finally a shorter jace fic…)

a.n: anthony bridgerton ass confession lmaoo, hope you all enjoy :3

part two part three

You were currently pacing back and forth in the room rhaenyra allowed you to stay in on Dragonstone. You had come to see her, to ask her to declare for Aegon. She had obviously argued back and forth with you, up until nightfall where she said she would retreat for the night and the two of you could finish this tomorrow in the morning before you flew back in the morning. You argued that you would leave right then but only to find out that it had begun to storm so heavily. Realizing you would not be able to travel anywhere in this weather you reluctantly agreed and here you were.

In truth you did not want to come here. You had begged your mother to send someone else to anyone else but she was instant it be you.

“Mother, why not send grandsire? He will be a much better negotiator than me.” she fiddles with your cloak, a far away look on her face before she moves to cup your face.

“Rhaenyra certainly likes you more than she likes him. She will treat you kindly.”

“She will say no mother you know this.”

She lets out a trembled sigh and grips your face tightly in her hands and presses her forehead against yours “If not for his sake you must try, for me. For my sake I do not wish for this to go to. To see her harmed.”

You've always known your mother has a very complicated relationship with rhaenyra if you can even call it that. She hated her, or at least that's what it seemed to be.

She turns and grabs your bag before giving you a knowing look.

“And I know you also have some unresolved things, do not deny it. I can recognize that look on your face. You must let these things go. Lest you end up like me.”

You feel sick at the idea of Him. You hate jacaerys velaryon. Him and his stupid pride, his stupid face. His stupid everything. You have never hated anyone the way you hate him. You never understood how much a person could hate someone seemingly as much as your mother seemed to hate rhaenyra. The way she seemed to be all she could talk and even think about, going on endless rants to the point you felt you knew more about rhaenyra than your own mother. Until you met him. Now though you understood her completely, when you were no more than six jacaerys became the target of your anger.

Due to his torment of your twin brother aemond you quickly began to hate him. You would spend all your free time thinking of him and how to get back at him. The two of you always bickered and argued, when you would look over at him he was always already glaring at you.

You were more than relieved he and his family were leaving after the incident at driftmark, but there was a part of you that when your days dragged on you began to miss him. Tormenting him of course there was no way you actually wished to spend time with him, there was no way…. Definitely not.

You haven't seen him during your time here. You would think he would be in the room where you were negotiating but he was nowhere to be seen. You did not want to ask about him, though the question has been on the tip of your tongue.

Suddenly there was some aggressive knocking on your door and you froze, turning towards it holding your breath. “Who is it?” there's no answer but you know exactly who it is and hesitant for a moment contemplating if you should even let him in. You end up swiftly making your way towards the door and opening it just a bit, planning on telling him to just go away but before you can say anything he's pushing his way into the room storming past you with an angry look on his way. You lean against the door to support yourself as you feel lightheaded just looking at him.

“You are an absolutely ridiculous woman.” you do not speak, unable to, only able to watch as he runs his hand through his curls and paces in the room just as you had been. “Do you only wish to torment me?”

“I am here for my brother-” “You should not have come.” there's a venom in his voice and he does not even look at you. You find yourself growing more annoyed at him. “I do not care what you think. I would be gone by now if your mother had not been so stubborn-” he turns to look at you and makes his way to stand right in front of you, barely any space between the two of you. “Jacaerys…” “you do not want your brother to sit the throne.” it was true, as much as you tolerated your brother, the thought of him sitting on the throne disgusted you. He would not be a good king, “you know not of what i believe.” “I know this is true, you shouldn't lie to me.”

“You act as if you know me.”

He scoffs, turning his head away from you for a moment before looking you dead in the eyes, so close you can feel his breath on your face. “I don't know you? I know that you hate the summer because you get too hot in your long dresses, i know you love whenever the chefs make cake and you would sneak into the kitchen to grab a slice, i know you despise your mothers perfume because it hurts your nose but you could never tell her such a thing because it brings her comfort,” he pauses for a moment moving somehow even closer to you, pressing his forehead against yours and closing his eyes, “i know when you are lying you scrunch up your nose,” he moves his head to your neck and takes a deep breath of your scent before lifting his head back up and his forehead is against yours once more. “And worst of all I know you desire me as I do you.”

You shake your head as you suppress a whimper from your neck, “no,,,” “you will not deny it. You will not deny something I know to be true with every bone in my body with every drop of blood in my body.”

With a long silence between you, neither of you saying a word he pushes away from you and goes back to standing where he was, that angry look back on his face. “You must go.” you look outside and notice that the storm has since stopped, your brain is currently running a mile a minute barely able to think. “I shall head back to the keep-” “that is not far enough!”

He grips his head in frustration as he begins to pace once more, “you could travel to dorne, to essos to bravos and it would not be far enough to free me from this torment you have put me through, For the thoughts of you that plague my mind to cease to exist. Even after I pass I am sure when I am faded to nothing but bones and ashes the picture of you will be laced where my heart should be.”

He quickly moves back over to you and cups your face once more bringing himself so explicitly close to you he should be kissing you. The way you two are pressed against each other is more intimate than a kiss, more romantic than any confession. You lose yourself in the heat of the moment, unable to control yourself for a while. You want to kiss him, you want him to kiss you. Before you regain the small sense of control you have to push him away from you shaking your head. “I must go home, my mother-” “Stay here. Stay with me.” He stares into you a way nobody else ever has, like he's truly trying to see you and not the facade you put on for everyone else. “My mind, body and soul yearns and burns for you uncontrollably and now that you stand in front of me I cannot take it.” He takes your hand and presses it against his heart where you can feel it being erratically as yours was as well. “Tell me you do not want me and I shall turn my back and allow you to leave. But do not beg me to watch you as I fear my heart cannot take it.”

He takes another step closer to you and does not break eye contact with you. “Tell me you do not desire me and tell me at once my love, my heart please you must.”

You shake your head as tears begin to form in your eyes, “I cannot.” “then stay.” you angle your head and kiss him, praying that through your actions he can too understand that you indeed burn for him the way he burns for you. You decide in the moment to say fuck it. Fuck your mother, fuck your brother, fuck the crown and screw everyone and everything else that is not him because you hate him so much that he has fully consumed every part of you like a parasite. Yet you have done the same to him.

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darkestspring · 6 months ago

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Could you do a fic about what if rhanerya and criston had a daughter ( reader) from that one night and she looks just like rhanerya so ppl assume that she is rhaneryas and Leanor’s only true born kid and rhanerya is a yandere parent and doesn’t let criston near her baby and criston just has to deal with seeing leanor,Harwin , and daemon all being father figures to his little girl and when she married aegon he finally has the opportunity to have a relationship with his baby since she is finally away from her mother?

you were a lovely child.

That was Ser Criston Cole's first thought of you.

You were indeed a lovely child, his lovely child. he had no absolute proof that you were his but he knew that you were.

There was one problem, he was a knight sworn to have no children, but here you were, estranged from him as you were.

Estranged was a strong word, you were kept away from him by your mother, you didn't know of him.

"Ser, is mother really going to be okay?" Your soft voice carried over to where he was escorting Alicent. You looked up at Ser Harwin with soft eyes full of concern.

You were such a lovely child. So concerned over that... mother of yours.

"She'll be okay, Princess." Ser Harwin assured you, pressing his hand on top of your head as your smile finally returned and Criston felt jealousy.

as irrational as it sounded, it should have been him.

That's why he found joy in taunting Ser Harwin as you entered the area to watch your brothers. He ignored how Aegon practically preened under your attention on him, brief as it was.

See how violent he is, Crison spoke internally, see how unfit he is to be by your side, my beloved girl.

Then there was the issue of Laenor, that incompetent "father" of yours. He wasn't fit either. He wasn't fit to be your father nor was he fit to be loved by you.

But an opportunity presented itself and as much as the sight of Prince Aemond horrified him, it was a brilliant opportunity.

"My granddaughter will marry my son, Aegon. Let peace be had." Viserys' words had been final and Alicent kept her silence seeing the anguish on Rhaenyra's face as she held you close, tears in her eyes as it was you murmuring words of comfort to her rather than the other way around.

Serves her right for keeping you away from him.

Ser Criston's dark, disapproving gaze went right through Daemon as he patted your shoulder softly, the same affection in his eyes. The love of a father.

This wouldn't do. He was your father and now you'd be here, where he could protect you. Where they couldn't reach you.

Alicent had disapproved at first, lamenting over the fact that it hadn't been Aemond that you married but you brushed it off quickly, never fully disconnecting from Aegon's side.

Aegon lessened his alcohol intake. Never fully stopping but he stopped drinking as much, always laughing softly as your nose scrunched up at the smell.

You could have done worse so, it was good that you were here.

"Ser Criston." You voice sounded surprised as you saw him guarding your door. "I thought you'd be guarding the queen." You trailed off softly.

"I was given direct orders to protect you, princess." He responded as if he hadn't pleaded with alicent for the opportunity. "Should you not be asleep?"

His chiding reminded you of your father figures and you felt melancholic.

"I can never sleep properly at night. It gets so cold at night." You sighed softly.

"Shall i acquire more covers for you?" He jumped at the opportunity to help you.

He was awarded with your smile, your sweet, beaming smile as you nodded. "I would really appreciate it if you could."

what wouldn't he do for you? All you need to do is ask.

#aegon targaryen x reader

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months ago

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In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 4: Emerald]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can’t seem to get away from…

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don’t like Titanic you won’t like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @arcielee @nightvyre @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama @ecstaticactus, more in comments 🥰

💎 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 💎

Back into the sitting room, fleeing like a hare from hounds, but Rush is here trying to grab you. You careen to the door to the private promenade deck and dive out into the bitter starlit cold, your breath fog, your shoes slipping on the yellow pine planks that overlay the steel skeleton of the ship, weight that could drag you down to the ocean floor. Rush is in pursuit; he swipes at your arm and gets ahold of your coat sleeve, soft pink wool. You wrench yourself free, twisting out of the coat and dropping your handbag, colliding with the barrier, Tudor-style timber paneling beneath vast windows the frigid night air pours in through. Your hip bruises against the wood, you can hear black waves crashing below; then you collapse to the deck, your spine pressed to the wall, trying to back away when there’s nowhere left to run to. You realize you are still clutching Aegon’s small aluminum lighter and shove it beneath the skirt of your gown. Rush draws his pistol.

“No no no!” you plead, showing him your palms, cowering beneath one of the windows.

They could throw me out of it. They could say it was an accident or a suicide.

The deck is lined with potted plants and lightweight wicker furniture. Inside, you can hear Rhaenyra saying something, though her words are muffled; it’s a tone you wouldn’t have thought she was capable of. She sounds afraid. Draco and Dagmar must be asleep, Fern tucked away in the tiny maid’s room. There are no witnesses to what will happen next. Your heart thuds in your chest, swollen and sickly. Cold North Atlantic wind washes over your bare skin and leaves you freckled with goosebumps.

Like a lightning storm, like a hurricane, Daemon surges out onto the deck. He is still tying his robe shut. His hair hangs in dark, damp strands over his forehead. You picture it again, though you don’t want to: Daemon with Rhaenyra like he’s never been with you, the impulsive desire, the dire necessity.

Why not in Rhaenyra’s bed? Why would he bring her here?

Because he thought you wouldn’t be back until midnight…and to prove he can get away with it. To succeed where he failed with you this morning. To feel like a man again.

“I didn’t see anything,” you tell him, but you cannot keep the shock and disgust from your face, intractable like a wild animal.

Daemon kicks one of the wicker chairs at you. You bat it away with a scream and press yourself harder against the barrier, trying to disappear, trying to become somebody else, a girl who didn’t agree to marry a renegade of a man who showed up smirking and cavalier at her father’s Connemara marble quarry.

I want to go home, you think with helplessness like a child’s.

“I didn’t see anything,” you say again, sobbing now. With one hand, you claw at the windowsill above you so you have something to hold onto if he tries to drag you away. The wind, sweeping down from the Arctic, burns like blue fire in your lungs. “I don’t know anything.”

Daemon dives to the floor, hooks his fingers into your hair, yanks you closer as you cry out and flinch away from him. “One word, one fucking word, and you’re gone,” he is threatening, a blade-sharp hiss, and you can smell Rhaenyra’s perfume on him, marking his flushed skin like a bloodstain; but Daemon’s deep-set green eyes—emerald, malachite, jade, serpentine, Connemara marble—are fearful. This is strange; this is unlike him, this is a foreign language.

He loves her, you realize. He’s terrified to harm her, to lose her.

“I would never—”

“Over the railing,” Daemon snarls, jerking your head to the side as you whimper. “Your bones at the bottom of the ocean, your name forgotten.”

“I won’t tell, please, Daemon, please, don’t hurt me.” You look at Rush. He’s staring indifferently down at you, his pistol still in his hand. You turn back to Daemon. “I’ve never told anyone.” About the bruises, about the man you really are. “Not my parents, not a soul. I don’t want to tell. I just want to stay with you and Draco. I won’t jeopardize that. Please, Daemon, please—”

“No one would believe you,” he says; but if that was true, he wouldn’t be so frantic. “You’d be a madwoman. They’d lock you up in an asylum, put you in a straightjacket, cut the pieces off of you that made you so hysterical.”

“Yes,” you agree, yielding, toothless.

He rips at your hair again, pulling you away from the barrier and to the center of the floor. Rush steps out of the way to make room. You don’t fight Daemon. You have to convince him your fighting days are over.

Why doesn’t he kill me now? A dagger to the jugular, a body splashing into opaque waves?

Because he needs his perfect family in order to march triumphantly into the skyscrapers-and-streetlights labyrinth of Manhattan. Because he can’t eclipse Viserys if people are whispering that his wife is dead under peculiar circumstances, fallen overboard on Titanic’s famed maiden voyage, insane or drunk or maybe—just maybe—murdered by a man’s rough rageful hands.

“What did you see?” Daemon says, testing you.

“Nothing.”

His palm cracks across your face. You yelp, more startled than in pain. Your skin is going numb from the cold; he’s hit you harder before. Now he doesn’t want to bloody or bruise you, he doesn’t want to leave evidence others could notice. He wants his threats imprinted irrevocably into you like scars. He wants you to listen. “What did you see?!”

“Nothing,” you moan, and then the door to the sitting room opens. You, Daemon, and Rush all whirl towards the noise.

In the doorway stands Fern with a silver-plated tray of tea and biscuits. Her black dress and white apron appear hastily thrown on, rumpled fabric and some buttons left undone. She blinks a few times, but she seems more nervous than shocked. Her eyes flit to you and then settle benignly on a wicker table. She ignores the chair that Daemon kicked earlier, lying overturned at the edge of the deck.

She knew what was happening, you think, grateful, a little awed. She’s here to try to stop it.

“It’s so cold out tonight,” Fern says at last. “I thought I’d make tea.”

Daemon doesn’t know how to respond. He’s never cruel to the staff, that’s one of his charms. His miners worship him, his valets believe him to be their true friend, his housekeepers fret over him as if he’s their husband or their son. Daemon rarely acknowledges Fern directly, as if she doesn’t quite exist to him, a ghost whose silhouette appears on eerie nights, squeaks of door hinges and objects nudged a few mysterious centimeters. He chooses his enemies with great care, like a gardener pruning diseased leaves. Daemon understands that the ones who toil beneath his feet are in the best position to rise up and devour him.

Fern sets the tray down on the wicker table and waits, her hands clasped decorously in front of her. “Will you be requiring anything else, sir?”

There are several electrified seconds—waves thrashing against the ship, wind howling as it tears through your hair—and then Daemon laughs and releases you, as if this has all been a comical misunderstanding. He stands and goes to the tray, picks up a cup of tea, and slurps on it as steam billows up into his face. “How kind of you.”

Fern bows her head in a nod, not leaving. Rush glances between them, then slides his pistol back into its holster.

“Draco should have a mother,” Daemon tells you, looking down from a great height. It sounds like it is meant to be a compromise.

“He should,” you reply. Even if I cannot touch him, cannot be alone with him, cannot teach him to love me.

“It’s not good for boys. When their mothers up and die on them while they’re still so young.” Daemon is reflective for a moment—an unusual skin for him to wear—and then slinks towards the doorway. “Fern, darling, change the bedsheets, will you?”

“Yes, sir. Right away.” She follows him back inside, a brief glimpse at you over one shoulder. Rush glowers at you and disappears with them. You are left alone on the private promenade deck.

Your head spinning, your bones freezing, you struggle to your feet: palms flat on the pine planks, black opal ring glimmering in the moonlight, knees groaning as you lift them. Slowly—stunned, aching—you pull on your pink wool coat. You find Aegon’s lighter and hide it in your handbag, then stand there clutching it like you’re on your way to some glittering social engagement, a tea party, a dinner, a gala, a Christmas party. But what you’re on your way to is purgatory, like the one Dante wrote of, a prison where you will sweat out your sins over and over again.

Why did I believe him? Why did I marry him? Why can’t I find a way out?

You leave the deck like an autumn frosting into winter, bleak, hushed, listless. You do not return to your staterooms but pass through the doorway that leads to the B-Deck hallways. The corridors are quiet and still, occasional stewards running the last errands of the night, a few men in black suits puffing on pipes and cigars, swirling clinking glasses of brandy, ruing all the blights that have incumbered their earnings: foolish wives, Democratic politicians, dissolute immigrants.

You flee towards the stern of the ship, far from the first-class sections. Outside there is a greenish hue to the sky—dim echoes of northern lights—and stars that sparkle like jewels. There is no one lingering by the back railing of Titanic, and for good reason; the air is so cold it bites like fangs, and the roar of the propellers is terrible, so loud and so guttural, sea monsters like the ones early explorers drew into the margins of their maps clawing up from the depths. You fall to the deck and sit with your knees to your chest at the end of a pair of benches—hiding in the shadows where you will not be seen by wandering passengers or lookouts scanning for icebergs—and gaze into the east as Titanic chugs westward, away from Ireland, away from everything your life could have been.

Tears bleed down your cheeks and turn from magma to ice there. You wipe them off your face with the sleeve of your pink wool coat. You ignite a cigarette with Aegon’s aluminum lighter and smoke it all the way down. You light another, and another, poisoning your blood with each breath, polishing the barbs off reality. It’s not enough. You need a drink. How long until you’re just another languishing housewife addicted to laudanum or cocaine? How long until you’re a drunk like Aegon once was?

I want to go home. I want to go home.

There are footsteps, sluggish and clumsy. An intoxicated man. You are about to scramble to your feet and escape when you see who it is. Aegon flops down beside you in a stolen black coat, the pungent miasma of Guinness wafting off of him and his face splotchy and red, looking away from you, ashamed of himself.

You say: “I thought you didn’t drink anymore.”

“And obviously there’s a reason for that,” Aegon slurs. He rubs his eyes, watery and unfocused, bloodshot and despondent. “I’m having a bad night.”

Me too. “Did you know?” you ask, a hoarse voice, a cigarette smoldering between two fingers.

Aegon is confused. “Know what?”

“That Daemon can’t get hard for me because he’d rather be sleeping with his niece.”

“What?” Aegon gapes at you, incredulous, revolted. “Daemon is fucking Rhaenyra?”

You nod, taking a drag. There is a faint orange glow, a warm hit of nicotine to your blood.

“I can’t believe that.”

“I can. I saw it.”

“Jesus,” Aegon mutters, staring out into the endless ink spill of the Atlantic Ocean. Then, more sympathetically: “No, I didn’t know.”

“You never heard anything?”

“Not like that,” he says. “I mean, I remember when I was a kid and people were talking about Daemon being a bad influence on her. But they said he was teaching Rhaenyra to go to parties and stay out too late and swear and smoke, not…you know. Not that he was committing incest with her. That’s some Richard III mischief.”

“Now I understand why you know so much Shakespeare.”

“My parents couldn’t send me to boarding school fast enough. I was shipped off the same week I turned five. Cake and presents one day, shoved on a train the next.”

“I’m afraid Daemon will do that to Draco.” You can’t keep the quiver from your words. “I’m afraid he’ll kill me now that I know the worst of his secrets.”

Aegon turns to you, and through the haze of dark bitter Guinness that’s still sloshing from his stomach into his bloodstream you can see he fears the same thing.

“I want to go home,” you sob, breaking down. Ashes build on your cigarette until you toss it away. Tears spill from your eyes, the River Shannon, the River Clare. “Nobody here cares about me.”

“I do,” Aegon insists, touching your face, trying to make you listen. His sand-colored hair lashes in the wind. “I care about you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I’m trying to.”

“Why do you care? Why can’t you leave me alone? Did you go to O’Connell’s Bar to spy on me, was all of this to spite Daemon and—?”

“No,” Aegon says, a truthful boyish confession. “No. I didn’t know you’d be there. I didn’t know anything about you except that Daemon had married some quarry heiress. I heard he’d be there for an interview, and I was curious, and I kind of thought it’d be fun to fuck with him if he ended up recognizing me, and so I got a job at O’Connell’s and made sure I’d be playing the night Daemon showed up. That’s all there was to it. And then I saw you in that bar in Galway and you were…” He shakes his head. His voice drops to a whisper, aching and reverent. “You were so sad, and so beautiful, and I…I’ve never done anything important in my entire life. I’ve never helped anyone. But I looked at you and I felt like…I thought…I could save her. And maybe that would make all the rest of my mistakes worth it, the wasted years of drinking myself to sleep every night, the aimlessness, the emptiness, the way I abandoned my mother and Helaena, Aemond, Daeron. I followed you onto Titanic because I had to try to help you. But by leading me home, by bringing me back to my family in New York…maybe you’re helping me too.”

I wish I was yours, you think, so vividly you almost tell him. I wish I was a stone in your mine to be found in the darkness, chiseled from the wall, studied and cut down and polished, set in gold or silver to be worn on your ring finger, your blood pulsing beneath my ageless gleam.

“Please stay away from me,” you beg him. “Please, Aegon. I don’t want you to die.”

He says as his thumbprints clean tears from your cheeks: “What if Daemon was gone?”

“You mean what if I pushed him over a railing and into the Atlantic Ocean?” you ask, sniffling. “Assuming I could get him alone, and he didn’t stab me first or drag me overboard with him, they would know it was me. Rush, Dagmar, Rhaenyra. And they would make me pay. If I lived, I’d spend the rest of my life in a prison or an asylum. I wouldn’t get to go home. I wouldn’t get to keep Draco.”

Aegon doesn’t know what to say, and this is because there are no answers. You aren’t overlooking anything. Sometimes reality is cold and unfeeling and lethal, primordial, reptilian, mindless black eyes like a shark’s.

You smile miserably at him. “I’m going to miss you when the ship docks in New York Harbor.”

“Daemon wanting to fuck Rhaenyra doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”

“Stop,” you say, wincing, standing to leave him. Aegon reaches for your hands, but you hide them in the pockets of your pink wool coat. He gazes up at you, drunk desperate heartbreak. You wonder how clearly he’ll remember this tomorrow.

“If you were my wife, I’d never look away.”

“You have no idea who I am. You’ve never really seen me.” Never held me, never uncovered me, never opened me and filled the void with your own rushing blood. Then you depart before someone can come searching for you and discover Aegon, rip away his disguise, toss him into the roiling frigid surf stirred up by the propellers.

In your staterooms, the lamplit air is silent and warmed by the ship’s furnaces, shoveled full of coal at all hours of the day and night. Fern is waiting on the sofa when you enter. She looks at you as if she is relieved, then vanishes into her tiny maid’s room without a word. Your bedroom has been tidied, the linens changed; but the mineral ether of sex still hangs in the space like tapestries from a wall. You try not to notice your reflection in the mirror.

Daemon never touched me like he touched Rhaenyra. He never wanted me, I never satisfied him.

Daemon doesn’t come back all night. You sleep on the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~

On the morning of Sunday April 14th, you dress in green, the color of the Emerald Isle, the color of deep poisonous envy. You affix small emeralds to your ears and one massive stone around your throat, found in Madagascar in one of Daemon’s Grandidierite mines, a lush verdant glint in a nest of cold blue like deep water, like ice.

Heavy enough to drown me, you think wryly, a swift glance at the mirror, turning away again almost immediately. I’d go straight to the bottom.

Before you leave the bedroom, you slide open the top drawer of Dameon’s writing desk, presently abandoned. His dagger is there, gold hilt and spherical gemstones like miniature planets, all fatefully aligned: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire. You lift up the dagger and study it, circling the tiny emerald world with your index finger. You are jealous of Rhaenyra getting everything she’s ever wanted. You are jealous of any woman who’s ever touched Aegon, who knows what it feels like to lie beneath him, to be known by him.

You place the dagger back in the drawer and slam it shut; the whole desk rattles. Then you go out into the sitting room, where Fern is attempting to wrestle Draco into his black wool coat, a small version of Daemon’s.

“No!” Draco is bellowing. “I don’t want to wear it, I don’t want to, let me go!”

“You’ll freeze to death out there, lad,” Fern says, strands of her long copper-colored hair escaping from her bonnet and a sheen of perspiration on her forehead, looking like she’s been to war.

Draco is stomping on the toes of her shoes to little effect. “No I won’t!”

You peer around, searching for your geriatric nemesis, a banshee, a vampire. She is nowhere to be found. “Where’s Dagmar?”

“She’s feeling seasick,” Fern replies, still struggling with Draco. “So she’s lying down in Draco’s bedroom. I’m sure she’ll be up and around again before you know it. She’s a tough old Cailleach.” And there’s no danger in being overheard; Dagmar wouldn’t know what that means, just like you don’t understand her when she mutters her strange Scandinavian curses.

You immediately scoop up Draco and run with him out of the staterooms, Draco giggling shrilly, you beaming as you fly down the corridors and ascend the Grand Staircase two steps at a time, your green shoes slipping on the English oak wood as you zoom past the bronze cherub statue and the ticking clock. All around you are first-class passengers watching with startled looks, a little baffled, a little amused. High above is the dome of glass and wrought iron, brisk white-gold sunlight streaming through. You carry Draco out onto the Boat Deck, the highest level of the ship, and take him to an unoccupied portion of the railing beside one of the lifeboats. You hold him so he can see over the barrier and out into the calm murky blue of the North Atlantic Ocean, hundreds of miles southeast of Newfoundland. The breeze is icy, the sky infinite and cloudless.

You spot slate grey fins cutting up through the water in arches, a whole pod of them. “Look, look! Dolphins!”

“Dolphins?” Draco says doubtfully. “Dolphins are real? Not just in books?”

“Of course they’re real. And they’re friendly, too. Back in Galway, sometimes they swim right up to the pier hoping the fishermen will share the catch of the day.”

“Neat!” Draco shouts. “Can I throw things at them?”

You pause, unsure how to reply. You resist the urge to shake him and say: Do you crave violence like Daemon, are you burning up inside with his fire? Do you want to be a monster like your father? One day will you paint amethyst bruises on your wife? “Why would you want to do that?”

Draco shrugs. “I like throwing things.”

“Well, throwing things can be fun, but if you throw something at a dolphin you might hurt it. Do you want to hurt the dolphin? It’s a living creature just like you. They have friends and families, and blood in their veins. They can feel it if you cut them.”

“No,” Draco decides. “I don’t really want to hurt the dolphins.”

“You can throw things in other situations, like if you play cricket or hurling or Gaelic football. Or baseball, I guess. Now that we’ll be living in America.”

“Okay,” Draco says, gazing at the ocean. Fern trots over to you, breathing heavily from trying to keep up, but she’s grinning. She has brought the coat Draco refused to put on, and this is fortunate, because now as you hold him on your hip you can feel your son is shivering.

“Do you want to put on your coat now?” you ask him.

“Yeah,” Draco says reluctantly, and you lower him down to the deck and help him tug the sleeves over his tiny arms. You suddenly remember when he was born and being so fascinated by his hands—so small and wrinkled, so powerless, always grasping—and Dagmar forever clawing him out of your arms, bundling him up in blankets and whisking him away to other corners of the castle.

“Fern was trying to help you when she told you to wear your coat. She knew you would be cold, and now you are, aren’t you? When adults tell you to do things, it’s not for no reason. They just want what’s best for you.”

“But I don’t like to do what other people say. I like to do what I want.”

“And that’s totally understandable,” you say. “Sometimes you will get to make your own decisions, especially as you get older. But right now you’re very, very young, and there are just a lot of things you don’t know yet, so you need adults more. Please be kind when Fern is trying to help you with your coat or your shoes. She doesn’t mean to upset you. She wants you to be safe and healthy.”

Fern gives you a modest, thankful smile. Draco is mulling this over. “The older someone is, the more they know?”

“I suppose you could put it that way,” you say.

“So Dagmar knows a lot more than you.”

He’s not trying to be cruel; he’s trying to figure things out. The world is so new to him. You wish you could recall what that feels like, to see everything with vast light wonder. “Well…” you begin delicately. He loves her; you cannot win by bludgeoning her into a mess of bloodstains and bone shards. “Yes, she probably knows more about certain things.”

You pick Draco up again to distract him, and he is captivated by the seagulls swooping through the air, laughing and tracking them with his wide eyes, a sunlit green beneath pale blonde hair that is disheveled from the wind. There is a figure lurking on the periphery of your vision, a man in black, a coat and a hat, hands in his pockets. You turn to see it’s Aegon, perhaps ten feet away and pretending to survey the horizon. Your heartbeat quickens; you stomach drops.

What on earth is he doing here? Why can’t he leave me alone?

But of course, you don’t want him to. You stare at him and instinctively touch the emerald that hangs from your throat, Madagascar, Ireland, treasure, envy. You think of how your bedroom smelled when you returned to it late last night.

Fern seems oblivious to Aegon. “I feel so much better knowing there are lifeboats aboard,” she says, looking at the vessel you are standing beside.

“There aren’t enough of them,” you tell her, a low murmur that Draco pays no attention to.

Fern is alarmed. “No?”

“They can fit about half the passengers, no more. So if anything happens, make sure you don’t waste any time finding yourself a seat.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am,” Fern says, troubled.

“Have you seen Lord Targaryen today?”

“No, ma’am,” Fern answers, trying to keep her tone neutral. She isn’t sure if it will be a relief to you or a knife to the heart. “He moved some of his things to Rhaenyra’s rooms before he departed last night. I suspect he will spend the rest of Titanic’s journey there.”

“He’s so fond of his niece,” you say flatly.

“Yes.”

“And she is in need of company, as her own husband is always fraternizing with the Parisians.”

Fern isn’t sure what she’s allowed to say. She smirks and bows her head to hide it. Now Aegon is strolling closer, ostensibly casual. “Good morning, ladies!”

Fern curtsies politely. “Good morning, sir.”

He casts Draco a glance—Aegon seems puzzled by him, maybe a little wary, certainly not accustomed to being around children—then extends an open hand to you. “What an engagement ring! Might I trouble you for a quick look?”

You set Draco down and he is promptly enamored by an orange-sized rubber ball someone has left here. “Of course.” You try to act indifferent, but when Aegon takes your left hand in his own you feel a jolt of warmth travel like a wave up the length of your arm.

Aegon turns your hand one way and then the other, inspecting it. Underneath, his fingertips stroke the lines of your palm. A tremor cascades down the rungs of your spine, helpless hypnotic longing. “What is that, onyx? Obsidian? Jet?”

“Black opal. From Australia.”

“A prison colony,” Aegon says, grinning at you from under the brim of his hat. “A place for villains and beasts.” Swiftly, he takes his right hand from his coat pocket and presses something into your palm: a folded piece of paper, a note, a message in a bottle from a castaway. Then he steps back from you as if it takes great effort.

“There you are!” a craggy voice cries out, and Dagmar is crossing the deck. She seems restored, if a bit wan. She swishes over in her charcoal-colored gown, her white hair twisted into a severe bun, and when Draco bolts to her she kneels down and catches him in a fierce, territorial embrace, her gnarled hands encircling his diminutive body. “Out and about without me? And I wager you haven’t even had breakfast yet, have you, my love?” She glares over his little shoulder at you. “You must be famished. How terribly irresponsible to let you suffer.”

“He ate some tea and biscuits when he woke up to tide him over,” Fern offers meekly.

“I was having fun with Mam,” Draco tells Dagmar, and you see the calculations on her cunning ancient face. She can’t scold him, she can’t correct him. She can’t defeat you with naked wrath any more than you can demand he stop loving Dagmar. You have sailed into new waters, a subtle silent war.

Aegon is receding, disappearing into the crowds of first-class passengers strolling the Boat Deck. Dagmar glances at him and then looks again, her jaw dropping open, her attention captured like a jewel in the pocket of a thief.

“What is it?” Fern asks, peeking bewilderedly at the stranger. Draco is chasing the rubber ball around again. Your pulse thuds hot and hectic in your ears.

Dagmar’s sharp blue eyes are uncharacteristically dazed; she shakes her head as if she’s just seen something impossible, an angel or a ghost. “He looks just like Viserys when he was young.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Dagmar spirits Draco off to breakfast, Fern returns to the staterooms to complete her chores for the day. You take the Grand Staircase down to A-Deck and slip into the Reading and Writing Room, mostly unoccupied this early in the day, to read Aegon’s note. Outside on the Promenade Deck, you can hear Daemon and Rhaenyra strolling by with a number of companions, chuckling and chatting away in a world where all their wishes are granted.

Daemon is saying: “There is an Armenian legend about a so-called Queen of the Serpents, who carries in her fanged mouth a stone made of light. Some nights she tosses it up into the air, where it becomes the moon, full and shining, until it inevitably drops back down to the earth. And as the proverb goes, happy is the man who shall catch the stone where it falls…”

You know that story. It was in one of the books you gifted Daemon for your first anniversary.

With trembling hands, you unfold Aegon’s note. He has written in black ink:

Petra,

One last painting?

Don’t go to dinner tonight. Meet me at the stern.

- Picasso

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x oc #aegon x y/n #hotd fic #hotd fanfic

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queen-of-elves · 3 months ago

Text

Spilled wine

Summary: These events were all the same, the same names, the same faces, at least that's what Aemond had always thought.

A/N: this is more of a crack fic but not really? Basically everyone is friends and happy haha but not really. Aemond still has the scar but it happened during some summer vacation and it was a complete accident + Aemond getting his walls knocked down by reader and being absolutely whipped for her

Btw this is probably the most ambitious fanfic I ever attempted to write when it comes to the word count, so I am sort of proud of myself

Fanarts for this fanfic: The snap screenshot, some sketches of outfits, kiss

Masterlist

Words: 8,7K

Warnings: english is not my first language, drinking, mention of dr*gs, alcohol consumption, minimum use of Y/N, male oc present at the table, swearing, +18 themes but not smut

Dividers by: @cafekitsune

Red and white

Aemond did not appreciate his mother pushing him into attending these kinds of events. Opulent and full of rich fellow friends of his sickly father. This was nothing more than a powertrip for their egos. Socialize, make connections and exploit them in the foreseeable future.

And this event was a definition of what he hated. Noone was there to actually enjoy themself, it was all an illusion. This was a competition: who can get more information while sipping on their drinks, who could manipulate another investor after doing lines in the dim bathrooms, who could win another connection to centuries old wealth. Aemond felt sick to his stomach over these thoughts even though he was born into this world. However, the worst part of this whole farce was that he needed none of that, except his grandfather did. His scheming got even more out of control since Aegon moved into Aemond's apartment, destroying his plans of him being the heir to their father’s company by being a reckless drunk out in the open.

And now he was standing next to him in a freshly pressed suit, dark green fabric turning black in the evening darkness. He once found suits and formal clothing as a second skin, armor he could hide underneath but they were now constricting him. Aemond’s younger self was always obsessed with this image of the perfect son. Well educated, polite, manners of the perfect gentlemen, perfect son, perfect in everything. PERFECT. The older he grew the more he started to resent the word, the more he started to fear it in some way. No matter how much he tried, it was never enough. While his brother was failing in everything he touched, Aemond was succeeding and it was all for nothing.

His mother was giddy to introduce him to people, ready to make a match of him and some rich lady, probably at the instigation of his grandfather. Another face, another introduction. Aemond did not remember the new rich people introduced to him by his mother. And why should he, he did not expect to see them again.

He already knew the proper aces in the field since he was 9 years old, he remembered well Lannisters who did business with his father through their banks or the Royce family, giants in the food industry and of course Hightowers, his grandfather’s and his mother’s name, his uncle Gwayne being one of the best lawyers. Aemond was meant to soon join him, after he finishes his studies.

When I finish college.

There were many more of these names, sewed into his brain since a young age but these names did not change, they were all playing the same game with the same moves with the same chess pieces since he was born. Generational wealth hiding from the new kind, gatekeeping their society from the rest, while they enjoyed parties with the best of the best.

“Oh, Aemond, do you remember Margaret Baeltigar?” Soft touch of his mother’s hand, almost as if burning him, woke him up from his thoughts. He had no recollection of such a lady, maybe she was one of Alicent’s so-called friends or maybe some wife of an investor in the family’s company.

The lady was slightly older than his mother, clad in a light blue gown, her boney hand clutching her glass of champagne. She was the kind of skinny only obtainable by starvation, unhealthy diet. The smile she gave him was forced, too much white pearly teeth showing for his liking and for it to be sincere. Her posture was rigid as if she was posing and maybe she was, to him, to his mother, to everyone.

“Of course.” The polite small smile fell unappreciated since her gaze had already turned away, wide eyes searching for something specific, someone specific in the crowd of empty faces.

“Here she is…” Those words seemed forced, like an unwanted gift you still have anticipated, so you keep smiling to please the donor. “Finally.” Her mouth was once again outstretched in that horrendous toothy smile, lips almost cracking under the strain of holding it all together. Boney arms holding out for a hug.

“Hello.” There was a polite voice behind him but he did not turn. Aemond already knew what this was about, this was not the first time he would get ambushed by his mother’s scheming mind into the web of being introduced to some bratty heiress. He did not even notice when his brother ran off, probably searching for another drink or a white powder to misuse, leaving Aemond to fend for himself.

The young lady moved in a nonchalant manner, her attention solely on her mother and her outstretched arms. The hug was awkward, he could feel the deja vu pulsing through him. Image of Aemond and his mother enveloped in such a hug. A constant reminder of the chasm between them over unsaid things.

The stark contrast between the mother and her daughter was apparent. Boney corpse parading around the mirage of a living body dressed in light blue dress and young lady in red, bow tying it all around her neck, accompanying her.

“This is my daughter.”

“It’s so lovely to meet you, dear.” The smile on his mother’s face was sincere, in some manner she was always excited to meet new young ladies, if it was ‘cause of her single sons or lonely daughter he did not know.

“Oh, thank you.” There was untypical shiness to her, voice not trembling but slightly fighting to be heard in the overabundance of loud talking. She seemed confident enough next to her own mother just like he was next to his. Her bright eyes had moved from Alicent to him and Aemond recognized the uneasiness in them. Used to the parties but not used to the contact with people at them.

“I am Y/N-” Her words just like her unstretched hand toward him were interrupted by her mother abruptly moving to the side. Attention of everyone in the conversation then shifted to the new face entering in. Another young woman, this time more similar to the mother in her face, same structure but much younger was now staring at him, grinning widely. The white dress shining in the light.

“Oh, you have to meet my oldest! She is such a delight!” This time Mrs. Baeltigar’s voice was high pitched, excitement radiating from the statement. This was the second time Aemond felt deja vu struck him on this particular night. Oldest and delight, that’s how his mother used to talk about Aegon in front of everyone. Her most prized son, a son who did not care for his education and ended up on his younger brother’s coach, hiding from the rest of the family.

The Baeltigar’s oldest daughter was marching right to them the moment she realized her mothers presence. Almost bumping into one of the waitresses' sides, overjoyed by the possible introduction, she clung to her mother’s thin left arm.

“Margo Baeltigar, pleasure to meet you,” Margo’s voice was similar to her mother’s high pitch and sugary, leaving a sour taste in Aemond. The oldest was almost hyper focused on him and before he could even react to her introduction, she opened her mouth again but no words got to him. Because while this conversation took place the other sister carefully navigated her way around her sister’s body, moving into the background. Her figure slowly and unnoticed disappearing behind the two M named ladies, fighting for his and Alicent's attention.

There was a heavy stone set in his throat, his stomach fluttering at the same time and Aemond did not know what it meant, not yet.

Aemond was thankful for not being seated at the same table as his mother or anyone from his family and while the company next to him was quite boring he knew it could have always been worse. Five seats out of six already occupied, he was not expecting any miracles from the last person yet to arrive.

On his right was one of his father’s long term investors with his wife, a quiet old man with an already full belly even before the food had yet to arrive, his wife still yapping in her husband’s ear since they were seated, while on his left were two other men, one of them younger than the other. The younger one seemed like a total newcomer to this kind of event, to this kind of society too, his eyes constantly darted from one table to another, trying to identify everyone present. However, the man next to him was the opposite, comfortably sprawled in his seat, his hand leaning on the young man’s chair, black eyes observing his behavior, finding amusement in it. His smooth hair was graying just like his beard but there was pleasant handsomeness in his face.

“I was almost afraid you would run off,” The silver fox at their table spoke up, gaze heading to someone behind his shoulder, the last person finally arrived at their table. Aemond was only slightly interested in the person, another short distraction in a long night, he knew them all and quite frankly, they were all boring.

The figure moved, he could feel the movement behind him, wind picking up, fabric rustling, heels clicking. A woman. Or a very short man, he had noticed several guys trying to hide their shortage, pun intended, by clapping heels hidden beneath longer suit pants.

His hand gripped the champagne flute, glass slick with condensation, almost causing shivers down his spine. The liquid was bitter, bubbles fizzing on his tongue, and for a second it was an uncomfortable feeling before the drink slid down. In moments like these Aemond understood why his brother was always drinking, in the end there was nothing else to do.

The new addiction to the table was finally at her seat, still chatting with the man. And just like the bubbles his boredom fizzled off. The bow was gone and she was no longer wearing the pretty red dress. Her current dress was snow white, like fresh cotton sheets, and on one shoulder. The fabric was dangling off her in an awkward manner, almost as if it was not meant for her. Her shoulders were hidden by black suit jacket, a decent and modest combo, however, it was apparent the outfit was not meant to be this way.

But white suits her.

“Don’t worry, I just went to save my sister.” The almost silver haired man moved the empty chair for her to sit in more comfortably, too eager for a new distraction at the table just like Aemond was. And once again Aemond felt something within him move, how did they know each other, were they close, he might be years older than her but even his mother was significantly younger than his father.

“Oh, what has she done this time?” Laughter erupted from the man, cheeks blooming red. For a moment, Aemond thought she would take offense to such a statement, he probably would but only in the sense of feeling embarrassment for himself stemming from his brother’s failures. In some sense he loved his brother but on most days he was exploding in anger over Aegon’s public mistakes.

However, she only sheepishly grinned before motioning to her side. “Spilled some wine on herself.” And truly there it was, ugly red stain on her hip, the jacket covering it just enough to not be prominent in the evening dim lighting, saving her from judging glares.

“Of course you did.” This time the man was the one with a sheepish smile hiding behind his glass, twinkle in his eyes indicating some kind of hidden joke.

The Targaryen felt like he was the only one witnessing the conversation even though the full table’s attention was turned to two. His eyes were scanning her face, then the dress and then her face again. She acted as if she was so used to it and there was silent understanding on his part for such action. It wasn’t long before the two noticed his unmoving gaze, while the other occupants of the table turned to their own matters.

“I suppose our introduction was cut short. I am Y/-,” He did like her smile, it was soft, not quite reaching her eyes, not in a malicious kind of way. To an untrained eye it would only seem like a sincere reaction, to Aemond’s it was apparent her smile was the result of years of practice.

“I know.” His voice cut through her sentence like a hot knife, stopping her completely. Aemond knew of his talent to be awfully cold to people but this time he had truly overdone himself. The smile he rewarded her with, trying to improve his reputation, only received by a puzzled look from her and her companion.

This night can’t get worse.

Rough grimace struck his face, muscles twitching under the pressure of his failing. He was good at this, he was good at these events. So why was he fucking it all up today? Bitter feeling bit his throat and he wished he could swallow all the shame in the world, devour every mistake he ever made so no one could gaze upon them and he would be perfect again. Was it because she felt familiar to him? Because she had the same watchful eyes behind her every step, watching her to complain about her wrong doings? Or maybe he was completely wrong and playing himself entirely.

After the food arrived, most of the over the table conversation had died down, except for a few whispers here and there between some of them. He did not register any kind of taste, all was now in a fog to him, the illusion of a perfect man shattering with each glance turned to her. Only consolation prize to him were the few and far inbetween looks she rewarded him with. The plates with food were gone just as fast as they appeared, all in a flash moving forward. It was time to go out, social torture once again in progress.

And at the end of the night, when most of the guests had already left and the rest were getting ready to leave, he saw a glimpse of her saying goodbye to the older man from their table. Aemond realized he never got to know his name but he knew he could turn the tables, he could make this right again.

There was not much left of the courage in him on this grim night, but what was left had to be sufficient for now. His movement was rigid, he weaved between the people, tables and chairs, mind almost blank except for the command to move forward, to go to her.

“Hi.” Was his voice always so rough? He tried to swallow with no success, the lump in his throat winning.

“Hi.” Her eyes were wide, caught by surprise, she moved to fully face him. The light softly illuminated her face, giving her a certain glow he knew he would never forget. There just was something so familiar about her. Like a picture he has seen before but now had no recollection of. Have they already met? He couldn’t remember even though he really wanted to.

“Sorry about the…” His head moved to their table, indicating what he meant without having to say that. Aemond was sure he would spontaneously combust if he had to talk about his own rudeness caused by the unfamiliar uneasiness in his stomach more than this.

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Her answer was so casual, as if his rude behavior was long gone from her mind, while he wanted the opposite even if it were her remembering only the worst stuff about him. He needed her to remember him.

He could hear someone call her name, the shadow of her mother frantically waving her hand at them, signaling something to her. There was a drunk mess of a person even further behind her mother, hair everywhere, red dress tripping her on uneasy legs.

It was an image he was so used to by now, but this time, it was not his responsibility. It was someone else’s. And somehow it changed nothing, there was a bile rising up inside him, hands sweaty and heart beating too fast, such a familiar situation he saw her in. It was like looking in the mirror.

She was biting her lip anxiously, some part of her evidently annoyed at her sister and he wanted to tell her to never ever do that again. He wanted to take all her worries away, he wanted to do that for her.

“Sorry…” Her shoulders visibly slumped, one of her shoulders escaping from under the black jacket. “Have to go.” Her manicured thumb pointing behind her, at the mess she was meant to deal with. Her older sister was drunk off her mind, stumbling in the crowd, the man with her unable to hold her straight up, part of him found relief in the fact Aegon was not with her. One of her heels dangled off the man’s hand while the other wrestled to keep her on her feet.

“Have a great night!” Aemond thought these words might haunt him for the rest of his life, the rest of the night squished into few fragments of him saying bye to people and getting back to his apartment, while some part of him was still stuck in the moment with her.

Teal blue

This time she was wearing teal blue gown, satin complementing her skin like nothing he has ever seen. Her smile was wide and even though Aemond saw her only in passing, a warm feeling spread through his insides. Since their first encounter he had chastised himself for his behavior, praying for a chance to redeem himself to her.

However, they were not seated at the same table and for once he found himself disappointed for the lack of his mother's interference. And so after losing Aegon, in the crowd, even though he was meant to babysit him after his last drunk tirade at some club went public, he began mapping the whole place in hope to find the teal gown in the crowd.

It was after the obnoxious dinner that he found her standing next to the bar, the silverfox by her side once again. Aemond could not hear them but it seemed as an interesting conversation by the way her arms flailed while explaining something. Wide grins spreaded over both of their faces before a round of giggles overcame them. Faced near each other in secretive closeness, they held on the other’s arms strongly while their bodies shook in held down laughter.

He wanted to know what they were to each other, how back they went and why they held each other so familiarly and he wanted to do the same with her. It was like a new emotion, jealousy he had never experienced.

His pleading stares must have awoken some mercy in her. The young lady bid goodbye to her friend and gracefully walked over to him, still holding his gaze. And even though Aemond’s attention the whole night was fixated on the image of her, now that she was there, he was lost for words.

“Evening.” The cheeky smile was back and if it was to disarm him it worked perfectly. Lost in his nervous thoughts, he chewed on his cheek, an anxiety filled bad habit he picked up as a kid. It took him a moment to realize she was patiently waiting for his reply. He completely forgot he was meant to give her his greeting too.

“Evening.” He could only mutter his reply. Needles of uneasiness prickling along his spine, giddy feeling spread through him now that he was once again near her. He needed to set it right, courage boiling his throat but no words came out, he was overwhelmed by all of it. His solace was found in a similar scene in front of him.

She, like himself, was in a frozen state, mouth open, ready to speak and eyes moving all around the room, searching for something to say. Both of them desperately need to say something to the other, not only to fill the silence but for the simple reason to converse with the other one.

The voices and music completely overwhelmed them and while they hoped it would soothe some of the anxiety over their failed meetings it only fueled their nerves more. Their eyes met again, corners of their mouths simultaneously lifted, smiling like idiots. And there was a silent understanding between them. The ballroom is too loud, let’s move it to the balcony.

The balcony itself was absolutely quiet, there was no one who would disturb them. Night cold breeze was slowly picking up but the heat from the inside was enough to keep them satisfied. He could not see the outside properly, lights blinding his vision of their surroundings and he liked it this way.

Maybe this time he would not come off as a rude idiot to her, maybe this time it could all end well. Both of them stood with their backs to the lights of the ballroom, only darkness before them and cold railing underneath their hands. The silence between them was comfortable, for now at least.

Aemond was aware of the intense stare she was giving him, precisely his fake eye and the scar dividing the bad eye socket into two. It had been years since he gained the injury, the scar no longer dark reddish color but more of a white pink, it faded slowly, plus his mother begged his father to pay for laser treatment to help it fade out quicker. He also got gifted the new fake eye, his mother was absolutely ecstatic over it, her sweet son’s face finally appeared more normal.

He knew she did not mean it that way but it still hurt, and the eye itself hurt or maybe it was the injury itself. If only he could wear his eyepatch to these kinds of events but according to his mother it was too eye-catching (pun not intended) compared to the fake eye even though if someone looked at him for too long they would probably notice not only the scar but the fact he could not fully open the eye or the lack of movement in it. And so fake eye it was.

“How did it happen?” Her eyes softly cascaded over his face before settling on his bad eye again.

“It was…,” Aemond felt like he couldn’t breathe, not this conversation again ,” an unfortunate accident.” Over the years he had dozens upon dozens of people asking him the same question and not stopping snooping even with his short answers cutting them off.

“Oh, sorry to hear that.” Her attention turned to the crowd behind them, they might have moved to one of the balconies but the noise of people was still present.

“It’s okay.” He hummed, never knowing what to say to those who pitied him over the injury. “It happened years ago.” Aemond hardly ever thought about it now, it worked as a bitter reminder of his own carelessness in the end. And while some responsibility laid with his cousins and brother he knew it was his decision, he couldn’t blame them for it even if he did at the start.

“It’s more purple.” Her attention was back on him, staring right at the fake eye once again.

“What?”

“The other eye.” Her delicate hand pointed to his left side of face. “It’s more purple.” Aemond knew the prosthetic he got was not identical in the color to his other eye and while others claimed he was only imagining it, he knew. He knew it was not the exact shade of purple like his other eye.

People always saw the younger son of Alicent Hightower and Viserys Targaryen, second born son, the Targaryen boy, not Aemond. Not the young Baeltigar, she looked at him, not through him, not at his family, not at his very possibly, almost surely, shiny future thanks to his name.

He had never felt so seen in his life and being known by her became a carnal need to him.

This time it was his mother who called for a saving of an older sibling, in the middle of the night Aegon had sneaked away from Cole’s watchful eyes and ended up drunk as the dirty pig he was. They must have found him half asleep on some naked lady’s back in one of the private rooms of the manor the event was at, his hair was a complete mess, his earring already gone and tie let loose. Aemond expected him in a worse state than this, most of the time he was called to him half dead, this was nothing compared to those times. But his mother was red faced, completely embarrassed by his brother’s antics.

Light pink

It was weird, feeling this nauseating feeling within him. Aemond felt like a little boy again, excited for another gala where he could show how perfect of a son he is. When he was still a child he would parade himself around, maybe because his mother and father did not, while Aegon got all the attention.

However, this time it was different, this time it was only because of one person, one person’s perception of him. He was excited to see her and for her to see him. Their last talk left him hopeful for more.

This time it was her who found him, dressed in light pink fabric that was easily floating around her in the soft breeze, she found him right after dinner. He was just thinking about the appetizer, perfectly composed plate with balanced flavors but he could not figure out what the sauce was made out of. It was a little game he liked to play with himself, so he wouldn’t lose his mind over the boredom.

“Are our meetings destined to be cut short every single time?” With a champagne flute in hand, another occupied by a whole bottle of it, casually staring him down with a light smile gracing her face, she talked comfortably to him.

“Hope not.” He could feel corners of his mouth twitching and soon a similar smile appeared on his face. It warmed his heart that she was the one to find him, that he was not the only one searching for her and she herself was on a mission to find him.

Just like the white dress, or any other actually, the light pink shade suited her. The thin fabric of the short sleeves hid her shoulders away from him but he was still fascinated by the soft skin of the inside of her arm. He could feel the twitch of his fingertips over the thought of touching her there.

Once again soft silence creeped on them while the both of them observed his older brother, balancing one glass of whiskey in his hand while trying to stay upright, his attention far away from the liquor spilling over the brim but on the young lady in front of him. If it was anyone else Aemond might have felt embarrassment bubbling up to the surface but since he had seen her own older sister in similar state, her presence left him unmoved by it.

“I think some part of me hates him.” The words left him before he could fully comprehend what he was saying.

She hummed at that, it was a comforting sound he did not deserve, at least in his head. No proper brother could say something like this about his sibling. Regret was a bitter friend to his heart and to his mind. He should not have said that, not to her, she should not know how angry he was inside.

“He is my brother.” He tried to convince her of his sins against his family, his kin. Part of him did not want to acknowledge fully what he said, he prayed to stay in her good grace, in everyone’s good grace by being the good son, the good Targaryen boy, polite, smart, sophisticated.

“I know.” She laughed with ease and Aemond knew the bitter feeling was not going to fade away, as always. He could not escape the regret of speaking out, he did not deserve any pity.

“It’s so hard to explain to anyone.” The words fell off his tongue so freely, Aemond thought someone else was using his mouth to voice out their concern.

“Right?” Another comforting sound came out of her and maybe the bitterness could fade away from him, from both of them. He could feel it radiating from her skin, they were so similar and unaware of it until now. “Everyone always tells me to just let it go-, you don’t own them anything and yadayada-, but I can’t-”

“Because she is your sister.” Before she could finish, he knew what she was going to say, he knew those words too well. Everyone said them to him, let it go, let your brother go, he will fuck up and he will have to solve it. However, he could not because in the end he was the one getting voicemails of his drunk brother’s voice, panicked calls from his mother, there was no escaping it, his blood, his family tree tied him to this whole mess. Just like her.

“Yeah…” she nodded, tired from the whole situation. “Exactly.” He did not like the line between her brows, frown caused by his voice, his words. He wished to never see that expression on her face ever again.

“We can’t save them.” The wind pushed the words away from the pair and neither of them knew who uttered them first or who regretted them before the other one.

Another sip of champagne turned into two and then a long gulp, they shared the alcohol so freely, Aemond felt like he could fly in the sky, happy butterflies flapping their wings on the inside of him. She soon downed her flute and instead of filling it back up her hand set the glass down with a clink.

The light from the ballroom framed her perfectly, creating a vibrant halo around her silhouette. And again Aemond was lost at the vision of her. She was so comfortable in her skin, in her own struggles, in this situation. She felt comfortable even to him and he wanted her to remain comfortable for the rest of her life.

And so he nudged her shoulder with the champagne bottle, creating a moist trace below her armlet. For a moment he was hypnotized by the droplet and its slick path trailing down her arm. He envied it for even a longer moment, to trace her skin to him is to die of the fire inside him.

Her hand gripped the bottle, tilting it slightly, another sip of the still cold liquor ended in her mouth. And with that he realized she drank alcohol like Aegon did, with no struggle, with no twitch in her face over the bitter taste, like she liked the feeling of it hitting her tongue. He missed the weight of the bottle in his hand and the empty feeling started to itch on his skin, before he realized.

It felt almost intimate, his cheeks aflame and the little boy in him was kicking his feet. An indirect kiss. He drank from the bottle himself before her, their lips touched the same surface.

He did not even notice how the evening turned into a night, only darkness now facing them on the balcony high above ground. Voices behind them have yet to tune down but he could feel the event slowly ending.

And the familiar man was back, simply nodding to her not daring to step even a bit to them, only glancing at them from the inside of the big hall. The smile on his face might have been in a friendly manner but his round glasses hide the glint in his black eyes.

“What are you two?” Throughout their conversations Aemond realized he liked how she enjoyed his forwardness, just like he did with her. There was no shame between them.

“Me and…” there was a slight twitch in her face and she tried to contain it, unsuccessfully in the end “Kim?”

Kim.

He did not mind the name, it went over his tongue and he swallowed it slowly. It was not a name he hated, it just felt unfamiliar. However, he was not afraid of it, not with her by his side. The fox be damned.

The laughter was soft, almost scaring him for a moment. Whispered giggles as if she tried to hold it in, turned into a full blown cackling. Her body bending forward with hand set on her stomach, she looked at him, shining once again.

“He is my friend. Like an uncle… some sort of, I guess.” She giggled at these words. Quick glance and he saw Kim looking their way again, smirking in a conspicuous manner.

“Oh.” Embarrassment reddened his cheeks, shattering any kind of thoughts left in his stupid thick skull, except for the two voices.

Of course.

They are just friends.

Calm down.

Thank god.

Tucking on his sleeve, he turned his full attention back to her. His body was so close to hers, he could almost distinguish the shape of the lights reflecting in her eyes. And her wide eyes only stared at him. Aemond could get used to this kind of attention, he loved it too much for his liking. It was intoxicating.

Her arms enveloped him, she folded him into her embrace like it was nothing, it was an instinct to her. Even Aemond could feel she needed him close, a secret message embedded into the touch but the meaning was evading him. Both of them knew though, this meant something to both of them and it calmed them.

She was holding him so close and so gently, he never ever experienced something like this. No one ever treated him this way, he almost thought he did not deserve it. It was foreign but not unpleasant but he still felt undeserving of this. To receive kindness was a different kind of punishment for him. Warm touch burning him to the bones, scarring him, it was an awful feeling like nothing else. However, this felt holy, as if gods decided to bless his horrible mind. His horrible mind that only thought of her, how he could keep himself in her presence. She was warm and kind, dark as a shadow and present in everything. No, there might be a holiness in her touch, that kind he might become slave to, but to her, there was nothing saint. She was rotten, broken and mend on the inside like him and still she decided to look at him as if complete, as if she accepted it. And Aemond knew he could never get enough of it.

At that moment it was apparent to him. Hell existed and for them it was their sacrifices for their families, expected of them and without reward. Hell for them was sewed into their blood and they couldn’t do anything about it just obey the law set upon them by the iron chain in their veins.

Her movement unsettled him, afraid of losing her warmth, calmness now in disarray in his heart. She moved away, just slightly but enough that they could see into each other's eyes and there was uncommon indecision in her stare, and then she moved again.

The first touch of her lips was hesitant, almost shy and maybe it was all the alcohol playing with his brain, Aegon oftentimes blabbered with his drunk mouth about beautiful dreams of even more beautiful ladies before Aemond woke him up to get him home. But if it was a dream, he hoped it would last a lifetime before he himself had to be awoken.

It was soft, almost innocent. Her lips just gently touched his before courage overtook her and something hungry awoke in him. What was once a gentle embrace soon turned into a violent clash, their mouths fighting against each other, devouring more and more of the other person. There was no stopping now, any kind of will of holding themselves back was gone forever. They stepped over the line, now open for crossing.

Her hand gripped his forearm urging him closer, each kiss more hungry, igniting something within him. Soon a soft skin met his neck, gripping the hair at the base and tugging. In that moment his legs almost gave up on him, the overwhelming feeling consuming him completely, his mind, his body and his soul.

That's how life should be, he thought, being drunk and kissing a pretty girl, kissing her.

Her warmth suddenly left him and the young Targaryen had no desire to open his eyes, too afraid of the dream ending. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed he would never wake up, she would never leave and her touch on his skin would be still present.

Another soft kiss tore him up from that fantasy, this time on his cheek and what he saw was a vision he never wished to forget. Her cheeks were red, hair a complete mess, absolutely breathless, trying to calm down but still the most beautiful person he has ever met. Pupils blown wide moving across his face, her smile reached her eyes and her whole face was bright.

“I have to go.” He did not like those words. No, there was no ending to it now, they were meant to kiss forever until both of them suffocated, unable to leave the presence of the other.

“No.” His voice was hoarse but the implication of his words seemed too stern for his fogged brain.

“My taxi is here.” Her hand moved, pointing to the yellow car parked and waiting for the next passenger. The smile she gave him was reassuring, lulling him back to the foggy fantasy of kissing her again.

“Oh.”

He watched her wave goodbye to a few people, leaving in their own cars or by other taxis, he himself should get moving, find his brother and leave too. However, he could not move, his body rigidly straightened, neck craning to catch a few last more glimpses of the car she left in.

And even with her once again gone, Aemond’s mind was dizzy and belly full of butterflies.

“Awww, you smooched the girl.” His brother giggled from the coach, his form morphing into the soft cushions, with one of his sweaty hands grasping for the bottle set on the coffee table. While his brother was occupying the coach, his oldest cousin took the armchair next to it, spreaded out just like Aegon. Luke, the younger cousin of his, was meanwhile seated next to his brother but on the ground with his back to the armchair, with one cushion stuffed under him, functioning like a seat.

All of them were in some state of disarray, of course his brother the most. Aegon’s tie was missing, just like his suit jacket and one of his shoes. If he knew one of his feet was bare, not counting the dirty sock still stuck on it, he did not let it be known by anyone. The white shirt he wore was sticking to his skin and some of the buttons were undone throughout the night, Aemond could see the tiny stain on his right wrist. White wine or whiskey, he wasn't sure. Compared to him both of Jace’s shoes were present, his hair a complete mess just like Aemond’s, and while he took off his own suit jacket it was apparent that tomorrow won’t be pleasant for his head. The most kept of them was young Luke presumably because Jace did not let him drink more than a flute of champagne through the dinner and a few sips of the wine served at the event.

“You didn’t have to call them here.” Aemond waved his hand to their cousins. His older brother decided to end his night with a big sweet treat as a finale, Aemond’s humiliation. It took him one text, snap exactly, to their cousin Jace and they were all here, in Aemond’s apartment. At least Baela and her sister went out for more drinks and were not present, plus Heleana already left because she felt too tired, bless her heart.

“Oh, come on.” Aegon was enjoying it all, the panicked expression of his brother, the utter confusion of their cousins and most of all, the drink he was finishing. “Take this as a…,” his arms motioned into the open living room, searching for the correct words,“family bonding experience, eh?” His brother’s face was once again graced by a cheeky smirk. Once more Aemond felt like a joke, as a tired, drunk joke but he knew if he decided to go to bed, sleep would not overcome him, only panic would.

“So… How did it happen?” Young Luke piped up, his ears turning a light shade of pink. At least Aemond was not the only one embarrassed by the conversation.

“Well-, I-I kissed her?” Shrugging his shoulders, Aemond tried to act as if talking about it was not bothering him at all, as if it was another normal conversation.

“That sounded more like a question, mate.” This time it was Jace who spoke up, not giving Aemond even a glance, occupied by his phone, possibly texting Baela, while still part of the conversation.

“We… kissed…” He was at a loss of words, how does he describe it…. It wasn’t like this was Aemond’s first kiss, far from that. There were some girls in school when he was younger, few relationships, notably with Alys, that one had a nasty end. “And… so- like…,” The whole conversation was not only irritating his nerves and his brain but his eye, the old scar pulsing under the pressure of the talk and even the fake eye.

Fuck. I need to get it out.

Aemond was still uncomfortable with taking his fake eye out in front of… well basically anyone and while he could go search for the eyepatch he wore instead of the artificially created prosthetic, his nerves did not allow him to move.

His silence was not taken lightly by the men in his living room, each of them racking their brains as to why someone like him was unable to describe what happened.

“But it was like…” Jace nodded his head, trying to indicate the words without saying them,” y’know… consensual?” At this Aemond’s pacing stopped, it all happened too fast. Did HE kiss her first? He definitely didn’t have enough courage to kiss her first, did he? Maybe the alcohol, maybe she…

“I… think so?” Memories in Aemond’s head started to swim, prompted by an anxious feeling setting in his chest, messing up his perception of the events or maybe it was the alcohol…

“Okay…” He did not like this reaction from his brother one bit, nerves one level higher and he might definitely explode. The whole room was slowly but surely getting influenced by his own nerves in the end not helping him ease his mind at all, more like provoking him to descend to madness more and more.

“So that kiss was like… alright, eh?” Aegon’s unsure face was also not helping his nervous mind.

“Eh…” He did not like this sound, he himself did not know where it came from but the tone prompted everyone to silently pounder for a few seconds before they arrived at their separate conclusions.

All eyes turned to his tall frame, mouths slowly opening. “Don’t.” He tried to shut them down promptly, hand raised at them once again, especially if their conclusion was that he was a bad kisser.

“But what if she actually doesn’t like you?” Aegon’s words cause them to think again while Aemond pointed his finger at him, fuming and ready to slap his brother over the head.

“Wait a second…” He tried to gain footing in the conversation but it was a losing battle. “I am just saying that-” This time Aemond was sure to swat his hand toward his brother, meters away, meant to not cause any harm but to at least scare him a bit.

“Hold on,-” Luke was unsuccessfully trying to defuse the situation, getting this conversation might have been going the wrong route.

“He did not mean it like that!” Jace too tried to intercede the whole ordeal but just like his younger brother completely unsuccessful.

“Yeah and how the FUCK did he mean it then!?” Aemond’s nerves finally gave up, letting out his fury.

“Calm DOWN!” The armchair under Jace screeched after he pushed it in an attempt to stand up, ending up back in it after losing his balance.

“He WAS JUST SAYIN-” It was Luke’s turn to get up or it was simply prompted by his brother moving his back support.

“I DON’T CARE!” His throat felt tight, scratched from the volume of his voice. He knew he was losing it but he could not stop.

The words took everyone by surprise. They were used to some mean and angry words from Aemond, he was antisocial on his better days and if pushed far enough he would get cruel in some fucked up way to hide himself from the world. However, to see him bubble over, to let himself scream so unapologetically… this was the first time for any of them to witness, even Aegon got quiet.

“What if she doesn’t like me?” It came out more like a whisper, an involuntary sound escaped him and Aemond was finally ready to collapse, to throw it all out of the window, lose it completely and most embarrassingly ready to cry in front of them.

“I mean, maybe she likes y-” Aegon’s voice piped from his right, still on the coach he was subtly hiding behind his now empty beer bottle.

“YOU said that MAYBE SHE DOESN’T LIKE ME!”

“I am sure she likes you.”

“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT?”

“WELL, I WAS NOT THERE!”

But this time Aegon was down to yelling it out along with his brother, the alcohol or just his rude nature supporting him in the decision. The screaming match went on for quite some time, Luke and Jace slowly joining, the living room becoming louder and louder, Aemond’s downstairs neighbors were sure to call the police any minute now. At the end none of them knew how the screaming match started, who argued with what or what they were arguing about, the alcohol dulling their sense of reason.

“Why are you all yelling?!” Baela’s agitated voice sounded from the front door, she was still in her coat while Rhaena had her shoes already off.

And then inferno began once more, voices shouting over each other in a chaotic symphony.

“RHEANA!”

“BAELA! YOU WON’T BEL-!”

“WHAT IF SHE DOESN’T LIKE M-!”

“YO AEMOND KISSED -!”

For a moment they all quieted down, catching their breath, bodies heaving and faces reddened, fingers still pointed at each other. “What?” Rheana asked, turning her gaze to her sister in a confused manner. Baela instead looked unamused partly because she got used to such banter from the younger two men.

“DRINKS!”

All heads turned to Aegon whose attention was now preoccupied by the plastic bag dangling from Baela’s hand. She lifted her hand, dangling it in front of his face as some sort of bait. And while the girls lured Aegon into the kitchen with the bad set down on the kitchen counter, Aemond felt like crying. Crying like when he was a little kid, unable to escape his doom.

Bottles clicked against each other aggravating Aemond even more. His anxiety was spiking up, dizziness almost overcoming him. This could only result in another screaming match between all of them until he would give up and tell them to fuck out of his apartment, Aegon included, even if he had been sleeping on his coach for the last 2 months.

Speaking of which, his brother was once again attempting to open a new bottle of beer while the girls finally sat on the coach previously occupied solely by him. “Thanks for the keys.” Rheana’s outstretched arm was handing him his keys but Aemond felt drained of all energy. Instead of taking them he motioned for her to throw them, catching them with ease. The iron keys to his apartment comfortably cold from the outside night air, grounding him in his own body. He was fine, in his living room, in his apartment… and he was fine.

“So…,” Rheana could feel his uneasiness prompting her to tune down the volume of her voice to a soft mumble, almost whispering, “what was all of this about?”

“He kissed the girl,” Aegon shared on the behalf of his brother. Aemond was not sure if it was for his own sakes or if he simply wanted to be the one to break the news once again.

“The girl?” Her eyebrows raised, Baela motioned with a light smirk to Jace to continue, to indulge her curiosity. And he would of course indulge her as always. “Yeah.”

“Wait… what girl?” Her sister spoke up, this time louder while another cheeky smile played on Baela’s face, giggling like a schoolgirl ready to receive another juicy rumor.

So Aemond recounted the story one more time, this time properly with some actual details. They talked, shared some personal stuff, and when it came to saying goodbye she kissed him before leaving in a taxi. He made sure to leave out the details of his knees buckling every time she had touched him or the fact he could still smell her shampoo and was still thinking about her eyes, lips, everything.

“Well, she is the girl.” Baela whispered mischievously, her elbow assaulting her sister’s side before the mischief in her face turned into another loud laughter. Rheana giggles had continued to sound throughout the room, waking him up again.

“Yeah?” Confused grimace overtook Luke’s face, his whole face scrunched in confusion. “So?” With a nod Aemond tried to urge the girls to continue, almost not breathing over what might come out of their mouths. There was hope for his doing and where was hope was also disappointment.

“I can guarantee you she knows that she is THE girl” Rhaena laughed even more. “I mean SHE kissed him!” Aegon gave Aemond a pointed look which turned into a cheeky grin before a hysterical laughter overcame him, realizing they truly might have been overthinking the whole situation. The bottle of beer he was holding up to his mouth for a not sip shaking violently, spilling some of its content out on his shirt, adding to the mess of him.

“Honestly, guys… I don’t know what you are all debating over” The sisters bumped their shoulders, giggling like little girls, excited over the information. “She obviously likes him.” And even more loud giggles followed, Aegon gradually joining in with his screeching laugh, not holding back.

“Shit.” Faint murmur left his lips. Realization setting in, he might have kissed her but she was definitely the first one to make a move.

This was one of the worst and best nights in his life.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #hotd x reader #ewan mitchell #isa writes #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x you #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #asoiaf #modern au

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darlingofvalyria · 1 year ago

Text

❝I am not a Valyrian Sex God.❞

part 03 | pucker up, buttercup

chapter summary:

[ The line of friendship dances in uncertain waters when you and Aemond play the fake dating game a little too well. Helaena reveals much more than meets the eye to Aegon, and vice versa. Oh, and Alys. Hi Alys! ]

[ 5,399 ] [ series masterlist ] | best friend's brother!aemond targaryen x f!reader, ft. cregan stark x f!reader & aemond targaryen x alys rivers,

contains— mostly fluff, a wee bit angsty, a little smutty - profanity, i swear a lot sorry too shhshs - no use of y/n - no gods, no kings, no betas.

a/n— thank you so much for the love this little fic is getting so far!! it truly warms my heart that you people enjoy my twisty, crackpot humour and my version of a modern au for these characters!! as much as i am grateful for george for making these characters and these stories, i have to say what propelled me to write is the beautiful community i found. truly, from the bottom of my heart. ❥ fandom is built on community. i would not have had the courage to start writing fanfiction again if not for ya'll. so thank you so much. for the consumers and the creators. you, us, are the beating heart of fandom. please take care of each other. + comment, reblog & like at will, mwa ♡

"Please tell me I haven't inhaled so much drugs in my system that I am hallucinating our— and I say this with a lot love, okay you know what? No. Our Nasty Little Bitch of A Grudge Holder we call, lovingly, a brother, is not dating the hottest friend you have? Hel? The hottest friend you told me if I ever came anywhere near, you'd rip me a new asshole? How is Aemond's asshole still intact?? Or does our brother just have a gaping fun-house slide down there? Hello? Hellooo, pay attention to meee. This is so rude, why didn't I call Daeron?"

"Because Daeron knows nothing and I know everything?" Hel snorts, finishing up re-naming Aemond's contact from CURRENT DUMB BRO to NASTY LITTLE BITCH OF A GRUDGE HOLDER, before turning to Aegon on her laptop.

Like she predicted, Aegon is already pouting, leaning back on what Helaena remembers is their grandfather's rum-coloured leather office chair. In his office. In Oldtown.

After a quick stint in Ibiza, it seems Helaena's brother had found himself back in the country, and worse— back in their grandfather's office. Without him in it.

"Grandpa's going to kill you." Helaena snorts. "How'd you even get inside his house?"

"This is not the first time I have been faced with a locked door, baby sister."

"You broke a window didn't you?"

"I really, really had to piss."

She rolls her eyes. Hard. "You are a boy. You can literally just pee anywhere."

Aegon flutters a gasp and a hand over his chest. "Excuse me? I may have a penis, but that does not mean I have to be uncouth. For shame, Helaena. Also disgusting. But that's not why I called." He steeples his fingers as he leans forward, pressing his elbows against the nice mahogany desk. "What the fuck is happening over there? I'll be there by tomorrow and I'd like to know what the fuck is happening before I start—" he wiggles his eyebrows salaciously, " — shaking things up."

A dark look crosses Helaena's usually amiable pretty face that has Aegon leaning back. "If you do anything— and I mean anything — to ruin what I have going on, Mother may help you for I certainly won't. The Stranger will look like an old friend, Egg, don't you fucking dare."

"What the fuck," Aegon exhales, wide-eyed and horrified. "Have you been watching M. Night Shyamalan movies again?"

"No," she lies. "I'm doing this for my OTP."

"Oh my god, you're the one who roped them together?" Aegon strangles a sigh. "Lae-lae, we've talked about this. No matter how much you think they're cute, Aemond—"

"— Aemond and Alys broke up."

"Then they'll be together again before the weekend's out." Aegon rolls his eyes. "It's Aemond."

"Not like this." Hel shakes her head. "I got her to agree, Egg. And they're like... Gods, the pictures don't do them justice. They're magnetic. They make plans at the apartment, Aemond is there all the time— my OTP is happening."

"You are playing god between two people you care about."

"What else am I supposed to do?! They're obviously so hot for each other, and now that Alys is out of the picture, and she's there, right in front of him, Egg, you should see how it is between them. The energy. It's crackling. They have inside jokes, they're so comfortable with each other, and I will have the most beautiful nephew and niece—"

"—Helaena Targaryen," Aegon admonishes with finality. Hel quiets. Often times, the siblings forget Aegon is quintessentially the oldest sibling. They had never been close to their father's actual firstborn— the age gap is wide and there's just... too much complicated family fissures in between that it feels awkward, even when they're relationship is okay, to interact or consider Rhaenyra anything past a cousin you see every other holiday because you have to, much less now that their father's dead — so Aegon is their big brother.

And though they see it in bits, in flung comet pieces that you see preciously once every few hundred years— the vibe of big brother grasps the edges and reminds the younger siblings.

Sure, he's a dick. Sure, he's a whore. Sure, he's their mother's least and most favourite headache— but Aegon is their big brother.

"You cannot play puppeteer like this. This can blow up in their faces. And they care for each other. Their friends. If this blows up in their faces, it is going to hurt."

"I know that," Helaena says quietly, pout pinched but face mostly cleared. "You don't think I don't know?"

"I think you've already outweighed your chances and your choosing a possibility."

Helaena looks truly scolded at that point, and it juts a guilt down Aegon's stomach. But Aegon likes you. Maybe not like in the way that his brother likes you— in that intense, possessive way he gets with people and things he care about because there are so few of them — but he likes you. And he loves Aemond on a bad day, and likes him on a good one.

And Aegon knows, as a superior power about crashing and burning, that this is going to hurt both of you in ways that he truly doesn't think Helaena understands.

Because he isn't blind (as his brother) (bad joke?) (probably) to what he sees in Aemond's gaze when it looks at you. Sure it's possessive, sure it's the same way he looks at most people he keeps close to his heart.

But he was the one who saw how Aemond looked at you before Alys came into the picture. Before it morphed into nothing but platonic; morphed close to how he looks at Helaena. In that soft, I'm So Glad This Person Exists I Would Kill Literally Everyone For Them.

Aegon always thought he looked at you like he wanted to devour you. Etch you into his skin until your shape is in red marks across white plane. He looked at you like I Would Kill Myself If You Asked.

It was the possibility of devotion dipped in insanity. Aemond had so few things, much less people, who so vocally, physically, and emotionally cared for him without addendums.

The only real reason he never did anything before was because you were Helaena's best friend. Helaena loved you. And he couldn't destroy that alongside the fact that you might leave his side.

And then Alys happened and that focal point moved.

Aegon knew his brother. Not as intensely, and maybe that's the reason he could see it. To see clearly past the intensity and recognise its edges. Aegon knew his brother in his marrow.

"When this crashes and burns—"

"If!" Helaena quips stubbornly. "If it crashes and burns. Come home. You'll see, Egg. Aemond just needs to see."

"And what if she doesn't reciprocate, Lae-lae? She's not hard to love, and this is Aemond." Even Helaena knows his feelings, once taken root in whatever form, can blossom.

Helaena smiles softly. "Come home. You'll see. I can see it. I've seen it. The possibility of them, and it's so pretty, Egg."

It's really not all that pretty, fake dating.

Maybe it could be, but Aemond Targaryen is such an ass.

"This is not like The Devil Wears Prada fashion montage," you grumble, pinching off the big, 60s, yellow sunglasses off your nose to glare pointedly at the man sat on lounge chair. "All the zippers and tugging— this is not as pretty! And I look ridiculous! I don't wear dresses like these, Aemy!"

"You don't look ridiculous, you look like my girlfriend." He makes his emphasis with an inch raised eyebrow and pouty lips twitching not to laugh. "That's the point, is it not?"

You make a drawl huff. It's not just that his words were right— that's what the past hour has been, roaming around all these big named fashion brands where the staff just knows Aemond Targaryen, if not just by him sauntering in with all the swagger of an asshole you'd walk the other side of the street to ignore, then by the flash of his black card (or three, 'cause what the fuck is money to Targaryens holy shit) — but the way he's sitting as he appraises every look he's chosen for you.

He's lax, as could be in his usually perfect posture, with his hips in the middle, and one leg braced down whilst the other is raised to his other thigh. A confident man's sitting position, with an arm over the length of the sofa, balancing a champagne a trying-to-suppress-her-giddiness staff gave him.

At your disapproved glare— down on your nose at him because you're standing over him, lording over him, as he's sitting down — and he's smirking up at you. As if the power dynamics don't shift by whoever is looming over the other.

Aemond doesn't need to stand to make you feel all fluttery with a smirk and a strong gaze against your body. His eyes gaze from the bottom of your heeled toes, slow, slow, slow, until it reached the top of your head.

Surely you've only imagined his gaze lingering on certain parts of you that now felt hot and tingly.

Surely.

"Plus," he continues with a hum. A sip of champagne. "Isn't this your idea?"

"Yes, but—"

"Didn't you tell me that I should prepare the kind of outfits that Aemond Targaryen's girlfriend would wear—"

"Yes, but I—"

He leans forward, taking pleasure in arguing with you, as he settles his elbows on his knees, pressing both of his feet flat on the tile. He's looking up, still, but his eyes are intense and the corner of his mouth is twitching from a grin he's trying to fight.

"And even when I told you that didn't matter, that whatever you wore would be fine, you insisted?"

"Because I thought it'd be fun!" you growl and he falls in faint, amused laughter. His eye is sparkling and there's a joy to him that makes you giddy. You truly have missed Aemond as you know him. "Because I wanted a fun dress-up montage, but nothing about this is fun! Why are you choosing so many goddamned zippers, and they're all so fucking tight?"

You plop beside him, stealing his champagne. Staff look away, trying not to ogle too much between you two. As you take sips of his drink, his hand, still over the sofa's arm, begin drawing idle circles on your exposed shoulders. It warms you and calms you down, melting further in the seat beside him.

"I liked the dresses," he finally murmurs. "The ones before this. The flowy fabric ones."

"Those are summer dresses," you say though don't know why.

"Hm," he hums. "You look pretty in them."

You look up at him and he's looking at you, a small smile on his face. The proximity is too near to be proper but not near enough if you're fake dating. You study his silver lashes and the scarred flesh.

"Thanks."

"We'll get them. Is that alright with you?"

You snort softly. "You're paying, Aemy. You can do whatever you want. Can't believe this is how your dates with Alys usually went."

Hatching plans meant unloading information about his former relationship with her. Going through their relationship so you could understand it better, better proportioned the good and the bad, and secretly, make him see the red flags that should jump out in clear, plastic red.

"Not at first." He's looking away now, but his finger is still drawing circles. There's a wistful tone to his voice, like seeing through a dream and a memory. "But when it got... bad, it seemed like the only time we weren't fighting was when we were in public. Almost subconsciously, whenever things got tensed, I'd offer to take us out. Do anything outside of our bubble. Money isn't an issue, and before Alys said she felt like a... cheap whore than a girlfriend, buying things for her, spending time looking through things to wear, to match almost, was safe."

"Gift Giving," you mutter with a nod. He turns.

"What was that?"

"A love language." He cocks his head. You sigh. "I mean it's stupid and not really theoretically accurate, but for fun, there's five types of love languages. People do this test thing and sort of box up the kind of love language you want to receive and what you give— but truly, in my opinion, a true kind of love demands all five for it to work."

He hums, intrigued. "And what are the five?"

"Words of Affirmation, Quality Time, Physical Touch, Acts of Service, Gift Giving. But, you know, all of those should be given by a partner, in increments they can do for you. There shouldn't be a boxed fixture of what your relationship could be."

You shrug, standing up and stretching. You don't see him looking at you in the way that he has been for the past few days, and he doesn't know the tingles and feelings you keep between a smile and a sigh.

"Love looks different for everyone but it should have the same concept."

"And what concept is that?"

You turn to him, smiling. "That if you truly love someone, you can try anything. Love doesn't demand things that you do for the simple reason that you love the person enough."

"Love can be complicated," he says, and he's not arguing, not really. He isn't begging for you to understand. He is simply saying.

"Love can," you agree. "As most things are complicated. But it doesn't have to hurt."

It's a boundary line, the way he blinks, remembering why you're here together, why he gets to touch you in intimate ways, why he gets to pay for clothes, why you spend this time with him. A jolt. A shock.

You don't press and he doesn't retreat. The line exists not just to remind, but to stabilise any projections. Any dangerous tones.

You simply smile, nodding at the time. "Dinner date, babycakes. We can't be late for reservations."

"We can be late for a few minutes," he says, remembering echoes of how Alys sometimes got late. It isn't really her fault; there are days when she's too busy at the law firm, too busy with a meeting or two, or still finishing up her makeup because she doesn't like going to dinner in her work clothes.

"Sure, but we're here together and I know how much you hate being late." You snort.

"I don't hate it."

"Sure, but you got that eye twitch you do when you're annoyed," you tease, tapping your own eye before you wink at him and skip away.

For the past few days since the bar incident, by your suggestion, you and Aemond had pour out the intricacies of how Aemond and Alys' relationship worked whilst hiding your true intention of making him see its faults and corners, and at the same time, continue on with the charade of dating him.

It's been a packed week or so, going to your shifts at the bar, meeting with Cregan once and a while (boy had been busy, and he found the entire thing with Aemond incredibly hilarious).

You answered no question mark in regards on who the hand was, only sent a winky face or a kiss blowing emoji. You continue to post minute representations of your no-longer-single status in brief intervals, making sure that you never name him. You never publicly give him a recognisable body.

But for those that knew, knew.

It really wasn't that hard. There were only so much pale, toned hands, so much body builds you can hide with your hand covering his general face that you can hide without people making smart guesses. There wasn't a lot of pale, toned people around you after all.

But in your refusal to name him, the question continues, and so does Alys silent observation of every post. The only story she had liked had been the very first one.

You often wonder what she thinks, before your mind is devoured once again with everything else.

To be fair, as often as you had both been seeing each other lately— and it has been the most often you have been seeing of him — there were still things outside of Aemond and Helaena plans. And Aemond still had UNI to focus on.

"You know, I often forget you're still in university," you say now, comfortably warm in Aemond's car. All fresh leather seat and crisp new car smell despite knowing that Aemond's had this unit now for at least a year. He maybe rich, but he knew what he liked and took care of them.

He shoots you a quizzical look before looking back at the road. The city is bathed in a gorgeous stream of oranges and pinks, tie-dying glass buildings and bustle of city roads. When you look at him, you smile softly at how pretty the light hits him.

"Why is that? Do I look that young?"

"Your vibe is so old man on a nine to three, cigar breaks by four, and whiskey sours by seven pm."

He makes a disgruntled sound at the back of his throat. You laugh. "I would like to think it's my altruistic classicism. A timeless endeavour."

"Sure, old man," you tease then sigh. "Reality is, I'm so much older than you. I'm hanging out with a child. On my free day. Is this what it means to reach low status?"

"I am not a child." His reply is sharp, cutting, almost offended.

"You're in college."

"And of legal age? You're only four years older."

"Oh, right."

"What?"

You smirk at his dark look. "You like 'em way older."

His face, much like his gaze, heats up. You're imaging it when the ride turns red, the car slows to a stop, and he is looking at your lips. Surely it was, because you got transfixed with the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips. A slow, tantalising movement.

It feels like an eternity stretched within three seconds. The light turns green and both of you turn away.

Well, there's been that. A few times. But it doesn't mean anything. Aemond is in that transition of trying to rid himself of bad habits, of being freshly single once again, and you know he and Alys get in on frequently. This had been a conversation a few days back, on a couch, smell of grease and pizza around the room while Murder She Wrote played in the background.

"Wait, wait, wait." You sat up, folding your legs underneath your butt, and giving Aemond your full attention with a little 'o' in your mouth.

"Wait!" Helaena calls playfully from her sway to the bathroom. "Imma pee!"

"Take care, my beloved!" you call back, before turning to Aemond with a big, Cheshire grin.

"Can we not dwell on it?" He's flustered but is trying not to show it, looking back to the TV as if he understood why there's a body on the plane.

But wine has been had, spilled and shared, and it's enough for you to grab that fluster and the topic, and smirked.

"No, no, we will talk about it. We shall! We must! Do you mean to tell me that by the end of it, most of the time, you two were just boning? Is Aemy, one of my favourite people in the world, a Valyrian Sex God?? Oh my god??"

"I am not a Valyrian Sex God."

"Okay, girly pop, please." You raised a hand in a 'talk to the hand' motion and he was smiling at you, entranced and frustrated. "Women talk, Aemy!"

There was a flush and Helaena came back. Wine did things to Helaena, and she was stumbling and giggling as she flopped behind you, turning around and encasing you in a koala hug.

"Women talk, baby bro." Helaena nodded sagely. "Even I try not to listen, they talk, alas."

"And Alys has said those hips—" You pointed a j'accuse finger at his hips, then his mouth. "—and that tongue has done things that can make the Maiden blush."

Helaena groaned behind you're back, a slew of 'ew's escaping her mouth. And you were still being playful, teasing, but Aemond was looking at you, though scarlet, with a deepened expression.

And at that moment, both of you were thinking the same thing.

His chin brushing your thighs, your sighs like music to his ears, and his tongue making you scream.

Warmth pooled, twin expressions share a gaze. Hunger, desire, shame.

The connection was destroyed when Helaena abruptly jolted and fell down the carpet. Because she was holding onto you, you got pulled with her.

"Are you okay??" Aemond asked.

Hel gasped. "I thought I saw Bobby. I think I squished Bobby."

You shook your head. "You didn't. Bobby is spry. Bobby knows to move away."

Aemond's confused face peered down at both of you. "Who's Bobby?"

"The local spider that lives here."

"Of course." And he smiled.

You smiled back.

Helaena giggled beside you but when you ask her, she only shook her head.

And the silence that lulls in the car is like both of you reaching the very same memory and having to sit through the stifle of that drunken interaction about his sex life. He coughs, you let out a breathy giggle.

"I should admit something," he says, parking the car in front of the restaurant. Dusk is settling, sunset in bright red and orange turning to a cool blue and pretty lavender— and when you turn to him after getting out of the car, coddling your jacket close to your body, he looks nervy. Apologetic, almost.

"What? What'd you do?"

He bites his bottom lip. "I know something about this restaurant."

"I would assume. You chose it." Your eyes narrow, giving the black-out floor to ceiling windows a look. The Painted Table is lit up in a scrawled font on top of it.

You step inside, not bothering to turn to his call of your name, and is submerged by the restaurant's vibe. It's a darkened place with meaningful lighting but a casual air, a bar on the side, and an upbeat jazzy music dancing in the air — it looks good. The place smelled delicious.

Nothing about it sparked familiarity to you, but the anticipation from that look of guilt on his face brought you to a high-strung, so when he calls your name again, just behind you, you turn.

"Is this where you had your first date with Alys?"

He shakes his head. "No. No, but—"

"Aemond?"

The voice is familiar, and you don't stop enough to think before you're turning to the low, clear voice that's just a hint of husky, and Alys' green eyes go wide at your appearance.

She's dressed nice, dressed to go out in a black dress dipping low and fabric tangled around her body to show off her curves. Her inky hair was swept to one side and her mouth was bloodred.

Alys Rivers, owner of Aemond's firsts. The woman he seemingly can't let go off.

You smile. It feels fake. "Oh. Hi Alys."

Her shock staves off into a genuine smile that makes you guilty. "Hi, my love. I see you two are together. Always attached at the hip. Dinner?"

Before you nod— or maybe strangle Aemond — he comes forward, taking your hand in the process and lacing it. He's looking at her as if he's setting a challenge when Alys' eyes fall on your intertwined hands.

"Yes," he says. "We are."

"Well... that's good. This place is great. I—" Someone calls her name, she turns back. You shoot Aemond a withering glare you hope conveys how much you're going to beat his ass after this. She turns back, smiling still. There's a pinch between her eyes but it's gone by the third blink. "Well, I have to go. I'll see you both soon, okay?" She turns to you, stepping forward, not minding the Targaryen beside you. "Especially you. We haven't hung out in a while."

"That's true, I've missed you, you crazy witch." And she laughs and you smile, because you genuinely consider Alys to be one of your friends. Not maybe as deeply as Helaena's, or as close, but Alys was an amazing person and you enjoy her company.

Plus, right now the one you're angry about it solely the man holding your hand.

Alys turns to Aemond, and he stiffens. Between them is a complicated look. So many things unsaid, before her smirk softens. "It's nice to see you too, Aemond."

And she turns away, walking back to her table, to her date, when you tug him with you to the bar. As you order a dry martini, he speaks. Calm and soft.

"You're mad at me."

"You knew she was going to be here." You turn to him, arching an eyebrow, hating the way your chest pangs. "You stalked her and brought us here because you wanted to use me."

He shifts, face crumples at the word 'use' and calls your name in a plead. "It's not like that."

You snort, taking a sip of your drink when it arrives. "Don't lie."

"Okay. Yes, I did. I... I made an impulsive decision because I wanted to see how she could go on a date as if we were nothing." Bitterness cripples his words, the smirk on his lips is ironic and darkened in hurt. Your heart hurts for him, but you can't give him a pass just like that. He hurt you too.

"You could've told me."

He raises an eyebrow. "You would be okay with this?"

Your own smile is ironic and darkened by hurt. "You're already using me, Aemy. That was the deal I agreed, for Hel. It would at least lick the wound to have been in the know, and not, you know, got shot in the face with it."

At the first part of your tirade, he looked like he wanted to argue with the using part, but the realisation weighs him because it is true. To him, he is using you. And it's a cheap shot on your part because you were also doing this for him, out of your own free will.

You sigh when he turns away, guilt dipping low.

"You're such a dumbass."

He hums in agreement.

You're aware of a gaze from the tables, somewhere in the ocean of jazz music and chatter, Alys is looking, and you kinda wanna make this good for him. You were already here after all.

Your hand reaches his jaw, sliding across his neck until you reach his nape and fingers tangle with the baby hairs there. His hair had been wrapped into a bun. Sleek and fluffy.

He turns to you, to your touch, in shock. "What are you—"

"Try not to look so surprised," you whisper, stepping close to him until your noses are bumping. "We're supposed to be dating."

And then you slant your mouth against his.

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asumofwords · 1 year ago

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Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Oh my GOSSSSSH, with every chapter I post, we get closer and closer to the end and I'm literally wriggling in my chair in excitement, like holy shit! hahaha, anyway, I so hope you enjoy this new chapter and the remaining ones to come! ENJOYYYYY <3

Chapter 101: The Merciless Queen

“If we are to give Flea Bottom gold to build new dwellings, whose to say that the other small folk across the realm won’t decide to take arms and demand the same?” Lord Tyland Lannister, elder brother of Jason Lannister and Master of Coin argued, seated amongst the other Small Council members who seemed to be in a disarray since the slaying of their previous King, Aegon.

It had been a few days since his death, and whilst Aemond and yourself could not keep your hands off of each other, there was no denying the tension that still circled around the two of you.

You had been coronated as Queen Consort, a short lived affair in the throne room with only the Small Council present, letters written to be sent out shortly thereafter to their supporters. There was no celebrations to be had, no drinking or dancing. It was short, brief, and most importantly, political move.

And now, all sat in wait for the more pressing question at hand.

What was to happen to the treaty?

And yet despite this question, and the sheer multitude of meetings with the council, Aemond let the unknown hover over your head like smoke, filling your lungs thickly and choking you.

When once Maester Orwyle had asked the same question, which was asked more than once a day, Aemond had barely given the man a second glance, and redirected the question elsewhere.

In no time however, much to the urging of Otto Hightower and Lord Jasper Wylde, word would soon reach Dragonstone, and the Green Council would need to be ready for such events.

There was a very real possibility that at the knowledge of Aegon being indisposed of, and the Greens thus only having one dragon rider, may invoke the wrath and fury of all the Black’s power.

And in this moment, they had it.

And the council, knew it.

There was an all encompassing feeling of dread that filled each member. The anticipation being a most poisonous thing, and at any loud noise or uncertain sound, Alicent Hightower would jump in her seat, eyes skating to the doors of the chamber they were in, or looking out the window to the skies.

“Then see to it that they do not.” Breezed Aemond, the Conquerors Crown seated atop his head, ruby glinting in the light of the chambers.

“I do not see why we need to do so in the first place, Your Grace.” Maester Orwyle spoke, “The small folk are not in need or want, nor do they know more than what they have.”

Aemond blinked slowly, finger impatiently tapping on the table as he looked at his men and mother, the gold ring upon is finger clunking on the wooden surface.

“We have the gold, not much, but enough. As it is, their disdain for us was exaggerated by my brother and his selfish disregard for their needs." Aemond began, "I couldn’t care for what they do below in their shit and piss, but my Lady wife has spoken of the benefits of having the love of the small people, and we are in dire need of support.”

You shifted in your seat, suddenly feeling the eyes of all the Lords at the table, and the ever present scowl of Alicent Hightower directed at you. Swallowing, you licked your lips, fingers finding your council sphere and spinning it in its dish.

“My mother is loved by the small folk, as was I,” Before they dubbed me the Merciless, “‘The Realms Delight', they named her, most beloved and fair, much the same for my sweet aunt Helaena."

You paused, letting your gaze stop on Alicent, "Where as when they think of the King, they have little good things to say. Two Kinslayers on the throne would no doubt further press their disdain." You turned back to Aemond, "The support of the common folk is important when ruling, it makes things easier, and if the time comes, they will take up arms to support your cause.”

Larys Strong’s voice carried across the table, his high lilt directed at you. His hands were crossed over the top of his cane delicately between his knees at the table, “My spiders have told me that there are ample supporters of your rule, Your Grace.”

You scoffed, “Supporters of the Faith perhaps, or the whispers of the old militant sect even, but that support lies with Alicent, and they would surely have issue with mine and Aemond's union, as is our tradition as Targaryens, and also the very issue of us both being Kinslayers," You looked to Alicent, "Which we are very much reminded of. But the small folk, the true small folk who live in poverty, where sickness and disease is ripe, have no positive feelings of loyalty towards a King who does not see them and gorges upon riches unimaginable. My father took to the streets and killed every rapist and murderer in Flea Bottom, punished thieves and crooks, and the small people felt safer.”

“They were scared out of their wits.” Otto sighed, “The small people need nothing but the clothes on their backs. Simple minds think not of extravagant pleasures.”

Anger rolled through you, “Having proper housing and not living in the streets is not an extravagant pleasure. I would say it is a right for them to live freely and happily, to pursue their desires and passions.”

Jasper Wylde placed his long fingers upon the sphere, several gold and silver rings adorning the digits, “The Queen makes a point, Your Grace. King Jaehaerys was loved by the small folk for his benevolence, and the actions of Maegor the Cruel brought him nothing but trouble. Perhaps the spending of a few Gold Dragons on Flea Bottom’s worse affected slums could bring you support, especially now that the treaty is in question.”

Lord Jasper Wylde, Master of Laws, opened the conversation for the treaty to be discussed.

Again.

All eyes were now on Aemond, who sat stiffly in his chair, one elbow upon the armrest, the other still tapping against the table.

“Has word reached Dragonstone?” Aemond questioned Larys, noncommittally.

The brunette leant forward, bowing his head slightly as he spoke, “As it were, a spider intercepted an attempt to alert them. Though I have no doubt they will receive word by the morrow.”

The King hummed.

“Will the treaty be renewed, Your Grace?" Maester Orwyle began, eyes flicking to you, then back to the King, "I believe it to be prudent that we do so. As it were, we are outnumbered in dragons. You are but the lone rider here at the Keep.” You narrowed your eyes at Maester Orwyle, “Perhaps if we sent word and new terms, Rhaenyra will be-“

“-No.” Aemond’s word cut through the air like a knife. Crisp. Icy.

Final.

“No?” Otto questioned, “The realm will fall to war again if-“

Your heart beat against your chest like a drum, iciness spreading across your skin and at the base of your skull.

No.

“What do you mean, no?” You breathed.

Aemond did not turn to face you.

You snapped, “If you do not sign a treaty, they will come for you, Aemond. My mother and father will come to claim what is theirs.”

The King’s nostrils flared, “Let them. I ride the largest dragon in the world. If my half-sister wishes to declare war at the risk of your safety, then it shall be your blood upon her hands, not mine.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“My blood?”

Aemond did not even turn to face you.

Your hands slammed against the table, and you shot out of your chair, leaning towards your husband as you sneered, "Have you learnt nothing? You are blinded by your hatred. You will be our ruin, not Aegon.”

Aemond breathed sharply, eye solely on you as he spoke to the table, “Send coin to Flea Bottom. Hire masons and workers, or let the small folk build it themselves.” He looked to his men before finishing, “Clear the chambers.” He commanded the room, and all Lords and Lady Alicent, stood and quickly shuffled out of the room, leaving Aemond with an enraged wife.

“Are you to doom us all with your stubbornness? Have you gone mad?” You growled, “Your thirst for the throne will kill us, Aemond. My mother and father are not to be trifled with. My brother and sisters are not to be trifled with. Do you think that we will survive this?”

Aemond simply stared at you, hand still on the table tapping, whilst the other gripped the arm of the chair fiercely, knuckles white.

“Is it your true desire to have another war? Or is this a foolish little boys dream?” You said in disbelief, looking down at him from your standing position, hands still flat against the table to ground you, “I barely survived the last one, and yet you wish to play games with my mother and father? With my life? Do you know what they will do to you? What they could do to you? You would be dead before you even reached the skies.” You sneered.

The King’s lips pulled into a thin line, brows furrowed as he looked at you, barely contained anger burning behind the violet of his eye.

“They would not do it if it meant jeopardising your life.”

You flinched backwards, as though he had hit you, curling your hands into fists at your sides as you tried to steady your breathing, but panic coursed through your veins, and your throat grew tighter with each passing second.

"Is that a threat?”

Aemond frowned at you, the lines in forehead pulling the crown down in the slightest of movements. It was as though he was offended by your question, and though you had questioned every natural fibre of his being.

“You think I would harm you? After all that has happened? After all I have done for you?” His voice became raised, anger leaking into each syllable.

You scoffed, “You just said that them acting would put me at risk. What will you do? Have Ser Cole at my side, sword ready to cast against my neck or plunge into my heart?”

Aemond leant forward and sneered, “Do you truly think so lowly of me? I did this for you! I love you!”

“Then do this for me, too! Renew the treaty, Aemond.”

“I can’t do that.” He breathed.

The backs of your calves hit the edge of the chair as you leant back, looking at your uncle from down your nose, “You can. But you won’t.”

Aemond did not respond.

“Sign the treaty.” You said more sternly, anger causing the words to come out harsh, and biting.

The King's broad chest rose and fell in his robes shallowly, his one eye watching you as his hands flexed upon the table.

“Why do you wish to sign a treaty with them? After all they have done?” Aemond growled.

After all they had done?

“They cast you aside! Abandoned you here to be tormented by Aegon.” Aemond continued, voice rising.

“They did not abandon me!” You snapped, hurt and betrayal causing tears to prick in your eyes.

“Oh? But they knew what would happen to you once you were wed to me. They let you be raped. You were sold to me like a brood mare.”

“And who did those things to me?!” You screamed, a tear falling down your cheek, “Who, Aemond? Who raped me? Who defiled me? Who scarred me? Because it wasn’t them.”

Aemond’s anger seemed to bleed out of him as he looked at you.

You pushed the chair backwards hard with a kick of your foot, sending the high-backed wooden seat to crash against the stones loudly, “You raped me. You hurt me. You did that. Not them. You! You act as though you’re innocent in all of this!”

“I don’t-“

“-I will not survive another war.”

The anger was back.

Aemond’s lips curled in disgust, “You expect me to bend the knee to your mother? The very woman who wished to punish me after her son took my eye?”

Your face fell, “No.” You declared, “I expect you to give the treaty a chance. Countless lives will be lost if you start another war, Aemond. Needless blood will be shed. Could you live with yourself knowing this?”

“Yes.”

The answer came so quickly, that it seemed that Aemond had not even needed to give it a second thought. As though he had already weighed all possibilities against each other, as though he had measured the odds.

And still, he had said yes.

You swallowed thickly, wishing the damn lump to leave your throat. And so quietly, you asked a question which clawed at you from the back of you mind. A question of doubt. Of fear. Of another ‘what if’ that you had to bat away with a swift blink of your eye.

“Even if it is mine?”

It was an uncomfortable sort of silence, and this time, Aemond did not answer straight away. Not like how he had a moment before. As though he had not weighed up this question in his mind yet, or perhaps he had, and had come to no conclusion. You watched his face as he stared at you, his seeing eye flickering across your face as a finger twirled the ring upon his hand.

“I will not lose you." He began, making a move towards you, "But I will not bend a knee to Rhaenyra, and kiss her old cunny for the sake of peace.”

His tone was final, he had hissed your mothers name like a curse, and there was no changing his mind. No shifting of the tide that had been steadily building for months now, a tide which had moved away from the shore, sucking the water and life away from the beach, revealing the jagged rocks that were hidden beneath.

You blinked again, another tear falling down your cheek.

Your uncle continued, “And if it need come to war, then so it shall be.”

It was so point of fact.

So emotionless.

Toneless.

Void of anything other than finality.

War was to come.

And there would be no changing that.

“But,” Aemond’s voice startled you from your thoughts, your eyes racing over his face, “You are Queen now. My Queen. Something that is and was always your birthright.”

“Like my mothers.” You sneered.

Aemond ignored your comment and continued, “And you, as Rhaenyra’s heir shall sit the Iron Throne in her place. And then, when the time comes, our heir shall follow."

It was clear to you then, that Aemond had thought on this.

"If Rhaenyra’s concern for succession is blood, then she can be satiated in knowing that the daughter she denied shall sit where she is owed by her birthright.”

You stepped towards him, hands clenching and unclenching, “Aemond, please. Think about this. You are asking me to depose my mother.”

“I ask nothing of you. I am telling you, zaldritsos. I will not have you be pushed aside again for your bastard brother. I will not bend the knee to my half-sister. This throne is ours. It is ours by birthright. And I will be damned if I let anyone take you away from me again."

The air in the chambers shifted, and you inched towards your husband as he continued to speak.

"Do you think that if I bent the knee to them, that your father would let you stay wed to me? Think on it a moment, Y/n. Do you think that your mother would let you stay wed to a monster? The man who killed her son? They will take you from me."

You stepped away from him, turning your back as your mind raced a as you looked around the chambers, eyes casting out the veranda at the clouded skies. Dread settled in your gut.

You didn't want to be parted from him.

You loved him.

The air was charged as you spoke, voice shaking, “So what now? Are you to send word to them?”

Aemond stood behind you, the chair scraping against the stone floors.

“I will be sending Otto and Ser Cole to Dragonstone as envoys to give word to Rhaenyra and Daemon. They will be told that their blood sits upon the Iron Throne as Queen. They will be allowed to live where they do. My half-sister can have Dragonstone, I have no need for it when I have Kings Landing and you. And they will bend the knee.”

You shook your head, still not turning to face him, “You should know that they will not.”

“Not if you don’t encourage them.”

Your eyes widened as you spun on your heel to look at him.

He was deathly serious.

“You wish for me to ask them to bend the knee to you?” You laughed.

Aemond frowned, “A letter from the Queen is a hard one to refuse. Especially if the Queen is their own daughter. Tell them of the fears that you have. That war will break if they do not swear me as their King and you as their Queen. They can remain on Dragonstone, and you shall remain here, with me. Where you belong.”

He seemed so sure that it would work. So sure that a simple letter from you would bring the water back to shore. But the tide was gone from your reach, and you were anchored on the coast atop a beached ship with no way to get off.

Aemond stepped forward, cupping the side of your face gently as he looked at you, "They will listen to you.”

You grasped his wrist tightly, “I am not so sure.” Your voice was quiet, so fragile, like the finest of glass from Essos. One octave higher, one shift against your throat could cause them to crack or break.

If you did this, you would be betraying them.

You would be deposing your mother.

Aemond pulled you into a reassuring kiss, one he poured love and adoration into as he cupped your face in his hands. When he pulled back, his eye roamed your face softly, “I do not wish to see bloodshed, nor do I wish to see you harmed. This is the only way, surely you can see that."

And you did.

You did see that.

You saw it all clearly.

Your husband pressed another kiss against the top of your hairline, your eyes sliding shut as you breathed through your nose, preparing yourself for what you had to do.

"I trust that my Queen will know what to do.”

And you did.

You knew what you had to do.

And so with a short nod, you agreed to his terms.

“I will have Otto deliver your letter by hand.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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seancekitsch · 3 months ago

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Can’t Stand Me Now; a modern Aegon x Stark! reader fic

CHAPTER THREE: Gift Horse

Y/N Stark and Aegon Targaryen. Aegon Targaryen and Y/N Stark. Inseparable since both eldest children met at Kings Landing University, until they weren’t. One night of drunken passion ruins it all.

Five years later, Aegon is coming off a broken engagement to Larissa Lannister and sends a risky Instagram DM to none other than Y/n Stark.

series masterlist here

warnings for the series: smut, smoking, drinking, friends to strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, more to come as needed

Barre class is across the city, in Sara’s neighborhood. A large building part of a smaller art university that is made up of mixed use floors. Some are classrooms, a black box theater, workshops, and nestled in at the very top is your barre instructor’s studio. And while it’s rented for her by a mostly online chain company that sells classes, she runs it as if she’s the choreographer for the Winterfell ballet company back home, the most prestigious in all of Westeros. It’s routine that you go there at seven with Sara, then open the shop at noon twice a week. Only Satuday you missed class, and today you’re running late. Sara’s only given you slight hell for ditching her, which is unusual. You love your siblings, you really do, but they both live up to the ‘The North Remembers’ stereotype. Frequently arguing with you and the nanny when you were kids, when Cregan and Sara could never drop anything. So Sara not being too pissed at you skipping barre has you questioning everything.

Your sneakers slap against the pavement as you pick up your pace, ready to catch even more hell about your inability to be prompt to anything besides the store opening. You sigh as your turn the block, the building finally imposing on your view of one of the more tree lined areas of the city.Despite the chill in the air, the trees still have leaves and the sun is bright and warm against your hoodie, oversized and spritzed with your signature perfume Mugler Alien. Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you ignore it, knowing already who it is.

Aegon has been texting you. Long paragraphs sometimes, barely legible ranting other times. He’s filling you in on his family, his life, been telling you how much he misses his best friend. Tuesday night he drunk dialed you and in no uncertain terms told you how hot you were and exactly how he would fuck you every which way every day of the week. That one was hard, mostly because in moments of weakness, you cannot help but think about it and the way he practically moaned into the phone. More than once you’d pictured yourself underneath him, on top of him, pressed against the cold shower tile, thrown to the floor, even bent over the till at your shop. He’d wormed his way back in, at least mentally. You’d decidedly kept your distance, not entertaining a lot of his messages, not texting him first. You hadn’t seen him since Sunday morning, and you were planning on keeping it that way until he gave you a clear answer to all of your questions.

That was the most infuriating part. Whenever you actually text him to ask about why he’s back in your life or why he left in the first place, he just tells you it’s better explained in person. You’re not completely sure you want to meet in person again, though. You know yourself well enough to know you’ll probably forgive him again right away, no matter the reason.

And Old Gods be damned, a lot of his messages are tempting. You want to hang onto every word, respond just as eagerly, purging thoughts into those little blue text bubbles and letting him in. Keeping your phone in your pocket is the best protection for yourself, certain that whatever Aegon Targaryen is up and doing at 6:55 on a Thursday is a diabolical trap to get you to respond and fall back into old habits with him.

You fling open the door to the building, more or less jogging to the elevator and slamming your knuckle into the button. The elevator here is new, and moves quickly.

You more or less tumble out of it, already hearing the sarcastic jeering on Sara’s tongue from here. Only, when you enter the studio, that doesn’t happen. She doesn’t call out to you right away, doesn’t stop what she’s doing.

Sara isn’t alone, though, and the sight has you tripping over your feet. The silver hair is unmistakable, and for a moment your mind drifts back to your unanswered texts, knowing the Targaryen siblings are more or less a unit, and she probably knows about at least a few of the goings on of her brother and you. Helaena is the same age difference to Aegon as you are to Cregan, the only real difference being that her family is only slightly messier than yours. While your family is plagued by maybe more than one affair baby scandal and ski lodge residences, her parents being loyal to one another and having lived all in one house might actually be their plague.

For a brief second, your blood runs cold knowing that she realistically knows more than you. You’re not the kind of person who’s used to not having the power and information. You’re used to holding all the dirt, the gossip, the emotional ammo so to speak. In college it was a weapon at worst and a tool at best, and now it is a shield. Only today, Helaena holds the shield instead of you.

Sara leans in close to the Targaryen, whispering and giggling to one another as if they were alone in the world. This must be why Sara was not as mad as she usually is about your skipping this weekend. The two look like they’re in their own little world, a Sara Helaena bubble where everything is so funny and their proximity is their barrier. They look almost entranced, and when Helaena brushes hair off of Sara’s shoulder, your feet find themselves again.

“What’s up, did you find a new barre partner?” You ask, looking questioningly between your sister and Aegon’s sister. The women look close, as if there was a shared something between them, and for a moment jealousy spikes within you. But then you reign it back in, immediately recognizing the feeling as one thats completely inappropriate. Sara deserves friends, and you should get some more.

“Hel here had to get out of that stuffy estate, it’s apparently all doom and gloom there,” Sara explains, “she showed up at the class you ditched.”

Her tone is haughty, but you know it’s a joke. She’s been filled in just enough about the situation to only slightly rag on you about the whole thing. Sara doesn’t know about Aegon’s order, doesn’t know about the near constant stream of messages that pour in, doesn’t know about the comfort being wrapped in his cologne spritzed blankets for at least a few hours.

“Right,” you drawl, rolling your eyes, “Because your dear old sister is so easy to replace.”

“Oh, the more the merrier,” Helaena chimes in happily, pulling her bag over near where you dropped yours. Her bag looks almost identical to yours, but instead of a charcoal and wine color way, it’s sage green and sand.

“I agree, darling,” you say, pulling off your hoodie to get ready to warm up.

Conversation flows freely then, shoes and inhibitions kicked to the side. There is a certain comfort to this, a confirmation that the world did not end because for some unknown reason someone in the Targaryen family doesn’t hate you. Granted, you’re at least half sure Aegon doesn’t, and Aemond you’d only seen in passing once in five years. You had been on a date to a brewery when he entered with an older woman, and then your date went to shit. All because you could not get signature silver curls out of your mind.

You lean down to touch your toes, chipped manicure just brushing an even more chipped pedicure. It’s when you rise back up that Helaena tries to get your attention specifically.

“You know I tried to hate you,” Helaena starts as if she had read your mind, her eyes and voice drifting away as she warms up, stretching and bending, “Because Aegon was so upset when you rejected him, but you’ve always been nice to me. I couldn’t find it in me.”

An airy smile graces her face, as if what she said wasn’t just insane for a multitude of reasons. She’s always been, as long as you’ve known her, in her own little world in a sense. Always sweet and kind, but in a space all her own. You remember Aegon’s words when he had brought you to the Targaryen estate for the first time: She is an enduring mystery, but I love her. This is, however, the most clear and direct you’ve ever heard her; and what she had to say enraged you.

“I rejected him?”

You cant help the rise in your voice, despite the few heads that turn towards your corner. You scoff. He really had the audacity to ghost not only his closest friendship but clearly the promise of something more, and say you had been the aggrieving party? Helaena doesn’t back down, but also doesn’t cower. For her, this is just a fact and not some life altering revelation. You envy her for that.

Sara gently adjusts Helaena’s tank top strap for her, a gentle gesture you’ll have to call attention to when you’re more level headed. Helaena cocks her head to the side as she takes in your body language, your anger.

“Is that not what happened?”

“No!” You whisper shout, now trying not to have little gossips listen in. You throw your ankle up onto the barre and stretch your arm out the opposite direction.

“Oh,” Helaena’s eyes widen as if this is now finally a revelation to her as well, “Thats why your name was a curse.”

What the fuck does that mean? You look at her, and she gazes back at you as if her words should have cleared something to up. Maybe to her, they did. Your eyes then dart to your sister behind her, and your sister’s eyes are wide, her brows furrowed. ‘Aegon?’ she mouths, her lips warping into a grimace.

Your name as a curse, to whom? Aegon?

…. Larissa?

Your face relaxes, the realization washing over you in waves. You now assume you had been a curse on their entire relationship. The picture of you on his Instagram, was it taunting her? A mean spirited part of you hopes it was, an unjustified possession of Aegon in your mind.

You pull your foot down, and bend to grab your phone from where you’d tossed it over your bag.

You pull up Aegon’s instagram, something you’ve been doing at least once a day since Saturday morning. Swiping to his tagged photos, you find what you’re looking for. Hundreds of paparazzi and press photos of Aegon and Larissa, all of her vice grip clutching him, all of him looking like a less than sober flight risk. This paints a different picture than the one you’d been drawing up in your head. You’d known he fucked her in university. You’d known she was one of his regular rotation of girls he’d dabble with at the party house, one of the faces you’d accidentally barge in on in the bathroom fixing her make up after they’d hooked up. None of those girls liked you much because they thought you were competition for Aegon. While you thought that was stupid at the time, they were ultimately right, and you’d only realized when you were in too deep.

Your eyes find one thumbnail for an article saying that the Lannister’s pulled out of a partnership with the Targaryen’s corporate ventures after the split. Another piece to a puzzle that you hadn’t realized you were putting together until now.

The instructor enters the room just as you open your mouth again, the moment to ask for clarification gone. Helaena offers a faltering smile as she straightens her back, getting herself into position as the instructor raises her arm. She calls you all to attention, more like an actual ballet instructor than for a posh girl barre class. Later, you think, It’ll have to wait until later

The class goes by without a moments relaxation, going through the motions while internally you freak out about what all the little clues you’ve been given could possibly mean.

“Hey, wait up!” you call, even though the Targaryen woman looks like she’s not in a rush. You yank on your joggers, holding out a hand to tell her to stop. Helaena turns quickly, as if she’s excited to talk to you again. She looks to Sara though, and you don’t miss the way your sister tries to cover her blushing with her dark hair. You’re not letting her get away with that, you decide.

“Did you want to walk somewhere after this together?” the blonde asks sweetly, and you nod, finishing stuffing all of your belongings into your bag as you shove your feet into your shoes, and link arms with her and Sara to pull them out onto the street as a united front.

The walk to the juice bar isn’t far, and the trip to your shop from there is even shorter. You pay for the juice, knowing you’re potentially about to interrogate Helaena and cockblock your sister from whatever it is going on with her. The sun beats down on you, despite the chill in the air, casting everything behind you into shadow.

The shop is bright, a beacon of pattern and color that calls down the street. The fall decor is something you still have to plan with Sara, probably after hours re-dressing the mannequins and making tissue paper leaves the way your mother taught you during an arts and crafts day when you were kids. As the three of you walk, the conversation is meandering, friendly and full of nothing at all.

It’s not until you lock the door of your shop behind the three of you that you decide to strike.

“Oh, you own Lone Wolf! I’ve bought from your website-“

“Why am I a curse?”

You and the Targaryen both speak at the same time, a cacophony of sound. Shit. You’ve always had a history of running your mouth, and you know Helaena is soft spoken. As if you have to coax a wild creature, so too do you have to coax Helaena into conversation with you.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry. Thank you!” you wince as you backtrack, but if she’s offended she doesn’t look it.

“You’re fine, I promise.”

Helaena looks around the shop, inspecting all the intricacies of your decor choices, the way the colors of your house crest are put into the fine details to honor them, the way that your space is an eclectic blend of you everywhere, if not only the professional friendly version of you. There is a weight that does not seem to press on her as she inspects the details. Last you saw her, she was a very withdrawn girl, practically speaking in riddles unless she was alone with her brothers, and even then she was more a wallflower than an active participant. She’s still quiet and gentle, but finally, Helaena Targaryen has grown into it.

Fuck, she’s a saint. You nod, and take a sip of your carrot juice.

“He said your name,” she reveals, and you fully turn towards her, pulling up a stool opposite to where she decides to drop herself onto the plush shop couch.

“When?”

“So at the engagement party two weeks ago,” Helaena begins.

Fuck! This is really really recent. This is an actively open situation. Aegon contacting you was not as random in its timing as you had first assumed.

“He gave this speech, and it was really not like Aegon. He’d been sober and brooding all day, I’d almost mistook him for Aemond.”

She pauses, as if trying to recall something. The Aegon you know was and is rarely sober. Not always drunk or high, but not what a normal person would consider sober.

“The speech was weird for him too, it was very thoughtful,” she chuckles to herself, “and then instead of her name he said yours. He was looking down at his champagne the whole time. Everyone was pissed. Grandpa Otto even tried to get Mum to cut him off for that slip up but she stood up for him.”

But was it a slip up? The timing of all of this, all of the evidence you’ve seen. You now think that despite all of your anger and heartache, maybe you shouldn’t have hung up on Aegon the other morning. Good on Alicent though, you think. Although her methods may sometimes seem insane, you cannot fault someone who had babies when she was a baby herself. Throughout college, she was on a sort of apology tour, trying to fix what her younger self and the people that had influenced her had broken when it came to her children.

Sara bursts into laughter the moment Helaena’s words sink in.

“Oh I swear by the Old Gods and the New, that’s like something out of a movie. Really?” Sara’s laughter rings like a bell again as she plops herself down on the couch next to the blonde. If you didn’t know better, you’re already planning their wedding in your head. Helaena nods, joining in with Sara, and you find yourself laughing too.

You smirk over the rim of your cup, and swipe up on the latest string of Aegon’s desperate texts that you haven’t replied to.

Just how much of a curse are you? Is it like Heathcliff and his Cathy? A selfish part of you hopes that it’s been gnawing at him, hopes it’s eaten away at him and Larissa this whole time. A jealous part of you thinks it should have been you the whole time, thinks your life has been stolen from you despite all of the good things and successes you have. The part of you that you are trying to ignore hopes that despite everything he’s been well, and that maybe someone’s been looking out for him after he stopped letting you do the honors.

Your Number: awright aeg. ill bite xx

#aegon targaryen x reader #modern aegon x reader #modern aegon #aegon x reader

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valaenatargaryensdragon · 2 years ago

Note

Could you please write an Aemond x wife fic where she rubs his shoulders but it turns into something more. Aemond needs some coochie, his girl keeps getting stolen.

A/N: I hope you like it!

pairing: Aemond x Wife!reader

summary: where she rubs his shoulders but it turns into something more. Aemond needs some coochie, his girl keeps getting stolen.

Word count: 2,2K

Warnings: Fluff, smut, desperate Aemond

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

You were almost sleep despite the early hour, the sun had set only hours ago and supper was still being digested in your belly, you had eaten it with Helaena again leaving Aemond to eat alone, again. You spent your day with the Queen Alicent deciding on what to do for you son's first nameday which was only two moons away, your darling Maerion took most of your time as well.

Now you were sat in front of the fireplace with a blanket on your lap and a book in hand waiting for your husband to return from whatever trouble Aegon thrusted onto him. You put Maerion to bed around an hour ago leaving him with his wet nurse to look after during the night.

You were tired from all the planning for Maerion's nameday and Helaena talking about crawling creatures that made you want to puke but you loved your good sister too much to complain. Your heart picked in speed when you heard the door open and turned to find your husband walking in muttering to himself tensely. He threw his cloak on the ottoman by the bed and sat down on the bed huffing angrily.

You closed your book alerting him to your presence. You placed your book and blanket on the floor and stood up finally letting him see you in one of your blue nightgowns, he had ordered for you, he loved you in blue especially sapphire blue, a secret only you two knew of, what was hidden behind the eyepatch and his arousal to you in that color.

"My love" You strutted over to him. You climbed on the bed behind him. Aemond sighed tiredly feeling your finger snake forward to undo the buttons of his tunic and running your fingers over the skin below. He almost moaned when your fingers touched his hardening cock.

You two jumped at the sound of hurried and panicked knocking on the door. Aemond had half a mind to tell them to fuck off but you were already off the bed and opening the bed.

"Apologise your grace but Prince Maerion has a high fever and won't stop crying" Before the maid could finish you were already out of the door running for your son. Aemond grumbled fixing his tonic and following behind you.

Maerion cried even in your arms as a maester checked his temperature and slowly rubbed some oils on his tiny bulging stomach. You child was chubby from the milk you fed him from your own breast. He had Aemond's purple eyes and his fair hair just as straight as his as well.

"Nothing to worry about your grace, a bit of a cold" The maester tried calming you down. That night Aemond held you in his arms as you cried still afraid for your child, the mood was gone and his cock had softened again. Aemond loved his child but the maester spoke and said it was nothing to worry about, why were you exaggerating.

The next morning he woke up and you were gone again to break fast with his mother and to spend the day with your child. Yet another day you left him all on his own. He had to take matters into his own hand but it was difficult, he was too used to you and your velvety walls.

Aemond jumped feeling smooth fingers running through his hair. He was too deep in thought and did not notice you walking into the room. He grumbled as you finger began kneading at his shoulders, they were too tense.

"Why are you so tense, my love?" Your voice rivalled the women of the street of silk. He wanted to jump and hump until he was satisfied when he felt your breasts press against his back when you leaned down to massage his arms.

"Nothing, my love" His words were laced with sarcasm. You chuckled beside his ear. Your grip tightened on his shoulder making him grown in pain but did not complain, he did not dare.

"Let me take care of you" You whispered. One of your hands slithering down to rest over his abs. Again you began undoing his buttons but he stopped you before you could.

"Do not bother, give or take five minutes someone will come knocking asking for your attention" Aemond would never admit it but he was jealous, when you two betrothed your attention was solely on him but when you got married his mothered shared some of that attention teaching you your duties around the Keep and then Maerion was born and you no longer had tome for him. It has been several moons since you two shared an intimate night and it was quick and hurried before Maerion woke up.

"No one will come knocking" You bit his earlobe careful not to hurt him. Your hand continued undoing his buttons. His breath got caught in his throat at the touch of your fingers, he was like a virgin again from the lack of physical affection.

"Just you wait" He challenged turning his head to look at you. You captured his lips with your silencing him.

"They're all gone, in the gardens with Maerion. Helaena is introducing him to whatever insect she can find and Aegon is drinking himself stupid and your mother is busy with your father" You pulled the tunic off his shoulder leaving him in only his breeches. Your finger kneading on whatever skin your could find trying to make him relax.

"Let me take care of you, husband" You pushed him to lay on his back on the bed. Aemond laid back on the pillows with his arms behind his head eager to see what you will do. You undid the lace of his breeches and pulled them down. He raised his hips to make it easier for you and laid back watching as you took off your dress but stayed in your blue linen.

"My beautiful wife" He complimented. You smirked crawling on top of him. You sat on his stomach and leaned down to capture his lips in a kiss. His hands moved to hold your hips but you swatted them away.

"Let me care for you" You moved your lips down to kiss at his neck. Your hips shimmed down and settled on his hardening cock. He almost thought this was a dream but when you bit into his sensitive skin he knew this was real, you were truly there pleasuring him, giving him your attention.

You moved down to kiss down his chest pausing at his nipples nibbling a little making him moan. He ached to touch your skin and make love to you but let you take the reigns for now. You resumed your journey down kissing his stomach and sides making as many marks as you wished on the skin no one would see except you and him. You marked him so he would remember who he belonged to.

Your hand wrapped around his shaft making him whimper with need, it has been too long, way too long. You smirked moving your hand up and down on the still half soft cock. Aemond gripped the pillows by his head when your lips wrapped around his tip.

"So warm" He babbled. You took him slowly inch by inch chest swelling with pride as he grew harder from the mere act of you putting him in your mouth. You hollowed your cheek taking even more of him.

You bobbed your head up and down making him cry out with ecstasy. All he wanted was your attention and you were making sure he knew that he had it, all of it. You sucked harshly and moved to take him out of your mouth a pop. You teased his lip giving it kitten licks, lingering the tip of your tongue on his slit. His back arched off the bed crying out with shock.

"Shhh husband, do not distract me" You placed a hand on his chest pushing him to lay flat on his back again. You climbed up and sat on his lap. Aemond moved to place his hands on your thighs with a fucked out expression on his face already. He slid his hands under the linen and up your sides pushing it over your head and threw it to the side.

"Take me, please" he begged moving his hips up humping into you. You pushed him down with your weight. You rolled your hips with your wet cunt over his hard cock. He whined throwing his head back. You moved your hips up grabbing his cock in your smaller hand, it almost did not wrap fully around him and lined him up with your hole. You hissed as you sank down on him, the stretch burned after such a long time.

"So tight" You babbled squirming below you. You leaned down capturing his lips with yours. He put his focus on the kiss and not how deliciously your walls were closing around him.

When you felt comfortable enough you began moving your hips in a circler motion slowly trying to build a rhythm. Aemond was breathing heavily at this point, chest heaving. You moaned as you began bouncing and his tip hit that special spot inside of you. You braced yourself on his chest bouncing up and down with need.

Aemond wrapped an arm around you waist and moved to sit up so you were chest to chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck still moving your hips desperate fro release. He leaned his head on your shoulder to cover his moans while you shamelessly let yourself be loud. He suckled and nibbled on the skin closest to his mouth. His cock throbbed at the feeling of your tits rubbing against his own.

He pulled back only to lower his head and latch on them. A moan escaped your lips as he suck on your darkened and swollen nipple. He groaned tasting your milk spill on his tongue. This was not the first time he had tasted it but it somehow tasted better when he was balls deep inside of you.

"Please" You whimpered feeling your high approaching. Aemond began moving his hips along yours to assist you and chase his own peak. Your nails dug into his shoulder leaving crescent shaped cuts there not that he care at all.

"Aemond" You moaned in his ear. Aemond moved to the other breast and sucked. His free hand moved from clutching your hip to grope at your breast squeezing it and letting some drops of milk coat his fingers. He raised his head looking drunk, milk drunk like your little boy Maerion would look when he would finish nursing and held his fingers to your lips. You wrapped your lips eagerly around his digits sucking them off moaning at the taste of your milk.

"Aemond" You moaned with his fingers still in your mouth. Your walls clenched around him tightly, cumming harder than you have in a long time. Aemond let out the loudest grunt ever as his cock pulsed squirting his seed inside of your walls, he kept your hips still with his hands on either side but kept moving his own riding out both of your orgasms.

"Shit my love, you feel so good" He praised breathing heavily. You giggled moving off him letting his soft cock slip out and laid beside him with his cum dripping out of your cunt.

"You felt good as well, my darling love" You ran your hand down his face touching his scar. During this ordeal is eyepatch had fallen off somewhere, another activity to spend together searching for it. Aemond laughed pulling the blanket to cover you both and pulled you closer to hug you close to his chest.

"Aemond have you see-" You both yelled in shock at the sound of your doors being pushed open and Alicent's voice rang in. She froze eyes wide at the sight of you two in bed together. You pulled the blanket up to cover your chest and Aemond held the blanket around his hips in a death grip and his other hand went in front of you to protect you from whatever danger came this way.

"I'll uh just - I'll leave but Maerion is hungry" Alicent turned a deep shade of red before slipping out of the room closing the door behind her. You and Aemond turned to look at each other blushing as well. You could not help but burst out laughing falling back on your back through your giggles.

"She's never going to look at us the same way ever again" Aemond leaned down from above. Your giggled wrapping your arms around him pulling him closer.

"Good maybe she'll remember to share you with me" Aemond leaned down nibbling at your neck.

"Do you reckon we have time for one more round?" He asked leaned even further down to suck on your nipple. You pushed him off before he could suck too much milk making him groan annoyed.

"Leave some for your son! Did you not hear he was hungry" You sat up and moved to the edge of the bed searching for your clothes with yours.

"He has a wet nurse" He growled wrapping an arm around your middled with his palm to your belly and pulled you back to lay on your back on the bed. You giggled as he attacked you with kisses again, desperate to put his cock back inside of you.

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