#aegon x you
Text
“My Dragon's Mother” [Daddy!Aegon!Targaryen X Sister!Wife!Reader] 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝟐
Warnings: Incest, slight breeding kink, Breastfeeding, Mention of blood, Labor, chest pain, erotic lactation,domesticity, vulgarity
a/n: I love writing about Daddy Aegon! That's why this fanfic will belong to “My dragon's mother” hope you enjoy it!
“One other push my princess!” The midwife spoke to encourage you to keep pushing.You took another breath trying to calm yourself down then you heard you husband speaking “You heard my love one more time and it will be over!I promise”.
He was rubbing your hands lovingly and kissing the palm of your hands. “You are strong, my love this is your second time and it will be easier than the first one!! ”. The reassuring words flooded your body with warmth so you took another deep breath and pushed again.
Your silver hair was wet and messy and your face was full of exhaustion and sweat not to mention the blood that drips from you.You told your husband that the delivery room is not a suitable place for him. You didn't want him to see you in such a miserable state.
But he insisted that he would be with you from the moment labor began until you gave birth. When the twins were born, he was not with you during your labor, so he promised you that this time he would be with you.
“It's a boy my prince!Congratulations to you ”. The midwives smiled and congratulated your husband. You smiled tiredly “My brave wife”. He smiled from ear to ear and kissed your forehead.
He placed his forehead on yours and closed his eyes “Our Aegon has arrived”. He whispered lovingly and placed his hands on your cheeks. You can't help but chuckle.
When he turned his head away from you. you saw your son wrapped in blankets he was so small and fragile that you felt like a feather could hurt him.
Aegon was still holding your hands tenderly and gently even after the birth of his son he did not leave your side. The boy was given to his father, but Aegon refused to carry him first because he felt he did not deserve to carry him first, so he gave him to you.
You held your son in your arms and kissed his head gently he was your joy and aegon's joy your legacy. Your husband was so enamored with his new son that he felt like he was going to fly off at any moment.
Aegon's eyes brightened. He sighed as he stared at the newborn. He looked back at you, smiling and relieved.He helped you hold the baby, gently, tenderly taking him in his arms. The child looked so peaceful. You smiled at each other as you held the child together. Aegon kissed the baby as well.
Your peaceful moment was interrupted by a pair of silver heads scurrying from the door towards your bed.“We want to see the baby!”. The twins spoke in sync as they rushed to see their new brother.
Aegon chuckled, looking at the twins.“Be careful, you two. He is quite fragile.” The child was placed between Jaehaerys and Jaehaera's arms, but he was supported by Aegon's arm as well. “He's so beautiful father! He has my eyes ”. Jaehaera replied.
“No! he has mine! ”Jaehaerys protests against his sister.
You and aegon laugh at your kids fight they were so cute when they fight over their new brother. He looked at you. You were standing with him, looking at the children together. He wrapped his arm around you.
“This is nice. Us as a whole family.” He smiled at you and kissed your cheek gently. Meanwhile, your mother alicent and Aemond entered the room. Your mother smiles at you and then comes closer to kiss your forehead.
She takes the child from his siblings she holds him in her arms and smilies “My cute little boy..what did you named him?”. She looks at you and your husband with a curious look.
“Aegon”. Aemond answers with a straight face. You chuckle and look at your brother “Do you have a problem with this?”.
“No”. He frowns.
Aegon laughs at his brother's drama and then says “Oh come on man.. Next time I promise ”. You laugh sheepishly and playfully hit his shoulder. “I also demand a girl who carry my name!”. heleana jokes with you and hugs the baby as well.
“As you wish sis”. Aegon chuckles then looked at you. You raise an eyebrow and playfully hit his shoulder again. He laughs and pretends to be in pain “Ouch!”.
The room is filled with happy laughter and joyful atmosphere. you were so happy to have a beautiful family, wonderful children and a loving husband you can't ask more It was very happy times.
Later, the prince enters his wife in her chambers to find her breastfeeding their son. He smiled warmly as he saw you breastfeeding your son. You looked so natural doing it. The two of you had always been good parents, and it brought him a sense of joy and pride to see your nurturing side.
His smirk widened, as he looked at you, amused by something. Did he have a witty comment to make? Was he going to tease his wife while she was nursing their child? Yes. Yes he would. When could he not tease her? Never.
“Feeding our child?.” He playfully said to you, as he smirked.
“Yes”. you chuckled and looked at him.He smirked at the response.
“I am hungry too! Shouldn’t you feed me instead?”. He teased you playfully. He knew that he was being a tease, but he also knew that he could not resist it. It was fun teasing you when you were stuck breastfeeding your child.
“We've discussed this aegon”. You raise an eyebrow and look at him. He laughed. He knew very well that the two of you had discussed his attempts at being the one to be fed, however he would not just stop.
He was tempted to tease you about it whenever he saw the chance.“We have discussed it before, many times…” He chuckled. “But, that does not make it less funny for me. You are still sitting there, stuck breastfeeding, unable to move, while I am waiting for you to feed me as well.”
“You're not a baby aegon.. ”
He raised a eyebrow at that reply. He knew that he was not a child, however, it did not change the fact that he thought he deserved some attention while you were breastfeeding the baby.
He smirked as he returned a teasing reply. “Are you sure? Because I think you are treating me as one at the moment. I even feel a bit jealous that you are giving all of your milk to our child”.
“Aegon-
He smirked, feigning a sense of anger over your response to his tease.“Do not tell me that you are going to let me starve as our son feasts on your milk?” He asked, sounding as dramatic as he could manage.
“Starving? ”. you chuckled
He chuckled. He wasn’t actually starving, far from it. But this was one way for him to tease you further and get the milk he desired.
“Yes, I am. You are starving me of your milk, so that our son can have it all to himself. He is hogging all of your milk while I slowly starve to death. I’m wasting way, my bones growing weaker each passing day.” He said, feigning a dramatic sense of weakness and loss of strength.
“AWW my poor man”. You also teasing him and continue breastfeeding your son.
He approached the bed and knelt next to you “Come on My love! you promised me! Besides, why don't we give our son to a wet nurse and I keep all your milk for myself?”. He looked at you with big eyes and a pleading tone.
“You are so greedy”. You tuck his short silver locks behind his ear and chuckled he's acting like a child now. you can't help but chuckle again. He chuckled. The teasing conversation had not been going in his favor so far, but he certainly was not going to admit that fact to you. He would continue to play as the greedy person he was being. He had been greedy in the past, he was greedy now, and he would be greedy of your milk until you gave him some.
“Yes, I am greedy, very greedy. I want your milk all for myself. I wish you could produce more milk, just to satisfy my greed”. He smirked playfully at the comment.
When he notices that the child is sleeping, he takes him from your arms and put him in his cradle.He kisses little Aegon's forehead. He loves his newborn son but can't bear the thought of sharing your breasts with his son.
Aegon approaches her again and then wraps his arms around her waist. “My turn.”he whisper to you softly. “How many times do I have to tell you? ”. He untied the straps of your nightgown while looking into your eyes.
He smiled at the sight of his wife's swollen chest he looked at you again and then said, “I’m not kidding, let’s put a wet nurse on our baby.”
“You can't be serious Aeg!”
He frowned, “I didn’t say I was joking, I was completely serious.” He said before placing his mouth on your nipples. You were about to say something but his mouth on you was so good that you became completely numb.
He placed even softer kisses on that spot, finally he opened his mouth and sucked on the skin. He didn’t bite down, he just sucked on the spot, the feeling of your skin against his lips was pleasant, but this time, the taste of milk against his tongue was a sexy experience.
He felt your hands move through his hair. The feeling of your fingers sliding through his hair almost made those soft kisses he had been placing earlier a bit more pleasurable. Your touch, along with the taste of your milk in his mouth, was a good combination.
He moaned as well, your touch felt good. He pulled himself closer to you as your moans got more frequent, and he increased his pace. The fact that you were enjoying what he was doing made him feel wonderful.
He moaned again, more intensely than before, and he tried to pull you even closer to his body. He wanted your bodies to become one, as he continued to suck your fragile nipples.
It wasn't like your son's feeling. There was something else with your husband his teeth and tongue scratched your soft nipples slowly..
Several minutes passed with the two of you in each other's arms. Aegon kept sucking your nipples . His pace didn't change, he was still doing the same thing over and over again. Finally, after those several minutes had passed, he raised his head. His lips were now fully covered in milk and he looked at you with a smirk.
“Happy now? ”. You teased him and wiped the rest of the milk on the corner of his mouth and chin.He raised his eyebrow as he noticed the milk on the corner of his mouth and chin. He smirked at your teasing, and the milk on his face, made him look quite funny. The milk on his lips still tasted good, and so he licked his lips to get his own milk off.
“Happy? That is one way to say it…” He teased you back, and he brushed the milk off his chin. “Happy would be a understatement, I would say that this was like heaven I want more of this…”
“Aegon! ”. you chuckled
He pushed her gently and smiled arrogantly.. “I’m still hungry my goddess You must give your subjects your blessings.”
“What if my subjects are too greedy?”.
“Then you should give them extra blessings”. He teases you and puts his mouth on you again.
This will be his new place between your breasts. No one can take him away from you And your new features that he missed for four years..
– Taglist ♡ : @hisfavegiri @callsignwidow @xitsemm @saltytidalwavetyphoon @khaleesihel @credulouskhaleesi @lovelykhaleesiii @darylandbethfanforever9
#aegon ii targaryen#aegon the second#aegon fanfic#aegon x reader#aegon targaryen x reader#hotd fanfic#aegon headcanons#hotd#house of the dragon#hotd aegon#tom glynn carney#tom glynn carney x reader#aegon targaryen ii x you#aegon x you#aegon targaryen#aegon imagine#danytar
110 notes
·
View notes
Text
Invisible String
❝and isn't it just so pretty to think that all along there was some invisible string tying you to me.❞
Summary: You are having a pretty strange week and you just happen to run into the same guy every single day at the same coffee shop. He could be stalking you, or it could be fate. You aren’t totally sure.
Pairing: Modern Aegon Targaryen x Reader
Word Count: ~3.2k
Author’s Note: This is a re-write of an old fic of mine. I'm in my re-writing era and this is Megan's Version. Anyways, here's some fluff. I hope that you are absolutely disgusted by it.
Warnings: language and cuteness.
Monday morning.
The bane of your existence.
It didn’t help that you were hungover; head pounding, pleading with you to go back to sleep after your best friend convinced you to go out for karaoke on a Sunday night. Who in their right mind decided that karaoke on a Sunday night would be a good idea? You did. Not your best decision, you had to admit, and one you immediately came to regret as your alarm continuously reminded you that you needed to get up. You only had about eight minutes before you were to leave your apartment in order to make it to work on time, and it typically took you an hour to get ready– thirty minutes on a good day. You were absolutely pressing your luck with eight.
You rushed into the kitchen, making a beeline towards your Keurig. Brewing yourself a cup of coffee was typically the first thing you did every morning, like clockwork; placing the disposable cardboard cup underneath the spout and setting it to automatic, allowing it to brew while you moved on to other things in your morning routine. It was always the perfect temperature by the time you came back to it.
“Shit!” You cursed with a mouth full of toothpaste after realizing you’d completely missed the sink and a long line of frothy spit had dripped down to the front of your shirt. It was the only clean blouse that you had, and you definitely didn’t have time to go rummaging through your closet to find something else. With limited options available, you tell yourself that no one will notice and hurriedly swipe at the glob of mint green paste from your left boob.
As you looked at yourself in the mirror, the stain jumped out at you as if it were a flashing sign, look at me! You knew you’d be self conscious about it throughout the day and that everyone would, in fact, notice, and opted for a black blazer to hopefully cover up your mistake. Once you were satisfied with your appearance– as satisfied as you had the time to be– you rushed out the door; your bag falling off of your shoulder as you tried to scrape your hair back into the neatest bun you could manage without brushing your hair, practically sprinting towards the bus stop, hoping that you’d make it on time.
It wasn’t until you got there, waiting with what seemed like the entire population of this accursed city, that you realized you had never even gone back to the kitchen for your coffee after you had started getting ready. It was still sitting there cold, and lonely, and untouched– just like you felt right now, standing at the bus stop, no coffee to warm your hands.
You could just go to work, clock in on time, and drink that bagged shit your company supplies for the break room, but on a Monday and with the morning you’ve already had, that just wasn’t an option. You could see the bus headed your way but ultimately stepped out of the crowd and headed in the direction of the nearest coffeeshop, which thankfully was only two blocks up.
As soon as you walked through the door and into the warmth of the cafe, you inwardly cringed at the sight of the six people waiting in line. There was really no point in complaining about it, you were already here and you had already missed the bus, and you were already going to be late. You had no option but to wait patiently in line behind some blonde guy in a suit.
Your cellphone vibrated in your hand as you vaguely heard the man order a blueberry muffin and a latte. It was your boss, fuck. You silenced the phone call and decided to send them a quick text message instead, promising that you’d be there soon and made up some story about how the bus was late due to traffic.
Still looking down at your phone, you thought you saw the man take a step to the side out of your peripheral vision, and you stepped forward towards the register. Only he hadn’t stepped to the side, and you stepped right into him, and your face collided with his back. When you went to take a step backwards, you tripped over the woman behind you and ended up falling on your ass.
“I am so sorry!” You exclaimed, looking up at the man that you had just stepped into. Your cheeks warm at the sight of him, feeling infinitely more embarrassed when you see how attractive he is. “I thought I saw you move to the next register.”
He smiled and suddenly everything was okay, like you didn’t just trip and fall in front of like fifty people.
“S’okay, love,” he replied, holding out his hand to help you up. “Are you alright?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” you replied, trying your hardest to play it cool. “That was totally planned.”
He laughs, once again flashing an angelic smile, “you’re a great actress, then.”
“Thanks,” you say as you dust off your pants. “I rehearsed that for weeks.”
He seemed to think you were being wildly clever as his head dropped back and a genuine bout of laughter escaped his throat. The people behind you in line were becoming clearly irritated, one even stepping around you to keep the line moving. Typically, you would have protested but you suddenly didn’t care about the time or that you had been cut in line.
“Aegon?” The barista called out.
“That’s me,” his smile faltered just enough for you to notice. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“In a city with a population of 8.4 million people, I highly doubt that,” you step back in line after checking with the person behind you to make sure it was okay. “Have a good day.”
The man named Aegon still smiled, his head nodding to you before stepping out into the crowded city streets. If you were brave, you would have asked for his number, but instead you watched the door while you waited for your drink to be made; hoping that he would come back and sweep you off your feet.
You allowed yourself to live in that fantasy for a little while, until you became too busy at work and eventually forgot about the handsome stranger you had met in the coffee shop.
Tuesday was worse.
It wasn’t because you had a hangover or because you had woken up late again. In fact, it was quite the opposite. You were feeling pretty great on this particular morning. The sun was shining, it was a beautiful day, and you had given yourself plenty of time for your usual morning routine; shower, makeup, clothes, coffee. The Spotify algorithm was providing you with a perfect soundtrack for your commute to the bus stop until–
“Are you fucking kidding me!?”
You screeched as a double-breasted, suit-wearing businessman bumped into you and your coffee went flying towards the concrete; all over the ground, all over you. And for a moment, time stops as you could do nothing but stand there, completely shocked. The audacity he had to not only keep walking as if he hadn’t just ruined your perfect morning– and your shoes– but to yell back at you that you were the one who needed to watch where you were going.
You hadn’t even gotten to take a sip of that coffee yet.
Thankfully, Starbucks was only two blocks up, and you could make a pitstop for a refill and to clean yourself up and the coffee out of your shoes. Before you stepped in line, you made a beeline for the cream bar, hurriedly pulling napkins from the dispenser to shove them into the toes of your shoes. A few people in the lobby had begun to stare, and you sighed in defeat. This was frustrating that you were, once again, embarrassing yourself and making a scene in the same Starbucks two days in a row.
“You know, in a city with a population of 8.4 million people,” you heard as you tried to dry off your tights. Looking up, you noticed the same man from yesterday. What was his name? Aegon, right? “Call me crazy, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence that we bumped into each other again.”
“Maybe you’re stalking me,” you retorted with a sarcastic smile.
“Stalking the girl who’s spilled coffee all over herself?” He asked, eyes crinkling at the sides from the wide smile on his face. “I don’t know about that.”
You didn’t say anything, still a little irritated that you were even in this predicament, and now running into this handsome stranger again. Typically, you’d be elated to see him again, but not today.
“Let me buy you a coffee?” He asked, breaking the awkward silence that had grown between the two of you after he just stood there watching you try to blot the stain out of your white blouse. “It looks like you’re not having the best day.”
“Thanks for the offer, but not today,” you replied.
“Well, maybe tomorrow then?”
“Yeah,” you said as you laughed through your nose, knowing that there was no possible way that you would see him again tomorrow unless he really was stalking you. “Tomorrow, for sure.”
He gave you another one of those remarkable smiles and nodded his head, “okay, I’ll see you then.”
Wednesday was better.
You woke up with a smile on your face and you gingerly started your routine, making your way towards your Keurig. It was the middle of the week; only three more days to go and you’d be free for the weekend. You already had plans for a Succession marathon and itched to make a home on your couch for the next two days with all of your favorite snacks and blankets.
But when you went to grab one of those tiny, plastic pods from the box, it was empty. You had told yourself yesterday that you needed to stop and grab coffee and milk, but had completely forgotten once your day had unraveled after that douchebag shouldered you on the sidewalk.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
You always believed that one should enjoy the little things, but this week, it seemed as if those little things were on a mission to ruin your week. This time, you decided on the locally owned coffee shop that was only a block from your apartment. You passed by every day on your way to the bus stop, but they were typically so busy that you just didn’t have time to wait.
Today, they were surprisingly not nearly as busy as they usually were, in fact, they were almost completely empty. You still smiled at the barista as you walked right up to the counter without having to wait in line.
“Could I please have a mocha latte, please?” You asked politely.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the barista replied with a frown. “We were supposed to get our delivery sometime last night but there was a mix-up with the trucks, and we’re kinda out of everything. There’s a sign on the door.”
Of course you didn’t see the sign until you were leaving, frustrated, and stepping out onto the sidewalk with only one option; Starbucks.
This time you were prepared to see the good-looking stranger again, if fate were to have it; you were not covered in coffee, you did not have to rush on your way out the door, you were having a good hair day. Yet, as you stepped into the cool air conditioning of the corporate chain, you were saddened that you didn’t spot that golden halo of soft, blonde hair anywhere. You should have known not to get your hopes up, as the odds of seeing him three days in a row were slim and none. As you stepped up to the register you laughed at yourself, at how disappointed you were, as if you actually had a chance.
You stood off to the side, scrolling through your phone while waiting for the barista to call your name. It was then that out of the corner of your eye, you see that in walks a handsome, blonde stranger. Your heart skips a beat for only a second before it registers that he’s not your blonde stranger. He locks eyes with you for only a second and you offer him a small, disappointed smile.
“Your mocha,” the barista says and holds out the warm beverage to you.
“Thanks,” you reply, your voice despondent.
When you turn for the exit, your eyes are drawn to the corner of the room- to a comfortable, brown leather chair next to the window. There, sits Aegon, the man who had somehow just happened to be here, every single day, at the same time as you. The man who is probably stalking you, and if he wasn’t, he probably thought you were stalking him. You couldn’t even blame it on timing– Monday you were late, Tuesday you were early, today you were right on time. Given outside factors, things like this typically do not happen.
He’s reading the paper and there’s a cup of coffee and a half-eaten scone sitting on a plate in front of him. Your lips curl into a smile as you say to him, “we’ve got to stop running into each other like this.”
Aegon looks up at you, surprise washing over his face before an enthusiastic smile begins growing on his lips. However, as soon as his eyes notice the drink in your hand, his smile immediately disappears, “I thought I was buying today?”
“I didn’t see you until I had already ordered,” you replied. “How about tomorrow?”
“Deal,” he nodded..
“Are you sure you’re not stalking me?” You asked, eyes narrowing.
He threw his head back in laughter, “I’m definitely not a stalker.”
“That’s what a stalker would say,” you glanced down at your watch and realized that you should get going before you miss the bus. “See you tomorrow!”
On Thursday, you were convinced.
You had spent most of the day yesterday discussing with your coworker about what had been happening to you over the last week. You’d walked through every different day and what had happened prior to you arriving at Starbucks. You had talked conspiracy theories and the invisible string theory, and eventually you both ended up coming to the same conclusion– you both agreed that it was best for you to not go to Starbucks today.
You didn’t believe in fate, or soulmates, or twin flames, but as you stood in front of your Keurig as it made the most god awful sound, you were starting to change your mind. You tried turning it off and back on, unplugging it and plugging it back in, but the diagnosis was that it had finally died.
After six wonderful years and all of college.
Any other day you’d stop at Starbucks and grab a coffee in place of your homemade cup, but you swore that you wouldn’t today, and you were not waiting in line at the one on the way to the bus stop. It didn’t help that you were actually looking forward to the nasty breakroom coffee, only to get to work and realize that the office had run out of coffee. The effects of the caffeine withdrawal had set in by lunchtime and your migraine was splitting. Needless to say, you were irritable and exhausted by the time you had clocked out. Everything seemed to be grinding your nerves; even something as simple as the person sitting next to you on the bus talking on their phone.
Despite promising yourself that you wouldn’t go to Starbucks today, you found yourself standing at the counter, ordering a latte and a sandwich. It was later in the evening, the sun was setting, and you were certain that you would not be running into Aegon at this time of night and so after you grabbed your coffee, you sat in one of the comfy, leather chairs and started replying to some emails.
You had been there for about an hour, most of the patrons had left. The baristas had begun cleaning up for the evening and the shop was getting ready to close when the door swung open, letting in a gusty breeze.
“No way,” you whispered to yourself as you watched a very tired-looking Aegon walk up to the counter and order a latte. He was so out of it that he didn’t even notice you until he sat down in the chair directly across from yours, and looked up to see you staring right at him.
“I told you,” he said as he let out a tired laugh.
You just shook your head at him in disbelief.
“I was called into work early today and I couldn’t come in this morning,” he said with a smirk. “I was certain I wouldn’t be seeing you today.”
“My Keurig broke, and when I got to work they didn’t have any coffee, so I figured I’d stop in and grab a cup before heading home,” you replied.
You sat there and talked to him until the manager kicked the two of you out, and he ended up walking you to your apartment, even though it was in the opposite direction of where he was going. He was sweet and funny, and you found yourself laughing at almost every joke.
“So tomorrow?” You asked when you stopped in front of your building.
“How about dinner instead of coffee?” He asked, rather boldly, taking you by surprise. “I know we don’t really know each other but I’d like to change that.”
“I’d like that, too,” you smiled, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Wanna chance it and see if we show up at the same restaurant at the same time?”
“The ultimate test of fate, eh?” He asked, rubbing his chin as he mulled over your offer for a moment. “Can’t risk it, how about you just meet me at Ray’s at seven.”
“Yeah, I can do that,” you exhale a soft laugh.
“Perfect,” he says and takes your hand, offering a tender kiss to your knuckles. “I’ll see you then, love.”
Friday was perfect.
Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happened. Though, thinking back on it now, maybe those seemingly bizarre incidents this past week weren’t actually out of the ordinary at all. Maybe the forgotten coffee on Monday, the spilled latte on Tuesday, the late delivery on Wednesday, and caffeine withdrawal on Thursday were all meant to happen; everything playing out perfectly in order for you to be walking up to Ray’s at exactly 6:54 PM.
Aegon stood outside, a smile bright enough to put the sun to shame. As your eyes met, a wave of warmth washed over you, dispelling any lingering doubts you may have had. This felt right.
This felt like fate.
#I think this is enough fluff for a lifetime#back to writing angst#aegon targaryen#aegon ii targaryen#Aegon Targaryen x reader#aegon ii targaryen x reader#Aegon Targaryen x you#aegon ii targaryen x you#Aegon Targaryen x y/n#aegon ii targaryen x y/n#aegon x you#aegon x reader#aegon x y/n#modern aegon targaryen#modern aegon x reader#modern aegon x you#modern aegon x y/n#Aegon Targaryen soulmate au#soulmate au#fate au#tom glynn carney#aegon the second#hotd aegon#aegon targaryen ii#aegon ii
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
"Bewitched" - Aegon Targaryen II x Witch!Reader x Aemond Targaryen
a/n: a request from @dreamfyre03 combined with one from @the-shadow-queen02 🤭🩷
Summary: Bewitching the men of House Targaryen and bringing them under your thrall proves quite easy.
TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, manipulation, mommy kink, dom!reader, breeding kink, p in v sex, unprotected sex, face sitting, oral f receiving, tiddy succin, ass eating, anal sex, jealousy
Word Count: 1,625 words
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
When Aemond returned from Harrenhal, his mother could not hide her shock at who he had brought back with him. He said he found you on the side of the road, thrown from your horse, bleeding from your temple with little memory of how you came to be there. He, of course, did the chivalrous thing and took you into his care. But Alicent can tell that it is far more than that when she sees how he looks at you. With care, affection, but something much darker as well. Possessiveness. Intense desire, hunger even. You were quite beautiful, disarmingly so, and it is no wonder her sweet boy was so taken in by you. Buxom with crimson red lips, eyes that seemed much wiser than the age you claimed to be, lined with kohl and framed by long lashes that you knew how to bat oh so prettily at the prince. Your gaze pulled people in. There was a mysteriousness to you, a danger she could not quite name.
And she hated that Aegon seemed to be just as entranced by you the moment he saw you, descending from his throne to take your hand and press a kiss to the back of it, giving you his most charming smile. The dowager queen saw the way Aemond’s nostrils flared, the way his jaw clenched. You were going to be a problem. And you knew the way you had both the king and the prince wrapped around your little finger. Your smile was one that looked as if you were hiding some deep, dark secret. One that could ruin everything Viserys wanted her to do. A peaceful reign for Aegon, his legacy maintained.
But when she suggests that he send you away, back to the Riverlands where you belong, Aemond raises his voice at her, shocking her entirely. He glares at her, gnashing his teeth as he declares that you are to remain by his side. That you are his guest, his lover, and anyone that has a problem with that will be put to the sword. What sort of spell have you put on her son, she wonders? Are you some kind of enchantress? Some witch who has seduced him with false promises, with the affection he’s so desperately craved all his life? She does not know. But what Alicent does know is this - people are frightened of her third-born for good reason. She has never been on the receiving end of Aemond’s anger before. He’s always revered her, as one reveres the Mother herself. But it would appear that you have replaced her as the most important woman in his life. She watches as you rest a hand on his chest, looking up at him and calming him with a few honeyed words and a bat of your lashes, his eye fluttering shut as you caress him. A low moan escapes from his lips, one that she truly wishes she did not have to hear.
And it’s no wonder what the spell you’ve put him under is. The way he stares unabashedly at your breasts as they strain against the bodice of your dress, the way he licks his lips when you give him that coy little smile. You have seduced him into your grasp and she wonders if you will ever be willing to let him go.
Aemond watches as you move to get up from his bed, the moonlight shining through the window and reflecting upon your bare body as you walk. He stares without shame, admiring your full breasts, the curve to your hips, your soft thighs as you move to grab yourself a robe. He can already feel his cock twitching, imagining burying himself inside you once again, filling you with his seed, tasting your sweet, wet cunny-
His train of thought is cut off when you hand him a goblet of wine, having already poured one for yourself. You smile at him playfully, moving to sit in his lap, running your fingers through his hair. He lets out a soft sigh of contentment, leaning into your touch, feeling your nails scratching at his scalp. You do not judge him for it, the way he clings to you like a babe, his lips finding your breasts, suckling greedily, his tongue laving attention onto your pert nipple. You just continue running your hand through his hair, soothing him. Aemond’s other hand moves to squeeze at your neglected breast, only to have you wrap his knuckles, fixing him with a sharp glare.
“Do not be greedy, my prince,” you say in that silvery voice, scolding him affectionately, the sound making him grow all the harder, “Now, I must go see your brother.”
Aemond shakes his head, arms wrapping around your waist, “No. You have to stay here with me. You are mine. You belong to me. I will not let Aegon take you away from me. He has gotten everything he has wanted all his life. I will not let him have you.”
You run your fingers along the length of his scar, smirking slightly when his breath hitches at your soft touch, “My sweet, sweet Aemond. Surely you remember my vision. To make it a reality, I have told you what it is that I must do.”
“It does not mean I have to like it. Or even approve of it,” he mumbles, burying his face in your neck, nipping at your soft skin, “You are mine.”
“Of course I am yours,” you coo affectionately, “When you sit the Iron Throne, I will be at your side. You will wield Blackfyre, the Conqueror’s crown upon your handsome brow.”
“And you will be my queen,” Aemond insists eagerly, letting out a groan as you sink down onto his cock, the subtle bounce of your breasts as you move your hips mesmerized him, “Oh Gods, you take me so well…”
Your fingers trace his throat all, squeezing gently, a grin spreading across your lips when he lets out a lewd moan of your name, “Yes, my king. I will be your queen. And you will breed me every night. Perhaps this is the night your seed will take and your heir will begin to grow inside of me.”
The thought of you, your breasts heavy with milk, your belly swollen as his child grows inside of you… It is all almost too much for him to bear. He feels you tense around him, his seed spilling inside you at the feeling as you milk his cock for everything he has. You always take him so perfectly, as if you were made for him and only him.
He hates watching you brush your air, applying some scented oil to your neck before taking your pitcher of wine and leaving the chambers you currently share with him. Aemond knows this is all for the greater plan, the vision you saw in the fire on the way to King’s Landing. Him on the throne, his babe in your belly. Aemond tries to stay in his chambers. He tries to play the part of the responsible, dutiful man. To let you do what the two of you planned. You will whisper in Aegon’s ear, bewitch him with promises of a life far away in YiTi. You will get him to abdicate his claim to the throne, allowing Aemond to take his rightful place. And to do all of this, Aemond knows seducing him, bedding him is necessary. But he cannot bear it.
So he storms into Aegon’s bedchamber. He sees you there, sitting atop Aegon, much as you did atop him mere hours earlier. Aegon’s hands hold your hips, his eyes blown wide with lust as you ride him. Aemond is transfixed by the sight. You look so beautiful, so powerful as you give his brother pleasure, as you take your own from him. You grab Aegon’s hands, pinning them above his head as you roll your hips faster and faster. Aegon moves to take one of your breasts in his mouth, whining pathetically when you smirk and move back just out of reach.
Aemond glowers at the two of you for a moment before storming up to you, gripping your hips from behind. You glance at him over your shoulder, a wicked smile curling on your lips as you pull him into a hot, wet kiss. Aegon watches the two of you, his lips parted as he continues bucking his hips up against you before finally spilling himself in your cunt with a pathetic whine of your name. You smirk at the two men before speaking in a cool, measured tone.
“There’s enough of me to share, darlings.”
The two stare at you in awe as you move to straddle Aegon’s face, turning to Aemond and glancing downward. Immediately, he knows what you expect him to do. Before you, he never would have thought of himself as being interested in this sort of depravity. But while you ride his elder brother’s face, his own tongue teasing your puckered hole before preparing you to take his cock, he realizes that he has very much grown addicted to you.
The night continues this way, the three of you losing yourself in your shared pleasure, each brother sound asleep on either side of you. You slip from the bed in the dead of night, putting your robe on once more and preparing to meet a figure, hidden under the shroud of darkness. He waits for you in King’s Landing, near Mysaria’s brothel, a smirk on his face.
“How is the plan progressing, little witch?”
Your lover pulls you into his arms, groaning against your lips as you palm at his cock, “The plan goes well, Daemon. Very well.”
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon targaryen x you#aegon x reader#aegon x you#aegon targaryen ii x reader#aegon targaryen ii x you#aemond targaryen#aegon targaryen#my writing#aegon targaryen ii#aegon#aemond#aegon oneshot#aemond oneshot
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
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/misarrange, 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 the room.
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 then pulls 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 come 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 kids 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 you can kiss him 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
965 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fare Well
Photo credit.
Summary: You visit Aegon after another council meeting ends.
Paring: Aegon Targaryen x female!reader
Word Count: 1600+
Warnings: Reader AFAB, knifeplay, object penetration, kissing, p in v, creampie, using intercourse as an escape from reality.
Author’s Note: Listen, the new trailer came out and our muses are buzzing again. This smutty piece was inspired by this story by @valeskafics as well as this beautiful edit by the beautiful @bucknastysbabe. The title is from Hozier, as you all should come to expect now, and this can also be read on ao3.
This is dedicated to @f4ll-for-you, my wonderful Tumblr kindred spirit who made me into the Aegon girly I am today. 💜
A huge thank you to @targaryen-dynasty for beta reading and making sure this all made sense. 💜 Enjoy!
“What troubles you, your grace?”
You had remained in the shadows and listened to the voices grow louder, though still muted through the walls, with their worries of what was to come next. They exited one by one, the morose men chosen to serve the king’s council, with the lord commander of the kingsguard escorting the queen dowager donned in green, her eyes downcast and her expression etched with her perpetual worry since her lord husband had passed. The lord hand was the last to leave, his face lined and wearied, his slow gate returning him to the tower where he would–as Aegon confided to you–continue to pen letters to garner support across the realm.
It was only then that you dared to enter the room. You saw Aegon was seated at the head of the table, his violet gaze placed on the Valyrian dagger in his hands, the iron and rubies that once belonged to the Conqueror gleaming above him.
The sun was streaking through the windows behind, giving him a kingly glow. His hair was a shade lighter and his cheeks sunkissed from the hours aback Sunfyre; despite the threat beyond the horizon, you knew that Aegon enjoyed patrolling the skies with his brothers.
It was these little confessions that he shared with you in the clandestine moments stolen within the walls of the Red Keep. He told you how he wished to be distracted, to allow a reprieve for his mind that weighed heavy with this anointed crown, and you were just this distraction, flesh and blood pulsing with your desire.
It was then he looked up to see you still shyly posted in the doorway. “You seemed troubled, your grace,” you repeated with kindness, with concern.
“I am now always troubled, it feels,” his smile was forced. “It seems to be something that comes with the weight of this.” He removed the crown and it echoed dully as he dropped it on the table. “But perhaps you can serve your king.”
Your foot pushed the door until it closed soundly, and you took a step towards him. For a moment you saw the boy you had grown up with, mischievous and smirking, peering up at you from beneath the title of king. “This is why I am here,” your reply was sultry, and you saw how the black began to swallow the color of his eyes. “To serve, your grace.”
Aegon sheathed the dagger and set it aside his crown before slouching back to spread his legs wider in the ornate chair he sat. Your stomach tightened at the sight of his thick outline against his thigh, pressing through his slacks, and you felt the flutter of that desire trilling your spine, spilling back into your veins.
Your heart vibrated beneath and his lips curled upwards when he noticed where your eyes fell. His large hand patted his thigh.
The gesture summoned you and you moved within his arms reach. He pulled you onto his lap, his face burying into the curve of your neck with a groan, a deep inhale that tickled. “Your grace,” you giggled, squirming in his hold, your blood warming your skin.
“It is only us now,” he murmured against your skin, “and all I wish now is to tear away these layers, lay you on this table, and have what lies beneath your finery.”
“You would not dare,” you whispered, your eyes bright.
His fingers dug into your hip while his other hand snaked under your thighs to lift you up from his seat. You giggled again, your arm quick to wrap around his neck to brace for his step forward as he set you on the edge of the table. His hands pawed at your layers, searching to find the dagger and he began to slice through your fabric.
Your surprise spilled from your lips. “Aegon!”
He did not falter, but sheathed it and set it back down so his hands could grab fistfuls, tearing away the fabric to allow you room to part your thighs and welcome him. Your hands moved from his chest and combed through his hair, smoothing the indent left behind from his crown. He hummed from your touch, his hands moving from your hips and following your curves to your backside, pulling you closer so he could tilt his chin forward and capture your lips.
His kiss devoured you wholly, pulling the air from your lungs with the dizzyingly desperation of his lips against your own. Your arms wrapped again around his neck and you rolled your hips for friction against the warmth he emitted through his royal garb, your fingers clawing at the fabric.
You could feel his smile against your lips, his fingers returning to his hold on your hips. The outside of his palm rested on the dip and his thumbs pressed to the bone, eliciting a pleasure that jolted through you. You moaned softly and his mouth broke away, wet kisses that now trailed along your jaw, his teeth nipping at the slope of your neck.
“Aegon,” you could not help but whine, and you tightened your legs around his hips.
He turned to look at you, his expression unreadable, flushed. For a moment you were lost in his heady gaze, only brought back once you felt his hand trailing the detailing of your bodice and pressing until you laid back on the table. His other hand retrieved the dagger once more and your smallclothes were cut away, the air crisp against the slick between your thighs.
“So wet for me already,” he clucked his tongue, “and I have barely begun.”
Your stuttered response only further goaded him. His brow cocked. “What was that?”
“Please,” you licked your lips. “Touch me, Aegon. Please.”
The darkness in his eyes glittered with the sunlight, and his satisfaction curled across his square jaw. “No. Not quite yet.”
Before you could protest, you felt the pressure of something that was smooth, almost cool to the touch. You peered down to see the sheathed dagger pressed sideways to your bare cunt, the ruby stone sliding against the slick, the blossom of your arousal allowing him a circular motion of the gemstone against the bundle of nerves.
You shuddered in response, your skin rising on your thighs and chest, and your head fell back, your hands pressing flat on the polished wood to anchor yourself. The unfamiliar touch began to build a familiar sensation, something that fluttered throughout, catching your exhale in your throat.
“Aegon,” you cried, his name spilling sickly sweet from your lips, an endearment with the desperation of your tone.
“Let me,” he soothed, his voice rasped with his intent focus.
He moved the hilt and its decorative ridges rubbed along your swollen nerves. You squealed with the touch and then the intrusion, feeling his palm press to the inside of your thigh. “Trust me,” he whispered, his eyes boring between your thighs. You relaxed to his touch, feeling the curve of the handle pressing sweetly within you.
It sparked lights before your eyes and Aegon was pleased. He moved his thumb to replace where the gemstone rubbed enticingly before, matching the tandem of the hilt that now pulled you upwards to the prior peak and then past. It filled your chest, a bursting euphoria that pulsed your walls around the handle.
“Sȳz riña,” his voice low with his praise. Good girl.
Your head lifted, drowsy, and you saw him touch the glossy shine that now covered the hilt, his fingers showing the sticky web of your climax. His eyes met with yours as he showed you, and his eyebrows raised when you pushed to sit up, your hand gently covering his own to pull it towards your lips, licking the ruby and tasting yourself.
It clattered to the cobblestone and his free hand now grabbed the nape of your neck, his lips finding yours with his returned desperation. Fingers collided to loosen his drawstrings, your hands pulling his cock free and guiding his blunt head to press against your silk entrance.
His large hand wrapped around the base and you cant your hips, angling yourself so his cock can slowly sink into your wet warmth. You mewled from the delicious stretch and he shuddered once he was fully buried between your thighs. Aegon paused, stealing a kiss, a taste of tenderness on his lips as he began to rock against you.
It started slow with a low groan spilling from his kiss swollen slips as he watched his cock disappear inside you again and again. He savored the lewd sounds, your soft cries as he pushed deeper within you, your fingers grasping to hold yourself upright, to remain as close to him as possible.
Your body still simmered with your prior release and it did not take much to build again. His hips snapped against yours with the wet sound of skin to skin, and your walls began to flutter. It is a breathless chorus, your soft gasps and his low groan, your pleasure pulling with a creamy spill of passion that tightened around him, his cock pulsing hotly within you.
You fell back to your elbows, trying to catch your breath, and Aegon slumped over, his damp brow pressing to yours, the mess of his golden waves falling across your face. His scent washed over you, exotic oils that were sent as gifts and the sheen of sweat on his skin.
The council chambers are noiseless now, and you hold still under the dimming candles lit for the chandelier above. It is another clandestine moment stolen, where your hearts thrummed in unison before slowing back to their regular pace, pulling you back to the heavy reality that settled in the quiet.
It lingered in the shadows, the faraway thought, the threat beyond the horizon, the echoed worries returning of what will come next.
Tumblr kindred spirits [taglist]: @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @multyfangirl @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowprincesa1 @officerbrowneyes @qyburnsghost @namelesslosers
#house of the dragon#aegon ii targaryen#aegon x you#aegon x reader#aegon x female!reader#aegon ii fanfic#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon targaryen x you#female!reader#fare well
602 notes
·
View notes
Text
PRECIPICE
Aegon II Targaryen x Sister!Reader
Summary - Forced to attend a stuffy ball, you find yourself hiding beneath a table with Aegon.
Warnings - implied targcest as always
Word Count - 4.5k
// masterlist // send me your thoughts //
The delicious aroma of roast mutton is wafting over you as you pass one of the many long serving tables lining the walls of the ballroom. Your gaze drags along the vast spread that has been prepared for tonight; a variety of artisan breads, cooked meats, and candied desserts are laid out upon silver serving dishes.
As you reach the end of the first table, a pile of lemon cakes snag your attention. Neatly stacked atop an ornate porcelain platter, the cakes are coated in a thin glaze that shimmers in the light. Your mouth instantly begins watering at the sight, your stomach growling in a way that would be deemed improper for a Lady.
Beside you, holding a plate that has been loaded with mashed potatoes and honeyed chicken, Jace turns his head to cock a brow at you.
“Hungry?” He asks, chuckling softly.
You suck in a deep breath before forcefully tearing your gaze from the cakes. “Extremely.”
It takes an enormous amount of will power to turn away from the serving table while still empty-handed, but you somehow manage to do just that. Having hardly even walked a few steps, though, Jace is abandoning his plate to rush after you, softly seizing your wrist to keep you from moving any further.
“If you’re hungry, then you should eat.”
His concern is obvious, not only through his tone, but his expression as well. With his furrowed brow and tight-mouthed frown, you’re fairly certain that he’s already considering the consequences of dragging you back to the table and feeding you himself if need be.
Jace had always been that way—not only with you, but with everyone. He was kind hearted and considerate to fault.
“I would,” you smile, shaking your head slightly to dismiss his concern, “but I’m afraid that if I do, I might very well pop right on out of this ridiculously tight corset.”
You wave an idle hand down to your waist, unnaturally cinched by the intricate lacing and boning of the garment beneath your evergreen gown. His eyes follow the motion, tracing along the intense curve, lingering for a moment too long.
The explanation seems to wash away much of his concern, relieved to know that discomfort was the only reason you had chosen to abstain from the treats being served. Even so, a touch of empathy remains, accompanied by the faintest hint of desire gleaming in his amber gaze.
Amber—an unusual color for a boy of Velaryon blood. His eyes were one of the many reasons that your mother, the Queen Alicent, felt so confident in labeling Princess Rhaenyra’s boys as bastards behind closed doors. And, if you were being honest with yourself, you knew that there was likely truth to her claims. Your nephews probably were bastards—but you didn’t particularly care.
Jace was nice to you, and that was all that had ever mattered to you.
He clears his throat, realizing that he had been gawking at your body for far longer than he should. “It looks uncomfortable,” the words spill out without permission, and you nearly laugh when his eyes go wide. “That didn’t come out right, nothing about it actually looks uncomfortable—it looks stunning! I mean, you look stunning! It’s just that, I don’t know, I imagine that having something squeeze you so tightly might be-”
“Jace, it’s okay! Truly,” you interrupt his rambling with a soft giggle. “You should know that I’m not so easily offended,” you playfully chide. “Besides, you’re right. It is quite uncomfortable!”
Actually, quite felt like an enormous understatement. But you didn’t figure that Jace was particularly interested in hearing about how your breasts were aching from being roughly shoved up by the tight garment.
Jace looses a breath, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Then why bother wearing them? Many noble-women go without corsets. Even my mother hardly ever wears one—she believes they’re vile things that only aid in the objectification of ladies.”
Your brows rise, agreeing with the claims of your half-sister. But then you let your attention shift to the dais, meeting the rough stare of the reason why you had been forced into the tortuous garb—your mother.
She’s already watching you when you meet her eye, her lip curled as she sends you a pointed look, silently urging you away from your nephew. It takes a great deal of effort not to shrink beneath the weight of her attention, and you’re beyond grateful for the group of women who shuffle past you towards the dance floor, giving you an excuse to break the hold she has on you.
“I wear it because my mother wishes for all of her children to look their best,” you answer, shifting your focus back onto Jace. “And who am I to disappoint the Queen?”
He notes the sudden callousness of your tone, as well as the way you clasp your hands together at your waist, fidgeting with the golden ring on your index finger. He doesn’t bother asking if you’re okay, however, knowing well enough that you were not—and already knowing why, as well.
You imagine that Jace doesn’t much like your mother; both for her part in the rumors spread about him and his brothers and for the way she has treated his mother.
It makes you upset in a strange way, a part of you always wishing to defend the Queen, no matter how abhorrent her actions. After all, she was your mother—whether you like it or not—and you knew very well that if someone were to try to hurt you or your siblings, then she would gladly lay her life on the line for you.
You were thankful for her; even if her protection hurt, even if her maternal love only exists when your life is at stake.
“Speaking of your siblings,” Jace suddenly notes, veering slightly off-subject as his own stare drifts towards the dais, “how did Aegon manage to weasel his way out of attending tonight?”
Your brows snap together before letting your head snap back towards the dais, managing to avoid your mother’s nasty stare this time by looking to her right, taking note of each of your siblings.
Aemond is sat directly by her side, his posture rigid as his eye scans across the room, alert and on-guard as usual. Next to him is Helaena, leisurely picking at her plate of food and mindlessly bobbing her head along to the symphony being played for court musicians. Daeron, who your mother insisted fly Tessarion here from Oldtown so that he might be present for tonight, is sat next to your empty chair, making idle chatter with those around him.
But Aegon’s chair, sat between yours and Helaena’s, is vacant.
A knot forms in your stomach when you look back at Aemond, his piercing violet eye catching yours, gleaming with a silent order—find our imbecile brother before he makes a fool of us all.
You give him a curt nod before looking away, head whirling as you begin searching the crowd around you for any sign of your eldest brother.
“Simple,” you huff, “he didn’t.”
Jace hums his understanding as you politely excuse yourself, turning away from him to begin shoving through the throng of people filling the room.
You decline invitations to dance and spout excuses as to why you can’t stop to chat as you push past noblemen-and-women from various Houses, trying to maintain the pleasant persona your mother favored while still moving fast enough that you might find Aegon before he finds any new ways to publicly bring shame upon the Targaryen name.
It’s exhausting work—and by the time you have shoved yourself to the other end of the room without finding him, you nearly consider giving up. Your chest hurts and your scalp is itching from being poked and prodded by a dozen or so pins, all of which had been meticulously placed by servants to arrange plaits into a fanciful half-updo.
In many ways, you look like your mother; with your elaborate hairstyle and green dress, the look is tied together by a pendant of the Seven-Pointed Star dangling from your neck.
And, in many ways, you hate it.
Much to the Queen’s dismay, you’ve never much liked the elegant styles preferred by many women at court. No, instead you spent much of your time donning mail with your hair lazily pulled back, joining Aemond for practice in the training yard.
She hated how unrefined you were, how indelicate you were; fearful for how others at court might view you for it, for how much attention you might draw to yourself.
You blow out a sigh, resisting the urge to pull all of the pins from your hair as you will yourself to keep walking, to keep looking for Aegon. A table overflowing with carafes of arbor wine and flagons of ale catches your attention, setting off alarm bells in your mind.
If Aegon were going to choose anywhere to hide at this godsforsaken ball, then it would certainly be in close proximity to the alcohol.
A cacophony of laughter and clinking goblets surrounds you as you approach, scanning over rows of bottles and skimming the faces of those nearby. Spinning your ring on your finger, you walk along the entire length of the long serving table, disappointed when you reach the end of it and find that your brother is still nowhere in sight.
Chewing on your cheek, you fight the urge to pour yourself a drink when you notice a carafe of blackberry wine. The plum colored liquid seems to call your name, singing promises of sweet oblivion, an escape from the restless feeling clawing at your chest.
You’re out of place here in court, and you always have been—you know that, and you worry that everyone around you knows, too.
Sensical enough to recognize that alcohol would likely just exacerbate your current ill-feelings, you shun the carafe and turn towards the grand entrance. Lifting your chin and squaring your shoulders, you try to appear more composed than you feel as you saunter towards the large wooden doors.
If Aegon had snuck off with one of the serving girls, then there was a good chance that he was still somewhere in the hall, either flirting or feeling up their skirts. And, if you were wrong, then at least he had provided you with an excuse to slip away from this mess of a ball.
As you pass by the last serving table, the platters and dishes atop it already thoroughly picked over, you feel someone tug at your dress. You whirl around, a fiery retort already falling off your tongue, fully intending to rip into whoever had found the audacity to touch you without permission—only to find yourself insulting the air.
There was no one there, at least not close enough to have touched you.
For a heartbeat you begin to reel, wondering if you’ve started to lose your mind before feeling the sensation again. A sharp tug at the fabric, just by your knee. Your head snaps down towards your dress, covering your mouth before a gasp can slip your lips.
An arm is peeking out from beneath one of the finely embellished tablecloths, and a well-groomed hand is clutching your skirts. You instantly recognize the hand as Aegon’s, having become intimately familiar with your brother’s touch throughout your life.
Taking a step closer to the covered table, you try to look natural as you hunch over it slightly to get closer to his level, feigning an interest in a half-eaten roast duck.
“What in the Seven Hells are you doing, Aegon?!” Your voice is hushed, not quite a whisper, but low enough so that no one other than him might hear.
Releasing his hold on your skirts, Aegon lifts the tablecloth a little higher, revealing his face. “Get under here,” he tilts his head, motioning for you to join him beneath the table.
“No!”
He swiftly presses a finger to his lips in response to your incredulous shout, shushing you. You stiffen, nervously flicking your eyes to each side, checking to ensure that no one had heard you. Fortunately, the courtiers around you appear far too invested in their conversations and drinks to notice how you appear to have shouted at a roast duck.
Aegon’s lilac eyes are wide, pleading as he shoves the tablecloth up higher, giving you more room to slip beneath it. “Would you just shut up and come?”
It’s the sheer urgency of his tone that piques your interest, although you wish that it hadn’t. You huff out an annoyed sigh, taking another look around the room before gathering up your skirts and sinking to your knees, crawling underneath the table.
Once you’ve successfully sat down beside him on the stone floor, he drops the cloth, shielding the two of you from any prying eyes. The material is thin enough that it allows some light to pass through it, very dimly illuminated Aegon’s grinning face, all urgency having suddenly vanished.
“Welcome,” he almost sounds breathless, the word airy—and utterly unnecessary.
You can faintly see the rosy coloring of his cheeks, a few messy silver waves tumbling across his face, and you’re immediately willing to bet that he’s extremely buzzed. “What are you doing, Aeg?”
Your tone is firm, but there’s a certain gentleness to it that was specially reserved for your eldest brother. While you maintain that you love all three of them equally, it’s undeniable that your relationship with Aegon has always been… different.
He reaches to his side, lifting a carafe from the ground beside him. “Having a party,” he says, raising it towards your face and playfully swirling the garnet colored liquid.
“I’m unsure if you’re aware,” you motion towards the cloth shrouding you from the bustling ballroom, “but our mother has already planned quite the celebration for tonight—and she likely does not wish for it to be ruined by her drunkard son ducking beneath tables like an imbecile!”
Aegon pokes his bottom lip out into a pout. “Why must you assume that I am drunk?”
“Because you’re you,” you drone, cocking your head at him, “and you are always drunk.”
Rolling his eyes, he sits the carafe down on the ground between you. There are only mere inches separating the two of you, both of you squeezing your limbs close to your body to avoid having a foot peek out from beneath the table. Sitting this close to him, you can smell the sweetness of the arbor red of his breath—as well as the faintest hint of sulfur, a sign that he had clearly gone riding on Sunfyre earlier and had failed at washing off the dragon’s strong scent.
You take another breath, inhaling the smell of him into your lungs. It was familiar—comfortable, urging your taut muscles to slacken in his presence.
“And what if I told you that I am sober right now?”
A snort escapes you, sparing him an incredulous look. “Then I would call you a liar,” you tell him, tapping a finger against the rim of the half-empty carafe.
His stare drops down towards it, watching as the liquid ripples when you pull your hand back. When he looks back up, he’s wearing a crooked smile that makes your heart flutter. “Mostly sober, then.”
It’s nearly impossible to stifle your laugh, clamping a hand over your mouth so that you might muffle the sound and prevent passersby from becoming suspicious. The sound only makes his smile grow wider and more genuine, an expression that he graced very few people with.
“I’ll ask again,” you say, speaking only when you're confident that no more laughter will tumble out. “Why are you down here? If mother finds out then she will be furious and-”
Aegon tosses his head back, cutting you off with a groan. “Mother will be furious no matter what,”
Disdain drips from each syllable, thickening the air around you. He didn’t like talking about her much, and you couldn’t blame him for it. Of all your siblings, Aegon had been dealt the worst hand, simply by being born first. He got the brunt of your mothers vile behavior; and you hated that, too.
“Because,” lazily rolling his neck so that he can look at you again, he answers, “I’d rather spend my night under here,” he flicks a hand up, lazily gesturing around himself, “than be forced to sit through even one more tedious speech from some ancient Lord of gods-know-where!”
You bite your tongue, holding back another laugh.
“And,” he continues, nodding in your direction, “I am now saving you from the same mundane fate. You’re welcome.”
“What makes you think that I needed your saving?” You ask, brows rising.
Aegon purses his lips, placing a finger against his chin as he feigns contemplation, studying the intricate styling of your hair, the modest long-sleeved gown, and the Star resting against your covered breasts. “Perhaps it was that our mother has you dressed up as though you’re an aspiring Septa.”
Thinking of the plain women, with their simple gowns and traditional head coverings, you nearly laugh again as you ask, “How many Septa’s do you know that wear corsets and jewelry, brother?”
“None,” he admits, shoulders lifting into an indolent shrug. “Though, if they looked more like you, then I might finally have a reason to attend prayer. Beautiful women would be more than enough to turn me into a pious man.”
A warmth creeps up your neck as blood rushes to your cheeks, unsure if his statement was meant as a compliment—was he saying that he found you beautiful? If so, it shouldn’t have been a particularly shocking revelation. After all, Aegon had complimented you before, many times.
In all fairness, however, most of those times had been when he was thoroughly besotted. He had a habit of sneaking into your rooms and practically draping himself off of you, muttering drunken nonsense about how breathtaking you were. You had never placed much truth in the statements though, assuming that Aegon likely didn’t even recognize who he was speaking to, much less whose bed he had crawled into.
But even if this was a genuine and mostly sober attempt at complimenting you, the flattery of it doesn’t last nearly long enough. Your own insecurity washes back over you far quicker than you like, reminding you of just how unlike yourself you currently feel.
“I do not believe that anything would be capable of turning you into a pious man,” you joke, trying and failing to cover up the melancholy that has settled into your bones. “Not even beautiful women.”
“You could.”
The answer comes far too quick, spilling from his tongue with an eagerness that even seems to catch him by surprise.
“Though, I must say, for as exquisite as this dress makes you look,” his hand reaches across the short expanse dividing you, mindlessly running his fingers along the fabric covering your shoulder, “I much prefer the way look in armor—sweaty skin, messy hair, sword in-hand—all of it.”
Your breath catches in your throat as his touch drifts towards the center of your chest, fingers dragging along the thin chain leading to your pendant, lifting the Star into his palm. He stares at it for a moment before yanking it roughly from your neck, grinning when you yelp. “But this,” he lifts the Seven-Pointed Star slightly, “I absolutely hate.”
With that, he tosses it from underneath the table, sending it skittering across the floor beyond the tablecloth.
Your jaw drops open, a hand pressed against the now-sore spot along the back of your neck. Despite yourself, your lips start to curve into a playful smile. You try fighting against it, try pressing them into a firm line, but fail. “Mother will not be happy about that-”
“She’s never happy,” Aegon interjects. His own expression shifts, the line on his forehead deepening as he says, “Do not let yourself bear her misery. Life is too short—and you deserve more than that.”
A palpable silence is thickening the air, and your breathing seems to synchronize as you simply stare at one another.
Slowly, nervously, you say, “I’m not sure what it is that I deserve,”
“You deserve,” he pauses, lips still parted despite the absence of speech. Then, swallowing back the words that had been building in his throat, he says, “you deserve whatever it is that you want, sister.”
Your hand falls from your neck into your lap, and you avert your gaze, watching your fingers as they fidget with your ring. “And what if I do not know what I want?”
Once, you had thought that you wanted a life like Jaces. A happy life, with a mother that knew how to love you and siblings that hadn’t been raised in fear of their half-sister ascending the throne, taught that their very existence was a threat to her power. But, suddenly, you felt as though you were no longer sure.
Aegon hesitates, watching you carefully. His lilac eyes appear as though they’re searching for something within your own—a hint of recognition, or reciprocation. If he found what he was looking for, then you were unaware. “Then you’ll figure it out,” he sighs, his smile not reaching his eyes. “You have all the time in the world to decide.”
There is something reassuring about his statement, making it resonate with you in a way that you hadn’t expected. You look up, holding his gaze for a heartbeat, then two, and you almost swear that you can see it—the silent invitation, the plea to delve deeper into his words, to decipher exactly what it was that he was promising you.
You have all the time in the world—all the time in the world to decide if he might ever be something you want.
Suddenly you find yourself dancing on the edge of a precipice, chest tightening as you grapple with the idea that, maybe, something more might exist between you and Aegon.
That, maybe, he had always known who he was complimenting and what bed he was slipping into.
That, for him, it had always been you.
“Aegon, I-”
He shakes his head, cutting you off before you have a chance to say something that he fears you may regret. Then, sliding the carafe between you to the side, he scoots closer. “If you plan on staying under my table,” he teases, clearing his throat, “then we need to do something about your hair.”
“I thought you said I looked exquisite?” You stay still as he starts toying with the strands, trying to swallow the tumult of your own emotions.
Aegon’s plucking various pins from your hair, tossing them to the ground. “Yes, but I also said that I prefer your hair when it’s messy. It’s more…” he sucks in a breath, unable to hide the admiration swelling in his chest when he finally exhales, “you.”
Your cheeks are burning hot, and you’re suddenly very thankful for the lack of light around you. On instinct, you almost tell him how your mother wouldn’t agree—but then you think better of it.
“You’re… generous.”
Something about your voice sounds foreign in your ears. You sound nervous—and you’re not used to feeling nervous around Aegon.
His fingers are combing through the plaits forming your updo, his brow drawn taut, framing his lilac eyes, shining bright with concentration. “Generous,” he snorts softly, nails raking lightly against your scalp as he shakes the strands loose, “I don’t hear that one often.”
“Well perhaps you’d hear it more if you weren’t such an ass,” you shoot back, slowly trying to slip back into your usual self.
“Me? An ass?” He’s untangled the final braid, scooting away from you slightly now as he presses a hand to his chest, feigning innocence. “Never.”
Now falling in loose waves, free of those incessant pins, you brush your hair over your shoulder. “Just earlier I heard you telling Lord Grover that if wisdom were measured in wrinkles that he would be named Grand Maester.” You point out, unable to mask your amusement while recalling the old man’s shocked expression.
“Is it not true?” Aegon smirks. “The man is nearly seventy, and his age certainly shows.”
“Lord Grover is only two-and-fifty, brother.”
His brows shoot up, gaping at you. “Tell me that you’re not serious!” When you nod, confirming that you are, he sucks his teeth. “Wow—how unfortunate. He looks positively dreadful for his age, then. I thought that he surely had one foot in the grave by now.”
“Aegon!” You rebuke through your own sputtered laughter, shaking your head at his insolence. “See? This is what I was talking about! If you weren’t so crude then you might get more compliments.”
Swinging his arm back to grab for the carafe, Aegon’s nose scrunches slightly. “Why bother?” He implores, a hint of mischief in his tone. “My crudeness is what you like most about me, is it not? Without it, dear sister, your life would be quite boring.”
Just before he brings the carafe to his lips, he inclines his head towards the tablecloth, emphasizing his words. A reminder—that, without him, you would still be out there, sitting miserably amongst your siblings and being forced to dance with Lord’s twice your age.
There was something more beneath the veil of humor and arrogance, however. A craving that had him tipping the carafe back, hoping that the stinging of the alcohol might numb his gnawing desire for validation—to hear you say that you yes, my life would be boring without you.
“I suppose you’re right,” the admission has him pausing, the carafe lingering against his bottom lip. “Truth be told, I had never put much thought into it before, but you do have a way of keeping life interesting, Aeg. So, I must agree that, without you, my life would be positively dreadful.” Staring at the ground in-between you, you smile before adding, “After all, who else would be able to convince me to risk our mother’s scorn and crawl beneath a table to drink wine and fix my hair?”
There’s a slight tremor in his voice when he speaks, trying to mask the warmth swelling in his chest, “You have yet to drink a single drop.”
“Then I suppose that is the next thing you’ll have to fix,” you say, sticking your hand out towards him, urging him to pass you the carafe. He hands it to you while biting back a grin.
“Careful,” he warns, “drink too much and you may end up like your drunkard brother.”
“I don't mind,” You mirror his expression, your own lips curving as you raise the glass upwards, the strong scent of the arbor red stinging your nostrils. “I quite like my drunkard brother.”
His gaze burns against your flesh as you tilt your head back, allowing the alcohol to slip over your tongue, and you suddenly realize that you are no longer standing on the edge of that precipice.
You’re falling.
a/n - i was honestly just thinking about jude and cardan hiding under a table in the cruel prince and ended up with this? so yeah, definitely inspired by jurdan content (but y'know... no coup d'etat lmao).
#aegon targaryen imagine#aegon ii targaryen imagine#hotd imagine#hotd#asoiaf#aegon targaryen imagines#aegon x reader#aegon ii targaryen#hotd imagines#hotd fanfic#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon#house of the dragon imagine#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon ii targaryen fic#aegon ii targaryen x reader#aegon ii fanfic#aegon x you#aegon targaryen one shot#targcest#targcest imagine#aegon ii#hotd aegon#aegon the second#aegon ii x reader#aegon ii x you#aegon ii fic#aegon targaryen
537 notes
·
View notes
Text
Playing with Fire
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader x Aegon II Targaryen
summary: You travel to the capital, as Prince Aegon intends to take a wife at the command of the King. Much to your surprise, more than one Targaryen prince catches your eye.
warnings: none for this part other than some sensual themes
word count: 4k
A/N: as Katherine Pierce once said, "it's okay to love them both😏"
masterlist
King Viserys announced a ball, to be held within the Red Keep, crafted for his eldest son Aegon to choose a bride. Maidens traveled from all corners of the seven kingdoms and beyond, to attend and vie for Prince Aegon’s affections. You were to be no exception, much to your displeasure.
Your family had carted you off to the capital, though you put up quite a fight. You did not wish to marry yet, let alone marry Prince Aegon. You had heard nothing but promiscuous rumors about him from ladies returning from their times in the capital.
Nearly all returned with a story about Prince Aegon; stealing to their rooms in the night or pulling them to darkened corridors only for them to leave with lips bruised from kissing and ruffled skirts. The prince was said to be quite lustful and gluttonous.
You would listen, eyes wide, as they recalled their stories with blushing cheeks and girlish giggles. One lady even showed the lovebites Prince Aegon had adorned her neck with, pushing back her hair and revealing the purple bruises that had just begun to fade to a deep jade color.
Prince Aegon was reminiscent of a wolf in your mind, or perhaps a dragon like that of his house sigil. An all-powerful creature who devoured whomever he desired.
Alas, as the only daughter of your family, it was time for you to find a husband. A prince was too enticing of an offer for your family to keep you at home. You simply would have to avoid Prince Aegon and hope he would not take a liking to you. You figured it should be easy enough to do, he would surely be preoccupied with the dozens of ladies who had come for him.
Still, the night of the ball you found yourself clinging to the corners of the room. Your mother had traveled to the capital with you and was eager to present you to the dragon prince. She had a new gown tailored for you, the soft pink color of a rose from the Reach. Your hair was done in an elaborate style, with silver pins that shone like stars in the candlelight. You slouched into the crowd, spotting her looking for you.
“Seven hells,” you murmured to yourself, ducking behind a servant carrying a tray of empty goblets. You can hear her voice above the music, calling your name. The serving girl gives you a startled look and you smile at her, apologetically.
You moved swiftly to avoid her, taking cover behind Cassandra Baratheon who is eagerly looking for Aegon. She glances down at you, blue eyes narrowing. She looks breathtakingly beautiful, clad in a sapphire-colored gown that matches her eyes, and makes her pale skin luminescent. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, spilling down her back. Cassandra has come dressed the part of a princess.
“What are you doing?” she asks, nose wrinkling. She waves the fan she holds, the fabric matching that of her gown. She barely acknowledges your presence, long neck craning over the crowd hunting for Prince Aegon.
“Hiding,” you hiss, looking around nervously. Cassandra rolls her eyes folding her fan and whacking you with it on the arm.
“Ouch!” you yelp, swatting at her.
“Get away from me!” she scolds, “you shall make me look foolish!”
You make a face at the Baratheon, sticking out your tongue, before dashing to the opposite side of the room. You had briefly resided in Storm’s End when you were a child, as a ward to the Baratheons. Needless to say, you and Cassandra did not get along well.
You heard your mother’s call once more and panicked, as the crowd began to part. Glancing to your left, you spotted a long table covered with food for grazing guests. The tablecloth was long and dusted against the floor. In your panic you dropped to your knees, and climbed under the table, fixing the tablecloth behind you.
You exhaled a deep breath as you pushed yourself back, sitting completely under the table. You could hear the crowd around you, but you were hidden. Well, almost. In your haste your slipper had come off, and it lay sticking halfway out from under the table.
Your eyes widened as you reached for it before it was pulled from your sight. Lifting the table cloth you stuck your head out to address the thief.
Prince Aemond stood inspecting your slipper, brows furrowed in confusion. He looked very regal, in an outfit such a deep, rich green it almost appeared black. Gold trimmed the cuffs of his sleeves, and down the front of his shirt. You were admiring him until his violet eye met yours.
You had heard of the accident that happened to Aemond when he was a boy but you had never met him. A deep scar marred half his face before disappearing underneath an eyepatch and reappearing through his brow. Aemond’s face twisted in confusion as he looked down at you.
“What are you doing, my lady?” he asked, voice stiff but polite. He spoke as though he could not be bothered by your foolishness.
“Please, my prince,” you said in a hushed whisper, reaching for your shoe. Aemond did not move, still perplexed. You could hear your mother’s voice, as she chatted, followed by Cassandra Baratheon’s irritating call.
“Why are you under- ooof!”
Aemond was not someone who was easily surprised. But surprise him you did. Without thinking you slammed your hand into the hard muscles of his stomach, grabbing his shirt. The prince doubled over and you pulled him under the table with you.
Aemond looked at you incredulously, shocked that he was overpowered by a maiden.
“I do apologize, my prince,” you said in earnest, hoping he would spare you his fury. You wore a desperate expression on your face, your eyes pleading. People had lost their hands entirely for putting them upon royalty, and you were rather fond of your extremities. You continue to stare at him, eyes wide, as you are crouched on your knees.
Aemond had no idea who you were, other than some noble lady. His lips parted as he watched you, his hand still holding your slipper. Your eyes dropped to it.
“May I have my shoe?” you asked, and Aemond jerked his head in a nod, but did not return your slipper. He felt very confused with the entirety of the situation. Aemond was not used to such tomfoolery.
“My lady,” he began, “why are you hiding under a table?”
You wet your lips, eyes still nervous. You swallow before answering, still nervous that the prince may drag you by your hair to the nearest black cell.
“I am hiding.”
“That is obvious,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning upwards, “from whom?”
“My mother,” you say, flinching as a shadow moves past, “she wishes to introduce me to Prince Aegon.”
Aemond hums, tucking a knee towards his chest and resting his arm atop it. He does not need further explanation. His eye roams over your form, over the dress you wear, and the layer of sweat that coats your forehead and throat from your antics. Your hairstyle is disheveled, several pins seem to be out of place, but the ones that remain sparkle in the light that sneaks through the tablecloth.
You meet his eye and feel your cheeks turn red at his attention. He is devilishly handsome, with his silky, long silver hair and purple eye that seems to peer into your soul. The eyepatch and scar only make him seem more dangerous, causing your palms to sweat nervously.
“I apologize, it was rather rude to involve you,” you tell him, glancing towards the floor.
Aemond chuckles, the sound coming from deep in his chest. You smile weakly at the sound, having not expected it.
“This is the most interesting thing that has occurred all evening,” he assures you, “unless, of course, you count Lady Tyrell’s gown mishap.”
He watches your eyes widen and mouth open at his shared gossip. Aemond smiles, happy to have engaged you. He watches as the nervousness begins to fall from your face, and your shoulders relax.
“What happened?” you ask, brows lifting in curiosity.
“One of her sleeves caught on Lord Manderly’s broach, and tore,” he tells you, watching you cover your mouth to stifle your giggles.
“Disasterous indeed,” you snicker and Aemond feels his lips tug into a smile. You laugh once more at the thought. A moment goes by, the pair of you sitting in silence.
“You are free to leave my prince,” you tell him, “I do not mean to hold you, hostage.”
“It is quite alight,” he says, earnestly, “I am enjoying the distraction.”
Aemond found this whole affair a slap in the face. Aegon was not interested in marriage, nor was he suited for it. He would rather indulge with any lady, servant, or whore he could get his hands on.
Yet their father insisted on this spectacle for Aegon to take a wife. If he did fail to do so, Aemond knew the small council was plotting for Aegon to marry their sister Helaena. Aemond did not know which plan he hated more.
A hand reached the edge of the tablecloth and your mother’s face became visible. Behind her stood a smirking Cassandra Baratheon.
“Y/N,” your mother hissed, pulling you from under the table. Embarrassment was evident in her voice and you hung your head as she scolded you.
“There, I told you Lady (Y/L/N),” Cassandra said, in a nasally voice. You scowled at her, as her face twisted in confusion as Aemond exited the table behind you. He stands holding his arms crossed behind his back. You did not realize how tall he was, he towers above you.
“She behaves like a child,” Cassandra snaps, a shrewd smile on her lips.
“You are a horrible cow, Cass,” you hiss at her, causing her to sneer. The look fades as she takes in Prince Aemond behind you and she bats her lashes, fanning herself.
“Oh, my,” your mother said, looking towards Prince Aemond, “your grace.”
She begins to curtsey but Aemond waves her off.
“No need, my lady,” he told her, offering you both a smile, “I was just delighted by your daughter’s company.” Aemond holds your slipper out to show your mother. You glance towards the floor, your bare foot hidden under your skirts.
“The lady simply lost her slipper, it rolled under the table you see,” he lies to your mother, who nods at his words. A starstruck expression is plastered on her face as she gazes up at the handsome prince. A dreamy smile plays on her mouth.
You purse your lips, fighting a smile that threatened to appear. Aemond turned to you then, violet eye gleaming, as though acknowledging the secret he kept for you.
“May I?” he asked, gesturing towards your foot. You nodded and he knelt before you. Aemond curled his hand around your ankle, lifting your foot from the floor and helping you inside your slipper.
“There,” he said, looking up at you, “no harm done.”
You hear Cassandra scoff behind you, but your mother looks pleased.
“Thank you, my prince,” you tell Aemond, as he stands. You feel fluttering in your stomach as he holds your gaze. Your ankle tingles where his hand has been.
“I do hope we run into each other again, during your stay in the capital,” he tells you.
“I should like that, very much, my prince.”
“Aemond,” he insists.
“Aemond,” you say, enjoying the sound of his name on your tongue, with no titles attached. You smile tentatively as his name lingers in the space between you.
Aemond bids your mother farewell and departs toward the other side of the room. Your mother locks her hand around your arm.
“That is not the prince we came for,” she scolds, but you can tell Aemond still has her flustered. Her face is flushed, as though she is remembering her youth. She fans herself with a gloved hand.
“You are blushing, mother,” you tease and she shoos you away, “where is Prince Aegon then?”
You glance around the room, and the only other silver-crowned head you spot is that of Princess Helaena who is engaged in a dance with her grandsire. Your mother instructed you earlier to befriend the princess, something she would surely remind you to do on the morrow as well.
“You are too late,” Cassandra calls, fanning herself once more. You roll your eyes at her eavesdropping. Ever the nosy gossip, Cassandra is.
“The prince has left for the night. I assume he found someone to entertain him,” Cassandra says, feigning that this does not bother her. You see through her though; Cassandra believes she is already married to Aegon in her mind.
You flush at her words. Targaryens seem to have insatiable appetites. You bring your gaze back to your mother who frowns.
“Do you hear how she talks of him?” you ask, “do you truly wish a man like that for me?”
Your mother scoffs at your concerns.
“He would give you a dozen children then, several grandchildren for me,” she says, patting your arm. Your eyes widen in horror at the thought. Your mother has no qualms with you marrying a lecherous man, then. She sees your expression and gives you a look of a mother’s aggravation.
“Do not look at me like that,” she tells you, “you need not be scared of the marriage bed.”
“Easy for you to say,” you tell her, sighing, “you are not a maiden.”
“I was once,” she says, tone hardening, “when the time is right, I shall tell you all you need know. It need not be frightening.”
You remember the bruises on the lady’s neck and know your mother must be lying to you. How could they be born of something pleasurable?
“May I go to bed, now that the prince is gone?” you ask and your mother sighs, before shaking her head.
“I have been without your company all evening, you shall stay a while longer.”
You stay much longer than you intend, getting lost in gossip with your mother and other lords and ladies of court. You are even able to introduce yourself to Princess Helaena, who captures your attention with her latest fascination with an insect found on the islands of the Jade Sea. She had been reading about it, and her eyes lit up when talking about it.
The hour is late when your mother leaves you to retire to the guest chambers you share. You linger behind to hear Lord Beesbury finish a tale. You find yourself wandering the Red Keep, searching for your chambers.
You pass by several goldcloaks who murmur to you, politely. You yawn, as you turn a corner, walking down a corridor lit by recently revived torches. The servants of the Keep must have been told to refresh them with all the late running festivities.
A noise catches your attention; the squeaking hinge of a door being opened followed by a giggle. The shape of a lady appears, her green dress sparkling in the light. She has red hair, and you recognize her but cannot recall her name. Your eyes widen as she smiles, hand outstretched behind her, holding onto someone.
She pulls her partner towards her, and your eyes nearly pop out of your skull. The silver hair is unmistakable. His hair is shorter than his brother, though he wears a similar outfit to that of Aemond. His shirt is untucked and you notice the laces of the lady’s corset are loose, as though restrung in haste. Prince Aegon grins as he reaches to cup the lady’s cheeks, covering her lips in a passionate kiss.
You stand frozen and unnoticed by the pair, entranced by their embrace. The lady makes a whimpering noise as Aegon’s hand slips down her throat, the other holding her waist against him. He removes his lips from hers, only to bring them to the side of her throat. Your lips part as you watch him kiss her neck as though it were her lips. The lady seems to enjoy this, tangling her hands in his short locks.
You are so hypnotized by Aegon’s actions, you don’t notice when the lady’s eyes open to a half-lidded stare. Her eyes widen as notices you observing them. The lady shrieks, pushing Aegon away from her.
“What?” he grumbles, as the lady smoothes her skirt, fleeing the scene with a reddened face. Aegon watches as she rushes by you, his violet eyes meeting yours.
Your eyes are wide, lips parted in shock, and you feel as though your feet are rooted to where you stand. Though your mind is telling you to run away, following the fleeing lady, you stare at the prince. Aegon stands shorter than his brother, his shoulders slouched in a carefree manner. His hair is wavy, the strands ending near his jaw. Like his brother, he is painfully handsome. A curse all Targaryens seem to bear.
Aegon wets his lips, which are a shining feature of his face. Reddened and plumped from kissing, begging to be kissed again. It is as though the gods molded them for kissing and kissing alone. Aegon’s mouth opens, and his brows come together, as he takes a lazy step toward you.
“I do not know you,” he says, his lips downturned into a pout. You swallow hard.
“I am Lady Y/N, my prince,” you tell him, clasping your hands in front of you, trying to stop them from fiddling nervously.
“Lady Y/N,” he says your name slowly, as though tasting it. “I did not see you at the ball.”
“I was there, my prince,” you tell him, knowing your efforts of avoiding him were in vain, “it appears I did not make an impression.”
His lips turn into a smile, revealing a row of shiny white teeth. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip drawing your eyes toward his mouth.
“I should bid you goodnight, my prince,” you say urgently, turning to leave.
“Wait!” he calls, a quickens his steps until coming to face you.
His eyes narrow, a smile still playing on his face.
“How did I not see you?” he asks, “I always remember a pretty face.”
You feel your face flush. No matter how much he frightens you, flirtation with a prince is not something you are used to.
“I do not know, my prince,” you tell him, flustered by his compliment.
He sinks his teeth into his lower lip as though enjoying how you squirm beneath his gaze.
“Come have a drink with me,” he offers, “and we can review your evening, and why we did not make each other’s acquaintance.”
Insatiable indeed. The prince was just with a maiden, and yet here he stands, planning his next course. He holds out a hand to you, a glimmer of mischief in his eye. You can picture the ladies who stood in your shoes before you, who said yes to him. Who indulged him in the pleasures of the known world. You could do so too if you so desired. His voice is inviting, a sensual caress.
“May I speak freely, my prince?” you ask and he nods, curiously.
“I am quite frightened.”
Aegon’s head snaps back at that.
“Frightened?”
You nod.
He takes a step back from you, hands held out in surrender.
“There is no need to be frightened, my lady,” he tells you, “I wish you no harm, only the pleasure of your company.”
Your breath comes out shakily.
“I do not wish you to bed me,” you tell him, rushing out the words, “I do not wish you to take my maidenhead.”
Aegon’s eyes go wide as saucers and he releases a laugh, before shushing you.
“My lady, we are in a corridor,” he says, looking around as though you’ve made a foolish assumption. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish.
“I have heard stories,” you tell him and he frowns, though there is amusement in his eyes.
“Oh, you have?”
“Yes,” you say, growing annoyed with him, “that you lure helpless maidens into your bed, OR any place that suits you.” You gesture to the corridor you stand in. A bed, a wall, probably on dragonback. It likely did not matter.
Aegon laughs again, a pink blush dusting his cheeks. No one has spoken to him of his reputation so directly before, outside of the members of his family.
“How lustful of me,” he says, a grin stretching from ear to ear, “you paint me as such a wanton creature Lady Y/N.”
You raise your brows. Aegon stands before you, unashamed. It must be so easy for a prince, to be a man in this world. He is so relaxed with the conversation about his promiscuity.
“You just had a lady in your company,” you accuse, “and now you look at me like that?”
“Like what?” he asks, leaning against the stone wall, as though the conversation was entirely natural to him. You laugh, breaking his gaze, before looking at him once more. He raises a brow, eyes still half lidded, intrigued.
“As though you are a man starving, who has happened upon a feast,” you say, laughing at the ridiculousness of it gesturing to the space between you.
Aegon gives you a once-over with his eyes before answering. A tingle rolls down your spine as his eyes take in every inch of you. You feel naked under his gaze.
“Perhaps I am famished,” he tells you, and your entire body feels like it is on fire. He is very good at this, and you suddenly realize what makes women want to crawl into bed with him. If this is anything like what pleasure awaits the marriage bed, perhaps your mother was right.
Aegon wets his lips when you do not answer, tilting his head against the wall, and exposing his neck to you. You watch the apple of his throat bob up and down and have a sudden urge to place a kiss on it. You roll your shoulders back, steadying yourself.
“Yes well,” you stutter, trying to find words, “perhaps there are leftovers from the feast.”
“Are you in the capital long?’ he asks suddenly changing the subject. You blink, the room suddenly seeming uncomfortably warm.
“Yes, my prince, at least-”
“Good,” he interrupts, pushing off the wall and walking towards you. He comes to stand face to face with you, so close you can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the sweet wine on his breath from the feast and something else; something rich and smoky that makes you want to bury your face in his chest and inhale.
“I shall have that drink with you,” he says, eyes locked on yours until the final word he speaks. Only then does he drop his eyes to your parted lips, before bringing them back to your eyes. He flashes you a smile, before continuing his leave in the direction you came.
“Goodnight, Y/N,” he calls and you turn, confused by his exit. There was something in the air between you that promised something more. The tension gnawing at you. Aegon has begun walking backward slowly, so he could face you, a smirk on his lips, as he takes in your expression. You feel your thoughts are not safe around him.
“Goodnight, my prince,” you manage to choke out, head spinning from the interaction.
“Aegon,” he insists.
“Aegon,” you repeat and he tilts his head back, as though enjoying hearing you speak his name.
Then he turns on his heel and is gone.
When you finally make it to your chambers, the sky has begun to lighten with the promise of imminent sunrise. You lay in bed, thoughts racing and heart pounding. Your dreams are restless, filled with dragon princes with silver hair and lavender eyes.
#aemond targaryen#aegon ii targaryen#aegon x reader#aegon imagine#aegon targaryen#aemond fic#aemond one eye#aemond x reader#aemond the kinslayer#aemond imagine#aegon ii#aegon x you#aegon x y/n#aegon targaryen x you#aegon targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen imagine#aegon ii targaryen x y/n#aegon ii targaryen x you#aegon ii targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x female reader
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
Based on the prompt “is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?” Where’s it from? Idk. I just barely remember the prompt itself.it just screamed Aegon to me and this shit popped out.
The day had been long and tiering for your feet that throbbed with ache within your uncomfortable shoes. You were more then thankful of the fact that the day was finally drawing to a close and that you could let your guard down within the confines of your chamber; Indulging yourself with prospects of having a proper soak in the bath to ease the tension in your muscles.
Your body pleaded you for rest, your eyes had begun to weigh heavy with fatigue and your mind was slowly cloaked over by a blanket of fog, all of it gradually piling up on one another within the time it took you to enter your chamber no less. So much so that you almost didn’t account for the fact that there was a human shaped figure upon your bedsheets until you moved away from the now locked door, locking eyes.
You sharply inhaled the breath within your throat, clasping your hand over your chest before addressing the very much naked male. “Aegon, is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?” The prince simply shrugged, acting as though this was quite the common occurrence within the Keep when it really wasn’t. “I overheard that you were having a bad day and I merely wished to surprise you, my dearest.” He claimed, smirking when he noticed the effort you put in keeping your eyes above a certain level of his bare body.
“Though it seems to me that you’re trying to protect what semblance of honour I have left by averting your gaze from the…less descent aspects.” Aegon continued as he removed himself from your bed and walked behind you so he could press his body against your clothes back as rest his head on your shoulder, his breath skimming the lobe of your ear and neck, causing the goosebumps to arise. “You’re allowed to look you know…but you’re encouraged to touch as well if it relives you of the stress.” He whispers hotly, his hands clambering up your arms and rest on your shoulders as they began to knead the aching muscles there, causing you to groan.
“What’s your motive Aegon, your not normally this…giving.” You asked as his calloused fingers began to massage the base of your neck. You hear him huff as he moved to stand in front of you, his fingers now toying with the hairs on your neck as he leaned his forehead against yours. “I’m trying to show my appreciation for everything that you’ve done for me and here you are questioning my motives.” Aegon’s observant eyes gauging even the most minute expressions your body subconsciously gave in terms of enjoyment.
“I’m hurt y/n, truly you wound your prince. Though I’m not entirely against you making up for it through more…intimate means.” He purrs seductively, gently cusping your jaw in his hand, running his thumb back forth across it. To feel Aegon’s bare body pressed up against yours brought forth a feeling from the pit of your stomach; One you couldn’t quite describe as either lust nor disgust. It wasn’t in between either; His body was beautifully sculptured from porcelain and the heat coming off of him only made you yearn for sleep even more, though preferably within the residency of his arms.
As tempting as Aegon was trying to come across, you didn’t feel it within you to indulge his sexual fantasies tonight, already having exhausted yourself enough as it is and peeled yourself away from him to your side of the bed before starting to undress yourself by removing your shoes first. “As nice as that sounds my prince but I fear I maybe too tired to indulge you in those sorts of physical practices. I wish for sleep more so then anything you could offer.” You offhandedly told him, tucking yourself beneath the covers after successfully changing into your nightwear, too tired to care about the audience of one you had stare into your back.
“That tired huh?” Aegon asked, tucking himself next to you under the covers. You hummed, thankful that he has stopped his advances for the night, just this once. “Would you allow me to hold you as you drift off?” It was strange to hear him ask but you didn’t have the heart to interrogate him further and instead burrow your head into his pale chest, allowing yourself to drown in his warmth as a sigh of relief escapes your lips. Aegon chuckles, bringing his arms over you in means of pulling you closer so that you were flushed against his side, pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his against it so you were face to face. “Good night, dearest. I shall be here when you awake.”
#hotd fluff#hotd fic#hotd x reader#hotd imagine#hotd imagines#hotd x you#hotd fanfic#house of the dragon x you#house of the dragon fic#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon x reader#house of the dragon imagine#house of the dragon imagines#aegon x you#aegon x reader#aegon targaryen x you#aegon targaryen imagine#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon ii x reader#Aegon ii x you#Aegon ii imagines#Aegon ii imagine#Aegon ii fanfic#Aegon ii fic#Aegon targaryen imagines#Aegon targaryen fanfic#aegon ii targaryen x reader#Aegon targaryen fic#Aegon ii targaryen imagines#Aegon ii targaryen imagine
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐖𝐇𝐘'𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇?
modern!aegon ii targaryen x reader
rating: 18+, minors dni
summary: reader thinks aegon can never be more than a one night stand, and aegon is intent on getting her to give him a chance.
word count: 2.5k
tags: modern!au, smut, drunk!aegon having sex with sober!reader, voyeurism, exhibitionism, tity sucking, pussy eating, p in v sex, unprotected sex
note: i very much write fanon!aegon, not the canon, show!version.
sidenote: is this lowkey inspired by my irl situationship who wont quit calling me every time he gets drunk?? maybe
it was a regular friday night for aegon. his frat was throwing a big party, and he had organised everything down to the last detail. he had a reputation to maintain after all, known affectionately as the king of parties of dragonstone university. he had already drunk his own weight in alcohol, flirted (and then proceeded to get handsy) with a couple of girls but he’d been too distracted to follow through with any of them.
his mind instead wandered back to a couple of weeks ago, at another party, where he’d met y/n. she’d been chatting to cregan stark, wearing a little black dress that hugged her in the best way imaginable. he knew, looking at her enchanting laugh at stark’s dumb joke, he had to have her. putting on his most charming smile, he’d approached her.
she’d been wary of him because of his reputation around campus (who wouldn’t be) but after a few disarming jokes as his fingertips grazed the side of her thighs, he’d managed to convince her to give him a chance.
drunken steps were then taken back to her dorm room, and they’d had what aegon could only call amazing sex.
now hold on, you have to believe him when he says amazing, alright? he’d slept with too many women to count, after a while the nights blended to the point that he couldn’t much differentiate between what having sex with each of them had felt like. so, when one such night stood out for him? it meant it had met a very high bar indeed. after all, he thought, he didn’t go around spending the night at every girl’s place.
he'd thus expected a little warmer treatment come morning and was rudely shocked at her attempting to throw him out. still, wearing his jeans in such a hurry that its button and fly was undone, unlaced shoes, bare-chested as he held his rumpled shirt in his hand, he’d had the audacity to offer her a lazy grin and promise “i’ll call you.”
“please” she’d snorted with an amused look, “everyone knows aegon targaryen is not the type to call.” taking no note of his offended expression, she’d shut the door in his face.
he’d been wondering about those words ever since. sure, she hadn’t been wrong but, hey, he’d meant the lie this time! with tits that great, ass that perfect, why wouldn’t he want a repeat of last night? he’d thought to himself.
determined to prove her wrong, he’d asked around the frat house and found out her number. but as his hand had hovered over the call button, something had stopped him. she’d caught him spot on, he realised. he wasn’t a relationship guy, and she wasn’t expecting the relationship-thing with him. perhaps it was best he left her alone.
he’d done just that, at least while sober. drunk aegon on the other hand, found it much easier to pick up the phone and dial her number.
“who is this?” there was panic and sleep in her voice, having picked up an unknown number at 2 in the morning “sweetheart! you picked up” he’d grinned, words slurring. he could practically hear the eyeroll on the other end. “aegon… to what do i owe the pleasure?” “i was just missing you.” he sighed. “sure.” nothing in her voice indicated that she believed him.
“i’m actually not far from your dorm. how about i come up with a bottle of tequila and we can… catch up?” he suggestively added. “it’s 2:14 am…. on a tuesday.” she pointed out, but her words didn’t seem to mean much to him as he replied, “so?” an exasperated sigh could be heard over the phone, “good night, aegon.” click. he stared down on the iphone in his hand in disbelief, she’d hung up on him.
he decided maybe he’d come out too strong, so the next time he texted first. he’d stared at the text for a couple of minutes, and when he saw that she was online but hadn’t bothered to text him back, he’d walked over to the nearest girl and proceeded to make out with her in the bathroom. until he was interrupted with a buzzing in his pocket, “just a minute” he’d mumbled against her lips, unbothered by her disappointed expression as he fished for the phone in his pocket hurriedly.
he saw that y/n had finally replied to his ‘u up?’ with a ‘depends.’ his brow furrowed at her response in confusion, he typed back ‘on what’.
the notification arrived with a ping. her response read ‘are u drunk?’. something told him instinctively to lie. he typed out a no, but once the message sent, he realised it had autocorrected to ‘yo’. he corrected it to a no and sent again, only to find the same mistake committed again. it was only after a string of typos had been sent, did he blink and realise autocorrect wasn’t to blame at all, his damn fingers just refused to cooperate with his inebriated brain.
ping. after receiving the string of nonsense, she finally replied ‘i got my answer.’ “aegon?” the girl in front of him looked at him impatiently, only to have him grab the handle of the bathroom door, leaving with a quick “gotta go”. he immediately called up y/n as he walked out of the party, but the call went straight to voicemail. all four times.
thus, every night aegon had gotten drunk since, he found himself being distracted by thoughts of y/n, frustrated at her refusing to engage with him.
that night too, once the clock on the wall started to look to him as if it were melting off and his feet seemed to stumble wherever he walked, his brain suddenly thought showing up to her dorm was the best idea ever.
reaching her door, he ran a hand through his hair before knocking. no response. impatient, he loudly whined “y/n! c’mon, open up!” met with more silence. he whipped his phone out, blinking at the bright screen as he concentrated to make sure it was without typos, he sent her a text, ‘m 0utsidee’. he pounded with his fist on the door one more time, before a door opened, but not the one he was standing in front of.
three doors down, y/n stood against her doorframe in her small black shorts, red tank top riding up slightly to reveal skin just above them. “wrong fucking door, idiot.” aegon grinned as he walked towards her. “you’re lucky baela’s out of town for the weekend, otherwise she would have kicked your ass for banging on her door like that.”
ignoring her, he pouted as he leaned his head against her door frame, looking too much like a wounded puppy. y/n felt a tug at her stomach at how undeniably cute he looked. “why don’t you ever pick up my calls?”
“why’d you only ever call me when you’re high?” she asked instead of answering. “what?” he mumbled, confused. “high….why’d you only ever call me when you’re high?” she slowly repeated, as if talking to a two-year-old. “i’m not interested in someone who needs to be drunk to call me. i don’t want to be your booty call.” she shrugged. his lower lip jutted out further at her response, crease appearing between his brow. oh, gods, y/n found herself thinking, how could someone manage to look this pathetic and this cute at the same time.
“you’re not a booty call.” he groaned in protest. after all, there were enough girls at that party willingly throwing themselves at him, he could have been with anyone, and yet… it was her door his drunken steps had taken the path of.
“go home, aegon. it was a one-time thing. it’s not happening again.” she insisted. her words seemed to have no effect on him, as he placed a hand around her waist and pulled her closer to him, close enough for her to feel his breath on her face. he bent down to her ear and whispered, his words slurring, “let me show you all the reasons that this should be more than just a ‘one-time-thing’.”
he pressed his lips to hers, softly at first. she didn’t immediately kiss him back, but the feeling of his lips on hers felt more intoxicating than whatever it was that she could smell off his breath, and she found her lips moving against his within seconds. he bit her lower lip playfully, at her response. she parted her lips to allow him to slide his tongue past them. his hand, meanwhile, slid under the material of her tank and travelled upwards, thumb pressing against her nipple as he squeezed her breast. breaking from the kiss for a second, he smirked at her, “didn’t bother wearing a bra to greet me?”. “i was preparing for bed!” she hissed in response. “excuses” he shook his head at her, teasing.
with his hand he lifted her tank to reveal her bare breasts. “aegon!” she attempted to keep her voice low, lest her neighbours wake up to the scene, “we’re in the middle of the hallway, anyone can walk in!” the idea of someone catching them only made it all the more exciting for aegon, “relax.” he told her with a laidback smile.
before she could protest, his head dipped and he captured her nipple in his mouth. a moan escaped her lips at the feeling, and she stumbled back, her back hitting her doorframe. aegon continued his tongue’s assault on her sensitive nipple, one hand gripping her waist to keep her in place, the other reaching behind her to squeeze her ass. her hand held the nape of his neck, as her head was thrown back in pleasure at his actions. she whined when he abruptly stopped.
he kneeled down and his fingers reached up, pulling her shorts and panties down her legs, causing a shiver to go up her spine. chewing on her lower lip in nervousness she weakly said, “we should go inside” but she couldn’t deny that the thought of getting caught made her even more wet. there was a hint of recklessness and danger in his eyes, “where’s your sense of adventure?”. he threw the clothes inside her ajar door, then lifted one of her legs over his shoulder. she audibly gasped as she felt his tongue upon her already soaking pussy.
“aegon…ah!” her hand gripped his hair as his tongue played tricks on her core, her eyes rolling back till she could see stars. his grip on her thigh remained firm, and she was certain she would be waking up with a bruise. “close… so…close…” she had begun to say after a few minutes, feeling her muscles tense, when he stopped.
he stood up and started to undo his pants, freeing his length. he grabbed her by the waist, letting the tip of his cock tease her folds. she was already moaning for him, “want me to take you right here? make you scream my name, till your neighbours come checking?” she swallowed at the thought, lust overtaking her eyes.
“let’s do one thing.” he smiled as if he’d struck upon the most perfect idea, but the gleam in his eyes told y/n it couldn’t be anything good. he turned her around by her waist, hand coming to her front to rub her clit as he whispered in her ear, “you see that door?”. she knew he could only mean the door to the elevator which was the way to enter her dormitory floor. she managed a nod in response, unable to form words as his fingers pressed down on her so ruthlessly. “keep looking at it.” he commanded as he grabbed her hips back to push his cock inside her. “aegon!” she gasped at the feeling.
he entered her completely in one go, pulling out punishingly slow before pushing back in. he continued speaking as he impaled her, “someone’s gonna walk in any moment now…” he teased, “…and see you in this mess… see you bent over, taking me from behind…like a whore” the thought embarrassed her, yes, but what embarrassed her more was that she found herself almost wanting it to come true.
“even when they walk in, i won’t stop.” he threatned, his thrusts becoming faster. “you’ll be on display for everyone to see… to see how well you take my cock.” he gathered her hair in his fist in one hand, and she felt him pulling it lightly. “yes, oh, yes!” she found herself moaning, eyes intently trained on the door. “you’d like that? of course, you would, little slut.” she only whimpered in response, his words bringing her closer and closer to her edge. “you’d love to have everyone see just how well you receive a ‘booty call’” he chuckled. she could feel herself going weak at the knees at his pace and dirty talk.
“aegon… i—ah!” pleasure spread over every inch of her body, as she came all over his cock. he continued to thrust into her, chasing his own orgasm, until he emptied inside of her with a grunt.
her legs felt wobbly as he pulled out of her, turning her back around to face him. “next time i call—” he panted as he spoke, exerted from their activities, “—pick up.” she smirked, in contrast to his dominating actions mere moments ago, his words now sounded more like a pleading request; one she felt gracious enough to grant him as his juice and her own dripped down her legs. “i will. promise.”
his pearly white teeth showed as he grinned at her response, pleased. “oh, but i’m not nearly done with you for the night, just yet.” he lifted her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. he shut the door behind them as he walked back inside her dorm.
the next morning, she didn’t kick him out like the last time. she let him linger around her bed, aegon placing a trail of kisses down her body as a manner of greeting her good morning. he was needy and showed it by being as tactile with her as could be. yet she felt comfortable with his touches, allowing herself to lie with him for hours, their legs tangled. even as she bid him goodbye from her door, she had to practically tear her lips off his, neither able to get enough of the other.
she felt content as she’d shut her door behind her, leaning against it as she thought back to the night that had passed, when her phone started to ring. she picked it and smiled as she saw the name being displayed, ‘aegon (don’t pick up)’.
“see i am the type who calls. a lot” she laughed at his words through the phone, able to hear him standing right outside the door. “and also the type who does breakfast. what do you say, brunch in an hour?”
#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon x reader#aegon ii fanfic#aegon ii x reader#aegon ii x you#aegon x y/n#aegon x you#hotd fics#hotd imagine#house of the dragon x reader#aegon ii smut#aegon ii imagine#aegon targaryen smut#aegon targaryen imagine#hotd smut#aegon ii targaryen x reader#aegon ii x y/n#modern!aegon x reader#modern!aegon targaryen#fics i wrote
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Aemond, to Ser Cole: I don’t give a shit about tourneys.
Aemond, winning every single tourney just to consecrate reader as Queen of love and beauty: a toast to the most beautiful Queen of love and beauty.
Aegon: Yeah, slay Queen!
Aemond, ready to kill Aegon:
#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd x reader#hotd x you#hotd x y/n#house of the dragon x reader#house of the dragon x you#house of the dragon x y/n#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond x reader#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond targaryen#aegon targaryen#aegon ii#aegon ii targaryen#aegon x reader#aegon x you#aegon x y/n#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon targaryen x you
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
Of Old Stones and Sighs
Aegon x Targaryen!reader (Rhaenyra's daughter & heir)
Wordcount: 1,800
Tags: happy family times, dad Aegon, fluff, smut
As your mother Rhaenyra ascends the throne, you and your husband Aegon leave for Dragonstone and build your family there.
New Year's Requests Masterlist
Dragonstone was not the place of your birth, but that of your consecration. It was the place you had become a woman, claiming one of the wild dragons dwelling on the Dragonmont, and the place where you had nested once you had been round with your first child.
Dragonstone was your inheritance, as Queen Rhaenyra's eldest daughter and named heir. You thrived between the old stones, safe in the confines of the ancient fortress, as did your husband.
"It will serve you well to raise your family," Rhaenyra had said as she had granted you leave from the Red Keep. "It is our ancient seat after all, it is only appropriate that the future of our dynasty is born there."
The young queen had kept her vows and promises when she had acceded the throne after King Viserys had passed, and Aegon had felt the weight of the world lift from his shoulders as she had been crowned.
It had taken effort, a public statement from him and renewed oaths from all the Lords of Westeros for all to accept that a ruling queen would now sit the Iron Throne.
Aegon was perfectly content by your side as prince consort, and you were sure he would thrive as much as king consort one day.
He was not made to wear the crown, only support the woman that would one day have to bear it. Loving you was easy as the tide, and your trust in him only made him flourish in his role as consort.
He thrived in the wings, the silent support act in the hellish play that was the Targaryen dynasty. Power made him tremble and cower, but he knew you would thrive as queen, benevolent and responsible.
In the meantime, as your mother ascended the throne and made decrees after decrees, building a new order as she had promised, you furthered the Targaryen line.
Your fourth child had been born a few moons ago, and it filled Aegon's heart with infinite joy to know that your children would grow up together on this island, run on its beaches and learn to fly over the Dragonmont.
Aegon spent his days on the ashy beaches, chasing small footprints on the warm, wet sand. Laughter often echoed in the bay among the cries of young dragons learning to fly under guidance.
When the sun set behind the rumbling volcano, he would steer his flock of children toward the fortress for a dinner of roasted meats and vegetables, wiping sauce from soft chins and suffering sticky kisses to his cheeks.
The young man thrived in the simple, joyous matter of raising princes and princesses. Love was easy, he discovered with you, when it was honest and void of any agenda.
The dragon island was peaceful at night. The ancient seat of House Targaryen was majestic, from the outside and the inside both. There was something almost ethereal to its atmosphere, and Aegon could almost believe he was somewhere else than Westeros.
It had been his home for the past few years, but it had never lost its magic. He was relieved that his wife and he would be raising their children here rather than the Red Keep—he had erupted in uncontrollable, joyous laughter when it had been announced that the newly wedded royal couple would be awarded Dragonstone.
When you came back to the chambers you shared with your husband, unwilling to submit to the tradition of keeping separate quarters, you were surprised to see Aegon was still awake.
He was sitting in the middle of your shared bed, naked as was his habit, and wrapped in a luxurious robe that fell around his shoulders gracefully and did nothing to hide his glorious beauty.
"I thought the children would have worn you out," you said with laughter in your voice, and Aegon's answer was a suggestive smirk and a raised brow.
The sheets were pooling around him like waves, and his wavy hair flowing freely around his face made him look regal. When you entered the room it seemed to you that he was waiting like a pearl in a shell, yours for the plucking.
Under his intent violent gaze, you walked to your vanity, intent on brushing out your hair and redoing the braid your babe had been playing with while nursing.
You sat in front of the mirror and combed your fingers through the thick tress, undoing the twists and revealing the waves it had formed.
"I am not so tired that I cannot take care of my wife," he finally said as he rose, pulling his robe off and draping it over the back of a chair.
You shivered as he sat behind you, his lips trailing a path from the crook of your neck to your shoulder, pushing your nightgown aside to reveal your soft skin.
"You spent the whole day caring for our children... shouldn't I be the one to take care of you now?" you answered in a hum, and your musical breath was swallowed by a gentle kiss of his.
"We'll take care of one another," Aegon replied playfully, his hand slipping between the lapels of your silky robe, curling around the curve of your thighs, his fingers teasing the place where your love for him burned.
“I've missed you today,” you said in a sigh as your head fell back against his shoulder, shivering again when his mouth sucked a delicate bruise behind your ear.
You twisted in his embrace and melted into his next kiss, surrendering to him. As he curled his tongue into your mouth, kissing you with passion, Aegon reached for the knot that kept your robe fastened at your waist.
You sighed into his mouth as he pulled the garment aside and was quick to trace the curve of your heavy breasts, trailing exploratory fingers around your curves. For a long moment he enjoyed the suppleness of your skin, the softness of your stomach where still lingered the proof that you had carried his children.
As you both sat naked in front of the vanity, you looked at each other in the mirror and the blush on your cheeks was the loveliest he had ever seen. Your large breasts were peaked, your skin there rosier than the rest of you, and between your thighs was nestled a sight Aegon would never grow tired of, pink folds hidden by a patch of hair.
He could not help himself, he had to worship at the altar of your beauty, and from his lips fell kisses after kisses that he pressed on your skin—in the crook of your neck, in the valley between your shoulder blades, but soon he found himself growing impatient.
You laughed quietly as Aegon pushed you up from the seat and bent you over gently, your hands resting atop the vanity and your bottom pressing flush with his stomach. You were wet against his skin and it made urgency build in the pit of his abdomen.
He was aware of the throbbing heat at his own core, pulsing with blood where he pressed hard against you. Soon he was teasing you, sliding his length along your folds as you rocked up against him with abandon.
Your eyes didn't leave one another other in the mirror, his hands exploring all he could reach, from the curve of your waist to the cradle of your hips, and you loved the way he touched you, without restraint or shame.
Kissing down your neck as you sighed and panted in delight, he reached around until he found your nub. Your head spun when one of his fingers dipped between your folds and drew little circles at your core. His other hand was pulling greedily on one of your breasts, rolling the supple orb into his palm, relishing in the way your body was straining for him, your hips arching toward him.
Soon he was angling his own hips and guiding the curve of your spine, pushing into you, your body opening for him and molding around him.
“Aegon,” you moaned as he started a slow, deep rhythm that had the both of you panting and shaking. You dropped your head between your shoulders and allowed yourself to surrender to the blissful sway of his hips.
He went slowly, barely moving, allowing you to rock back against him and guide the speed and depth at which you took him inside yourself. He was straining from the restraint but he held on, watching intently as you unraveled under him.
“I longed for this all day,” he groaned and your gaze snapped back to his, the reflection of his violent eyes drawing you in.
His pleasure curled at the base of his spine as he was caught into a furious whirlwind, unable to stop the increasingly rapid rhythm of his hips as you held his gaze.
He felt as though he was caught in a raging storm, the vice of your cunt around his cock pulling him under, and you found yourself caught in a similar wind. You could not answer him, your voice breaking in sweet moans and desperate gasps that he echoed.
“My love,” he gasped, arching his back and gripping your hips tighter.
You had never felt more of a woman that in this instant, worshiped and loved, cherished and desired, and you knew this was where you belonged. Under his wandering hands, the marks left on your kin by the fruit of his love burned.
“Aegon,” you whimpered, shaking in his hold. “Aegon, I love you.”
He pulled you further up against him, stepping forward until you were caught between the hot line of his body and the hard surface of the vanity.
“I love you. My darling, my wife... my queen,” he answered, and your hips seized as your core clenched tighter around him. You could only sob as you felt yourself stumble close to the edge, so close tears pearled at the corner of your eyes.
“Let me feel you, my love, let me bring you over the edge,” he pleaded, sounding more unhinged and frantic than ever.
Your mouth opened in a silent wail and Aegon could not restrain himself anymore. He snapped, thrusting into your sharply and his fingers pressing desperate circles to your pearl.
You raked your nails over the top of the vanity as you cried out your release, shaking in your husband's hold, and it pulled him over the edge. He spilled into your with a drawn-out moan, his release so intense that it made his head spin.
Aegon murmured his love into the back of your neck as you panted together, the last waves of your pleasure coursing through your joined bodies. Outside, the sea was running along the shore of the ancient fortress, encasing you safely into its darkness.
Dividers by @saradika
Aegon taglist: @f4ll-for-you @arcielee @annikin-im-panicin @leptitlu @levis-butterfingers @merovingianprincess @ainandra @flrboyd @fan-goddess @aphroditeisamilf @darylandbethfanforever9 @valleyof-goldenlilies @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @apollonshootafar @helaenaluvr @neenieweenie @heavenly1927 @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @apollonshootafar @sunphyre @girlwith-thepearlearring @alanadetigy @travelingmypassion @targaryenmoony @burninggracesandbridges @amiraisgoingthruit @maidmerrymint @ipostwhtifeel @vixemi @xitsemm @fullmoonworshipper
#house of the dragon#hotd#fanfiction#hotd fanfic#hotd fanfiction#hotd smut#aegon ii targaryen#aegon#aegon fanfiction#aegon fanfic#aegon smut#aegon x oc#aegon x reader#aegon x you#tom glynn carney
818 notes
·
View notes
Text
“My Dragon's Mother” [Prince!Aegon!Targaryen X Pregnant!Wife!Reader]
Warnings: Incest - Erotic lactation - domesticity - pregnancy kink - offensive language
Summary: Aegon is obsessed with his wife during her second pregnancy and he's trying hard to keep his hands to himself after she reach the final stages of pregnancy.
You were reading peacefully in your own chambers sitting in your chair in front of your large mirror. Suddenly you hear the sound of your doors being opened.from the intoxicating scent that invaded the room You knew he was your husband.
You put your book aside on the table in front of you then you looked in the mirror in front of you to see him standing there smiling at you. you smiled back to him.
He get closer and closer, then kneel behind your chair and wrapped his arms around your pregnant belly.
“How does my goddess feeling this morning?” he whispered in your ear.
“There is no fat goddess”. you replied and moved your head slightly to look at his handsome face.
“Fat?” He raised his eyebrows and looked at you with a curious look.. “My goddess carrying my child and says a ridiculous things about herself! ”.
Before you could respond, he tucked his face into the side of your neck his arms were still tight around your belly. You could feel his breath on your neck.
“Some satisfaction?” you chuckled. he smiled softly he started kissing the side of your neck, your jaw, and below your ear. Your sensitive potential.
You felt like you were in heaven your husband's gentle kisses and touches make your body tremble. His hands moved from your belly to your chest and began to feel and squeeze your swollen breasts..
“Aeg- what you're doing?” you replied with a short chuckle.
“Make my own goddess feel relaxed”. His tone was sexy and low. you felt like they were starting to leak..He smiled seductively and nibbled your earlobe slowly. You let out a soft moan when you felt his teeth scratch your skin.
He got up from his place and he was now in front of you and knelt down in front of your chair again. He smiled at you seductively. That smile of his is like a spear that pierced your heart.
He placed his head and hands on your belly “I can't wait to meet you my sweet girl or boy”. He murmured sweetly while you smiled and tangled your fingers in his short silver hair.
You chuckle and said “Oh? is this so? ”. he smiled at you and kissed your belly.
“Tell me, how do you feel while you carrying dragon's child?” he chuckled.
“Hmm Horrible”
“Horrible??”He raised his eyebrows and looked at you.. “Is this a lie, my dear wife?”
You chuckled and nodded. he smiled widely then he rose to kiss your lips softly. Your husband's kisses were usually hot and rough but he was considerate of your pregnancy and its progress that's why he didn't want to cause you things that he would regret later.
You two stayed like that for a while, kissing each other and he caresses your body and your belly in particular.However, suddenly your moments are interrupted by a pair of silverlyheads entering the room.
Aegon pulled away from you to look at the twin.
“Mummy! we had chosen the child egg! ”. They said in sync and ran towards you and their father.
“Eh? Without us? ”Aegon replied to tease them.
“I went with them” Aemond's voice broke through the conversation as he leaned against the door frame.
Aegon looks at his brother with soft smilie “Thank you brother”.
Aemond smiled back and nodded “How are you today, sister?”. he said to you.
“Pretty good Aemond thank you”. you replied with a wide smilie.
“Daddy, uncle aemond helped us to choose the egg. It was golden and shiny It resembles sunfyre scales”. Jaenaera said.
“Oh? Sunfyre scales really? ” Aegon chuckled .
They nodded. While you smiled and said to them, “Then let’s hope the dragon looks like Sunfyre too.”
Aegon looked at you and smiled “Oh? Do you want to replace me with this child?”.
“I didn't say I would replace you, my love”.
“We also chose the baby's name”. The twin interrupt your conversation with your husband.
“Also?!” Aegon can't help but laugh at his children.
“Yes! I will name him Aemon” Jaehaerys replied.
“Hey! We agreed on Viserys like grandfather's name! ”. Jaenaera protest.
“No!”
“Yes! ”
“No! ”
“Oh yes! ”
You chuckled at the sight of the children arguing over their sibling's name. The two were having such a lively argument regarding their sibling's potential name that they were almost shouting when they spoke.
It was quite amusing to just watch them at this moment, they were two adorable children that were having such a small argument over the name of their sibling to be.
But at least it seemed that they were decided upon the idea of having a brother.
“I've already chosen a name ” you chuckled.
Aegon chuckled alongside his wife as she spoke. She had already chosen a name for the child and she seemed satisfied with her decision. It certainly made sense that she had already decided upon a name for their future child herself. He spoke to her now in a soft and caring tone.
“So you have already chosen out a name for our future child, that is great. It is a good thing that you are already so prepared.”
“W-What! but muuuummmmmmyyy! ”
“What did you choose sister?” Aemond replied.
“Aegon”
“Yes sweetheart? ”he replied.
You chuckled..“His name will be Aegon”.
He was indeed correct in his prediction, she did choose his name. He could not resist the urge to smirk as she had chosen his very own name for the unborn child that she carried with her.
He spoke teasingly. "My own name? You really chose Aegon as the child's name?"
You smiled and nodded. Aemond rolled his eyes and sighed wryly “Aegon? really sis? Why isn't Aemond? I can't believe you chose our stupid brother's name”
“Excuse me? Our stupid brother is my husband”you replied to aemond.
Aegon can't help but smilies and hugs from behind and wrapped his arms around your belly again and placed kisses on your neck.
“You two!”Aemond scolds you both and covers children's eyes. you and aegon chuckles while aemond takes your children outside “Come on guys, it looks like your parents are busy”.
After you were left alone Your husband raised the level and started biting your neck and ear.. You groaned lightly. “Ah- aeg! what you think yourself doing? ”.
He smiled slyly then he proceeded to pull down the straps of your silk nightgown to reveal your swollen chest in front of him.
“Aegon! "
He smiled and looked at you.. You knew this evil look very well.
“No! " you checked.
“Oh yes honey”. he replied.
“Aeg! ”.
He quickly pounced your breasts and his mouth began to abuse your nipples.. you can't help but moaned loudly.. “Aeg-”
“I am just enjoying my sweet wife, that is all.”
He spoke back with humor, continuing his licks and bites her swollen breasts. He was enjoying it immensely, he knew she was enjoying it as well given her reactions to him touching her, and he had no intention of stopping at all.
“Little Aegon won't share your breasts with me”.
“Aegon!”.
“This is true, my sweet child, are you listening? Your mother's tits are mine.. all of them.. even.. ”.
“Even what? ”
“This”.
He started sucking on your nipples vigorously, drawing out every drop of milk was there. “AH- You are a big pervert ”. you moaned loudly and you ran your fingers through his hair.
He checked “I know”.
– Taglist ♡ : @callsignwidow @xitsemm @saltytidalwavetyphoon @khaleesihel @credulouskhaleesi
#aegon ii targaryen#hotd#house of the dragon#aegon headcanons#hotd fanfic#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon x reader#aegon fanfic#aegon the second#tom glynn carney#tom glynn carney x reader#hotd2#hotd s2#aegon targaryen ii x you#aegon x you
478 notes
·
View notes
Text
You Can Do It
Aegon II Targaryen x Reader (Daughter of Rhaenyra)
Summary: The twins are born. Aemond isn't by your side, but Aegon is.
Masterlist Serie
I still don't know when I'm going to finish writing chapter 5 but until then I'll leave you with this
Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.
"Aegon what are you doing here?" Alicent asked in surprise as the door to your chambers opens and her firstborn entered.
As soon as the king heard the news that your waters had already broken, he ran to your chambers. He didn't know why exactly but something inside him told him that he had to be by your side. And he was glad to listen to that small voice when he saw how the tension in your face softened at the sight of him.
"How are you feeling?" He asked walking up to you.
"I had better days, your grace" you replied with a small smile. It won't matter that you were sweaty and your belly was giant. to Aegon, you still looked beautiful.
You stopped your walk and leaned against the wall. The maester had told you to walk around the room until it was time for your baby to come out.
"My king, the birthing bed is no place for men," the maester said earning a glare from Aegon.
"I am the king and I can be where I please" he replied scathingly "Besides, I came to support my niece in the name of my brother"
Your eyes blinked away the tears that were forming at the mention of Aemond. You had the stupid hope that your husband would return for the birth of his child.
"Aegon, this could go on for hours," Alicent said trying to convince him to leave "I'm sure you have more important things to do"
"I'm sure the council can handle it for a couple of hours" the king affirmed "It doesn't matter, I'll stay by your side until you finish" he promised looking into your eyes.
"Thank you" you whispered thinking for a brief moment to hug him but you didn't.
And neither Alicent nor the maester said they bothered to try again to get the king to leave, not wanting to face his wrath. They were also sure that sooner or later Aegon would leave. Both of them were surprised when he took your hand and started walking with you around the room for over an hour.
Alicent was telling you stories from when your uncles were babies in an attempt to distract you from the pain when at one point you get a contraction so strong it almost makes you fall on the floor, if it wasn't for Aegon catching you. They both helped you get into bed as comfortably as possible. Aegon didn't take his eyes off your face as the maester lifted your nightgown to see if you could start thrusting yet.
"You can push now, princess" the old man announced.
You began to push, crying out in pain as you clung to both Aegon's hand and Alicent's. She looked at her son expecting him at any moment to get up and leave the room. But he never did, he stayed by your side without letting go of your hand, from time to time making a little grimace because of the strength with which you were holding him but he never complained. She noted how Aegon's lavender eyes conveyed pure concern and pain. He looked like he was suffering from seeing you suffer.
"Princess, you must keep pushing," the maester asked when you stopped.
"I can't," you said tiredly "I can't do it" you repeated ignoring the midwives' words of encouragement.
"Y/n, I swear that all this pain will be worth it when you have your baby in your arms," Alicent said brushing the hair from your face.
"No, I can't do it" you repeated shaking your head "They're going to have to cut me open to get the baby out" you panicked and started crying. You were scared, you wanted your mother by your side, you wanted her to tell you that everything would be okay. You didn't want to die yet, you wanted to see your mother and siblings again, you wanted to be there when Aemond came back and met your baby. But right now you didn't think you were capable of giving birth.
Aegon felt his heart break to see you in this state. You looked so hopeless. He couldn't bear to see you like this.
"Hey, hey, look at me, look at me" with his free hand he took your chin making you look at him "No one is going to open you" he promised, giving your hand a light squeeze, it was the only way he could show his support "I know you can do it. Do you hear me? You can do it. You're not alone" he could feel her mother's gaze but he didn't care, the only thing that mattered now was you "You have dragon blood in your veins. You are strong. You will beat the delivery bed "Your breathing calmed down and slowly the tears stopped flowing "Now I want you to push, you can lean on me, smash my hand and scream all you want but I need you to push" he smiled when you nodded.
Alicent couldn't help but be surprised and angry. A part of her was surprised by the softness in her firstborn's voice when speaking to you, she was grateful that he can comfort you but another part was furious with her son for being here, by your side when he was not together with Helaena when Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were born. Aegon was not there to calm his sister's fears.
Then you started to push again, you were sure that your screams should be heard throughout the castle but it didn't matter, today you would give birth. Aegon was right, you have the blood of the dragon and you weren't going to let the birthing bed kill you. You were going to live, you were going to see your baby grow, you'd be on your feet when Aemond got back and you'd introduce him to his child, and the both of you raise him together.
"I can already see the child's head, princess. Keep pushing" asked the maester and you did it. You had to make one last effort and you could already have your baby in your arms.
You kept pushing until you finally heard a cry from the baby. You were so relieved to hear that you let yourself lean against Aegon. He started stroking your back. You closed your eyes for a moment enjoying the sense of security and peace you felt. You smiled when you heard that he was a boy. You were about to ask for it so you could see it when you felt pain again making you groan, earning worried looks from your mother-in-law and brother-in-law.
"Princess, there is still another child" announced the maester surprised.
"Damn it Aemond. When I get back I won't let him touch me again" you said making the king laugh.
"Okay, princess, let's get this over with," Aegon said smiling and you couldn't help but smile back. You should hate him for stealing your mother's throne, but how could you hate him after he was by your side on the birthing bed? It was not his obligation, he was not your husband but he was still here, by your side, supporting you.
A couple more pushes and it didn't take long for another cry to be heard, this one much louder.
"Another boy, princess. Congratulations"
"Thank you all for being with me"
A few minutes later the midwives finished cleaning the children. They gave you one of your babies, Alicent was ready to take the other but the midwife gave it to the king.
Aegon didn't expect it but he took the baby without problems, it's not like it was the first time he had a child in his arms he was a father. He felt a lump begin to form in his throat as he remembered when he first lifted Jaehaerys. He decided to put those thoughts aside so as not to overshadow the happiness of the birth of your children.
"My little Aemon," you said looking tenderly at your son in your arms. You felt your heart full of love. Alicent was right. All the pain was worth seeing how she looked at you "I'm your mom" you smiled and left a kiss on her forehead. You still didn't want to let go but you could see your mother-in-law eager to pick up one of her grandchildren "Meet your grandmother" you gave her the baby.
Alicent was relieved to see that her grandson had Aemond's nose and violet eyes, which were darker than the king's. For a moment she had feared that Aegon's attitude was because they were actually his children.
"And what are you going to call this little guy?" Aegon asked as he rocked the baby. He already loved him, simply for being a part of you.
"Baelon" you replied with a smile feeling warmth seeing how he looked at your son "Now, I didn't want to interrupt your moment with your nephew but I would like to meet my son"
"I'm sorry" the king apologized with red cheeks before passing the boy to you.
"It's okay" you smiled at him before turning your full attention to your baby.
Alicent looked at the three of them and felt nauseated. You looked so happy as you spoke to Baelon and Aegon looked at you with such love, he had never seen that look in his eyes, the three of you quietly seemed like family. She felt sick when she realized her mistake when she denied the commitment between Helaena and Jacaerys and yours with Aegon. She remembered her firstborn complaining that he didn't want to marry his sister but you, that he loved you. She had thought it was a whim but now she could see it. Because only a man who truly loved you could look so happy while you carry another man's child. Any other man would be spiteful and jealous. But Aegon didn't, he loved you so much that he just wanted to see you well.
tag list: @hannaeditzs @multi-fandoms-stuff @zverea @m1tzifa1ry
@solacestyles @lilithskywalker @satish @justsumtuffstuff @crispmarshmallow @daduol @inmyowndefender @afro-hispwriter
@green-lxght @roroswhiterose @libdarkheart @chevelledahuman
@versaillesdrmngs @helloitsshitzulover @ladybug0095 @ietss
@serendippindots @ultraviollett @akinatrix @papery-maniac @merovingianprincess @hnybitches @m1ndbrand @giulia2372
@blubird592 @alexa4040 @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @bajadotcom @woodandwaxwings @idkjj04 @yor72 @mendes-bae
@lj127 @sustisama @imjustboredso @remuslupinwifee @sarcasticking9 @melllinaa @tswiftsthings
@404slayer404 @letsloveimagines @zillahvathek @alexandra-001
@hnybitches
#aegon targaryen x reader#the queen and her husbands#aegon x reader#aegon ii x reader#aegon ii targaryen#aegon ii targaryen x reader#aegon targaryen#hotd x reader#hotd imagine#hotd fanfic#hotd x you#house of the dragon#hotd drabbles#house of the dragon x reader#house of the dragon imagine#alicent hightower#aegon x y/n#aegon x you#aegon ii fanfic#aegon ii x you#hotd
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
NSFW Headcanons for Aegon Targaryen II, Aemond Targaryen, Cregan Stark, and Jacaerys Velaryon (x Reader)
TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her reader, afab reader, daddy kink, mommy kink, lactation kink, pregnancy kink, breeding kink, ye olde bondage, spanking, choking, size kink, p in v sex, oral, semi public sex, exhibitonism, literally everything
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of the Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️
Aegon Targaryen II
-loves having you on top, this man is EXTREMELY lazy, so having you ride him is a dream come true, especially when he can watch your tits bounce as you move your hips, his hands coming up to squeeze them, or if he’s feeling extra energetic, he sits up and helps you ride him, taking them into his mouth
-loves fucking you raw, drives him absolutely feral
-he WILL cum first but he has great recovery time and will go multiple rounds especially if you’re on top
-hardcore mommy kink, loves it when you dom him, choke him, leave bite marks on him - he just wants to be your good boy, lives for getting praised by you
-push him too far though and you might just unlock dom aegon, bit of a daddy kink and a bit of a sadist, but this side of him doesn’t come out to play very often
-absolutely obsessed with your tits, uses them as pillows, literally will cry and beg just to get to touch them or suck on them
-whimpers like a little bitch the minute you pull away from him but with how deep his voice is, also lets out the sexiest groans when the two of you are fucking
-loves teasing you and getting you riled up enough that you make some excuse for the two of you to just run off and fuck (fingering you under the table, grinding himself against your back etc - he's literally a bitch in heat 98% of the time)
-extremely loud in bed, has no qualms about the entire red keep knowing just how good his lover is making him feel
-doesn't necessarily have a breeding kink but his favorite place to cum is inside you
Aemond Targaryen
-mr "i have no taste for depravity" is the most depraved motherfucker on the planet
-daddy AND mommy kink, loves domming you but also absolutely loves having you on top, tugging on his hair, telling him to be your good boy
-enjoys receiving oral but VASTLY prefers giving, loves the way your thighs shake, the little sounds you make when he tastes you, loves it when you sit on his face, loves rubbing his nose against your pearl, loves how fucking responsive you are to his lips and tongue
-favorite position is him on top followed very closely by you on top, likes being able to meet your gaze while the two of you are fucking
-way way way into spanking and also light bondage - loves tying you up and can and will tease you for hours
-overstim king, wants you a shivering, trembling mess beneath him, loves how much you need him, how clingy you get, how you beg for him
-loves your ass, but is fucking obsessed with your tits (also thighs), while he's fucking you, if he ain't kissing you he's sucking on your tits, can't get enough of them (and if you show cleavage in one of your gowns bet that he's going to drag you back to the bedchamber and rip that off of you)
-loves the intimacy of fucking naked but also very much so gets too desperate to wait and will just lift your skirts and undo his breeches just enough to get his cock out and fuck you like an animal
-breeding kink, both because he loves seeing you pregnant AND because he needs to further the targaryen family line, also lactation kink while you're pregnant (this all falls in line with his mommy kink and obsession with your tits let's be so real)
-also very much so into choking (both receiving and giving)
Cregan Stark
-cregan stark is the greatest lover in all of westeros, daddy kink + breeding kink are his main ones but shit, he'll try anything once
-not particularly vocal in bed, but will let out these quiet little grunts and moans of your name, growling in your ear when he fucks you about how your tight little cunt feels so perfect and is meant for him
-loves fucking you from behind because he is an ASS MAN, will pull you up so your back is to his chest and bite down on your neck as he continues railing you (yeah, he's a biter 100%, loves marking you up)
-EXTREME BREEDING KINK, loves pushing your knees up to your chest, filling you up, telling you how he's going to breed you, fill you with his seed, watch you grow round with his child, and then fuck another one into you (pushes his fingers inside you after fucking to make sure his seed takes)
-possessive and jealous, very easy to rile up and get him to drag you off to fuck you in some dark hallway in winterfell
-loves spanking you, watching your flesh jiggle as his strong powerful hands come down on it, hearing you whimper and beg for his cock
-not averse to you being on top, but very much so a dom, will try being a sub for you if you want that, but truly? it's just not his favorite
-you're typically the one who teases him at feasts, a hand a bit too close to his cock, squeezing his thigh has him all but tossing you over his shoulder and heading off to the nearest bedchamber to fuck you
-loves it when you get a little bratty because then he'll just fuck it out of you
-edging king, loves bringing you so fucking close to your peak and then stopping, making you beg for him and promise to be his good girl
Jacaerys Velaryon
-jace seems so sweet and unassuming but he is a fucking animal once you get him in the bedroom
-the first two or three times he fucks you, he's gentle and attentive, but after that, prepare for dom jace - DADDY KINK FOR DAYS
-similarly to cregan, he loves fucking you from behind, grabbing onto your waist or tits as he pounds into you
-he's big, like so girthy you can't enclose your hand around his cock and it's long, like it will take you time to get used to this man but he stretches you out so fucking perfectly
-loves speaking high valyrian to you in bed, and if you speak it back, calling him "my king" or "my dragon", he will go absolutely feral
-loves finding the stupidest reasons to punish you and give you a nice little spanking till your ass is raw before fucking you again
-insane breeding kink, but also a pregnancy kink, loves the way your breasts are so full, how radiant you look, your stomach swollen with your unborn child, evidence of the love you two share, cannot get enough of fucking you while pregnant, only ever cums inside of you
-if you want to, he'll def let you be on top, it's just that he prefers being the one domming you
-let's out the hottest moans, loves dirty talking, whispering the filthiest things in your ears while he fucks you
-a bit of an exhibitionist in that he'll fuck you knowing full well aemond or aegon can hear and wants them to know that it's him getting you to scream
-the perfect face to sit on, loves grabbing you by the thighs, rubbing his nose against you, obsessed with tasting you
#aemond targaryen x reader#aegon targaryen x reader#jacaerys velaryon x reader#cregan stark x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aegon targaryen x you#jacaerys velaryon x you#cregan stark x you#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aegon x you#aegon x reader#cregan x reader#cregan x you#jacaerys x reader#jacaerys x you#my writing
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Anniversary
summary: swimming & face fucking || you and aegon relax at a snowy cabin in winter town for your first anniversary
pairing: modern!aegon x f!reader
warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, oral sex (m receiving), face fucking, breast/nipple play, dirty talk, i love him idk, let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 1.8k
a/n: happy day four of 12 days of smuff!! surely this counts for swimming they are at least in some water lmao
12 days of smuff masterlist!
gif creds to @gameofthronesdaily!
likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!
🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!
You let out a soft sigh and relax further into the balmy water, letting your eyes slip shut as wafts of steam warm your face, which contrasted nicely with the cold mountain air that blew in breezes all around you. Your lips can’t help but curl up into a soft smile as bubbles gently break across the surface of your bare skin, tickling slightly as they rise to the surface of the water.
“Okay, you were right,” Aegon rasps next to you, his signature soft smirk audible in his words, “Maybe celebrating our anniversary in Winter Town wasn’t such an awful idea.”
You blow a huff of laughter through your nose as you crack open an eye to peer at him — watching as he lets out a contented sigh, head tilted back against the lip of the hot tub, along with his stocky arms. Your eye opens a bit more as you let your gaze linger for a second longer, taking in the soft pink blush smattered across his full cheeks and the way silvery strands of hair stuck against the top of his forehead from the steam billowing up off the surface of the water.
“Better than Dorne?” You tease, letting your eye slip shut once more.
You hear him let out a soft laugh next to you before he sighs happily again, “Better than Dorne.” He agrees, voice strained as though he were speaking through a stretch.
The two of you stay that way for an indiscernible amount of time, minutes seeming to blur together as jets massage every inch of you.
Suddenly, you feel the water seem to shift around you and you open your eyes, smiling when you see that Aegon has chosen to move much closer, his shoulder nearly bumping against yours.
“Hi,” you say simply, peering up at him through your lashes before you turn and lay back against him, your back against his side.
He quickly readjusts and hooks both of his arms around your middle, his hands resting idly just underneath your breasts. “Hey,” he chuckles, tilting his head to press a soft kiss to the damp hair at the top of your head, “Come here often?” He teases; you can practically feel his chest swell with pride as you laugh against him.
“As it just so happens, this is my first time,” you reply, tilting your head back to look up into his violet eyes, “Although, I happen to be on an anniversary vacation with my boyfriend.” Your smirk quickly turns into a pleased hum as he cups your breasts in his warm hands, your nipples hardening as you arch your back enough for them to rise out of the warm water.
“He sounds very lucky,” he rasps, savoring your gasps as he kneads the fat of your breasts, eyes glimmering at the whimpers you let out every time his thumbs skim across your nipples.
You reach a hand up and twine your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. “He tells me quite often he is,” you breathe before tugging his face down to yours and hungrily pressing your lips against his.
Both of you sigh into the kiss, your lips moving together lazily, unhurried. Aegon groans above you when he feels your tongue brush over his bottom lip, his hands grasping tighter to your breasts as he parts his pouty lips and lets you lick eagerly into his mouth, a gesture he happily returns as your tongues languidly swirl together.
The two of you kiss for a while, moving against one other leisurely, each of you drinking down the other’s small noises of pleasure.
Before too long, though, Aegon started to become restless and you smiled into the kiss when his touches became more desperate — harder, more incessant. You squeak against his lips when one large hand comes down and suddenly cups your center, already bare from when you’d both decided to forego swimsuits.
“Wait!” You breathe, sitting up and disentangling yourself from your boyfriend’s arms.
“Everything okay?” He asks with concern, one eyebrow quirked up.
You can’t help but smile, endeared at his concern, although you quickly correct yourself with a sly smirk before you lean in and press kisses in a trail, starting at his chest and working your way up and over his collarbone and neck until you reach his ear.
“Just want you in my mouth…” you tease, biting your lower lip as you pull back just enough to peer into his eyes.
“That can be arranged,” he says around a gruff laugh before tilting his head toward the sliding glass door that leads back into the small, cozy cabin you’d rented for the weekend, “Shall we head inside?”
You nod with a small giggle as you pull yourself from the bubbling water, squealing playfully when he takes the opportunity to smack a hand against your ass. The two of you quickly skitter inside, the cold air instantly nipping at your skin.
You sigh a sigh of relief as you make it into the cabin, happy to be out of the cold breeze. Aegon makes quick work of the sliding door, quickly locking it into place before he takes one of your hands and leads you to the soft leather sofa in the middle of the room, a pleased smirk on his face.
“I believe someone said something about getting their mouth on me…” he said, quirking his head to the side in mock contemplation as his hands settled on your hips; he presses a soft kiss to your lips before plopping himself down on the couch, one hand wrapping loosely around his already half-hard cock as he stares at you expectantly.
You merely give him a playful eye roll before sinking to your knees between his thighs, the plush fur rug cushioning your knees from the wood floors of the cabin as the heat from the small fireplace in the corner of the room warms your back.
He meets your gaze with a groan, tongue darting out to wet his lips when you place your hands on the tops of his thighs; the hand around his cock relaxes at his side.
You lean in and press soft kisses to the light trail of hair that leads down from his bellybutton, taking your time before softly licking at the head, a pleased hum bubbling up from your throat at the salty taste of his pre-cum.
“Fuck,” Aegon sighs above you, dark eyes nearly black as he watches you gently lick and kiss around the tip of his cock, “That’s it.” He praises when your lips wrap around him and eagerly suck him into your mouth.
You groan softly, relishing the heavy weight of him on your tongue, before you begin bobbing your head. You wrap one hand around the base, stroking what little of his considerable length you can’t fit into your mouth, as you look up at him through your lashes, your eyes scanning over the pale planes of his chest before locking with his eyes once more.
“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he huffs above you, pushing a stray lock of hair out of your face, “So beautiful with my cock in your mouth, hm?”
You nod as best you can, eyes watering slightly as the head of him pokes against the back of your throat. You can already feel his length twitch in your mouth, feeling cocky as you cup his stones with one hand, smirking when you find them already tightening up as you roll them gently in your hand in a way that makes Aegon’s head tilt back with a loud, drawn out groan.
You move against him for a minute more, your other hand gripping at the top of his thigh as lewd wet noises fill the cabin. He can’t help but curl in on himself slightly when you run your tongue over that one sensitive area at his head, a hiss leaving his lips as one hand cups the back of your head.
“Seven Hells,” he mutters, swallowing thickly before just barely canting his hips up, eyebrows furrowed in a silent question as his eyes meet yours, “‘M close, princess, please — fuck!”
You can’t help but giggle around his length, nodding the best you can. He makes a soft sound of relief before the hand at the back of your head tightens in your hair; you steel yourself, groaning as he begins rutting his hips up into your waiting mouth.
He lets out a beautiful whining groan above you, relishing the way his cock slides so easily in and out of your mouth as his tip prods deliciously at the back of your throat.
“Shit,” he grunts, guiding your head down at the same instant he snaps his hips up, watching intently as your eyes roll back into your head, pleased at how you seem to enjoy this just as much as he does, “Gonna cum down that pretty throat, fuck.” He warns, gripping tighter at your hair as he starts to lose himself.
You nod as best you can, sealing your lips around his cock a bit harder, squelching noises filling your ears as you choke around his length. Tears spring to your eyes as he thrusts a handful more times before his hips still, cock buried down your throat for a second as he all but growls above you.
Pride fills your chest as you feel his length twitch against your tongue, the heady taste of his spend fills your mouth as you swallow around him, careful to breathe through your nose.
After a moment, the fingers in your hair relax, allowing you to pull yourself off of him with a soft pop, smirking as you press soothing kisses to the insides of his thighs before you push yourself off the floor, wiping a hand across your mouth as you join him on the sofa.
“I take it you enjoyed that?” You ask softly, chuckling at the soft moan that sounds from his throat as you straddle his legs, your breasts pressed up against his warm chest as you settle yourself in his lap.
“You are goddess,” he murmurs, half-lidded eyes peering up at you as his hands come to rest on your hips.
You merely chuckle as you card your fingers through his hair, gasping as he pulls you to him, violet eyes flicking up to yours before he runs his tongue over one of your nipples, sealing his soft lips around the bud for a moment as he suckles it into his mouth.
“Aegon…” you breathe above him, whining as his hands sink down to cup your bum, pressing you harder against him still, as if he can’t be close enough to you.
“Give me ten minutes and I’m yours,” he promises roughly, nose digging into the fat of your breast as he busies himself against your chest.
You sigh softly and pull him up, slotting your mouth against his.
tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc
(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)
#aegon targaryen#aegon ii targaryen#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon targaryen x you#aegon targaryen smut#aegon ii targaryen x reader#aegon ii targaryen x you#aegon ii targaryen smut#aegon x reader#aegon x you#aegon smut#modern aegon#modern aegon targaryen#aegon targaryen fanfiction#aegon targaryen fanfic#aegon ii targaryen fanfiction#aegon ii targaryen fanfic#aegon targaryen fic#aegon ii targaryen fic#aegon fanfiction#aegon fanfic#aegon fic#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fanfiction#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon smut#hotd fanfiction#hotd fanfic#hotd smut#fanfiction
473 notes
·
View notes
Text
1968 [Chapter 1: Ares, God Of War]
Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.
Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.
Word Count: 5.7k
Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! 🥰💜
💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜
Let’s begin with a definition.
Disaster is a noun derived from Ancient Greek: dus, a prefix meaning “bad,” and aster, or “star.” In the time when humans worshipped Zeus and Hera, Hephaestus and Aphrodite, it was believed that tragedies resulted from the inauspicious positioning of celestial bodies: a volcano erupts because of Jupiter, a returning comet brings with it a flood. There is a certain helplessness inherent in this mythology. There is predestined suffering that lies in wait until all the jewels of the sky have malignantly aligned.
Have you ever met someone who made you ache to change the stars?
~~~~~~~~~~
Gunshots explode through the lobby of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, Florida; you feel the wind of the bullets as they clip by, fragmented metallic rage. Aemond is on the marble floor, blood pouring down his face, blood all over the white shirt beneath his navy blue suit jacket when you rip it open, tearing a button loose. He’s reaching for you through the jostling and the screams, leaving crimson handprints on your mint green dress. And you think: He just won the Florida primary. He’s not supposed to die. He’s supposed to be the president.
“What happened?” Aemond murmurs, his right eye dazed and only half-open; the left has vanished beneath a cloudburst of gore. Perhaps ten yards away, people have caught the assailant and pinned him against one of the vast Venetian windows until the police arrive. They’re roaring at him in red-faced fury, their closed fists strike his ribs and his cheekbones, their knuckles paint him scarlet and indigo.
“You’re alright, you’re alright.” You brace both palms over the maroon stain spreading rapidly across Aemond’s chest and press down as hard as you can. Your fingers are drenched in seconds, warm fading life. He’s bleeding to death. You shriek through the turmoil: “Criston?!”
“Is he okay?” Aemond asks faintly. He means the baby; you’re six months pregnant with his first child, his greatest treasure, his Atlantis, his Holy Grail. Aemond has already decided that it’s a boy. Sometimes you fear what will happen if he’s wrong.
“Yes, honey, the baby’s fine, don’t worry. Criston!”
Aegon is here instead, sweating out rum and ruin like he always is, hair too long, veins full of pills, colliding with you and pawing at his dying brother with untrustworthy hands. “Aemond?!”
You shove Aegon away, splattering him with blood. “Get back, he needs air!”
“Where’s he shot?! Let me see—”
“I told you to get back!”
“Goddammit, you don’t own him! He’s mine too!”
Criston has fought his way through the maelstrom and is dragging Aegon away by the collar of his frayed olive green army jacket, stolen from Daeron when he visited home after basic training, a uniform of embittered revolution worn by a man who’s never fought for anything. “Aegon, make sure someone’s called for an ambulance, then meet the paramedics at the door and help them find us.”
“But—”
“Go!” Criston roars, and Aegon scrambles to his feet and is lost within the crowd. You can hear Otto bellowing at journalists and hotel employees to make space for the fallen senator; there are flashes of cameras and prayers shouted aloud. Above your head are crystal chandeliers and a vaulted ceiling hand-painted by 75 Italian artists in the 1920s; swimming in your skull are visions of Jackie Kennedy in the pink suit filthy with her husband’s brains. It’s just before midnight on Tuesday, May 28th. Upstairs in their oceanfront Imperial Suites, nannies will be shaking awake the absent adults of the Targaryen dynasty, who retired with the children before Aemond made his victory speech in the hotel ballroom: Alicent, Helaena, Fosco, Mimi.
Criston’s hands—larger, stronger—replace yours over the gushing wound in Aemond’s chest. What did the bullet hit? His lung, his heart? He’s not speaking anymore, his right eye is closed. His bloodied hands rest open and empty on the floor. “Criston, he’s dying,” you sob.
“No he’s not. We’re not going to let him.”
“What’s the closest hospital?”
“Good Samaritan is just across the bridge on the mainland.” It’s Criston’s job to know these things, though he had been thinking of you when he plotted his meticulous notes in his day planner: in case you eat a bad cheeseburger, or trip on the stairs, or catch the flu and start burning up with fever. Aemond worries about the baby. Aegon has five children, Helaena has three, and Aemond will feel that he has been robbed of something if he does not swiftly procure a family of his own. He needs you on the campaign trail, but still, he worries.
Across the lobby, the police have arrived to arrest the aspiring assassin. He puts up a fight when they try to handcuff him and earns a nightstick to the gut, an elbow to the nose. He is choking on his own blood. Perhaps he is drowning in it. Good, you think.
“Don’t kill him!” Otto booms at the officers. “I want him alive for trial! I want him to ride the lighting up in Raiford, you keep that son of a bitch alive!”
“Aemond?” You thread your fingers through his soaked hair. What happened to his left eye? Is it somewhere underneath all that carnage, or is it gone? “Please wake up. Please stay with me. We need you. The baby and I need you.”
“He’s going to live,” Criston promises, both hands still clamped over the bullet wound to slow the hemorrhaging.
“Aemond, please…” How can he be the president with only one eye?
An old woman in a yellow striped skirt suit is lumbering close with a homemade prayer rope clenched in her fist. “A komboskini for the senator!” For his last rites. For his soul.
“He doesn’t need it!” Criston says. “He’s not dying! No one is dying tonight!”
Still, you take the komboskini from the lady, each of the 100 knots a prayer unspoken. She is a devotee of Aemond, and you must show her gratitude. “Efcharistó, aderfí. O Theós na se evlogeí.” They are some of the few Greek words you’ve mastered; you’ve used them often since Aemond announced that he was running for president. Thank you, sister. God bless you.
The paramedics arrive, splitting the crowd like a laceration, white uniforms and a stretcher to ferry Aemond away. People are wailing, cursing, swearing vengeance. Aegon has returned and is peering down at Aemond with those large, glassy, muddled eyes, afraid to ask. “Is he…is he still…?”
“He has a pulse,” Criston replies. He helps the paramedics drag Aemond onto the stretcher and strap him to it. Your husband’s shirt is now drenched in red like garnet, like cinnabar, like the poppies that commemorate the boys butchered in World War I, like the wasted blood being spilled in Vietnam, men reduced to memory. “Good Samaritan?” Criston confirms with the paramedics.
“Yes sir,” the most senior one agrees. And then to you, with great deference, with compassion that transcends what somebody can harbor for strangers: “Ma’am, there’s a place for you if you want it.”
“I do,” you say, tear-streaked face, hands bathed in blood. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
The ambulance is idling outside the main entranceway of the hotel. Criston grasps your hand to steady you as you step up into the back, and you take a seat on the red leather bench beside the stretcher. The paramedics are placing IVs, holding an oxygen mask to Aemond’s face, muttering urgently into their radio, abbreviations and code words you can’t understand, a secret language of organic calamities. High above the stars are crystalline and radiant in a clear sky. In your own chest—unshredded by metal, unpierced by rage—your intact heart is pounding.
The lead paramedic turns to you again and says: “We can fit one more person.”
It’s your decision. You are the senator’s wife; you were supposed to be the next first lady of the United States. You look through the ambulance’s open doors. Aegon stares back expectantly, his hair falling in his face, his arms thrown wide, petulant, combative, useless, drunk. “Criston.”
“Bitch!” Aegon hisses at you as Criston climbs into the vehicle. The doors slam shut, the engine rumbles, the siren squeals as the ambulance races westbound on Breakers Row towards County Road, which connects with Flagler Memorial Bridge and the mainland.
Through the rear window you watch Aegon as he stands in the white-gold hotel luminescence, becoming smaller and smaller until he vanishes, and all you can see are streetlights, and all you can smell is blood.
~~~~~~~~~~
Every story needs its cast of characters. Here are the major players in the summer of 1968.
President Lyndon Baines Johnson is in the White House watching the clocks tick towards November 5th, when his successor will be ordained. He has chosen not to seek reelection. Since his ascension upon Kennedy’s assassination in 1963, Johnson’s domestic focus has been unprecedented civil rights legislation and his War On Poverty, yet what has infected the media like blood poisoning is the war in Vietnam. On the television are napalm bombs incinerating Vietnamese peasants, caskets draped with American flags, riots being beaten down by police, college students torching draft cards and chanting “Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?” Now the president is sick in body, in spirit, in heart, and this is not a metaphor: he suffered a near-fatal cardiac arrest in 1955 and another shortly after John F. Kennedy was murdered in Dallas, Texas. He will die almost exactly four years after leaving office. Had he sought another term, he would have been unlikely to survive it. The public eye is something like a snake bite; it sinks its fangs in and you hope the venom burns clean before it can curse you with clots or hemorrhages or paralysis, before it can drown you in the dark waters of infamy.
In the void left by President Johnson’s surrender, four factions have emerged within the Democratic Party. The old guard—the same labor unions, congressmen, and local political machines who have steered the platform since the days of Franklin D. Roosvelt’s New Deal—has flocked to current Vice President Hubert Humphrey. Humphrey is competent yet uninspiring, a mid-fifties Midwesterner who flinches at the unpolished fury of antiwar protests and sedately lectures Black Power activists on the dangers of “reverse racism.” He is not a threat. He is a sheep in sheep’s clothing, and this is the time for wolves.
Senator Eugene McCarthy of Minnesota is unapologetically opposed to the Vietnam War, a moral crusader, a reluctant warrior, a man who wears his lack of taste for the presidency like a badge of honor. He feels compelled to run, but he does not crave it. He thinks this makes him a saint; but Joan of Arc was burned at the stake and Saint Lawrence was roasted alive. Like Halloween candy plunked into a child’s neon orange plastic pumpkin, McCarthy has collected his own coalition, college students and posh urbanites who believe themselves to be the future of the Democratic Party. In 2016, people will conjure McCarthy’s ghost when drawing comparisons to a controversial left-wing senator from Vermont named Bernie Sanders.
If McCarthy is the future and Humphrey is the past, then former governor of Alabama George Wallace is downright archaic. He is the candidate of choice for Southern white supremacists, averse to Republicans since Lincoln and still reverent of Depression-era New Deal programs that kept them from starving to death. Wallace is best known for his promise of “segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever,” and pledges to end the chaos that has besieged America through strict law and order. Provided he loses the Democratic primary, Wallace plans to run in the general election as an Independent, hoping to peel away enough support from the major party candidates to force the House of Representatives to declare the winner and then leverage his votes to negotiate an end to federal desegregation efforts in the South. His devoted wife Lurleen just died of uterine cancer, a diagnosis which Wallace kept hidden from her for years; doctors are in the habit of informing husbands of their wives’ ailments and giving them carte blanche control over the treatment plan, which unfortunately in Lurleen’s case was nothing. She was 41 years old.
In his short-lived castle of red corridors like the marrow rivers of bones, President Johnson hides from the hippies who jeer and spit; Humphrey frowns at them, McCarthy tries to appease them, Wallace says the only four-letter words they don’t know are “w-o-r-k” and “s-o-a-p.” But Aemond climbs down from podiums to meet them like old friends. He is young, only 36. He has a brother serving in the swamps of Vietnam. He is focused, determined, insatiable; he devours every scrap of news that is printed about him and writes his speeches by hand. As the self-admitted runt of the Targaryen family, Aemond knows what it is like to be underestimated. He wants a better America, and he wants to be the president, and he wants these things in equal, relentless measure, each fueling the other until these ambitions become inseparable. He has grown up hearing slurs against Greeks and consequently has no tolerance for discrimination, which he contends is antithetical to the American Dream. He attends civil rights marches in labyrinthian cities, antiwar protests on college campuses, union meetings in coal mining towns of West Virginia and Kentucky and Wyoming, music festivals crowded with long unwashed hair and braless women, fundraisers flush with the deep pockets of the Northeastern elite. Aemond’s coalition grows each day, bleeding away strength from his rivals like a Medieval surgeon. Their flesh turns cold and anemic, while Aemond’s heart pumps scalding torrents of blood.
If Aemond wins the Democratic primary at the convention in August, his opponent will almost certainly be the Republican frontrunner Richard Nixon of California. Nixon wants the White House just as badly, and he’s much smarter than he looks. He was Eisenhower’s vice president for eight years in the 1950s and lost to the ill-fated John F. Kennedy in 1960 by a whisker; some say he did not lose at all, but instead was cheated out of 100,000 votes by Kennedy’s mafia connections in Chicago. But with the Democrats divided and their incumbent president floundering, Nixon’s timing has never been better. He was once a poor boy with two dead brothers who earned a scholarship to Duke Law. Now he will become whoever he needs to be to win the presidency of the United States.
1968 is the year of wolves. The fangs are sharp, and the bellies ache with hunger.
~~~~~~~~~~
A local deli has opened early and sent sandwiches to Good Samaritan Medical Center for the family and friends of the senator from New Jersey: ham and Swiss, cucumber and cream cheese, tuna salad, egg salad, pimento cheese, BLTs, Cubans. The lobby is filling up with bouquets of flowers and handwritten notes. You pace and count the knots of the komboskini over and over again as you wait; Aemond has been in surgery for hours. The nurses periodically bring you Styrofoam cups of hot chocolate, scalding watered-down sweetness to distract you from the fact that some surgeon is currently rooting around inside your husband’s ribcage.
Alicent—a convert to the Greek Orthodox faith just as you are, though far more zealous, far more sincere if you dared to admit it—is pleading for God to save her son as she clasps her own prayer rope. Helaena is seated beside her, eerily calm. Helaena’s husband Fosco is wandering around boredly and inflicting small talk upon the nurses, ogling out the third-story windows, playing with his red Duncan yo-yo. Otto is making a series of calls using one of the phones at the nurses’ station. Criston is there too, leaning over the countertop and speaking with Otto in low conspiratorial whispers.
Aegon is sitting alone and glaring at you. He takes a rattling bottle of pills—prescriptions that doctors are too afraid not to write for him when he asks—out of a pocket on the front of his green army jacket, spotted like a leopard with your bloody handprints. He opens the amber-colored, cylindrical container and pours two, no, three tiny white tablets into his palm. He tosses them into his mouth and washes them down with a swallow of his own mediocre hot chocolate, still glaring. You ignore him.
“How could this have happened?” Mimi says again from where she’s slumped in her chair. Aegon’s wife has a Snow White sort of beauty, but with a perpetual ruddiness in her nose and cheeks from the gin she sips constantly. You suppose it would make anyone a drunk, being married to a man like that. Her maiden name was Marina Marceline Leroux, but everyone has always called her Mimi, even the press on the rare occasions when she makes an appearance. Her children—Orion, Spiro, Violeta, Thaddeus, and little Cosmo, only five years old—are all back at the Breakers Hotel with the nannies, the same as Helaena’s. Mimi blubbers to nobody in particular: “How…? Who…? Who would want to hurt Aemond…?”
Someone needs to sober her up. You fetch a BLT off the platter of sandwiches and offer it to her. “Here. Eat.”
“I’m not hungry. Who on earth could be hungry at a time like this? I’m absolutely nauseated, I’ll never want food again—”
“Mimi, eat the sandwich.”
“Fine, fine,” she slurs morosely, then takes an unenthusiastic bite. She listens to you, all the women do. They listen to you, and you listen to Aemond, and the circle is closed and complete.
Criston is walking over now. You turn to him, needing good news, bad news, any news. “It was a Wallace supporter,” Criston says. From his seat, Aegon is watching Criston with his slow drugged gaze, listening intently. “Some bell pepper farmer from up by Jacksonville.”
“He’s been taken to the local jail for holding?” you ask, and then add: “Alive?”
“Yeah, and he already has a record. Assault and battery. His brother-in-law is apparently a Grand Dragon in the Klan.”
“What the hell is a Grand Dragon?”
“Well, it’s higher than a Goblin, but not as illustrious as an Imperial Wizard, does that answer your question?”
“Perfectly.” You smile at Criston, a pained, wry smile. He returns it and places a palm over your belly. You are still wearing the mint green dress Aemond picked out for you this morning, before he won the Florida primary, before he was shot twice by the disciple of a political adversary and laid at death’s doorstep. You are still covered in your husband’s blood.
“You’re feeling alright?” Then Criston smirks, knowing how ridiculous he must sound. “You know. All things considered.”
“We’re both fine. The baby’s moving around, I can feel it.”
“You can feel him, you mean,” Criston teases, knowing Aemond’s preoccupation with his unborn son; but you can’t bring yourself to appreciate the joke.
Aegon says to you suddenly: “How the fuck did you let this happen?”
“What?” you answer, stunned.
Aegon stands and approaches, lurching, raging. “You always have to be right beside him, in the photographs, in the headlines, in the soundbites, but you let some psychopath run up and shoot him? Twice?!”
“I thought he just wanted to shake Aemond’s hand, or maybe get a quote for an article—”
“You didn’t notice the gun?!”
“Aegon, sit down,” Criston orders.
“It happened in seconds,” you say. “You think you would have done better? You and your Valium, and your Librium, and your Percodan? You think your reaction time would have been so superior to mine?”
“Please,” Alicent moans, mopping tears from her pink cheeks with a handkerchief. “Please, don’t fight, not now…”
“We are all friends here,” Fosco adds in his thick Italian accent, yo-yoing by a window.
“You want to be the first lady so bad but you can’t handle it!” Aegon shouts, his voice echoing through the lobby. “You’re not some prodigy, you don’t have all the answers, you’re just a girl who stitched yourself to Aemond and then you let him get shot, he’s being operated on right now, maybe he’s even dying, and you still act like you’re so fucking perfect—”
“You’re mad because you know that everybody here is thinking the same thing,” you tell Aegon, cold and cruel. “That if someone had to get killed tonight it should have been you.”
Aegon’s mouth drops open; he stares at you with that slippery, opaque, stoned woundedness, pathetic, infuriating, illogically childish. Everyone else pretends they haven’t heard you. Alicent sniffles into her handkerchief. Fosco begins humming I Want To Hold Your Hand. Mimi chews sluggishly on her BLT. From the nurses’ station, Otto says, holding the phone to his chest: “It’s George Wallace. He’s calling for Aemond’s wife.” Then he waits to see if you’ll agree to take it.
Of course you will. You have to. You are acting in your husband’s stead. You go to the nurses’ station and grab the handset when Otto passes it to you. “This is Mrs. Targaryen.”
“Ma’am, I just wanted to offer you my sincerest condolences.” He has a pronounced drawl, born and raised in what he has praised as the Great Anglo-Saxon Southland. You animal, you think. You braindead bigot. “I do hope the senator makes a hasty recovery. I sure would like to beat him at the ballot box, but I have no stomach for anarchy. An act like this is repugnant to me, as it should be to any red-blooded American.”
“It was one of yours, do you know that?” you say, dripping venom. “One of your hateful ghouls.”
“I have no such knowledge. But if the shooter does turn out to be a supporter of my campaign, I disavow him utterly. He deserves a nice long sit in Old Sparky and then to meet his maker.”
“You inspire men to commit violence, and then you renounce them when they spill blood. I’m still wearing my husband’s. It’s on my hands, it’s on my dress, and I will not absolve you of blame. You are a gardener of discord. You grow it like roses or wheat. You tend to it until it blooms.” Otto is studying you, bushy eyebrows raised. “If you’d truly like to repent, perhaps dropping out of the Democratic primary would be a good start. And then you could find something useful to do, like drowning yourself.”
From whatever office he’s currently lounging comfortably in, his shoes kicked up on the desk, Wallace chuckles. “Aemond is very fortunate to have as ardent a defender as you, my dear.”
“Yes, a devoted wife is such a treasure. It’s a shame you killed yours.”
“Ma’am, once again, I just wanted to express how terribly sorry I am for your family’s hardship. I would never wish for an incident like this—”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be emboldening white supremacists then!” You slam the phone as you hang up.
Otto looks at you. He says: “Did it go well?”
The heavy double doors leading to the operating theater swing open, and a surgeon steps through them, still drying his hands with a dark blue towel. He has changed his scrubs and washed his skin, but you notice a spot he missed: a fleck of half-dried blood up by his temple. That’s Aemond, you think. That’s a piece of him.
Everyone rushes to gather around the doctor, even Mimi; she lists like a ship taking on water as she walks, gnawing at all that remains of her BLT, just a sliver of white toast crust.
“The senator is alive,” the doctor says, and Alicent cries out in relief. Criston rests a palm on her shoulder. “But we could not save the eye.”
“He’s half-blind?” you ask. There’s never been a half-blind president. There’s never been a Greek one either. And the only reason this is stuck in your mind is because you know it will consume Aemond’s.
The doctor nods. “We had to remove it. The bullet that struck Senator Targaryen in the head, fortunately, was more of a graze. It ricocheted off his skull and didn’t cause any trauma to the brain, but his eye was…” He hesitates, trying to find a more polite word than shredded, macerated, pulverized. “Destroyed.”
“You stopped the bleeding?” Aegon says, astonished. “He’s okay? He’s really okay?”
“The second bullet pierced the thoracic cavity and was lodged less than an inch from his heart. He was very lucky. We repaired the damage to the best of our ability, and I am optimistic that the senator will make a full recovery. He’s resting comfortably now, but he should be awake soon.”
“Oh, thank God,” Alicent says, glistening dark eyes raised to heaven. The salient points gathered, Fosco wanders off again, his yo-yo dangling from its string.
Otto asks: “When can he resume campaigning?”
The doctor is caught off-guard; it takes him a moment to answer. “That will depend on the senator’s stamina as he regains his strength. If he chooses to stay in the race at all.”
Otto scoffs. “Of course he’ll stay in. This is what he lives for. You really can’t give me a ballpark figure?”
The doctor is determinately impassive. “I would estimate a month or two before he can withstand the rigors of the campaign trail again.”
“California is June 4th,” Otto recalls, counting off dates on his fingers. “Illinois is the 11th, New York is the 18th…”
“Look, there are people outside!” Fosco announces excitedly as he peers through one of the windows. “Hello! Hello everybody!”
“Fosco, you idiot, stop waving,” Otto snaps. “Go sit down.”
“But they are cheering.”
“Not for you.”
Fosco, somewhat deflated, grabs an egg salad sandwich off the platter and plops into a chair to eat it. He’s dressed in a green plaid sport coat and tight white trousers, very chic, very European. You’ve never been able to imagine Fosco and Helaena being passionately romantic with each other. They’re both a bit too doll-like for that, closer to Barbie and Ken than flesh and blood, blank stares and vague ambitions.
“Someone should talk to them,” Alicent says softly. She means the crowd that is forming in front of the hospital: journalists, cops, local politicians, mutilated veterans, college kids, farmers, fishermen, women and children, the future and the past. Everyone turns to look at you.
“I’ll do it,” you volunteer. You will, you must. Aemond could have chosen a hundred similarly suited women to be his wife, but he chose you, and when he did your vows became a blood oath.
Criston accompanies you downstairs to where the crowd has gathered just outside the front entrance of Good Samaritan Medical Center. The night air is warm and humid, the stars bright. You had thought of so many things to tell these people as you’d stood in the elevator as it descended, but now your mind is empty, fearful. There are photographers with blinding camera flashes and apostles waiting with famished eyes. From the depths of injustice and poverty and war, they have come to pay their respects to the man they believe is destined to save not just themselves but their world. What should I say? What would Aemond want me to say?
“I am very pleased to share with you all that Senator Targaryen is out of surgery and regaining his strength.”
There are cheers and applause and prayers; you are still clutching the komboskini that the old woman gave you in the lobby of the Breakers Hotel. You see more prayer ropes in this flock, and rosaries too, Bibles and dog tags, copies of The Autobiography of Malcolm X and Joanne Didion’s Slouching Towards Bethlehem.
“We would like to thank you for your heartfelt support. Aemond and I are so very grateful, and he is looking forward to being back on the campaign trail soon.”
More clapping and whistling, and then the crowd waits. You aren’t sure what they want to hear as you stand in the glow of the hospital luminance; your hands are trembling wildly, so you clasp them together as you hold the komboskini. Criston glances over at you, concerned. You settle on the truth.
“The man who tried to kill my husband tonight is a supporter of former Alabama governor George Wallace and an avowed white supremacist. Any ideology that advocates for violence and prejudice is a threat to our bodies, our nation, and our souls. We will not surrender to it, not even when our lives are in jeopardy. We will not concede that hope for a better world is lost. We will press ever onward with the knowledge that God is on our side, and that the future of this country is worth fighting for.”
You are bathed in flashbulb lightning; your ears ring with the thunder of the applause. You are shaking hands now, nodding, beaming, Criston following you like a shadow as you move through the congregation. You stop to listen to a middle-aged woman in a floral dress who wants to give you marriage advice: never get bossy, don’t become selfish, remember that you are his safe harbor in the storms of life. It is your job to gift her your momentary veneration. You have beauty, but she has wisdom; or at least, that is the bargain that has been struck, that is the presumption everyone agrees upon. She must have some advantage over you, otherwise the decades she has spent in service of her parents and husband and children have been wasted, she has carved away pieces of herself to feed hungry mouths until she vanished like the doomed nymph Echo. In return, she tries not to envy you too much, not to dismiss you as foolish or frivolous or lustful. Sometimes you think that women are filled with such vicious, relentless self-loathing that it feels good to direct it at someone else for a while, to pick apart another body, to tally up the deficits of her spirit.
“Aemond is so lucky to have you,” the woman says. You can barely hear her over the roar of the crowd.
And you smile as you dutifully reply: “I think it’s the other way around.”
~~~~~~~~~~
There is a television mounted on the wall in Aemond’s room. The news coverage, the volume turned way down low, oscillates between his own near-assassination and the stalled peace talks in Paris. Representatives of the United States and North Vietnam cannot agree, and so each day more body bags are flown home to return the bones of the nation’s sons and fathers to Missouri, Alabama, Idaho, Maine, Wisconsin, Maryland, Arizona, California, New Jersey, everywhere else. Someone has to end it. Aemond will end it.
“I dreamed I won Florida,” your husband mumbles, and that’s how you know he’s awake, here in a hospital bed and wearing IVs like strings of Christmas lights around a pine tree.
“You did,” you tell him, gently smoothing back his hair from his forehead. His left eye—where his left eye used to be—is bandaged; his words are soft and labored. “Humphrey was second. Wallace got third. But you won. And you’re going to be okay.”
“McCarthy?”
“It seems you’re devouring his coalition.”
Aemond’s lips slowly curl into a grin, triumphant. “It is God’s will.” And this is what he always says. It is God’s will that he survives, it is God’s will that he wins the presidency, it is God’s will that you give him sons.
“Yes,” you agree, lifting his right hand to kiss his knuckles. Then you press the komboskini you’re still carrying into his weak grasp. It means more to Aemond than it does to you. “Yes it is.”
Aemond sinks into unconsciousness again, morphine and dreams that blur with reality. There will be pain soon, and plenty of it, but he is free from that impending truth for now. You rise from your chair to tell the rest of the family that Aemond is beginning to wake up. Alicent and Criston will want to speak with him.
When you open the door, Aegon is standing there: an eavesdropper, a trespasser. He glares at you with his large wet ocean-blue eyes, hazy with pills, glinting with resentment. Reluctantly, you step aside to let him in. Aegon wobbles as he passes you and has to grab onto the doorframe to steady himself, scrabbling like a trapped animal.
“You’re a disaster,” you say, caustic like acid, biting, repulsed.
Aegon whirls and jabs his index finger against your chest, bloodstained mint green wool bouclé by Chanel. “You’re a vessel. You’re a cow. And one day he’ll be done with you.”
You feel something hitting you like a bullet, cracking ribs, piercing lungs, tearing muscles and ligaments. Your lips have parted, but you can’t fathom words. Aegon has said many things to you—bitter things, belittling things, things in mixed company, things when you’re alone—but never this. For the first time since you met him two years ago, he has won one of your sparring matches. He has the upper hand. He has wounded you.
Aegon can see this, certainly. But he doesn’t seem pleased with himself. He looks a little shellshocked, like he can’t quite believe he said the words, like maybe if given the chance again he wouldn’t take it. But the moment is over now, and you can’t get time back, it is a thread that unspools until every inch is gone, spent, tangled in a thousand webs.
Aegon staggers into the hospital room. You flee from it. Out in the lobby the phone at the nurses’ station is ringing again. They’ll all be calling now to give their requisite sympathies. Humphrey counsels prudence, McCarthy prays for peace, LBJ offers the empathy of someone who has felt the cold gaze of Death in his own doorway, Nixon praises Aemond’s resilience and quotes the ancient philosopher Seneca: “There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.”
#aegon ii targaryen#aegon targaryen ii#aegon targaryen#aegon ii#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon x reader#aegon x y/n#aegon x you#aegon targaryen ii x you#aegon targaryen x you#aegon targaryen fanfic#aegon ii x you#aegon ii x y/n#aegon ii x reader#aegon ii targaryen x reader
242 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
5-minutes-2-midnight
When I Just Can’t Even... Tumblr
teamshadowboltz
Praise The Emperor
girlwiththepapatattoo
Scuttling to oblivion
multiblog01
MultiBlog
dreamsofhope89
Untitled