#aegon Targaryen ii x you

[danytar]

“Meet me at the highest heaven” [ King!Aegon!Targaryen X Sister!Wife!Reader ]

Warnings: anxiety, aegon is going to Rook's Rest,Incest, mention of war and death, No use of y/n, swearing,(m receiving),erotic lactation.

Summary: Aegon is going to the battle. And now you feel like your heart will be torn apart at any moment. Will you be able to say goodbye to him?

'The true king is the king who leads his battles himself' The famous quote in the world. Which you've heard hundreds of times. But you did not think that your husband would apply the phrase himself. You are still in pain over the murder of your eldest son.

You still haven't forgotten what happened.. You still haven't forgotten how you lost two children in one night. It was like a nightmare.. you hoped you would wake up soon and find yourself in bed with your husband. as a prince and princess.

The weight of your titles weighs heavily on your shoulders. You hoped it was a joke or something but it never was.. Your husband has already entered the game of thrones and getting out of that game is not as easy as entering it.

You were in your room, combing your silver locks, lost in your thoughts then you heard your doors open and there was the new hand of the king. “My queen”. His voice was polite and firm.

“Yes sir criston? ”. You let the comb from your hand and turned to see him standing there close to the big door of your chambers. “His grace requested your presence in his own chambers”. he replied to you.

You nodded and got up from your chair to leave the room. The knight led the way for your husband's chambers. you can't help but feel worry about what will happen next.You don't know what's causing this feeling, but you ignore it for now at least.

The guard opened the door for you and stopped outside the room. You entered the room and your gaze fell directly on him he was standing there in full armor. You swallow and take steps closer to him.

He looked at you and didn't speak yet. There was a silent moment between you two, just letting your eyes speak for you. He meets you with a warm smile on his lips you couldn't help but feel small tears wet your cheeks.

When he opens his mouth to speak, you don't let him but you rushe to him and embraces him hardly. The feel of steel on your skin doesn't bother you at all.He hugged you back he moved your hair away from your bare shoulders and placed his head there to inhale your scent.

One of his hands was gently stroking your hair and the other was tight around you. He broke the silence between you two with a little joke to lighten the mood “Is my queen trying to seduce me with this dress now?” He cocked his head and looked at you with a smile.

You wiped your eyes and chuckled softly “Shut up”. he chuckled with you then he wiped away the remnants of your tears and looked into your eyes.

“Don't cry my queen I won't leave you alone in this world I swear”. He lifted your chin with his thumb so you could look at him. He can see the coming tears from your eyes So he presses a kiss between your eyebrows.

“Do you really have to go?”. The words escaped your trembling lips. You cannot afford another loss and it's not any loss A piece of you. “I'm afraid I do, my love it's my duty to protect my kingdoms...to protect you”.

He tucked your silver locks behind your ears and looked at your eyes sweetly. He may be a king but your tears make him the weakest thing you could ever imagine. He hugged you to his chest again and his arms caress your shoulders and your bare back.

“I want to go with you”. You break the hug and look at him. He cups your cheeks and sighs “No, you will stay here I won't let my queen go the battle”.

“Aegon-” He interrupts you and places his thumb on your lips “No objections You're not going anywhere”. He looked at you in the eye and spoke softly. He was serious, he didn't want to put his wife in danger.

You pulled away from him and turned to give him your back. He sighed at your stubbornness and spoke in a sweet, low tone “Is this how you will say goodbye to me?”.

“This is not a farewell. You will return to me against your will ”. You gently wipe away your tears with the palm of your hand. he chuckled and talked to tease you “I can't promise I'll come back alive”.

You turn around again, with a frown on your face. he chuckles when he sees your face. “This is not funny aegon! ”

He wipes away the tears of laughter and approaches you again. You try to move away again but he grabs your wrist and pulls you to him.He presses his lips to yours forcefully His kisses were desperate and intense. He placed his hands on your cheeks and kissed you hard.

He bit your lower lip until you opened your mouth slightly so he could insert his tongue inside. you gladly opened your mouth slightly and your tongue joined his with an elaborate dance. When he pulled away from you, you were both panting heavily.

He rested his forehead on yours and closed his eyes. You closed your eyes and sighed then you spoke in a low tone “Come back safe”. you whispered in his hear. He smiled at you and replied, “I will.” He holds you tightly and whispers into you ear, “Be strong, love, I'll be home before you know it...”He kisses your shoulder softly.

“Come back to me one piece, please”. you whispered to him.

“I promise, I'll be back..” He caresses your cheek, “You must be brave and look after yourself and our son”. He whispers to you and hugs you again, but this time his lips travel to your exposed neck and kiss you there. Your body shivers under his touch.

He sighs softly as he feels her soft skin beneath his palms “So soft..” He continues to kiss your neck, as his hands working to undress you slowly.He whispers to you and nibbles your ear “If you think you're going to seduce me like this without me doing anything to you, you're wrong my love”.

“I wasn’t planning to seduce you.” You reply with a low tone.

“Excuses...excuses ”. He lets your dress fall so he can kiss your breasts and suck your nipples. Your breasts were still producing milk because you were pregnant from little while before your tragic miscarriage.

He was still in his armor and combat uniform, but you never complained about the feel of the rough steel on your bare skin. He rose from your chest, then got up and rubbed his thumbs over your breasts.

He looked at you in the eye and smiled “Lay on the bed for me my sweet queen”. You felt a tingle of emotions hit your stomach. You did as you were told he smiled at you and knelt at the edge of the bed, spreading your legs he placed a bunch of kisses on your thighs and his tongue started messing with you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair and held your husband's face in place. He was caressing your pearl and he will nor stop until you told him to stop Maybe this was his way of saying goodbye.

♡ – 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 : @darylandbethfanforever9 @hisfavegiri @callsignwidow @xitsemm @saltytidalwavetyphoon @khaleesihel @credulouskhaleesi @lovelykhaleesiii

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon headcanons #aegon the second #aegon fanfic #hotd aegon #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd #house of the dragon #aegon targaryen smut #aegon targaryen ii x you #aegon targaryen x you #aegon x you #aegon x y/n #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #hotd s2 #hotd2 #tom glynn carney #tom glynn carney x reader #danytar #aegon the elder #house targaryen #aegon imagine #hotd fandom #team green

[squirmhoney]

ALL ALONE AT CHRISTMAS

Requested by @queenofthekeep ♡ Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x Reader Warning: Smut. incest. Angst. Arguing. 18+ MDNI A/N:we’ve had a very late start to Christmas today. So even though I know a lot of you won’t see this, I thought I’d grace your Christmas Day with this soft smut❤️ Merry Christmas guys 🎄

“One job,” you shouted, throwing the tickets onto the counter. “It was the one thing I let you do and you fucked it.” 

All you wanted was to tear your hair out in frustration, not knowing who you should be angry with, Aegon for booking the wrong tickets or yourself for thinking that he could be given that much responsibility. 

Aegon’s lips opened, unable to get a syllable out before you were screaming at him again. 

“Don’t,” you told him, putting your hand out. “I’m stuck here for Christmas because you booked the wrong flight.” 

“We,” Aegon stated, standing up from his seat. He made his way over to you, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. “I’m here as well.” 

You pushed his hands away, “Don’t. Just don’t.” 

Aegon’s face dropped at this, a frown covering his face as he retreated away from you. He was at an end with you, back to square one like he had been months ago. All the phone calls, messages and constant reassurance on his end felt like it was for nothing. Had he really spent months patching things up between him and you, just for him to fuck it up over booking the wrong flights. 

Yes, he had booked the wrong flights on purpose. But this isn’t how he planned things turning out, you weren’t supposed to get this upset. Well,  at least not in his head. 

*

Things couldn’t get any worse, until they did. 

Christmas should be spent with your family, not just with your older brother. Especially not one like Aegon. To add to your Christmas nightmare, the power had cut out in Aegon’s apartment, leaving you both curled up on the couch wrapped under an array of blankets trying desperately to keep warm. 

“You can get a bit closer,” Aegon said from the other end of the couch. 

You were shivering, trying to hide your chattering teeth by biting down on your t-shirt. Even with how cold you felt, goosebumps covering your skin, you didn’t want to let him know that. 

“Seriously, you’re freezing over there.” 

In the candle light Aegon saw your eyes look up at him, narrowing your eyes at him with a coldness he had only seen once before. 

He sighed, shaking his head. “Is it always going to be like this?” 

“Like what?” 

“This distance between us, not just physically but in every way shape and form,” he snapped out, throwing his head back. 

“It’s good,” you paused for a second, drawing your legs further in. “To have space.” 

You could feel him rolling his eyes even if you couldn’t see it. 

“Space is good.” You squeezed your knees to your chest. “It’s healthy.” 

“Here we go again.” 

“I don’t know what you expect me to say.” 

“I thought we were over it. I’ve apologised, I’ve kept my distance, I’ve phoned and texted at the right times. What else can I do?” 

“You kissed me,” you shouted at him, a croak in the back of your throat. Realising the sound of your own voice, you looked around the darkness as if someone could hear you. “And you can’t do that.” 

“If I remember correctly, you kissed me back.” 

“You’re delusional.” 

He huffed and when he spoke again you could hear the tears lodged in his airways, begging to spill. “Fuck you.” It was shaky, full of pain that you both shared. 

“I’m your sister, Aegon. Can’t you see how fucked up it is?” 

“You don’t think I know.” He stood up, taking a step away from you. “I hate myself for feeling this way but I can’t help it.” 

“It’s sick,” as soon as the words slipped from your mouth, you regretted them. But maybe it’s what he needed to hear, what you both needed to hear. 

“You act so fucking high and mighty,” he stormed around the room, in the darkness where he wasn’t visible to you. “Like you weren’t a part of this. Like you don’t feel the way I feel.” 

“I don’t-” 

“Keep telling yourself that.” 

-

Christmas wasn’t meant to be spent in silence but for the most part it had been. 

Both you and Aegon had put on glowing smiles for your family when you called, making up lies about how you both were enjoying yourselves. In reality you had been looking at the earliest flight you could catch to get yourself out of there but there weren’t any for a few more days. 

Eventually your phone died and the sun went down, meaning all you could do was stare up into the darkness as you curled up on the couch. You were still cold, the layers of blankets not doing much to help. You were glad for the friendly neighbour that dropped off an array of candles, the apartment being less depressing than it had been. 

In the silence of it all you could only think about Aegon as you were sure he was thinking about you. He had been hauled up in his room, giving you the silent treatment. The only time you had really seen him he was puffy eyed and pale in the face, barely able to look at you. 

You hated him for it. The way your stomach dropped at the sight of him, so distraught and how your eyes could barely look up from your knees to meet his face. With every second that passed you felt your chest tightening more, the silent tears unable to alleviate the weight that was holding you down. 

You weren’t sure of the time when you next saw Aegon. Maybe minutes had passed since the sun had set, maybe even hours. But for some reason you felt stuck in the passage of time, as if you didn’t do something, you’d never leave that apartment. Maybe that was just an excuse. 

Nothing really mattered to you when Aegon opened his bedroom door, finding you standing on the other side. You stood there contemplating for a while on what to do or what you were going to say. All you managed to think of was…

“I was cold,” your voice was quiet, barely audible. You looked up at him, that tight feeling in your chest snapped and you had to bite down on your bottom lip to keep your tears at bay. 

He was so close you could feel the heavy breaths he was taking, his chest almost touching yours. You couldn’t help but place your hand against his bare skin, wanting to ease the pain and sadness you were both feeling. 

When his hands cupped your cheeks, you accepted it. The pads of his thumb wiping at your wet skin, saying the things that you knew he was clearly too scared to say. But his lips said much more when they reached down to yours, hovering a centimetre away from you. 

It was a brush of lips when you closed the distance, delicate and fearful of one another’s rejection. You sobbed into his lips after a second, hands wrapping around his neck as you latched yourself onto him.

That feeling in your chest finally eased when he pulled you into his room, wrapping an arm around your waist. Your bodies moved on instinct, sinking into each other as you clumsily travelled over to his bed. When your foot stumbled on something, Aegon was quick to stop you from falling, snatching you up and throwing you onto his bed. 

You didn’t even know if it was you or him stripping you of your clothes, all you knew was that you were both desperate, tearing them from your body. Before you knew it you were chest to chest, bare against each other and completely vulnerable. His hands roamed your sides, not taking any time as he grabbed at the flesh, almost violently as if he was trying to bruise your skin, leaving his mark for everyone to see. 

“Aegon,” it slipped out in a moan when he grinded his hips into yours, his arousal clear to feel through his boxers. Your legs opened wider, wrapping around his waist to rub yourself up at him. “Please.” 

There was a wetness that had pooled between your thighs, one that Aegon could probably feel through his boxers. You were sure of it when he pressed himself flush against you, his stiff cock nudging at you as much as it could. 

You were breathless when his lips finally retreated from yours, only to latch onto your neck, sucking at the skin of your throat. You weren’t sure how you’d explain the marks he was surely leaving, purple and pink, but that was the last thing you wanted to think of when his tongue lazily trailed over your skin. 

You didn’t realise how much he moved till you felt his hand press against you, dragging his fingers around your soaked cunt. You gasped out, throwing your head back at the sensation as his fingers began to play with you. The swirling in your stomach was unfamiliar to you but it only grew with each drag of his fingers against you. He was barely doing anything but you were a mess, hands clawing at the sheets beneath you. 

When he finally slipped a finger in, you shuddered, only for him to push a second finger in with complete ease. Your pussy sucked him in with each thrust and the moan that fell from your lips made him smile against your skin. 

Was this what you had been depriving yourself of? Months of battling with unfamiliar feelings, only for you to cave just like this. Had it all been for nothing. 

“Aegon, it’s-” you were babbling, unable to finish your words as you let out a harsh breath. 

Your walls squeezed him when you came, back arching off the bed as you felt yourself squirting onto his abdomen. All your thighs wanted to do was close, wriggling around as you tried to escape his touch out of pure embarrassment. But he wasn’t letting you go, grip tightening around you as he yanked you further down onto the bed. 

In the candle lit room, you could barely see what he was doing but you didn’t need to see it. Not when you felt the tip of him press against your folds, hard and wet as he pushed it around, lubing himself up. 

“Aegon,” you pleaded, tears lodged in your throat as you lifted your leg around him. “Please, I need you.” 

He kissed you again, inhaling your very being with just one kiss. 

“I love you,” it came out in a broken cry that vibrated through your whole chest. 

“Say it again,” he demanded, sliding his cock against you. 

Even though you were still terrified of his rejection, worried that after all this he could still push you away, you said it again, “I love you.” 

The next kiss was hungrier than the last, teeth clashing against each other as he pressed himself fully against you and finally pushed himself into you. You both moaned into each other at this, your hands clawing at his back to get closer to him, if that was even possible. 

When he finally lifted his head, giving you space to breathe, he finally said, “I love you. I’ve always loved you.” 

With that you let out a sharp breath you didn’t realise you had been holding. 

It felt like sweet torture the way Aegon thrusted into you, each brush of his cock inside your walls was like a new kind of ecstasy that you couldn’t understand. He was savouring the moment, that much you could tell, enjoying the way your thighs shook with each harsh snap of his hips and your walls clenched around him begging for more. 

The way he fucked you was as if he was still trying to stretch you out, get you ready for what was really about to take place. Even though you weren’t sure if you were ready for it, you were gasping for it, on the verge of crying if he didn’t give you what you so desperately craved right then.

“You need something, baby?” Aegon taunted from above you, lifting one of your thighs to sit between your bodies. 

You gave him a small nod, all you felt like you could manage. 

“I need you to tell me,” Aegon lifted the other legs now, the angle allowing him to reach deeper inside of you. “Speak for me.” 

“I can’t,” you gulped, shaking your head at him. 

“How am I supposed to know what you want?” 

“Please,” tears slid down your cheeks as he delivered a violent thrust. “I-I just n-need more.” 

Aegon slowly pulled out from you, making you whine when his tip sat at your entrance. But before you knew it was sinking back into your walls, snapping his hips into yours with a vicious rage that he clearly had been holding back on. 

Your thighs were shaking at this, unable to keep down each moan that fell from your lips until he pressed his lips against yours. Only for a moment though, letting out a groan of his own as he curved himself into you. 

“You like this,” Aegon stated, grinning against your cheek. “No. No.” 

You were so delirious, you could barely focus on his words. 

“You love this.” 

You clenched around him at this, your cunt clearly agreeing with him. 

“As much as I do.” 

Your eyes widened, feeling that familiar pressure in your stomach ready to snap. With the way your walls were squeezing him, you were sure that Aegon could tell, holding your face in place so he could watch this time. 

“Please,” he pleaded with you, eyes latched onto yours. 

You came for him, walls pulsating around him as the ecstasy spread across your skin. His lips only became more frantic after that, keeping you hooked on that feeling as he chased his own orgasm. One more clench from your cunt, had him spilling into you finally. He sighed as he rocked his hips against yours, making sure to feel you up completely with every last drip of his cum. 

He slipped out of you with a sharp hiss, collapsing on top of you right after. Your breathing was still harsh as you fell slack against the bed, mind starting to become clear. You didn’t want that, not wanting to think of the consequences of what you both had truly done. Not right then at least. 

But Aegon was already softening against you. 

“I don’t want to stop,” you whispered.

“Hmm- What was that?” Aegon asked, shifting to hover above you. 

You were getting choked up again as reality began to hit you, “I-” 

“It’s okay,” Aegon was quick to reassure you, rolling you both over so you were resting on his chest. “You just gotta trust me.” 

You buried your head into his neck, letting him soothe you as his hand rubbed your back. 

“Do you trust me?” 

“I trust you.”

#aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen smut #aegon targaryen imagine #dark aegon smut #aegon targaryen ii x you #dark aegon targaryen #squirmhoneysmutmas

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

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

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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.”

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[darlingofvalyria]

❝I never asked you to, you bumbling oaf.❞

[ Between advices and jealous-fraught fights, nestles your heart in red satin and ivory touch. Or, your marriage so far with the firstborn son of the King. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 3,901 ] | Aegon Targaryen II x Wife!Reader

contains— fluff & smutty - nsfw: oral (f receiving), p & v sex, creampie, breeding kink(?), - soft shit if aegon got to at least have a bit more agency lmao - jealousy - sorta angsty in the beginning but eh - your house is unnamed but you're a bad bitch - no use of y/n - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— it wasn't going to be a full smut, but aegon happened so here we are. comment, reblog & like at will, mwa!

Fraught might be a marriage arranged— cost and effect, weighed by titles and expectations of such matches made, emotion of either future spouse the least they weigh when they make their decisions — but you had grown to adore your husband.

You had been warned, of course. Gossip and small-minded chatter followed the firstborn son of the King. That despite the regality of Targaryen roots and colouring, he was a whoremonger, an addled-drunk, a monstrous caveat shrouded in dark green silk and iron.

You were called a victim, a damsel in distress meant to be saved before you had even met him. And yet not a single one of them batted an eye, much less offered a hand to rescue you from such turmoil. More than prepared to send you off. Others, of course, wishing for a prince to be married to their house, spit their scorn and irony.

The day you met him was a hot day. The sun basked the Crownlands with an almost venomous hatred, and it did not help your anticipation. Nor the long and arduous travel that turned the carriage into a hotbox meant to cook.

Your rear had ached in pain, almost as painful as your pinched cheeks that your grandmother had twisted unto your skin before you got out to meet the Queen, the Hand, and your betrothed, reminding you that a Princess Consort must always look her best, must appeal to her husband at all times "but must not be whorish! And sit straight, by the Seven, girl! Remember to exit gracefully! Like a swan, not a duck! Yes, there is a difference! Scamper your sarcasm!"— your gown was heavy, cinched tight and thick in beautiful fabric and small pearls and sapphires.

You had smiled prettily, bowed perfectly, and when you finally faced your betrothed, he was barely able to stand, pale as a sheet, and suffering from his cups the night before, sweat weeping on his brow.

It had sent a strike down your spine, irritation and anger spinning beneath pearly teeth. You bite down any word before they escape, forcing you to a perfect posture and a sharpened edge to your smile.

Aegon Targaryen, Second of his Name, had taken a step back, almost subconsciously, as fear flashed in his darling blue eyes.

Your good brother, having found out of this first interaction, had not stopped teasing your husband for the next few moons. Your good sister, you were told much later, had hummed wistfully, fingers dancing between rings as if she knew much more than anyone else, a small smile playing on the corners of her lips.

The memory makes you laugh now, warming your cold fingers against your first winter storm in Kings Landing. Snow torrents in whirlwinds and spikes, filling the Godswood in flurries and icicles.

Your Lady In Waiting, Emma Redwyne with her pretty Tully red hair and curled lashes that you had always found envy in, bows in greeting. You don't acknowledge her, which you recognise as nothing but pettiness, but you can't bring yourself to stop. You continue to stare forward, hand outstretched in the flurry of snow, when she awkwardly speaks.

"The prince is in your bedchambers, my princess."

You hum in acknowledgement, but no more. She shifts.

"He says he will not leave lest it is you who tells him so."

You turn to her, churlish in your expression of irritation and she winces, tucking her chin once more in false reverence before you sigh. The Lady Redwyne had been a friend once, an acquaintance really. Your grandmother had warned you that though you should have a good relationship with your ladies, it was best to keep them at an arm's length.

"Vipers and greed make stock in the centrefold of power, my dearest," she murmured, gnarled hands twinning your hair, a colour close to her own when she had been your age. You had been told you looked just like her, a gem in her era, her hand sought after by lords and princes alike before your grandsire made a weighty proposal to her house. "No matter what friendship you can build, all of it is but fat clouds and sandcastles. Pretty as they are, easily destructible by the next gust of wind."

"But they would be my ladies." The idea that the women closest to you should be kept with a good eye brought a weight to your chest. Trust is a hard thing to grasp in this place, you were fast learning.

You grandmother tutted, her hands cupping your chin, tilting upward until the same eyes met. One aged and knowing, another young and soon will understand the weight of life. Of the coat she bore with her husband's house in front of the Sept.

"Just watch and see, my sweet. Your future husband is a prince. They will try their damnedest. But you should not lose, for you are his wedded consort."

Now, your eyes linger on the cut of Lady Redwyne's gown. Far too revealing for the coldest touch of the year. The rogue in her cheeks, in her lips. There is a new necklace nestled on her bosom, no doubt an insistent gift from her father.

You wonder if your husband had stirred at the sight of her full visage. That if you had not been upset with him as it it, and have not abandoned your marriage quarters for three moons now, his fingers would have danced across her pale collarbones, fingering the dropped ruby at the centre of her throat. Pressing a light kiss on the gem.

The fornicated memory brings nausea and anger, but you are not new to your role, much less the greed of others, even those closest to you, so you strangled it with will.

If Aegon had dared to mock you anew while you were both in cold waters, he has been too aware now of your anger and what it means for him.

You look back at the peek of red leaves still attached to the tree, almost a stubborn refusal to move with the order of the gods, and you smile despite yourself.

"... My princess?"

Your annoyance spikes.

"And if I tell you to tell him that I will sleep in another chamber, mayhaps upturn a chamber meant for guests, will he then rot forever in my bedchamber?" You turn to her, eyebrow arched. "Will he not be accosted for leaving his duties undone? Must I treat him as a babe throwing a tantrum? Soothe him?" You step toward her. She flinches, a bird wanting to take flight but knows better than to move without her mistress' orders. "Or have you already tried so, to soothe the prince, and have been told to scram, to fetch me, for you are not his wife?"

Her eyes flutter, chest heaving. "My Princess, please—"

"Enough," you say primly, gathering your skirts. "Come to my chambers before dinner but no earlier. The only reason I haven't sent you back to the Reach is by grace and no more."

"My princess." She bows again and you don't miss the clenched jaw as you leave in a flutter of your bloodred gown and arched chin.

You have only just turned a corner when you hear a voice, soft and silky, familiar for many moons now.

"That was harsh of you, good sister."

You pause and spin, letting out a small laugh at the appearance of your good brother. Tall and princely in visage, he inclines his head in greeting while you bow.

"You are mistaken, my prince."

"Hm?"

You smirk. "That was kindness on my part."

He hums, fighting off a smile. Or what you think is a smile. Prince Aemond is still a mystery to you, but he is polite and you find yourself in good ease with your good brother. Unlike your husband, he wears his duty like armour and wield it like a sword. More than once, you are made to imagine what it would be like to have been married to him instead of your husband, and you blanche at the thought.

Though there is complications and evergreen misunderstanding with your husband at most turns, you cannot find yourself happy to the idea of being married to the One-Eyed Prince. There is nothing to say of his scarred appearance— as it does nothing but exemplify his gifted wielding of the sword, but being so honour and duty bound as you, it would be a cool, crisp marriage wheeled on routine and silent understandings.

A monotonous life might be a mercy to most, a dream to some even, but it brings hives to your skin at the mere idea.

Silent dinners and polite conversations are one thing. A marriage built on everything but... it would unsettle and madden your soul.

He offers his arm. "May I escort you to your chambers and my sad sack of a brother?"

You temper your giggle, taking his elbow. "I would be delighted."

Quiet pinches both of your measured footsteps, but you revel in its serenity. Maegor's Holdfast is stone and steel in the winters, fewer bodies lingering in corridors and corners to stave off into rooms with heat, but the rest that do are about, bow at your persons.

"I see you are adjusting well," he finally says. You turn, eyebrow arched. "As a princess consort of the realm."

"Was I so unprepared in my earlier moons?"

"In a way. Helaena says you are still comely and kind, despite being married to my brother."

"I am satisfied in my marriage, Prince Aemond," you say, unable to stop your raised hackles and need to defend your husband. "My duty to the realm is not strained in the least, and I... care for him."

He gives you a long look but you refuse his stare. He hums again, and whatever topic is breached is dropped. The quiet follows up until the doors of your chambers where he stops.

"Thank you for escorting me, my prince. I know your duties occupy your time."

"A duty of mine is to ensure my good sister is in safe hands." He gives a beckoning bow, notching an eyebrow at the door. "And I wish you ever happiness with your marriage to my brother, the Seven knows your duty is harder than mine."

Before you can retort, he is gone, and you are left with a sigh before you push through.

Though a prince, there is nothing princely of Aegon's sprawl on your bed. His gold, silver spun hair like a halo akimbo his face. Warmth emanates from the fire while he plays with his fingers atop his stomach.

"I thought you will ignore me once more, my wife," he speaks to the air, face still straight to the ceiling.

As you close the doors, a nod to your sworn shield, your straightened shoulders hunch as you relax. An unladylike snort breaking through the quiet. You don't see it, but Aegon smiles at the sound, a pang hitting his chest at the sound of comfort that he misses so.

"These are my chambers, husband," you say. "Unless you are meaning to kick me out of the Keep in total, I think my appearance in my own is not a totally shocking thought."

You sit beside him but do not lay down, giving him a good look as he stares up at you with a vacant expression. He is sober, in a way that there is a glassy sheen to his mullish blue eyes the colour of lightning and thunderstorms. His pallour is pale and his clothes are rumpled, but there is no near stench of wine or woman.

In fact he smells like Aegon on his good days; dragon and grime at the edges, soot and wind.

"I have not been to the Silk Street since we have been married," he says as if reading your thoughts. "I have not, and will refuse, to stray from our marital chambers." He gives you a poke. Like a child. "Unlike you."

You know he is telling the truth. He made the vow to you on your marriage bed, hands intertwined, fresh purple blooms appearing on your throat as he bore crescent shaped moons on his back.

You had to wear high-necked collars for two weeks. In the summers. It was impossibly awful, but the memory of your first night is one you cherish. What you go back to when tempers flare and sadness beckons in corners.

He had spent that first night worshipping you, ensuring you are more than sated before he had taken his own pleasure.

"But women who want you need not be whores to tempt you to their beds," you finish softly, unable to stop yourself as you take one of his hands to your lap, spinning the silver ring he keeps on his last finger.

"My wife, dearest to my heart." Your eyes flutter close at the endearments. It was a running joke to both of you, a joke that evolved with sincerity and... well, you hoped was love.

"I had tea with your grandmother, wife."

You looked up from your lunch, lips thinning at the joke and excitement nestled in giggles he was holding back. "Oh no. I knew I should have sent her back home the minute our vows were over."

He laughed then, taking the unoccupied seat across from you as he pressed his lips to your head. It made your heart flutter, even more so as he plucked a berry from your tart and offered it to your lips. He looked with insistence so you ate it. He pressed a thumb to your bottom lip before pressing a soft kiss to his own lips. You tried not to furiously blush.

"What has she told you?"

"Many a topic." He laughed again at your groan. Aegon had found himself enamoured with you as days past. Learning how you act less primly and more comfortable in his presence had brought him a good sense of happiness. Something he thought he lost forever. And he found, the happier he made you, the stronger the happiness in himself grew. It was an addicting feeling.

"But the prime idea were endearments."

"Endearments?"

"That a husband and wife with a pretty marriage such as ours, as we are royals, must show hope and perpetual peace for the people."

You frowned. "And... endearments give perpetual peace to the people how?"

"A show of the stability of our marriage. Of fondness. So now, I shall call you my dearly beloved heart."

You made a strange, strangling sound that had your husband giggling in surprise. "Pardon me, my prince. I—"

"Your precious honey bee."

"... Excuse me?"

"Babycakes?"

"Are you ill?"

"The darling of your eye, then."

You blinked. "Pardon?"

"What you call me," he teased.

"I refuse."

"You refuse?"

"Yes." You fought your own smile. "You are not the darling of my eye, and calling you thus, will make me a liar."

The pinched expression of jealousy made you bite your lip. "And who is, pray tell, the darling of your eye?"

"My grandmother."

You pressed your lips together. Aegon blinked in shocked. Then the both of you burst out in hard laughters, holding your chests and stomachs.

"We shall find an endearment for your beloved husband then," he announced after he had gasped for breath, dabbing the tears collected from his eyes. His smile enchanted you, wide and beautiful, upturned with a gaze as if he was beheld by the most darling of creatures. The urge to skip over him, drape yourself on his lap, and kiss him silly was an urge you pushed down.

"The... babe to my wondrous bosom?"

"Aegon!"

"So in counsel? That is not a definite no."

"My love?" he calls now, bringing your shared hands to his lips. "Lay down with me."

Before you can retort, he pulls you down to him until your warmth is shared, burning in a single flame. A sigh leaves your mouth, and the sound urges him to pull you impossibly closer.

"Women may find themselves in our bed, but unless they are you, they are nothing," he says after a minute. You tense up and he rubs your back. "I have made a vow."

"I will not hate you if you do. Anger is sordid, but I know my role. I know that is common practice for husbands, and as Princess Consort—"

He pulls you to him, your chest pressed against his as he held your face in his hands. His eyes are sad but his gaze is firm. "Your role as my wife does not mean you stay silent in your anger. Fight me. Make as much ruckus as you want. Tell Sunfyre to burn me to a crisp. You know as much High Valyiran as I at this point."

You laugh, forehead falling on his chest as you feel the burn in your eyes as tears escaped you. "I am no dragonrider."

A laughter rumbles his chest. "Could have fooled me," he teased.

"What?"

When you look up, he is smirking. "You've ridden me before."

"Aegon!"

He noses your jaw, kissing the edge of your chin. "The lemon of your tart, you mean."

"No, I do not." A sigh leaves you as his kisses turn into suckles, his hands holding you steady, rubbing circles against your skin.

"I think... I am fully forgiven now? For you have slept far away from me—" You yelp as he bites your ear, "— for too long a time. And for spending more time with my brother than you have of me in a while. Truly unfair punishment."

"He has only escorted me."

He flips you both, unlacing the front of your bodice with adept fingers while he leaves a trail of bites at every exposed skin. "While I wait by your chambers like a lovesick fool?"

"I never asked you too, you bumbling oaf."

He huffs a laugh, ripping down the front of your dress as you shriek, eyes meeting your own with a dark glint, before his hot mouth envelops your pert nipple. You keen.

"I am still a-angry with you," you sigh, running your fingers through his silver locks. When your body adjusts, seeking to pleasure the warmth between your thighs, he moves lower as if he can read your mind, read your wants, and when you make a roll of your hips right against his tenting manhood, his groan vibrates against your breast to your ribcages.

"I understand." He leans back on his hunches, smile sweet, before he shuffles around and underneath your dress, past your small clothes, and takes a slow swipe of his finger against your warm, wet folds. Your hips buck, a gasp leaving your throat, and he breathlessly laughs.

"Your beloved honey bee would like to taste the nectar between your thighs that you have so graciously held against me for so long."

You groan, suppressing a shiver as he holds your thighs steady with his own laughter. "The urge to kick you is strong, my husband. Enough to risk the Lord Hand's ire. And your mother's."

He groans, stilling in the midst of pushing your skirts up, he pops his head back toward you. "Please, owner my beating heart. The fire to my dragon. The lemon cake to my tea—

"— that one is your least creative one so far —"

"— Let us not speak of my mother, gods forbid, my grandsire, while I am between your legs. For the good of the realm."

"The good of the realm?" You scoff. Then yelp as he bites your thigh, soothing it with a lap of his tongue.

"Yes, my sweet, the good of the realm." He pops back to you, hair askew, eyes devilish, as he grins. "It is common knowledge that heirs are for the good of the realm. And I cannot bring you pleasure if you keep mentioning people I'd rather not imagine while doing so. And your pleasure, from what your grandmother had told me from our many afternoon teas, my sweetest, golden love, is important for my heirs."

Your giggles turn breathless when he disappears beneath your skirts once more. "I surrender then... apple of my tarts."

The sound of his giggles underneath your skirts soon grow muted against the sound of your pleasure. The thing about Aegon, is that pleasure is meant to be savoured. So as he slowly tears through your own clothes while he makes you reach your peak once, twice, thrice— your skin drenched in sweat, rose blush bloomed your face and neck, arms weakened and thighs unable to hold steady — you turn to your husband, the haze of your orgasm clouding any rational thought as you beheld him, still fully clothed with your juices on his face, a proud smirk twisted on his lips.

"Are you okay, beloved?" He rests a hand on your face and you nuzzle against him. "Shall I call for a bath now?"

"Later," you pronounce breathlessly. "If you do not find yourself inside me in the next second, I shall curse you for evermore."

He laughs, giving you a languid kiss before he steps back and strips.

He does not make a show of it, as harried and hard for you (no catching of his pleasure against the bed could ever compare to thrusting inside of you), and you watch his weeping cock with an unbashed hunger of your own, as he pumps it a few times, eyes staring at your visage as you widen your legs, holding your thighs to give him a sweet view.

He groans. "What Silken Street whore could be compared to my wife so willing? What lady would be enough?"

"I swear to the Seven, if you do not end your blasted soliloquy—"

His laughter rings, body covering your own before he slides in your warm, wet cunny. Blasphemy spills his tongue as a softened sigh leaves you. Though he is not lengthy, his girth stretches, thrilling the nerves up to your throat. The ease is given by your wetness, but he is slow, making sure you felt every ridge and vein until you cry softly at your abused pearl rubbing against his body.

"I will not last," he half spits, jaw clenched. "I will have to- I'm sorry but—"

"Do it," you whisper, locking your ankles on his ass as much strength as your legs can allow. "Pound me into the matress."

"Fuck," is the last thing he says before he follows your orders, each hit against your cervix building your own peak. "Pretty wife, darling pearl, the sexiest— fucking—" spills and spits between groans and cries, chasing his high brings your own.

"A-aeg, I—"

He kisses your mouth, effectively shutting you up as he slides a hand between your sweaty bodies, finding your pearl and circling hard. As soon as you're cumming to the high heavens, tightening and twitching, a garbled scream out of your throat— he slams once, twice, as his own high entangles your own, a punctuated moan breaking out of his throat.

His seed spurts, floods, before his cock turns flaccid inside you, and you feel warm and full underneath him.

He presses his forehead against your collarbone. "Maybe we should fight more oft, nectar of my obsession."

"Sure," you say. "I will spend more time with Aemond then."

He punctures a groan as you giggle.

#aegon ii fanfiction #aegon ii fluff #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aegon targaryen ii x you #hotd fluff #hotd fanfiction #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒 #aegon targaryen ii fluff #aegon targaryen ii

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

What did you just say?

Aegon x Fem reader (y/n)

«The news of your marriage and pregnancy woke the dragon inside him.»

Sorry I just watched this gif and I couldn't avoid thinking about a moment like this. Also I want to utilize this short writing to let you know that I also like Game of thrones, House of the dragon, star wars, teen wolf, etc. so, occasionally I will start to post about those characters too.

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors.

Part 2 is finally here.

A soft knock on the door echoed in the room, Aegon was sitting, drinking his morning cup of wine.

- Come in.

- My king.

A servant appeared in the meeting room, Aegon was waiting for him anxiously. Since he became king he only wanted one thing. You.

Both were betrothed before Alicent decided to cancel it and marry Aegon with his sister, Helaena.

He really needed you at his side, he wanted you, his mother made a mistake, he always said that, it was unfair not only for him but for Helaena too, so, now he was king, he wanted a new wife, he wanted what a long time ago belonged to him.

Unfortunately, the poor servant's face was not the kind of face that brings good news.

- Speak now, where's she? Where's my betrothed?

- My king... I... The information I obtained, it's maybe just rumours, I do not intend to defile Lady (y/n)'s reputation or her virtue, But...

Before the servant could end, Alicent appeared at the door, the look in her eyes could say there was guilt and fear.

- Get out, I want to talk with my son.

The servant nodded and started to walk out when Aegon stopped him, he wouldn't let him go without knowing the news or rumors about his beloved.

- Stay, you haven't finished yet, What do you know about her?

- Aegon...

- Silence, you Continue.

- Lady y/n got married a few moons ago with the lord of the north, as I said these are maybe just rumors, but it's probably she's pregnant, a wolf is growing inside her, My king.

Aegon stood up and walked around the room, the servant hadn't moved, Alicent closed her eyes, she was standing there like a statue just waiting for Aegon's reaction. Suddenly, Aegon walked directly to the servant, his face was almost purple of Anger, his eyes could burn, certainly, the news of your marriage and pregnancy woke the dragon inside him.

His hot breaths with the smell of the wine he drank before, were now filling the servant's nose and lungs.

The goblet In his hand flew to the other side of the room, tension filled the room, silence was uncomfortable, then, Aegon simply asked.

- What did you just say?!

#aegon ii #aegon ii x reader #x yn #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii fic #aegon targaryen ii x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #reading #x reader #reader insert #house of the dragon #house of dragons #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon x you #house targaryen #house stark #fanfiction #long reads

[maidragoste]

The Parent Trap: Chapter Two

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

Summary: After the disastrous divorce between Aemond Targaryen and Y/n Velaryon the twins Baelon and Aemon were separated. Each was raised by one of their parents. Baelon was raised by his father while Aemon was raised by his mother. Years later they both meet at a summer camp and discover the existence of the other. The twins realize that there are many secrets in their family, eager to discover their past, they put together a plan to deceive their parents.

Masterlist

Thank you for your support, I was nervous that people wouldn't like it because the fic wasn't the same as the movie so I'm very happy to read all your comments. REBLOGS, comments and likes are always appreciated 🥰🥰💕💕💕

Btw, I made two playlists for this fic. One is from Aemond and the Reader and another is from Reader and Aegon. As I keep writing I'll probably add more songs or even delete some, who knows. If you have songs for me to add or are curious to know why, you are welcome to write to me in my inbox.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

Ten years earlier

Your leg kept moving up and down. Your eyes are constantly directed to the door, expecting that at any moment Aemond would return home. You tried to distract yourself by watching TV but you were too anxious. Your mind couldn't focus on the stupid movie because all you could think about was the positive sign on the pregnancy tests you had taken that afternoon with Rhaena and Jace by your side. You regretted telling them to leave. If they were with you they would be preventing you from locking yourself in your own mind. They would make you tell them your fears and they would try to calm you down. The three of them would be making plans. You might even be practicing with Jace how the hell tell Aemond they were going to be parents.

You and Aemond would be parents. You would be a mother. You always knew you would have children, you wanted the happily ever after with the wedding and children like they always showed in the movies, but now you are terrified. It wasn't supposed to be like this. You're barely twenty-three years old, you haven't even finished your second year of editorial editing. It was assumed that when you had children you would be at least over twenty-seven, your career—a career you were truly passionate about—would be finished, you would have a good job, and you would be married. You tried to console yourself by telling yourself that at least you're in a stable relationship. You and Aemond have been dating for three years. You two knew each other since you were little because your godmother is Aemond's older sister and then you ended up attending the same school so you spent a lot of time together. You still remember like it was yesterday how nervous you were when you first kissed Aemond during New Year's. You were afraid of ruining your friendship and that things would become awkward but he didn't pull away when you kissed him he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer to him. That night they hid from everyone and spent the rest of the celebration kissing. The next day they started dating. From there everything was wonderful. Like any couple, you and Aemond have your run-ins—like when you argued because you didn't like the way he behaved with Jace, your best friend, or when Aemond got mad at you because you made the two of you leave the restaurant you were having a date at. to pick up a drunk Aegon in a bar again—but there was definitely more joy than displeasure in your relationship with Aemond. You saw yourself having a future with him, you could see yourself perfectly next to him in your white dress. You can imagine Aemond putting a baby to sleep while he lulls it to sleep in High Valyrian. Are you sure you want a future with Aemond. But you're terrified of his reaction to this unexpected news. What would you do if Aemond didn't want to keep the baby? You would have to break up with him. Even though you were scared, you knew you wanted to keep the baby. That was clear to you.

You heard the door open and it didn't take long for your boyfriend to enter. You got up from the couch and went to hug him. Whenever he returned home you welcomed him with a hug and kisses. This time you held on to him longer than usual, wanting to remember the feeling of Aemond's arms around you in case this was the last time.

You were about to kiss him but he turned your face away from him making your heart skip a beat. Before you could move away he gently grabbed your chin and studied you carefully. Of course, he had realized something was happening to you when you were clinging so fiercely to him.

“What's wrong?” he asked. Aemond first wanted to know what was happening to you before you kissed him.

Once again you regretted kicking Rhaena and Jace out. At least you should have taken advantage of this time alone to practice in front of the mirror how to tell your boyfriend that you are pregnant. Or you could have called your parents to help you. Although knowing them they would tell you to keep the secret so that the three of them could plan a big announcement together. But you couldn't wait, you need to know now what Aemond was thinking. You needed to know whether or not he would be with you on this trip.

“Y/n?” Your boyfriend called you, feeling his concern growing with every second that you remained silent.

“I think I'm pregnant” You closed your eyes feeling frustrated with yourself and hurried to correct yourself “I mean, I'm pregnant” You tried not to panic as you felt him move away from you “I haven't had any blood tests done yet but I'm One hundred percent sure I'm pregnant. I took five pregnancy tests and they all came back positive.”Your nerves were evident because you were talking faster than normal and you couldn't stop gesturing with your hands.

Aemond felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on him. This was not in his plans. Right now he was focused on opening his own publishing house, he needed to focus all of his attention on that, he didn't need a distraction and a baby would be that. Taking care of a child would take up too much time. But I couldn't tell you that. I'd be an idiot if I told you that. His mother didn't raise him to be an idiot.

“Marry me,” he said, knowing it was the right thing to do. Besides, ever since you two moved in together, he knew you were going to get married. He knows that he wants to spend the rest of his life waking up next to you, he wants your face to be the first and last thing he sees, he wants to come home and always be greeted with your kisses, he wants you to tell him about your day while the two of you have dinner, He wants to hear your theories about the TV shows you watch together. Aemond wants everything with you, even the most mundane things like going grocery shopping or walking the dogs. He loves you. The only reasons Aemond hadn't proposed to you already was because he wanted to wait until you finished college and he wanted his publishing company to be established. Planning a wedding was a big deal and you two didn't have time for that. But now it didn't matter anymore. “Marry me,” he said again with a smile as he saw how you opened your eyes and looked at him as if he were giving you the moon.

You couldn't help but laugh at yourself, feeling like an idiot for doubting Aemond. Maybe it wasn't the romantic proposal you had dreamed of but you didn't care. You were so relieved and so glad you didn't have to do this alone.

“Yes,” you responded with your heart racing and tears in your eyes. “Yes!” you repeated louder this time before throwing yourself into your fiancé's arms. You began to laugh as Aemond picked you up and spun you around. Your fears were forgotten. The only thing you felt at that moment was happiness.

Present

Aemon found it strange that when he arrived at camp Rickon was not waiting for him at the entrance like the previous years. He assumed this time that the trip had tired him too much and he went to take a nap in his cabin. So he decided to go there first instead of searching for him throughout the rest of the camp. If Rickon wasn't there at least he would leave his suitcases so he could walk comfortably.

When he entered the cabin he expected to find it empty or his best friend sleeping. He never imagined that an almost exact copy of him would be found walking back and forth all over the place. Aemon is not proud but his first reaction is to scream and throw his suitcase at him with all his might.

“Dude, what the hell?!” his copy shouted, barely managing to cum in time to avoid being hit.

“What happened?!” Rickon asked, also screaming, running out of the bathroom. “Aemon you finally arrived!” He ran to hug him.

Aemon barely moved his arms to hug Rickon but his eyes did not leave the other boy who was too similar to him. The copy of him didn't stop looking at him either, the two of them were studying each other. The only difference is that the stranger had much shorter hair than Aemon and did not have tanned skin like him. But Aemon knew that if he hadn't been sailing in the sun with his grandparents just a few days ago then he would look just like the copy of him.

"Who is he?" Aemon asked breaking the hug, no longer able to stand his curiosity. If he had encountered the copy of him years ago he would have thought that it was some kind of prank by Rickon or that maybe it was an evil clone but now he knew that it didn't make sense. The only logical explanation he could think of was that he had a missing twin but that didn't make sense because his mom would never hide something as big as this from him.

“Aemon do you need glasses? It's obvious that he's a copy of you," said the dark-haired boy, earning an angry look from the other two boys. “Don't do that, it's weird,” he complained.

“I am not Aemon's copy. In any case, he is my copy,” declared the short-haired boy.

“I met Aemon before so you are a copy of him.”

“Wait, why does he know my name?” Aemon interrupted before the other two continued fighting over who the copy was. He needed to know what was going on before he gave him a headache. Although since he saw the stranger he began to feel bad. It was disconcerting to see someone just like himself. He made him feel uncomfortable. Not even Joffrey looked that much like him, and she was his brother.

Aemon wanted to know who this boy was, why he looked so much like him, and why this was the first time he had met him. But at the same time, he was afraid. He could already sense that his life would be different after this camp. He decided to sit on the nearest bed to avoid running out and ask one of the caregivers for his cell phone to call his parents to come back to look for him. Maybe he should have let Mom walk him to the cabin like she wanted.

“Your friend thought I was you, he came up shouting your name when I was with my uncle Daeron. My uncle said that he knew you and that I should stay with Rickon until you showed up. Now I see why he insisted so much."

Aemon was sure he had heard Daeron's name before but he was sure he had never met him. Without realizing it he began to move his leg up and down trying to remember that he knew about Daeron but nothing came to mind.

“I am Baelon Targaryen,” the boy introduced himself, looking at him with concern and Aemon squeezed his leg to prevent himself from moving it further. “I think I'm your twin.”

“No,” the long-haired boy denied instantly.

“Dude, we're literally copies of each other!” Baelon said, frustration evident in his voice, pointing at Aemon and then at himself.

Rickon gave Baelon a look telling him to shut up. In the few hours that he had known him, Baelon had never seen Rickon so serious, so he crossed his arms indignantly and watched silently and attentively as Stark sat next to his twin.

“I know it seems crazy, Aemon, but I really think Baelon is right,” said the dark-haired boy, looking at his friend with concern. Rickon wouldn't know how to react either if he suddenly found out that he had a twin. “The two are copies of each other. Besides, he grew up without knowing his mom and you grew up without knowing your dad. I don't think it's a coincidence. Just like I don't think it's a coincidence that Baelon's uncle knew you."

Aemon looked at his best friend before turning his attention to his possible new brother. “When were you born?”

"June 20th. I guess just like you," said Baelon, and was satisfied when he saw that his twin nodded. "I have a photo of Mom!" He suddenly remembered the photo that he had stolen from Dad a long time ago and that he had hidden in his luggage. “You can see her and confirm that she is our mom,” he said excitedly, thinking that this way Aemon could no longer deny his relationship. He couldn't help but be excited at the thought that he was no longer alone, he had a brother. He had always seen how close his uncle Daeron was to his dad and his other uncles and he remembered wanting to have the same.

Baelon ran to grab his suitcase and began to take out all of his clothes, not caring about the mess, until he found the latest Boku no Hero manga that he was reading and triumphantly pulled out one of the pages the photo of her mother with him in her arms while she kissed his cheek, her eyes were only on him, not caring to look at the camera.

“Look,” he said, handing the photo proudly to Aemon. The photo wasn't complete, it was obvious that someone had cut it in half but Baelon didn't care. That photo was one of his most prized possessions. He looked at her every day before going to sleep because he reminded him that his mom loves him.

“Oh, shit,” Aemon muttered before handing the photo back to him.

“It's her, right?” Baelon asked, watching with anticipation as it was now Aemon who was searching for something in his suitcase. Aemon, unlike him, was not throwing his clothes everywhere. He felt his heart race when he saw how his twin took out a notebook and took something out of it.

“Is this your dad?” Aemon asked, giving him a photo. Baelon nodded several times, unable to say anything out of emotion. His dad wasn't looking at the camera but he wasn't looking at the baby he was holding either. He just looked to the side with a smile.

Baelon took both photos and placed them side by side on the bed. The photo was now complete. Dad was looking at Mom. If Baelon hadn't been so engrossed in looking at the photo then he would have noticed Aemon and Rickon exchanging glances.

“I told you we're twins!” Baelon said with a big smile once he snapped out of the shock of nudging Aemon.

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hotd masterlist

#aegon ii x reader #the parent trap au #parent trap au #hotd x reader #hotd fic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #dad aemond #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen ii x you #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x you #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #modern aegon #modern aemond #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd x you #aegon ii x y/n

[howyouloveyourdragon]

Sweet Girl

pronouns: she/her (afab) warnings: smut (piv, oral (male & female receiving), soft, rough), hickeys, possessiveness, incest kinks: light degradation, spit, praise, corruption, overstimulation summary: Aegon and Aemond are less than impressed when they hear that their sweet girl has been betrothed to a man of House Blackwood. They decide she must be claimed in every way a dragon can be claimed and perhaps they may discover even more. pairing/s: Aemond x reader x Aegon dividers by: firefly-graphics wordcount: 4,221

His heart hammers at the sight. His nose twists at the display. His hand clasps a cup to raise. “Final tribute!” Aemond announces, a sly grin twisting his lips but all can see the disgust within it. “To the health of my nephews; Jace, Luke and Joffrey.” He can sense her attention returned to him in mere moments. “Each of them, handsome, wise…Strong.” The implication is clear before Jace even entirely turns his body toward him. “Aemond,” His mother hisses but it means nothing when your eyes are on him. Aemond merely smirks as Luke’s hand drops from his sister’s waist. “Come let us drain our cup to these three…Strong boys,” He pretends to have recalled something. “Ah and my beloved niece’s engagement, I am sure Lord Blackwood will satisfy you plenty. After all, it does not take much to please you.” “I dare you to say that again.” Jacaerys warns, eyes consuming most of his anger while he tries to stay composed. “Why?” He quirks a brow and turns to him. “‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?” The closer they step to one another, the higher the tension rises. In a swift movement you push your younger brother behind you. “Do you not want your sister well satiated?” “Aemond.” It’s your voice that snaps at him this time, Targaryen rage shooting through your voice. Your eyes are narrowed on him but the attention is welcome. He merely smirks at you and that is enough to set Jacaerys on him again, shoulders squared and hunched. "Perhaps only by yourself," The older prince continues to taunt. Jacaerys is quick to fist his hand and hurl it at his uncle but it barely breaks impact.  You go to move, yelling at them to stop for once but Aegon grasps your wrists tightly and tugs you flat against his chest. He swallows and blinks rapidly to forget the warm wall of your body against him, oh for the love of seven hells– Jacaerys is shoved to the floor in mere seconds while you scramble futilely to rush to one of the princes. To whom, Aegon is not sure but it makes him smirk all the same. “That is enough.” Alicent chastises as she stands firmly. Aegon attempts to hold back a snicker. Idiot, he thinks to himself. 

Before Aegon can comment, Rhaenyra has snatched you into her arms. He tries for maybe a moment to scrounge you back but Daemon glares and the point is made clear. “Why would you say such a thing before these people?” Alicent asks, grappling Aemond by both forearms and the mixture of desperation and frustration evident across her crinkled brow. “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother.” Aemond snides, attempting to keep his voice soft before calling out louder, “Mm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.” Jacaerys struggles in a guard's grip but when he breaks free, Daemon stands before him and halts the boy. The rest is a blur and quite frankly you don’t care, you’re too busy trying to drown out the hurt circling your mind. When Daemon commands you to go to your chambers and your mother finally releases you, you make a point of shoving past him. Aegon bites back a snicker while his brother scowls. They both share a smirk, lips twitching upward in tandem. Everything is going perfectly to plan. 

The first mistake you should have gathered was that it was Ser Criston Cole who had decidedly stepped up to escort you and your brothers to your guest chambers. You were the final stop and no matter your attempts to engage in conversation, he stayed stiff and silent albeit with eyes glances over you every few seconds before hurriedly returning to in front. Worry cinches your brows and anxiety smothers your body but it needn’t matter once he stands guard at your bed chamber door. That should have been the second mistake. You should have noticed as he dismissed the guard that usually stood before your door and commented on needs elsewhere. You should have noticed as he slammed the door firmly shut. But not all mistakes are unwanted… 

You slip into your bed chamber, your sparkling eyes alight with wet unshed tears as you recall the night. You sniffle, not even noticing as a short pattering presses through your walls. A low chuckle wraps around Aegon’s throat before the noise is stifled by his brother’s hand. Aemond’s steps are slower, more careful. Deliberate. A grin as sly as a sneer graces his lips as he peers past the tapestry covering them. Wait…He just needs to wait. And he has proved over the past six years, he is fully capable of this, it is just that his brother is wetting his own lips and jogging his leg in impatience. You call in your ladies maids who gossip and giggle in your ear as they unlace your coal dress, the ruby detailing crumpling in a pattern within it. The laces slide through but their hands are rough and hurried. Aemond almost growls, they have no idea what they’re doing, no idea just who they have the permission to undress. To savour. Aemond would savour you. No, he will savour you. Your fingers are so delicate as they unlock the pattern of your braids, of the thick ropes of silver that falls past your shoulders. Aegon feels a rumbling in his throat again as his groin grows at the sight of hands peeling back your head to gather your hair up and expose your neck. Oh what he wants to do to your neck. Hands finger at your necklace, one that is high and steel and he’s sure must be warm from the heat of your body by now. Aegon sinks his teeth into his lip, letting delusion consume him as he imagines his thick fingers twining it higher on your sweet flesh and yanking at it, kissing at the tears that would slip from your eyes. 

Aegon’s disappointment is obvious as he watches your lady remove the necklace and every trace of jewellery. Aemond snickers under his breath, now comfortable for hearing the louder barking of your ladies. “There will be other nights, brother.” He gleams. “Not like tonight.” Aegon huffs. “Not while she is pure.” Aemond rolls his eyes. “You fuck every common whore on the street.” “Fuck-ed.” He corrects with a smirk. “I’ll have a dragon warming my bed from now on. Aemond narrows his eyes. “And what makes you think that?” “My tongue.” Aemond is half an inch close from grasping his hair and tossing his nose into the stone wall. “An unreliable source then.” Aemond comments smooth as a snake. Aegon winces in wound but there’s a playfulness in his eyes. “You wound me.” He snickers but Aemond quickly hushes him at the sight of your figure embracing the girls before they leave. Breath stutters in his throat at the sight of your chemise, baring your long arms to him. He wants to twist them behind you like when you were younger except this time he wouldn’t be so merciful. A groan rolls around his mouth. Your fingers peel at the material and for a moment he wonders if you will remove it but you hesitate and glance around. You must have heard him, Aemond clenches his jaw and Aegon holds his breath. “Ser Cole?” You call out and now he knows you heard him as your feet pad toward your bed chamber door and rapp against it. “Ser Cole?” It is time.

Aegon moves quicker than Aemond does but he’s not any less careful as he glides one arm around your waist and one spread hand along your succulent lips. He wants to taste them but he refrains, letting his wine stained breath coax in your ears. “Hello, sweet girl.” He murmurs and your short struggling ends, wet eyes blinking up at his own as you recognise him. You whimper but soften. You’re not afraid and that is all it takes to harden him again. Aemond chuckles from behind him and Aegon feels you gasp. He moves his hand away from your lips to squish your cheeks. His other paws at your silk fabric. “Oh sweet girl,” Aegon chuckles again. “Don’t let big bad Aemond worry you, he’s promised to be gentle…for now.” Aemond upturns his lip and lets the knuckle of a curious finger roll over your tender skin. “For now,” He repeats slowly. His eyes roam you as sharp and penetrating as an eagle. He wants to play with you first. His cold fingers wind into your hair and tug. Your lashes flutter, your eyes closed and hiding the newfound feelings beneath them. “Are you untouched?” He whispers in your ear and you hesitate. He chuckles. “Bad girl…And here Aegon was so hopeful that you would stay his sweet girl.” The other prince rolls his eyes and glides a hand up your thigh. Your lips part to release a high pitch mewl, your brows knitting and breath hitching. “She does not need to be a maiden to be pure.” Aegon purrs. “Please,” You whisper, pressing your thighs tight. “Who was it?” Aegon hisses and squeezes pries them apart by sliding one hand between them, the one formerly around your waist. You gasp at the contact and his voice. 

He’s only ever been gentle with you before. His nose presses against your hair, his eyes pressing shut. “So sweet,” He whispers into it, breathing it in. He groans like a sinner. “Just tell us and you can be our sweet girl again, just tell us,” He coos, suddenly soft again. It might have been the threat of his hand drifting over your throat or the excitement that throbbed at your bud that let the forbidden whisper pass your delectable mouth. “A stable boy.” Aegon’s hands both tighten at the utterance and Aemond chuckles. “Would you really rather seek the affections of a low-born than that of a dragon who would worship your every step?” Aegon sneers at the mere idea. Wet kisses plant like the juice of fruits along your neck, his breath heavy. “I think we can do better than that ingrate, darling. Let us show you.” Aemond moves to roam his up and down your waist, almost comforting before his left lowers to slap your rear and deliver a resounding noise. You steal an inhale quickly. Aegon snickers and leans to throw his head back. “Ohhh,” He drawls lowly before kissing up your neck again, tracing it with his tongue. “We are going to have so much fun with you.” He speaks in deliberate muffled murmurs. 

Aegon’s hand draws up your chemise, the fabric rising like rippled water as it flows up your skin. He groans, peeking over at the exposure. A shudder runs over your veins, the pressure of it riding you back into his embrace. Your neck rolls back as a gasp slides between your teeth. Your brows crinkle when Aemond’s slender hand cups your breast, squeezing it gently between his fingertips. He wishes he could watch as the flesh spills over but you are still horrendously covered in the cruel white fabric. Aemond is slick when he rolls the chemise over your head and chuckles at the bare skin beneath. “Bad indeed,” He comments. “It is as though you were waiting for us, princess.” Aegon’s grip tightens. “Our sweet,” He cups your cheek and squeezes it before diving forth and finally tasting your lips, pressing lips warm with dragons blood to one another and expressing the lewdness of one’s tongue. His muscle slips between the seam and runs along your mouth. He groans at the feeling while Aegon moans at the debauchery. The elder prince dips his hand between your thighs and admires the plump flesh, rolling it between his fingers before a thick finger wedges between the glistening folds that he is so desperate to meet. A sharp high pitched jolt of sound pushes into Aemond’s mouth and he swears his eye nearly rolls back. “See,” Aegon chides with a smirk. “I told you that she is still pure. Our good girl once more. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Whimpers are too busy occupying your mouth to elicit a response but the man is satisfied, chuckling and begins to grind his hips against your rear. 

A resounding sound slaps the air once Aemond parts from you. “Good girl,” He mewls, he removes his hand from your breast to cup your jaw. Again he opens your lips but this time you are much more willing. You don’t understand at first why his tongue is rummaging through his own mouth but before long, he slicks his saliva and spits it into your mouth. Your breath hitches but he closes your mouth and narrows his eyes. “You are ours now. Swallow.” He smirks when you obey. “Sweet darling,” Aegon coos and strokes at your swelling bud. “You know that you’re ours, don’t you? Don’t you sweetheart?” The claimant lets another whine bounce from his lips to your ear. You nod, eyes wetting at the attention. “That’s our sweet girl, always wanting my approval, huh?” The comment shouldn’t stroke your wetness like it does but neither should the thumb playing with your pearl. Aemond grins. “Ever since we were children, isn’t that right?” Aegon snorts at the claim. “I think you will find that I was much more important to her.” Aemond scoffs while Aegon starts to thrust his finger inside you. A soft yelp slips out of you and you squeeze your eyes shut, already stimulated between the two men. “Please,” You whisper to no avail, they are too busy in their petty squabbling. The rivalry between them only strengthens. Aegon licks his lips. “I bet you that I could make her cum with my thigh.” You whine at the imagery shooting through at the thought. Aemond glances down at your figure. You deserve a reward, he decides. “Keep begging like that and I’ll be stuffing my cock in that pretty cunt of yours.” Aemond whispers in your ear. Another whimper escapes. 

“You won’t be waiting long, you needn’t chase, brother.” Aegon grins as sly as a fox. His hands grasp at you until he can haul you over his shoulder and carry your surprised and squealing form toward your bed. He lets his eyes roam the plush mattress and canopy. How many nights has he slept in here while you were away? Awaking with a stiff length and your portrait in his palm. A rumble threads through his throat at the mere memory. He crawls over you and kisses at your shoulder until your mewls become restless. “This feels like more than your thigh, Aegon.” His brother snides, Aegon can already feel his judgement. He rolls his eyes. “All in good time.” Is all he babbles, wanting to enjoy his prize before she is plucked again. Finally he pulls back and looks at your eyes. Those beautiful shining jewels. This time his hand is tentative as it coils around your neck. His eyes feast on the bliss, glossy shine and your kiss-bruised lips. He licks his own and swallows. “All ours,” He lilts like a man desperate and he supposes he is as he tosses you to wrestle the length of his right thigh. His hands settle on your hips and he juts the muscle against your sweet cunt. A gasp escapes and your eyes close. “Look at me,” He growls and suddenly, Aemond is behind you and letting his fingers trace at your shoulders. “Look at your future King.” That is what snaps your eyes open and rips another gasp. You do not have time to protest or question him because as you crinkle your brows, he is pulling you back and forth on him and stimulating your bud against the rough fabric of his leg. “That’s it,” He praises. “Be a good princess for me.” A guttural groan bounces off the walls. Aemond embraces your bosom with both hands, rolling the teats with a softness you didn’t know was capable of him. “Sweet girl,” He, too, praises. You whimper, mind fuddling at the mixing information desperate to pass your lips. But it’s too much. It is more than you have ever known and certainly more than that stable boy taught you. What was his name again?

You don’t have time to remember because now your thighs are clenching around his and it’s you who demands control, sliding back and forth like it were your god given right. Your birth right that the boys are eager to supply. “Aegon, please,” you practically beg for the first time in your life. “I knew you would want us,” Aegon hisses. “I knew you would. Aemond is more a fool than you remember him, thought that leaving us was your choice but do not fret, my dear,” Your face scrunches. Your pace quickens, desperate, pleading, wanton. “We’re not letting you go again. Your mother can tear me limb from limb if she wants to but you are not leaving us again.” It is that moment that triggers a long hybrid of yelping whines from your lips. The air feels thick in your throat but stale in your mouth.  “Please!” You yelp in one final beg. “Let go,” Aemond whispers. Your peak doesn’t finish quickly, oh no, instead it drowns out any sound for what very well be an hour and if you were lucid you would feel humiliated at the certain prospect of Ser Criston Cole hearing you from outside your door. Your limbs immediately collapse against Aegon’s chest as he continues to roll his thigh enough for you to keep enjoying your ride. Pride swells in his chest. “Good girl,” He murmurs. “So good for us.” He kisses your cheek and lingers. “Let Aemond clean you up, yeah?” You nod limply and blissed as he moulds your body to his very whim, turning you gently to rest your back upon your mattress. He parts your thighs with little resistance and Aemond is eager to slide between them. You do not expect to see such eagerness in the youngest of the Targaryen men aiding your pleasure. 

Aemond audibly moans at the slick that greets him. You jump as he glides a single index finger along your thigh before he sticks out his tongue, tastes the residue and hums at the flavour that greets him. “Sweet girl, indeed.” He murmurs. “Sweet girl indeed.” It takes little effort for him to engage in your said sweetness, licking fervently and sucking violet marks into your thighs. You barely feel it, too absorbed in your high. Your head lolls to the side, barely noticing as Aegon laughs. “I thought it would take more but I suppose you are more like your mother than we suspected. Albeit lucky for us.” You whimper at that and it seems to shut him up for now. Aemond’s tongue delights at the taste of you, poking between your lower lips and probing at every droplet he can steal from. Even after he has drained you, he wants more. He sighs and palms at his own hardened member. “Want it,” You babble as if he has taken your comprehension into his tongue also. He lets the upturn of his lips quirk and glances at his brother. He raises a brow. “I think we can help you with that.” The brothers both hum, smirking. “And which one of us do you want in your little snatch, sweet thing? Tell us, princess.” Your lip wobbles and suddenly concern lowers their brows. Aegon is quick to your side, more experienced in the matter and your face turns into his neck just as quickly. Comforting palms caress your hair and soothe you softly. 

“Is it too much, my love?” He asks quietly and suddenly worries. He was so sure that you would enjoy this, you always loved pushing yourself, always pleaded for their approval. Has time really changed you that much? You shake your head, inner frustration trembling your body. “N-No,” You stutter, sniffles threatening you. He softly shushes you. “Take your time,” He commands gently but with a firm tongue. “Look at me.” He directs your head up so those pretty doe eyes blink up at him. “Is it too much?” He asks. You shake your head, a gentle pout at your lips. He releases a relieved breath. “Do you want more?” You nod. He looks over at Aemond. “I think we need a word.” He states with authority atop his demanding voice. He nudges his head, moving a hand so he can wrap an arm around you as soft and comforting as an old blanket. Familiar. Aemond rubs soothing patterns on your thigh. “Something she can say if it gets too much.” He ignores your whining, threading fingers to gently massage at your hair. Aemond glances over you and nods, a softness in his gaze. “What do you want, sweetness?” Aemond asks, the most gentle he has ever spoken. Another sniffle leaves you and he drinks in your wet eyes. You drift your eyes down and bite your lip. A few moments pass. You hesitate but he nods in prompt. You swallow. “Sapphire.” You whisper and an expression passes over him but it is found indistinguishable. He nods and looks up at Aegon who returns the gesture. “Sapphire.” He repeats. 

Their ministrations appear more gentle this time, held back. Soft. Aemond circles your flesh with his thumb and rises to hover over your body. “Whose do you want?” His light lilt asks, letting his thumb fly away the tears that gather on your cheeks. “Whose cock?” He asks. You do not answer at first, instead you whimper and tug at his shirt. “Aemond.” You murmur and while Aegon is disappointed, he cannot say it is unjustified. You have seen him fuck before with all the animalistic prowess of his teenhood but Aemond is still the soft boy who read stories to you when you were both children. You do not know what to expect from him yet. An experimental little dear. A pang of surprise and desire threads at his pained heart. “I want you,” You murmur. He swallows. You want him. He doesn't think anyone has ever wanted him over Aegon. Over a soon-King at the rate his father was decomposing like the corpse he is. Aemond nods, unable to speak for fear that it will incite his voice to break and provide his brother another tease. He merely nods and lets your soft fingers undress his tunic, his undershirt and slowly you both work at his trousers. Aegon grumbles something and undresses himself but it is all in playful quips. An intimacy structures him as he holds your hands and hesitantly rests them to wrap around his neck. “I will never hurt you,” He whispers and kisses your neck chastely. His hands wrap around his tender member and he glides between your legs softly. “That’s it,” He murmurs. “So perfect for me.” With that he slips inside, breath halting on the way. Aegon slips behind you and props you against his chest, he raises your hips so Aemond’s leverage is better endowed. Aemond pushes, a hiss dripping off his lips. “I want you,” You babble again. “Want you, want you,” With every praise, he quickens. Every sweet word encourages his desperation. “That’s it,” He praises you, hips snapping to yours. He tries to hold back but then your legs wrap around him and there’s nothing more that could induce his pleasure. Your jolts of movement in return persuade him further to be the one to draw your fountain this time. “You’re not going to marry that lord.” Aegon utters. “You’re going to stay here and be our sweet girl aren’t you?” You nod, bordering on a moan. “Do it.” He breathes. “Let go.” You do and he swears it is the prettiest sound he has ever had the grace of hearing. “Good princess.” 

“You want it, don’t you sweetheart?” Aemond teases, confidence returned. You nod. “You want it so bad that you are soaking me.” His firm appendage stiffens even further inside you. A moan ripples from the roof of his mouth. “Yes,” You tell him, throwing your head back onto Aegon’s shoulder as the man plays with your breasts. “That’s a good darling, don’t you want to help your uncles?” You hiss at a particular jolt of his groin. You nod. “Mhm,” You whimper, eyes snapping closed. Aegon smirks. “What about your pretty mouth?” He grins. “Does your pretty mouth want to please us?” You nod again with desperate whines. Aemond nods at his brother before carefully twisting you around, only pulling out for a moment before sliding back in. You gasp at the momentum but then it is quickly muffled by Aegon’s fingers easing your mouth on his length. He hisses. “Sweet girl,” He murmurs and moans, eyes rolling back as the peak of his fantasies crashes onto his cock. Your tongue flicks as Aemond’s fingers move to flick your bud, his pace unrelenting as he pushes you forward. “That’s it…” The men gleam. “So perfect.” Everything is going perfectly to plan. 

And you do not even know it yet. 

Sweet Girl Taglist (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @targbarbie @aemondx @connorsui

HOTD Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @wrendermedone @hopelesswritergall @its-actually-minicika @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly @adelusionalwriter @cookielovesbook-akie

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond x reader smut #aegon targaryen ii x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii #aegon targaryen imagine #aemond targaren imagine #aegon targaryen x reader smut #aegon targaryen smut #aegon targaryen x fem!reader #aegon smut

[legitalicat]

Crawling Back to You (superstar!Aegon Targaryen SMAU) - Chapter 1

AN: Hello guys! This is the debut of a new SMAU! I hope you guys love this as much as me! This is dedicated to Lana ( @zaldritzosrose ) for being such an amazing workshop partner and friend! I love working on projects with you and love showing you the chaos of my brain. Also @foxyanon thank you for your help with the title and being your wonderful amazing self. (Also don't mind the Supernatural reference lmao)

Masterlist here

Summary: The road till now...

TW: use of YN, mentions of substance use (weed), fan pages being mean, slow relationship death, language maybe?

Pairings: Aegon Targaryen ii x Reader

#aegon ii x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen ii #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #social media au #helaena targaryen #aegon targaryen ii x you #reader insert

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Eight

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for your patience with this chapter. Life has been nonstop for me these past few weeks. Work, school, some more work, midterms, an abscessed tooth, work again, and now finals. I wanted to make this chapter extra special for y'all because of the wait. ^_^

Chapter Warnings: Dark Aegon, corporal punishment

Aegon Targaryen was a sinful man and was constantly reminded of it every moment he breathed. He recalled three in the days leading up to your legitimization.

Lust.

Gluttony.

Wrath.

The most prominent was lust, the one he was repeatedly told to repent by his mother, grandfather, brother, and Septons. He would seek out any woman, young or old, who would part themselves for a little bit of coin. His eyes would always linger on the pretty serving girls, those with exceptionally long legs, he once said to his brother. He pulled at their skirts and pinched their arse whenever one would mistakenly walk by, but they were not the objects of that lust anymore; that was you.

The way your borrowed dresses clung to your body, your exposed skin always covered in a light sheen of sweat from the summer heat, was always in his head. Thoughts of your time together constantly replayed in his mind's eye-- How your cunt would feel tightly wrapped around his cock as he stole your womanhood. Aegon could hardly function in those moments, his hand permanently in his trousers.

His gluttony, constantly overindulging himself in more wine, more women, more food, and more... you.

He began to steal the things you accumulated during your stay in the Red Keep, creating a hidden shrine of dirty small clothes, towels, pillowcases, nightgowns, body oils, hairpins, and anything else he could get his hands on. No one knew of these overindulgences—a secret between him and the all-seeing eyes of the Gods.

His wrath. Aegon was quick to anger over the slightest things and never learned to quell such a trait. People who knew him as a boy understood this well.

The soup served at supper was too hot? He would spit it in the face of the nearest servant and declare the head of the person who made it. His mother would always purse her lips when that happened, letting her disapproval be known before fixing what he had done, scolding him, and then the process was quick to repeat.

He had not acted on his wrath, a rage that simmered in every moment you were pulled from him. He was the one that found you, and nobody seemed to acknowledge it.

He had even listened to his conscience on the night you only slept together and left before your handmaidens returned for the morning. His heart was heavy as he pried your arms from his body when he did, kissing the smooth skin of your knuckles to stall for time.

It did not feel right to return to the Streets of Silk, let alone Flea Bottom now that everything Aegn desired was right in these Redstone walls.

You were his everything. He thought about you morning, noon, and night, always lurking in the shadows just out of sight. He was very skilled at becoming one with darkness. Over the years, he had learned a few tricks of slinking off into pleasure houses and evading his sworn protectors.

He found out through spying on a private meeting between you and your new Septa that you had little knowledge of the Seven, and when she tried to teach you, throwing a religious text in front of your face, you meekly turned away and said you couldn't read. She had groaned and admonished you for an upbringing you had no fault in. It was they who had laid the laws that texts only be written in the language spoken by high borns, schooling not even a possibility in the life of someone with little money.

This was his mother's doing, of course. She picked the worst, most intolerant teacher to slight Rhaenyra's family. You were thrust into a cold war between a family you had never met, and you were a victim by default.

When your Septa was not whipping you, you spent time with Daemon. He suffocated you with his presence, and Aegon was furious. It seemed as if your estranged father was attempting to make up for the loss of him in your early years, picking out different colored fabrics for the dresses you would wear in the Keep and for your legitimization.

Perhaps that was Rhaenyra's doing. The influx of ravens from Dragonstone could not go unnoticed by anyone with sense. You had not a moment to spare for the Princeling, and though he was comforted by the thought of you being in his home, it soon was not enough.

He came to your chambers every night. Mostly he would find a seat in the plush velvet armchair by the fire and bask in your presence, listening to the sounds of your deep breathing. It almost frightened him to touch you despite his immense longing for it, afraid that his sins would ruin the only pure thing in his life.

And that is where Aegon found himself tonight, a golden chalice in his grip filled with his favorite wine, staring into the flames of your hearth.

It was an unusually frigid summer night, three days before your legitimization in the eyes of the law and the Seven, and you had chosen to wear a thin, long sleeve nightgown. You could see the faint color of your nipples peeking through the sheer fabric when a biting breeze would drift through the air. You would be alone in your chambers, just as you were every night since the first, you thought bitterly.

You had been asleep for a few hours and woke as a sudden chill racked your bones, curling into a ball to preserve your warmth before deciding to stoke the fire. You didn't notice the figure in the armchair behind you, the shadows hiding it from your tired eyes.

This was it, Aegon had thought; you were finally alone with him. He could finally play with his little dragon and give her the affection he was sure she missed. Before he could stand, the wall opened to the same passageway he used to travel freely through the Red Keep. He knew that others did the same but did not think someone would be as bold to enter your room.

You nearly jumped out of your skin as you turned to see someone entering through a door in the walls. You opened your mouth the scream, but the intruder was faster, running toward you and covering your lips.

Aegon had still gone unnoticed by both parties, and he wanted to use that to his advantage. He would save his little dragon, but not before she would fear the end. That would be when he would swoop in and become your protector. If he saved your life, there would be no reason for you to be still upset with him for forcing you to become part of his family. Perhaps even you would feel indebted to him afterward. Aegon remained hidden in his seat, becoming one with the shadows.

You struggled as your assailant forced you away from the fireplace, fist gripping the back of your head to keep muffling your screams. They shushed you, whispering words you could not hear as you kicked and smacked them.

"Apple! Sweet girl, it's just me! Calm yourself," a familiar voice said. You paused, squinting in the darkness as you made the silhouette of Lyra. She removed her hand slowly, unsure whether you would yell and alert the castle to her presence.

"Oh my," you started, unable to form a coherent sentence. "Aunt Lyra! It's you! Oh, my Gods!" You sighed in relief, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. "What are you doing here? Wh-why are you here? How are you here?" You rambled, pulling her close, releasing, and embracing her again.

"It," she paused, smiling and shaking her head, "it is a long story, apple, one we do not have time for at the moment." Lyra paced to the window, looking at the crescent moon. "I do not have long. The following rotation of guards will be at my exit shortly." She pushed your loose hair behind your cold ears, stroking the side with the white strand.

You looked so beautiful, reminding her of Elaina around this age. Your dark hair glimmered in the moonlight, and your eyes reflected the stars. She could not lose you too. Lyra would die before they would take you away from her as they did her sister.

"On the morrow, at high noon, when you have lunch with your father," she babbled, glancing out the glass pane window, "ask to see the gardens. Prince Daemon despises the place and will not want to go. Act as if you want him to accompany you. He will refuse and then ask if it would be alright if Sara could join you instead. Make him say yes." Lyra cupped your cheeks as your eyes filled with tears out of anxiety and confusion.

"Listen to Sara, follow her instructions, and meet us by the harbor. Do you recall the one where that City Watchman fell into?" You grinned slightly at the memory. You were younger but still slick, turning sharply away from the water's edge as the Gold Cloak chased you like a bull, falling into the ocean. "We will be together once more, and you shall never have to know the horrid life of these people."

You nodded, pursing your lips as Lyra kissed your scalp, your mind reeling with thoughts you could not decipher. She left abruptly without another word, glancing back with hope as she entered the wall.

Aegon was consumed with sin.

His wrath nearly caused him to expose himself as he listened to a woman he also recognized. He had no idea that the two of you were kin. Madam had done an excellent job of hiding you all these years. He had paid for Lyra's services a few times but never thought her to be more than just another cock sleeve for men.

This was fate despite what your Aunt told you and possibly what he now thought you believed. It was destiny that you had run into him on Aemond's name day. You were the blood of the dragon and belonged with your actual family, not with the small illness-ridden people who had raised you.

The eldest Prince was thoughtful and did not immediately divulge sin. He sat back further in the chair, breathing silently in thought. Aegon would first go to his mother; she would then, of course, tell her father, the true monarch of the kingdom, and he would foil your plans of escape.

His anger simmered from a near-boiling point, his rage becoming calculated as he continued to sip at his wine in the darkness, still unnoticed by you.

***

So far, everything had gone on, as usual, the next day. You broke your fast in your chambers, your servants readying you for the day, and now you were attending your gruesome lessons with Septa Mariam before lunch with Daemon.

When you had your first meal alone in the Red Keep, Izola and Caldia looked on with a slight disgust as you devoured it. You had never eaten so much more than during your stay here. It was odd knowing with certainty when your next meal would happen and that the contents would be plentiful and never-ending.

You realized you wouldn't have certainty like this when you left. No more elegant dresses that did not scratch your skin, no more baths filled with steaming water and fragrant oils, and no more catching glimpses of a familiar person out of the corner of your eye. Perhaps royal life would not be so wrong with these continued luxuries.

Septa Mariam slammed her staff on the table before you, tearing you from your thoughts with a start. You felt your chest become tight as you quickly composed yourself, picking at the dry skin on your lip.

"Who was the mother of Aegon the Conqueror?" She asked, her blue-green eyes wide with barely contained frustration.

"Valaena Velaryon," you answered through gritted teeth, your back stiff and tense. These lessons had been the majority of your time spent in the Red Keep, learning the history of the Seven Kingdoms, the notable persons in the Targaryen dynasty, and what knowledge was passed down from Old Valeryia.

"His father?" She quizzed again, her parted lips showing an eagerness for a mistake.

"Aerion Targaryen," you answered correctly once more, focusing your eyes on the flickering candles.

"His sisters?" Your Septa circled you like a predator, waiting for the wrong answer as she tapped her staff in her palm.

"Visenya Targaryen and Rhaenys Targaryen." You placed your fists in your lap, clenching them. You were growing tired of this routine inferiority but knew if you were to retaliate for the treatment, it would only make things worse.

"Who was the eldest out of the three?" She questioned, stopping in front of you with her small staff. You sat there blank, unsure of who it was but unwilling to risk saying the wrong answer and feeling her wrath.

"Who?" She said again, hitting her stick on the table with a loud crack. You refused to answer, grimacing as the Septa ordered you to put your hands flat on the desk before you.

"Who?" She repeated over and over, smacking the staff in rapid succession too close to your fingers. You flinched with every rough vibration, trying to ignore your instincts and keep your palms flat as she commanded.

"I don't know," you finally answered, wanting the threat of violence to stop.

"Why do you not know 'twas in yesterdays lesson," she said through her teeth, almost as if it was a question.

"I cannot remember," you confirmed with a shakey voice. Septa Mariam smacked her stick one final time, hitting your fingers as you spat a curse in her face.

She stared at you, silent for a moment before her anger finally came to the surface as she hit you with her staff. The top of your head, side, shoulder, and arms as you shielded yourself. You could not comprehend what you had done to make her despise you as she did, trying to move out of your seat before she shoved you back.

"You will not speak such filth in the eyes of the Seven," she seethed, switching her staff to her other hand so she could slap you.

You had been the ever-obedient student, the pliant bastard that everyone begrudgingly accepted on the King's orders but yet still received treatment as if you were not the daughter of a Prince. You have had enough of it.

You growled, screaming with all the rage and hurt accumulated over the past fortnight, and jumped out of your seat, ripping her staff from her pale boney fingers. The wooden chair fell to the ground with a loud thud, echoing against the large stone room as you tackled the old woman, punching, smacking, and hitting her as she did to you.

The fact that you were a bastard did not negate the social class a Septa was in. You were not lesser than her. She was not superior to you and yet treated you as if you were grime on the soles of her shoes. She was beneath you in every sense of the word. Devotion to the Seven did not make one better than another, and you bruised that into her skin so she would never forget.

The moment did not last long enough as you were pulled away from her. The guards no doubt altered from the chair falling moments prior. You kicked and screamed as more rushed in to ensure Septa Mariam was alright, the one who had managed to keep hold of you, dragging you out of the room with great struggle.

The grand oak door shut boomingly, the handle rattling against the wood as you were taken down a hall. "My lady! My lady, please, calm down," the gentle voice of the knight said.

You hadn't realized you began crying until he brushed back the wild strands of hair that stuck to your tears, trying to get your attention as he grabbed the sides of your head. You could not speak, choking on your saliva as you lurched forward, embracing the man tightly as your knees weakened. The cool metal bit against your hot cheek as he slowly returned the hug.

Your mind could not think of what to say, everything a messy pool of thoughts and feelings you couldn't decipher. You had been everything that was expected of you, followed the strict rules of the royal court, was seen and not heard as a bastard should be, prayed to the Gods like never before, and still, it was not enough. It would never be enough, and that was unfair. Your life was unfair.

You stayed like that until your tears stopped, crumpled to the floor in a ball of cloth and metal as the knight comforted you with his presence. He did not say a word, silently stroking your back as you curled further into him before deciding you had burdened him enough and suddenly pulled away.

"I," you stuttered, pushing hair out of your face, "I apologize; this is improper." You scooted away from him, remembering the etiquette you were supposed to follow within these walls. You were ashamed you had become so vulnerable to someone you had never met, or at least you thought until you saw his familiar face.

"I remember you," you said sheepishly. "You were the one that brought me here that day with Aegon. I-I mean the Prince," you corrected yourself with red cheeks.

You couldn't precisely recall his face, your eyes were still blurry with alcohol then, but you did remember his distinct armor and light brown hair and how he carried you from the Streets of Silk to the Red Keep.

"I apologize, Your Grace, but we have not met yet. That was my brother, Erryk." You felt your ears heat up with embarrassment, shoving your face between your knees to hide.

There were a few beats of silence before he closed the space between you again, draping his heavy, metal-covered arm around you in comfort as a pair of violet eyes hid behind a corner, watching the both of you intently.

Aegon had just come from a meeting with his mother, where he informed her of Lyra's plans. He was joyful even when he heard a woman's loud sobs and a man's tender voice as he walked to his chambers to celebrate his brilliance. He was fully prepared to waltz past them until he saw a head of black with a streak of white, crying in the arms of the Kingsguardmen, Ser Arryk Cargyll.

You, his little dragon, were embraced in the arms of another man. His anger nearly formed in his wrath. Aegon could have Ser Arryk's head for this! Possibly even bound and tortured deep within the dungeons. He knew which one he would prefer.

"I hate this place," Aegon heard you softly say. Ser Arryk pulled you closer, wiping away any remaining wetness under your eyes.

Oh, Aegon knew exactly which punishment he would prefer now.

"I do not want to be here. I don't want to spend the entirety of my mortal life trapped in a Redstone cage. I want to go home," you confided in the knight, a fresh wave of tears starting to well.

Ser Arryk wasn't sure what to say. He knew little of you besides your supposed lineage and was not familiar with the life of the small folk. He honestly could not understand why you desired to go back to it.

"To my understanding, Your Grace," he began, a little unsure if his following words word be appropriate, "royal life is not always easy, but there is so much to be had for someone living in your position." You gave him a skeptical look, huffing as you moved away.

Ser Arryk was confused for a brief moment as to why he wanted to bring you back towards him. You were still greatly upset, and the gentleman in him tried to rectify the situation, so perhaps that was why.

"You will have privileges women of your former status do not. You won't have to worry about where your next meal will come from. You will have knowledge and skills you would never otherwise have if you remained at your station." You looked at him, unsure of the future, as he confirmed all your thoughts from hours prior.

"I am not fit for this life. I was raised to believe by society that I am someone undeserving of all the things that are now being thrust upon me," you rambled, biting at the scabs on your lip.

"While I do not know you, my lady, or what you think, I do believe you are deserving of a title, a life of comfort, and access to knowledge. Your sex does not define your worth. You define yourself."

Tears, not from sadness, fell from your eyes. Here was a man you had never met-- who knew nothing about you, speaking so highly of you. He was kind for simply the fact that he could be.

You embraced him briefly one last time in thanks. "What is your name," you asked him softly, looking away to avoid his caring gaze.

"I am Ser Arryk," he answered proudly. You smiled to yourself as you stood, Arryk rushing to help you.

"Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk. How peculiar," you jested and took his hand. A light blush bloomed on his face as he looked away.

"Yes, 'twas my mother's doing," he revealed, ensuring you were steady.

You sighed, smoothing a hand over your now loose hair, and glanced at Ser Arryk. "I suppose I must return to my chambers before I have lunch with Prince Daemon. I am sure I look quite the mess," you chuckled.

"Please, let me escort you, my lady," Arryk said as he went to attention, "and I will send word for your servents immediately."

You nodded as you both began to walk in the direction of your room. It had taken some time to memorize the path, but you were sure he knew where he was going if your memory failed you.

***

A metal pitcher flew across Prince Aegon's room, knocking over the half-empty cups of Arbor Red on his bedside table.

He was livid, furious at the scene he had witnessed earlier.

"How dare he?" Aegon shouted, throwing another empty pitcher. "That cunt, that... swine believes he can touch a Targaryen? We are gods compared to him! I will kill him. I will surely kill him for touching my dragon!" He gave up searching for a fresh pitcher of wine, shouting for his guard outside.

"Bring me a whore," he requested of Ser Erryk, his mind briefly flashing with the image of you in his twin brother's arms. "I do not care where or how you get her, but ensure that she has black hair. That is my only condition."

"Yes, Your Grace," Erryk nodded, bowing out of the room as he went to fulfill his duty.

"Oh, and Erryk," the Kingsguard stopped turning to face his Prince. "Bring me a fresh pitcher."

Aegon's chest was still heaving from his rampage, his summer clothes loose on his body and sweat dripping down his temples. He would make Arryk pay for his transgressions even if it was the last thing he did. You were his. He found you, not Arryk Cargyll. Aegon's job was to dry your tears and steady your breath with kisses. It was unfair. His life was unfair.

He tore open the last few remaining buttons of his tunic, barely keeping it in his shoulders as he went to the full-length window. He was the first living son of the King. Anyone idiotic enough to cross him would live to regret it sorely. He threw open the shudders, the warm air blowing his cropped, sweaty locks as he stepped onto the ledge.

Aegon looked across Kings Landing, seeing the bustle of the people. Some were in brightly colored robes, showing their wealth and status, others in tattered brown sacks barely held together by rope: all subjects and all beneath him.

Despite what his mother and grandfather wanted, he did not desire to be the heir. He was content living out his days in one of the many Great Halls Westeros had to offer, but he would not have the same power. People would not bow with the same respect he received now. Becoming king did have its perks. He could order you to stay by his side and remain his friend. You could stroll through the castle grounds; he could give you another Septa and send Daemon away.

"My Prince," Ser Erryk called through the doors, "I have returned." His voice was solemn and stoic, of a man who did not want to participate.

"Good, good," Aegon answered, allowing them to come in and hop off the windowsill.

The whore was dawned with a revealing and shiny blue dress, her hair as dark as yours but entirely too long and straight. She would have to do.

The Prince beckoned her closer, and she listened, an alluring look on her face that made him feel sick. He nodded at her to proceed how she wished as she stepped closer and palmed at his softening cock, whispering words that were supposed to be arousing but felt anything like it to him. It would be challenging to keep it up with someone not playing into his unspoken fantasies.

She lifted her chin, her body flush against him as she leaned in for a kiss with hooded eyes. Aegon sneered, grabbing her by the jaw and shaking her away, his grip bruising and causing her to whimper softly. She gasped, her hand losing contact with his crotch. He did not want this to be intimate; that wasn't the point. He needed an outlet for his anger and hurt, a vessel to channel all his frustrations. Besides, he could not stand to look at the woman, for she looked nothing like you.  

He realized his hold on her, commanding her to strip and shoving her to her knees. She untied his trousers, her fingers too experienced even to resemble yours. Aegon closed his eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to picture you instead, lacing his fingers in her hair. 

***

You sat across from your father, eating a sweet pastry with a berry filling. Your knuckles were throbbing red, and it hurt to flex your fingers as you turned the snack in your hand.

"I have been here for a fortnight, father," you began, breaking the silence as he slathered a piece of bread in fresh butter, "and I have yet to venture outside the castle and see the grounds." Daemon tilted his head, leaning back in his seat as he rubbed any unwanted grease off his fingers.

"I would like to see the gardens," you stated. Throughout your time here, you found that Daemon did not care for flowery language like the other court members. He wanted everyone spoken plainly and precisely to the point.

"Why the sudden interest," he asked, reclining in the chair.

"Father, like I said," you attempted to seem like you were stating the obvious, "I have been trapped inside this place for two weeks, stuck with a Septa who is more bothersome than a cow in heat, poked and measured repeatedly and covered with different fabrics for my legitimization. I would like to go outside."

"If it bothers you so much, father, I will have Sara escort me instead. I would not want to interrupt your schedule." He hummed in displeasure, looking down at the array of food before him in thought.

Daemon rolled his eyes and sat up straight, clasping his hands on the table before him. "If you desire to be outside, we shall go to the Dragonpit, not to look at boring plants. Perhaps you might even find one of your own."

Your eyes grew wide for a moment, your heart tugging you into the direction of the winged beasts, but your mind stayed firmly set on seeing Aunt Lyra and finally leaving this horrible place behind. You needed an excuse not to see the dragons even though you wanted to. You bit your lip before you spoke.

"I do not want to be in one dark stone-enclosed place and go to another. This one with the possibility that I might be burnt to death." Daemon laughed at your fear as he stood, extending his palm to you.

"I understand your hesitancy. I remember when my mother first took me to the pit as a boy. I cried into her skirts the whole way, scared that one of the dragons might devour me, but you need not worry. We are Gods among men, and Gods do not burn."

A lump formed in your throat as you stared at his hand, unsure how to weasel your way out of this without Daemon becoming suspicious. He took your hesitancy as continued fear and dropped his invitation, clasping his arms around his back and sighing through his nose. You could see that your refusal stung, a father trying to amend a lost relationship with his daughter and yet rejected.

"I suppose there will be plenty of time for that after the celebration," he said dejectedly, a hint of anger in his tone. "I will escort you to your rooms so Sara shall show you the gardens, though I fear you will be greatly disappointed in the tour."

"Thank you, father," you smiled and stood, following a few steps behind him, fearing that he would hear your screaming heart.

Your feet caught up to Daemon's as he stopped at your chamber doors, pausing for a moment with your hand in his, a conflicted expression on his face. His look unnerved you. In all your time spent with him, you had never seen such an emotion conveyed by him. Perhaps he knew of your plans for escape? Indeed, that would be the only reason for his unusual behavior. You studied him in silence, unsure of what to say as his fingers twitched at his side, a slight rise and fall of his chest making you scrunch your brows in worried confusion.

Prince Daemon was not in turmoil-- he was scared. He was frightened at what might happen if he showed you affection, that he might cause you to recoil into yourself and shatter all the progress made between father and daughter. It was endearing that a man with such fierce renown would feel anxiety with a young girl.

You took pity on him, pursing your lips in sympathy as you took his shaking hand, squeezing it in reassurance as you smiled. "Farewell father," you said, letting his fingers slip from yours as you entered your room.

Sara was not there to escort you to the gardens as you expected she would be. As you went further into your rooms, none of your servants were there. Typically around this time of day, they all would be bustling about, running in and out of the chambers, changing the seats, sweeping the floor, and dusting the hearth, but all was bare. No trace of a single soul lingered.

You rang the call bell for the girls, expecting their presence in barely a crow's fly, but no one came. You rang again and waited. Still, no one came.

Anxiety bubbled in your gut, chewing on your lip as you began to pace. You yanked the string harder. Something was wrong. It had to be. Their missing appearances were not coincidental with your escape.

You pulled and pulled at the skin on your lip until you felt the odd sensation of liquid in your mouth, wiping the back of your hand across it and seeing the stain of blood. You shook your head at sight, ignoring the copper taste as you went to the guard posted outside the door. You pulled the handle, expecting it to fly back with force, but were met with resistance, nearly stumbling. Your heart raced, thinking about the first day you were locked in.

You tugged at the handle again, hearing the dull sound of the door banging against the bolt. You yanked the door wildly, praying to the Seven for a miracle but were left unanswered.

Somehow, someone had discovered your plans.

Tears of panic pricked your eyes as you began to bag on your chamber doors, shouting for someone to open them. You had come full circle during your time here, begging someone to let you out but receiving no answer.

You could feel your heartbeat pulsing in your ears, breathing rapidly as you screamed. It was more desperate than before. You did not know what consequences Sara and Lyra would face on your behalf.

You should have told Lyra no. You should have stopped for one second and thought over the possible repercussions if you were caught, but you were blind-- blinded by immature, childish fantasies of a life where you did not follow your destiny.

The Gods had decided your fate when they chose Daemon Targaryen to be your father and gave you dragon blood to fill your veins.

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I'm so sorry for this almost month-long wait! Life has not been fun for me at all. I have no free time to write anymore. I have to write while on break at work or taking lunch at school. This won't last forever tho. I graduate in about three weeks, thank God. I'm probably going to try and get another chapter out next week to make up for the wait. Well, anyways, I hope you enjoyed this cliffhanger of a chapter!

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @buckysmainhxe, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @minttea07, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @bellameshipper, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @buckylahey, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison0000, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @joliettes, @existential-echo, @iiamthehybrid, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess

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[danytar]

“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

[squirmhoney]

POSSESSED - SPOOK'TOBER FIC

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x Half-Sister! Reader Warning: Smut. Incest. Dark. Non-Con. Dub-con. Somnophilia. Possessed!Aegon. Gagging. Crying Demonic powers at play! Paranormal/Supernatural kind of. MDNI A/N: Seeing how you reacted to the snippet, I had to get this out there. For the people that didn't read this, it's slightly inspired by Talk To Me (2023). Aegon is an evil being and the whole fic is quite sick if I'm honest. I hope you all love it and get a drink because this is a long one.

The feeling he felt, it was stronger than hate. It twisted and turned in his stomach, deep and pitiful, crawling along his skin in a way that made him want to break something. And when his hand laid on top of your thigh, it couldn’t help but latch onto it, tightening around it till his knuckles grew white. It was only when you winced in the bed beside him did he release his hold, waking up from the trance he had lost himself in. 

Then he could hear it again, the voice that whispered just quiet enough for him to hear. That same voice that told him to do things he knew he shouldn’t do, things that a brother shouldn’t do to his little sister. 

“Touch her,” the voice told him and Aegon listened. 

His hand slid across your subtle skin, reaching underneath the baggy t-shirt you wore, lifting it up till it rests above your hips. 

Aegon couldn’t help the harsh breath he took when he noticed the thin white lace that covered your cunt. So sheer that he could practically see right through it, not that he hadn’t seen it before. 

His fingers trailed upwards, over the material lightly, as if he was contemplating his next steps. No that it mattered because there was that voice again. 

“You know you want to.” 

This time Aegon answered back, “Just for a little bit.”

All it took was that thought, it would only be for a second, a moment to feel what he yearned for a lifetime. His fingers slipped in through the waistband of your panties, slowly moving further down till the palm of his hand was resting against your cunt. It was so warm there, so inviting as your thighs parted for him in your sleep. 

“Only a second.” 

Aegon bit on his lip, trying to contain himself as his fingers rubbed against you. It was slow as he tested the waters, watching every gentle rise and fall of your chest, making sure there was no sign of you waking up to his antics. 

Not likely you would wake though, not with the pills that Aegon had made sure to crush into your evening tea. But he could never be too careful. 

As soon as Aegon heard it, the light sigh from your lips, he found himself completely lost. The voice no longer needed to encourage him any further. It was him under control, completely him. 

Within a second the t-shirt you were wearing was bunched up over your breasts, enough for Aegon to see. Lips wrapped around one of your nipples as soon as he got the chance, while his free hand fondled the other. He knew how it would get you, feeling the wetness already drip onto his fingers but it wasn’t enough yet. His mouth would switch to your other nipple, licking and pinching at it gently, until your breath caught in your throat and your chest lifted up to reach his face. 

You wanted this, he could tell by the way you leaned into every subtle touch from him. 

And Aegon would give his sweet sister everything she desired, even if she didn’t know what it was she truly desired yet.

With your slick loosening your walls, Aegon managed to slip a finger in. He was slow, thrusting it all the way in before taking it all the way back out again. He repeated until there was space enough for two and the sighs you were letting out were quiet moans. 

Aegon felt content like this, watching your face contour as your walls squeezed around his fingers. The enjoyment from seeing you pleasured, taken care of, that’s all he needed. He could dream that his fingers were his cock, that he was taking this a step further. 

But if you kept going the way you were going, slipping away from him like you were, he would have to show you where you really belonged. 

“Or you could do it now,” The voice was back again. 

Aegon pushed it away, shaking it off as he focused on the sounds falling from your lips. He didn’t want to do that, not with you like this, it wasn’t fair to you or to himself. 

When he finally got to take your virginity, he wanted you to be awake for it. He wanted to see the dazed look in your eyes as he slipped into your walls for the first time, he wanted to hear you scream his name, have you begging in a way no one could. 

He could feel your walls tightening around his fingers again, hips bucking up into his touch and he knew you were close. It was then Aegon became aware of how hard he was, feeling himself leak in his boxers. But that didn’t matter now, not when you were cumming on his fingers, dripping around them like never before. 

“So good for me,” he whispered as he watched you ride out your high. 

Once it was over, Aegon was quick to push your panties back up your thighs and pull your t-shirt back down. With you satisfied, he rested beside you, using the rest of the slick on his hand to fist the hardness in his pants. 

He made sure to be pressed up behind you as he touched himself, lips pressed up against the shell of your ear as he inhaled your rich scent. These days it was the only way he could cum, if he was right next to you. 

-

Maybe Aegon had a few too many drinks, or he had taken a little something when none of you had been looking. But he had been off with everybody all night, especially you and you couldn’t quite pinpoint when it had started. 

“It says here it’s almost eight hours on the plane to Volantis,” Aemond said, a chuff smile on his face as he practically threw his phone into Aegon’s face. “To think our beloved sister will be so far away, Aegon.” 

Aegon slapped Aemond’s phone out of his face, giving him a cold glare. 

“Why are you upset, Aegon?” Alicent hissed over the table. “You’re acting like a spoiled brat.” 

You wanted to say something then as Aegon’s eyes caught yours from the other side of the table but no words reached your lips. 

Within a second of the waiter reaching the table again, the attention of your family turned and before they could realise it, Aegon slipped away. And you shortly after followed him. 

Aegon’s steps were fast, moving through the restaurant with a certain impatience about him as if he needed to get anywhere that wasn’t here. At first you thought you lost him, your steps not being able to catch up to him until you noticed his white tuft of hair slipping into the restrooms. 

It took you a moment before you decided to follow him inside, looking around to check no one caught you. You slipped inside, closing the door behind you. 

You were shocked to see Aegon hunched over the bathroom sink, shaky breaths leaving him. His hair was a dishevelled mess, the first few buttons of his collar loosened and it was as if his shirt was clinging to him with sweat. 

Before you knew it you were standing next to him, hand lifting to press against his shoulder to make yourself known. 

But he already knew you were there. 

Aegon looked up noticing your presence and for a second you swore his pupils were completely black. And not like they were dilated but instead completely hollow and dissolved of all colour. 

For the first time in your life you flinched away from your brother. And when you looked back his eyes were the violet they had always been, just filled with tears that you couldn’t explain. 

“Aegon,” you were lost for words, hand shaking in front of you. 

“You said you were going to go to Dorne with me,” Aegon let out in a staggered breath, his voice becoming strained from the tears lodged in the back of his throat. “You told me you wanted to be where your mother grew up. To finally experience that side of your life. I picked Dorne for you.”

“I haven’t even picked yet,” you told him, trying to calm him down.

“But it’s why we are out here, isn’t it? Because you got into Volantis?” Aegon’s tears were mixed with an anger you couldn’t quite grasp. An anger that was making you see a new side to him that you didn’t like. 

“You could at least try to be happy for me,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “Ever since I opened that letter the other day you’ve been nothing but vile towards me. And I can’t truly understand it.” Your attention turned as you tried to think but only irrational thoughts came to your head. “Are you jealous?” 

“Jealous,” he chuckled, shaking his head. 

“What else could it be?” You questioned, throwing your arms up in disbelief. 

“You’re a traitor, you know that?” Aegon spat at you, knuckles turning white as he gripped onto the edge of the sink. “You lied to me so you can whore yourself at some other university eight hours away.” 

“Are you in love with me or something?” You didn’t mean it, in fact you weren’t even sure where it had come from. 

Aegon became quiet, eyes breaking away from yours again. 

For a second you thought you had your answer. 

Until Aegon hunched over, groaning as if he was in some sort of intense pain. 

Then he collapsed.

You didn’t know what came first, your screaming or Aegon’s writhing figure being smashed repeatedly into the floor. 

All you remembered was a few waiters finding you with Aegon’s head in your lap, blood dripping from his nose as you clutched onto his shoulders. 

-

“And you say he’s never suffered from seizures before?” 

Alicent was quick to shake her head at the doctor's question, turning to look at Aegon in the hospital bed. 

“Anything that you know that might have triggered this?” The doctor asked. 

She was about to shake her head again but you stopped her by speaking.

“He was really upset at dinner,” you said without thinking. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.” 

“Emotional stress can cause seizures,” the doctor said, writing stuff down on her clipboard. “Especially if he has been feeling this way for a while. But I can’t be sure.” 

“When will we be able to take him home?” Alicent asked.

“I’d like to keep him in for overnight observations,” the doctor told you both, “He seemed to have hit his head pretty hard. I think it’s best just to be able to keep an eye on him here.” 

“Can I stay with him?” 

-

You can’t really remember how you had convinced the doctors to let you stay overnight, maybe it was that pathetic look of sadness over your face, but they managed to agree that it might be best if Aegon had someone he knew when he woke up. He had been under enough stress as it was. 

With the blinds closed, and the steady beep of Aegon’s heart monitor you managed to get to sleep. Only to be woken a few hours later, to utter silence in the room. 

There was a panic that set over you when you realised you couldn’t hear Aegon’s heart monitor, body lifting from your seat before you even had fully woken up. It wasn’t on and for a moment your heart stopped beating in your chest. 

A hand reached out to you, cold to the touch as Aegon whispered, “I’m here.” 

You sighed, clutching onto his hand as a wave of emotions washed over you. 

Aegon didn’t hesitate to pull you into his side, making space for you on the bed next to him. “It’s okay, I’m fine.” 

Even though you could hear him, feel him against your skin, the fear that had settled in your bones was already there. It wrecked through your body as you clung onto him, sobbing into his chest as though he had died.

It took at least half an hour before your breathing was steady and you could speak again. 

“I’m sorry,” you gulped, pressing your forehead against his. “I didn’t realise how upset you were. I shouldn’t have antagonised you like that.” 

“You didn’t mean it,” Aegon reassured you, wiping your hair out of your damp face. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

“I should have listened to you-” Your words got lodged in your throat, “I could have at least tried.” 

“It’s okay, really,” his voice was soft and his breath was warm against your face. “We are here now.” 

“I should have never said that.” You shook your head at the thought, burying your face further into his chest. “I should have never insinuated that. Said that you were in love with me.” 

“But I do love you,” Aegon’s lips were pressed against your forehead as he said this. 

“I know that,” you laughed slightly, allowing your eyes to close for a second. “But not like that. You’re not in love with me.” 

“I am in love with you,” Aegon whispered, so very sure of himself as he spoke. 

There was a knot in your stomach you couldn’t shake, one that had you moving your head to look up at him. “I don’t think you get what I mean.” 

Even in the darkness you could still make out his face, the furrow of his dark eyebrows and the squint of his eye. As if there was nothing to be confused about, as if it was that easy. 

“Aegon, you don’t mean that.” With each word you tried to lean away, only to realise how close you both were to each other. 

“I do mean it though,” Aegon repeated, speaking as if it was the clearest thing in the world. “I’ve always loved you like this.” 

“No.” You don’t even realise how far you’ve pushed away from him until you’ve fallen backwards on the floor, smacking into the hard ground. You squealed slightly, moving around to try and pick yourself up. 

But when Aegon slipped out of his bed, towering over your form, you practically threw yourself towards the door. That knot in your stomach started to hurt, making you feel like you could hurl on the cold tiled floor. When you thought you had caught the handle of the door, something took your balance from underneath you, making you slip all over again. 

“It doesn’t make any sense,” you told him, trying to push yourself towards the door until a foot stepped onto your hand. You let out a cry then, trying to push his weight off of you, just to be able to reach the door. “Aegon, please.” 

Then he was gone again, stepping behind you and out of sight.

You scrambled to reach for the door, arm reaching out to yank it open only for the door to be slammed into its place. The sound of the locks clicked closed and when you reached for the handle again, it would barely move. 

Then you saw him again, through the reflection of the window in the door, his eyes darker than before. “It makes perfect sense actually.”

Within a second he threw something over your head, giving you no time to speak as he wrapped it around your mouth. It had you gagged and the material felt like some sort of hospital bandage, one that Aegon wrapped a few more times to keep you silenced. 

“I mean I applied to go to Dorne for you,” Aegon stated, an unsettling coldness to his voice. He wrapped his arms around your frame, dragging you back to his hospital bed. “I got dad to bribe them to get me into that university. All because I thought you were going to go there next year. I spent my first year studying from home most of the time and for the other half I spent phoning you. Was it not clear that I just wanted to be around you?” 

Your hands were clawing at him to stop, but no matter how deep your nails dug or how hard your fists slammed at him, it was like he didn’t feel it.

“I’ve always loved you,” Aegon threw you on the bed, quick to shove himself on top of your frame to stop you moving. “You’re meant to love me.” His forehead was pressed against yours now, his breath feeling hot on your skin. 

This wasn’t happening. 

Your hands slipped out of his grip for a moment, allowing you to claw at the fabric in your mouth in hopes to get it out. But it was too tight, stuck between the barriers of your teeth and while you were distracted with that, Aegon was distracted with yanking your sleeveless dress off. 

A scream left you, muffled by the bandage between your lips, a pathetic attempt for someone to hear you. 

If you thought that would make Aegon angry, you were wrong. Aegon was a mix of emotions but the one emotion that he was right now, was humoured. You could tell in the way he chuckled into your bare skin, laughing at your attempts to push him away. 

This wasn’t the older brother you knew. Aegon was sweet and caring with you, pushing his selfish tendencies to the side to always make you happy. He had never done anything to hurt you, never did anything to make you believe he had this sort of side. 

But when his face hovered over yours again, his hands pinning yours to the side. You weren’t even sure this was your big brother at all. His pupils were blown, the violet replaced with a black. This was a monster and as long as you knew Aegon, he had always been some sort of a monster, just never one to your story. Not until now. 

“You’re supposed to love me,” Aegon told you, pressing his whole body against your frame. Only the thin fabric of his hospital gown between you both, making you realise how close he was to getting to what he wanted. “You’re supposed to be in love with me.” 

He was wedged in between your legs before you noticed, making it impossible for you to move. Especially when his body felt like an immovable weight, suffocating as he lay on top of you. 

Eventually you realised he was ignoring your sobs, your trembling body and every slap and scratch to his body. You became limp at this, only shaking from the slight cries leaving your lips. There was nothing left in you to fight anymore, Aegon had won whatever sick game he had been playing. 

There was something in him that was pleased at this notion, having you become submissive under his touch. His hands trailed the naked skin of your body, groping at every part as if he had never felt it before. And he was smiling, you could feel his grin pressed into the skin of your chest before his lips pathed their way down your frame. 

The sickest part of it all was the fact you couldn’t deny how soft his lips felt across your skin. It was as if he was taking the time to get to know your body, to ingrain the memory into his mind. You hated the way it felt to be underneath him and you pushed away the thought that you could be enjoying this. 

It wasn’t right, there wasn’t any way you could be enjoying this. 

But when Aegon’s hips grinded into yours, it became harder to deny the possibility of taking your own pleasure from this. 

When his head reached between your thighs, you were ready to clamp them down, close them while you had the chance. But Aegon had a strength you never knew about, shoving your thighs apart and holding your hips to the bed. 

“Be good for me,” Aegon told you, pressing a few pecks along your inner thigh. 

Like a predator, Aegon played with his food, nibbling and kissing the skin around your pussy before even touching it. Something that had you tensing, anticipating what was to come. 

But like a starved man, when Aegon finally reaches your cunt, he wastes no time to dive his tongue in between your folds. Your thighs clamped around his head in an instance at the sensations, and Aegon didn’t even seem to fight against them, instead he used his arms to wrap them around them tighter. 

You think at some point he said something but was muffled into the lips of your cunt. 

Aegon seemed to know exactly what he was doing, when he lapped at your clit, moving his tongue to circle around it before giving it his divine attention. It was as if he already knew all the tricks to your body, your walls already clenching around nothing for him. 

You were sure he couldn’t breathe down there, he should have been suffocating from how long he had been down there for but his face only seemed to bury itself further into you. If that was even possible. 

Through the bandage stuck between your lips, you managed to let out a few strangled moans not even realising the noises were your own until you could feel Aegon chuckle against you. You struggled to bite them down, your back arching off the bed at the pleasure that was building in your stomach. There was no fighting the orgasm, not even as your hands tried to push his head away from between your legs. It was coming whether you liked it or not. 

The way it washed over you was intense, making your arms weak as Aegon held your wrists against the bed. Even when your legs became lax, Aegon didn’t let up, lapping up any juices you had left for him. 

“I almost forgot how heavenly you taste,” Aegon whispered, loud enough for you to hear him. 

At first with his frame hovering over yours again and his lips kissing over your open mouth, you thought you hadn’t heard it. But it repeated again and again in your head, leaving you numb in a completely different way. 

“I think we’ll be able to take this off now,” Aegon spoke, fingers slipping under the bandage behind your head. You didn’t know how he did it but you felt it loosen, your mouth able to fully close. “Better now?” 

Aegon’s lips were shoved onto yours, nipping at your lips for some access, one that you were unwilling to give him until he had no other choice but to move his lips elsewhere. 

“What did you mean?” You were breathless, your words coming through gasps that left your lips. “Aegon?” 

He wasn’t listening, lips hot on your neck as he made his claim to the skin of your throat in purple and blue. 

“You-” the words got caught in your throat as he pressed himself against you, his hardness catching you off guard, “You said you almost forgot.” 

He began grinding his hips against yours, making you swallow any whimpers that rose from your throat. “I know what I said sister.” 

He was listening to you then. When his face came to hover over yours again, the black void from his eyes still clear even in the darkness, you realised you had his full attention. And you knew it wasn’t because he wanted to listen to what you had to say. No. It was because he wanted to watch how you crumbled as he rubbed his cock against your soaked folds. 

“Almost forgot how I-” you couldn’t even bring yourself to stay it, fighting against the thought as you closed your eyes. “As if you had-” This time it was a whimper being torn from your throat that stopped you mid sentence, something that made Aegon wickedly grin from above you. “As if you had-” 

Then it was his lips cutting you off, intertwining with yours in the softest kiss. His tongue managed to slip in, allowing you to taste your sweetness. 

With his mouth on yours, Aegon had you distracted momentarily, using this moment to slip his gown off. You only came to realise when his lips left yours and you could feel his leaking tip pressed against your entrance. Without a moment’s hesitation, Aegon sunk himself into your walls, watching as your lips parted in a harsh gasp as he stretched your walls for the first time. 

Your insides screamed in pain while Aegon moaned in pleasure, his hand cupping your cheek. 

“As if I had tasted you before,” Aegon finally finished your sentence for you. “As if I had eaten out my sweet little sister before.” He seemed proud of himself, caging you in with a wicked grin. “Don’t worry. I never went this far. I always wanted you to be awake when I finally got to fuck you.” 

“You’re sick,” you sobbed, feeling your world crumble around you at his confession. 

It wasn’t because he was taking you when you had begged him not to, that he had been doing so for months without you even realising. It was because all those years you had spent with him, always confessing to him in hushed voices how he was your favourite sibling, and how you were his too, were ruined by this. Every memory, every thought, had been twisted into this awful nightmare that your brother had never seen you as his sister. 

And as the black of his eyes faded back into the beautiful violet you recognised, you were only reminded that you were living in his sick fantasy. 

“The way your pussy is clenching around me right now makes you just as sick as I am,” Aegeon announced, thrusting himself slightly harder into you. “You like this just as much as I like it.” 

You wanted to tell him no but one harsh curve of his hips into yours had your throat choked on a moan. A start to many as you felt your walls begin to accept him, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his cock massaging your walls. It was hard to fight against it when your nails were digging into arms for stability. 

“You’re fine, baby,” Aegon reassured you, eyes softening at your fucked out expression. “Doesn’t this feel so good? So right?” 

“Aegon,” It wasn’t meant to come out in a delicate moan, as if you were asking for more reassurance. At least that’s what you tell yourself as you try to sound more distraught. “Aegon.” This whimper sounds worse than the last one, pathetic as you clenched around him. 

“I’ve got you.” Aegon cradles your body with his, intertwining your hands as he holds you. “Trust me.” 

You wanted to scream at him, to push his hips from yours as his pace became suddenly frantic. But his hands stayed firm as they pinned yours down, using his lower body to do the rest of the work. 

Your legs wriggled, feet pressing against his chest in hopes he would at least slow down. But with this new angle, Aegon was reaching into your stomach, making your legs tremble in a way you didn’t realise was possible. 

You were repeating “No.” over and over again, hoping anyone would listen. But even your body was betraying you again as you felt that familiar sensation crawling over your body. You didn’t know how long you’d be able to hold on, trying to fight it off with everything you had left. But Aegon’s pace wasn’t letting up anytime soon and you felt your walls clench around him without warning. 

Aegon was moaning into your mouth as this happened and it wasn’t till after the first waves of pleasure could you feel him spilling into your walls.

You were panting after this, trying to catch your breath but it felt impossible. Then there he was again, talking you through it as he wiped the sweat from your forehead. 

“You’re fine baby,” Aegon promised, pecking the side of your lips. “I’m just making you feel good.” 

When you looked up at him, noticing how he didn’t even seem phased from what had just happened, you realised this was far from over yet. And with your mind starting to slip in and out of consciousness, you couldn’t even seem to care.

#aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen smut #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon ii fic #aegon targaryen ii x you #squirmsspooktoberevent

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 1: Am I More Than You Bargained For Yet]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra's wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook's Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother's life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting...

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, a brief history of burn treatments, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), a wild Sunfyre appears, catching feelings for literally the single most inappropriate man on the planet.

Series title is a lyric from: "7 Minutes in Heaven" by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: "Sugar, We're Goin' Down" by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 5.3k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

💜 I’m going to tag like a bazillion people since this is the first chapter of a new fic, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. I hope you are all doing well, wherever you are in the world! 💜

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You scream when he grabs you, this lightning strike of a man with a grip like an animal trap that splits bones. He pulls you away from the soldier you’re soothing—a young dark-haired Norcross, disoriented, doomed, his intestines spilling out onto the grass and blood on his lips—and through the forest of smoke and corpses and pine trees. Your eyes sting and water, your boots snag on gnarled roots. When you yelp and stumble to the earth, the man drags you upright again. You struggle like a beast with a blade at its throat, cold, serrated, pressure on the jugular. You shove and scratch at him, trying to plant your boots in soil strewn with gore and glowing embers.

“Stop, stop it, you’re hurting me!”

“Hurry up.”

“You’re going to break my wrist—!”

He wrenches you around to look you full in the face, and only now do you know who he is. A gasp hisses through your teeth; the acrid air in your lungs vanishes. Every muscle and tendon and ligament of you is taut with horror, tight enough to snap. It’s like meeting one of the Seven, the Warrior or Stranger or Smith, a shade you know only from myths and nightmares. It’s like being led to the executioner’s scaffold. His long silver braid hangs over one shoulder. His eyepatch conceals the childhood maiming that left him half-blind. There’s blood and ash on his scarred face, a ruthless breed of fear in his remaining eye, icy blue, creek-shallow, soulless. The man clasping your wrist is Prince Aemond Targaryen. “I’ll break your neck if you don’t come with me now.”

He does not wait for your protest or acquiescence. You couldn’t give it anyway. Your muddied boots move numbly as he tugs you forward, this man they call Aemond One-Eye, a monster, a murderer, a kinslayer. The earth is littered with carnage from the battle, charred ribcages and disemboweled horses, scattered armor and severed limbs. Ashes fall from the smoldering treetops like dark snow.

What does he want from me?

Rape seems unlikely; everyone knows Prince Aemond’s deviancies do not run in that direction. He is cold, hateful, dispassionate, made of stone. He does not lust for anything but power and retribution, fire and blood.

To kill me?

But why not do it here, now? There is a sword hanging from his belt, a dagger in one fist. There is no reason to wait.

To take me prisoner? To feed me to his dragon? To torture me for information?

Surely there are more knowledgeable people around to torture. What use could you be, a healer, a woman? Unless…

Unless he knows who my father is.

You glance down at the fabric band looped around the upper half of your right arm, the only mark you wear of your house, stark white banner, skittering red crabs. It is soaked through with blood. It is unreadable.

Someone is shrieking, but not like a dying man. He has too much fight in him for that, too much glass-clear agony, unwanted blistering consciousness. He screams like someone being flayed, gutted, burned alive. You’ve only ever heard this sound once before. You choke on the greasy, putrid, metallic sweetness of scorched human flesh as it sears down your throat, not knowing if it is real or remembered.

There is a tent in the midst of the pine trees, fluttering canvas that’s green like emeralds or jade. The wind is picking up; you will need to evacuate soon. The cinders will spread and the forest will blaze. Somewhere a dragon is roaring, wounded and mournful like the cry of a lost child. The screams of the man grow louder; they fill your skull like a fever, scalding and senseless and red. Aemond yanks the tent flap aside and pulls you in. And when you breathe it is nothing but the sickening miasma of burnt flesh, coppery blood, suffering, sweat, ruin.

He’s writhing on a wooden table, the man the Greens call king. It has to be him: white-blond hair down to his shoulders, blue eyes and fine aristocratic bones. Two ancient, shaky-handed maesters—hastily commandeered from the defeated House Staunton, you assume—confer nearby, clutching glass bottles of milk of the poppy. A man in armor is cutting tatters of clothing from the so-called king. When he lifts the fabric away, skin sloughs off with it. Aegon wails, struggles, begs him to stop. Aemond goes to his brother and carves away scraps of melted leather and charred cotton with the swift blade of his dagger.

“Shh, shh, don’t fight us, we’re trying to help—”

“Aemond, let me die,” the burned man rasps. He is trembling violently, he is half-mad with pain. Meleys’ flames claimed a swath of his right cheek, his neck and chest and back, his arms down to his wrists, his belly to the crests of his hip bones. “Please. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want it to hurt anymore. Don’t try to help me. Just let me die.”

Aemond looks back at you. “Can you treat this?”

He thinks I’m a Green, you realize with panic, with relief, with terror. And of course he would: you had wandered into the Greens’ side of the battlefield and therefore did not surrender or flee or die with the other Blacks, you were tending to a Green soldier when he found you. Aemond the Kinslayer would not comprehend the notion of service to humankind without a line drawn down the middle of it, of uncategorical compassion.

“Can you help him or not?!” Aemond shouts; and you know that he is not just afraid but shattering, spider-leg cracks inching across a window or a mirror. Perhaps the Greens have souls after all.

You shed your paralysis like daylight erases the stars and approach to examine the so-called king. You do not touch him; still, he whimpers, sobs, quakes like waves in a storm. “He needs more milk of the poppy. A lot more of it.”

“Yes,” Aegon agrees immediately. His streaming eyes—a bleak, murky blue like the sea off Claw Isle—list to you, agonized and grateful.

The maesters gape. “More could kill him,” one says. And they are petrified of being blamed for it. They are plagued by visions of Aemond hacking off their heads and displaying them on spikes above the stone walls of captured Rook’s Rest.

“No drawbacks at all then?” Aegon manages between moans.

“If his pain does not abate, he will die of shock,” you say. “He must be unconscious.”

“Knock me out,” Aegon pleads, pawing at Aemond. “Tell them, tell them.”

Aemond looks to the man in armor: dark-haired, olive-skinned, Dornish. Sir Criston Cole, you realize. The Hand of the King. The Kingmaker. After a moment, Criston nods. “Do it now,” Aemond orders the maesters.

Grimacing, grim, they pour the opalescent liquid into Aegon’s mouth. He gulps it down as quickly as he can. “Enough,” you tell the maesters. Instinctively, you reach out to comfort Aegon: a palm rested lightly on his forehead, fingers threaded through silvery hair that’s filthy with soot and blood. You should hate him, but you don’t. When you look at the Greens’ broken king, you cannot see a murderer, a usurper, a depraved hedonist, a consumer of innocence. You can only see a man worn threadbare by ill-advised bravery.

“Hello, angel,” Aegon murmurs as he gazes up at you, a ghost of a smile on his lips. His eyes really do remind you of home: ocean currents like iron, fog like flint. “Welcome to the end of the world.” And then he’s out, extinguished, eclipsed.

Servants bustle into the tent carrying heavy buckets. “What is that?” you ask.

“Pork lard,” one of the maesters says. “For his wounds.”

“No, no, no, some of these burns are nearly down to the muscle. They’re too deep, too fresh. Lard is for later, to help with scarring, although olive oil or rose oil would be better. He needs to be cleaned with vinegar diluted with water. Or red wine, if that’s all that can be found.”

“Vinegar?!” one of the maesters exclaims.

“It helps prevent infection. Nobody knows why.”

The same maester turns to Aemond, imploring him. “My prince, I can assure you, the Citadel recommends pork lard or cow dung as topical cures, or both used alternatingly. There are also reports of cases where frogs have been helpful, warmed in oil and then rubbed on the affected area.”

Criston blinks. “I’m sorry, you do what with the frogs…?!”

They’re going to kill him, you think. Not with malice, but with stupidity. A wasted life, a wasted death. You demand of the maester: “When was the last time you treated burns this severe?”

He glowers at you, sharp dark eyes like flecks of onyx in a nest of wrinkles. And you know you’ve won when he replies: “When have you?”

“My brother was burned in a housefire started by an upturned lantern. It was five years ago, but I remember the direness his injuries. And what was done to save him.”

Silence in this tent the color of summer: green grass, unsinged trees. Aemond waits for the maesters to produce some astute rebuttal. When they cannot, he orders the servants: “Vinegar, water, rags. Now.” They dash off to oblige him, wide-eyed and quivering like small dogs. Then Aemond looks to you. “What next?”

“His wounds should be treated with honey and then bandaged. The dressings must be changed frequently, at least once per day. He must be repositioned so the scar tissue does not immobilize his joints. He will suffer, it cannot be avoided, but he should suffer as little as possible. Listen to him when he says the pain is too much. Let him sleep. When he is awake, he must drink plenty of fluids. He is losing water through his burns, and it must be replaced. Milk is preferable. Tea and fruit juices are good as well. Some wine is acceptable if that’s what he likes best.”

“And it certainly is,” Criston mutters. You’ve heard the same: that the Greens’ king is a drunk, an adulterer, a coward, a ghoul. You cannot speak to any of this. You know him only as someone who is horrifically pained and sick to death of fighting. Again, without thinking, you comb your fingertips distractedly through his hair as he lies unconscious on the table, bleeding from everywhere. He’s so young, so breakable, so unlike the monster you’ve been led to believe he is.

“Get honey and bandages,” Aemond tells the maesters. They depart, casting each other incredulous glances: Are these our new overlords? Men who heed the wisdom of impetuous young women filthy with blood and earth?

“I’ve heard salt can be helpful for wounds,” Aemond says. “They used it on me when…” He gestures to his eyepatch, to his scar. Lucerys Velaryon took that part of him in self-defense; at least, that is what you have always been told. But you’ve read enough to know that for every event, there are at least two stories. Whatever the truth is, Luke paid for that eye. He paid, Rhaenyra paid, the world continues to pay the price over and over again.

“Because it dries. It absorbs moisture.” You skim your palm over Aegon’s forehead, without lines of fear or anguish as he sleeps. There is a ring on his left hand, a gold dragon with glinting dots of jade for eyes. You twist off the ring so it will not hinder circulation as his fingers swell and give it to Aemond. “But burns weep as they heal. They need to be wet. If they get too dry, they will crack open and fester.”

“Is that what happened to your brother?” Aemond asks.

“Where we did not pay enough attention. The backs of his knees, the soles of his feet.”

“But he survived.”

“Yes,” you tell Aemond; and you can see how desperately he is searching for hope in your face, your words. “He did.”

The servants return with buckets of water, handfuls of rags, glass bottles of vinegar that is cloudy and rust-colored.

“What’s it made from?” you say.

“Fermented a-a-apples, my lady,” one of the boys sputters. He watches Aemond out of the corner of his eye like sheep look for the shadows of wolves. He shivers, he sweats. This boy, who last night was fetching meat and mead for Lord Staunton, has heard the same stories you have: the degenerate king, his murderous brother.

“That’s fine then.” You haul over one of the water buckets and Criston helps you lift it up onto the table. You empty half a bottle of vinegar into the water, mix it by wobbling the bucket back and forth, and then soak a rag in the pungent liquid. “You can help,” you tell Aemond and Criston. “Dip a rag in the bucket, wring it out, then press it to his wounds. Remove any dirt or scraps of fabric. But don’t rub. Try not to damage the skin he has left.” You demonstrate: dabbing at flesh that is torn and bloody and blistered, a black-and-ruby wasteland that at best will leave him irreparably scarred and at worst will swallow his life like ships sink in storms.

Tentatively—with hands at ease with killing but not tenderness—Aemond and Criston join you, studying your movements and imitating them with great care. There is a sniffle, a teardrop that falls onto Aegon’s filthy but unburned left hand and glistens there like a splinter of glass; you are alarmed to see that the Kingmaker is weeping.

“Criston,” Aemond says gently. “We are doing everything we can for him.”

“Since the day he was born, I promised…”

“I know.”

“Your mother…”

“I know,” Aemond says again, and you think: The Greens aren’t demons, they aren’t savages. They’re just patchworks of memory and flesh and suffering, the same as any of us. “He will live. And his sacrifice won us a victory today.”

As you tended to wounded men caked with blood and pine needles, you saw them tangled above in the overcast sky, scales of scarlet and gold and an ancient muddy viridescence. There were flames and shouts, and then all three dragons hurdled towards the earth and out of view. “The Red Queen?” you ask Aemond, mindful to keep your voice perfectly level.

“Dead,” he says: dark satisfaction, fearsome pride. “And so is her rider.”

“The gods are good.” You are amazed at how easily it slips out, a reflex of self-preservation while your mind is elsewhere. Does my father know yet? Does Rhaenyra, does Daemon, does Corlys? People will be searching for you soon. If you do not appear from the smoke and chaos of the battlefield, your eldest brother Clement will come looking with his sword in hand. Everett, scarred and unagile but clever, will be pouring over maps to see where you might have ended up.

There is no suspicion in Aemond’s face when he glances over at you. He is gingerly cleaning soot and charred strips of ruined skin from Aegon’s chest, which rises and falls in deep, slow breaths. “Which family is yours?”

House Celtigar, but you can’t tell him that. You scramble for a noble family of the Crownlands whose accent you share, whose history you have been taught, whose men fight for the Greens but are not so distinguished that Aemond will know them well. “House Thorne.”

He nods. “Are you one of Sir Rickard’s sisters?”

You startle. Perhaps you have chosen the wrong disguise. “Far less illustrious than that. Just a cousin.”

The two maesters return, their archaic hands piled high with linen bandages and glass jars of honey, a fiery gold like sunset. “Set them down over there,” Aemond orders, pointing. He has a presence, it cannot be denied. He is tall, fierce, swift yet calculated. He moves like a man who has killed once, twice, again until it is no longer something that keeps him awake at night. It is something that has become a part of him like arteries or bones. “Prepare a room in the castle.”

“For Prince Aegon?” one of the maesters says, then quickly corrects himself. “I mean, for the king?”

“For until we decide what to do with him.” Aemond stares at Criston. Criston stares back, his dark eyes huge and shiny. There is a war to be waged, but Aegon will not be able to help them. Not for months, at least. Not ever, if he dies. The maesters disappear again, grumbling to each other. Unwelcome tasks, unwelcome guests.

Rhaenys is dead, you think as you work. It doesn’t feel real. Meleys is dead. Hundreds of Black soldiers are dead. Rook’s Rest is the Greens’ greatest victory yet, and one they desperately needed. This war is nowhere near over. And the betting odds keep changing.

You say to Aemond and Criston: “Help me turn him. We must clean the burns on his back as well.”

They listen, they obey, they help you because helping you means helping Aegon. When he is washed as well as he can be, you spread a thin sheen of shimmering honey over his wounds—an amber river that will trap moisture and discourage inflammation—and wrap him in bandages. The only burn you leave uncovered is the one on his right cheek. It creeps up over his pale face like red tentacles, curling and grasping, hungry, insatiable. They match now, you think. Two brothers, two scars.

Criston assembles a group of Green soldiers and Aegon is carried in a litter to the castle that serves as the seat of House Staunton, once allies of Rhaenyra, now traitors, now dead men walking. Outside rain has begun to fall, putting out flames born from dragonfire. The pine forest is saved; wounded men lie in the dirt with their mouths open hoping to quench their thirst. By the time Aegon is placed in an opulent bedroom with a view of Blackwater Bay, he has already bled through his bandages. You clean him again, bandage him, dribble milk of the poppy down his throat when he begins to stir and whimper. Aemond gives you command of a makeshift fleet of caretakers: the two requisitioned maesters, three maids, servants to bring food, drink, bandages, wood for the crackling fireplace.

My family is searching for me, you know as you battle to save their enemy’s life, this maybe-king with silver hair and eyes like deep water.And then: I cannot leave him. Not now, not yet.

In the night, as cool rain patters against the ocean and Aemond and Criston are slaughtering House Staunton men down in the castle courtyard, you dose Aegon with milk of the poppy every few hours. The maesters refuse to take responsibility for it; if the king is poisoned, it will be you who swings from a rope for it. You hold cloths dripping with cold water to his forehead. You feed him nibbles of bread and venison when he is conscious enough to eat, cinnamon tea, pomegranate juice, goat milk. You inspect him for any signs of infection. You braid a small lock of his hair before you’ve stopped to consider why you’re doing it.

And when no one else is watching, you untie the bloodstained armband of your own house and burn it to ashes in the fire.

~~~~~~~~~~

Someone is jostling you, grabbing at you. You fell into an exhausted, sporadic sleep in the next room long after midnight. It’s morning now; warm sunlight blooms like flowers on your face, yellow roses and buttercups and daffodils. When your eyes open, they are sore and unfocused. Aemond is a blur of white hair and black leather. He is tugging on you again, his lithe fingers like a vice around your forearm.

“Stop it, get off me!” You shove him away. He waits, bemused. “You can’t keep dragging me around like this!”

“Why not?”

Because my father is one of the wealthiest men in the Seven Kingdoms. Because I may not have silver hair or a dragon, but if you cut me open the blood of Old Valyria would spill out like red waves. Because the man I am pledged to marry is good at killing, very good at killing, maybe even better than you. “Because I’m a noblewoman. I’m a lady.”

“You don’t act like one,” Aemond counters. “Ladies flee from blood and gore. Ladies are nowhere to be found on battlefields.”

“I like being useful.”

“Then I have brought you a gift. You are needed now. Aegon is asking for you.” And then, when you hurry out of bed, finding your footing on chilly wood floors: “Well, that certainly got you moving quickly.”

“He’s in pain?”

“Not especially, from what I can tell. I think he just wants you.” Aemond glides out of the bedroom. You follow him to Aegon’s chamber. The Greens’ king is propped up in bed on a great mass of pillows, bandaged, limp, eyes glazed and barely open. There are men huddled around him. You recognize Criston, though not the other ones, some old and some young and all in armor. You hope that none of them are Sir Rickard Thorne.

You feel Aegon’s forehead for fever. To your relief, he is no more than modestly warm. He catches your hand, holds it tightly, doesn’t let go. After a moment’s hesitation, you sit down beside him on the edge of the bed. There is a curl of his lips, just a whisper of a smile, just a phantom of one. Aemond glances at you and Aegon with mild interest, then turns his attention to Criston.

“Aegon,” Criston informs the king, patiently, like a good father would. “We have to move you back to King’s Landing.”

“No,” Aegon says. His voice is so low and weak that he’s difficult to hear.

“Your recovery will be long and arduous,” Criston explains. “Aemond and I will be needed in combat. We cannot stay to guard you. The Blacks may try to retake Rook’s Rest. You staying here is not an option. King’s Landing is safer. It is well-supplied, it is protected. And we have our own maesters there who will help tend to you.”

“Can’t leave,” Aegon croaks. “Sunfyre.”

“Aegon—”

“I can’t leave without Sunfyre,” he forces out with immense effort. Then he gasps and moans, tears pooling in his eyes. You offer him milk of the poppy; he guzzles as much as you’ll allow him to have.

Criston sighs. “You can’t stay. And Sunfyre can’t leave. One of his wings was nearly ripped off, he’ll never fly again. We have no way to transport him, he’s too heavy.”

One of the armored men mutters: “And that’s assuming he wouldn’t incinerate anyone who ventured close enough to try.”

“Where is he now?” Aemond asks the man.

“Down on the beach, my prince. Eating dead soldiers.”

Criston shudders. Working in close proximity to dragons has not given him a liking for them.

“Can’t leave him here,” Aegon whispers, shaking his head.

“You must,” Aemond says.

“What if it was Vhagar?”

“I’d leave her. I’d have no choice.”

Aegon frowns, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s all too much for him. “Not the same.”

No, perhaps not; Aemond’s dragon may be the largest and most lethal in the world, but Aegon’s bond with Sunfyre is said to be what legends are built of, words written in ink and stone. You watch the agonized confliction on Aegon’s drawn face: can’t leave, can’t stay, can’t fight, can’t run. You say softly: “Could Sunfyre be assigned a detachment of guards?”

Aemond looks at you as if just remembering you’re here. “What?”

“Men could be tasked with ensuring the dragon is secure and fed. From a safe distance, of course. They could report on his health. Then perhaps when he is stronger, he can be reunited with the king.” The king. Again, it stuns you how easily the treason rolls out, like waves bubbling over rocks and sand.

Aemond turns to Criston. “Could it be done?”

“I don’t foresee many men volunteering for the task. But it could be done, yes. Sure.”

Aemond asks his brother: “Would that make a difference?”

Aegon’s eyes drift to you. They are churning with sluggish, clunky thoughts, heavy burdens to bear on raw shoulders. The braid that you wove absentmindedly into his hair is still there. “Alright,” Aegon agrees at last. “I’ll go.”

“Good,” Aemond says. “We leave at dawn tomorrow.” Then he looks to you. “You will come south with us.” His tone invites no argument. He doesn’t even conceive of it as a possibility. Why would you refuse? Why would you, a purportedly devout Green, shy away from the opportunity to nurse your king back to health? You bow your head in compliance. You wonder what is being discussed in the Black Council; you wonder what your father is thinking, what Everett believes happened to you.

“But I have to see him first,” Aegon says.

Aemond does not understand. “See who?”

“Sunfyre.”

“But you can’t walk to the beach,” Criston says. “You can’t walk anywhere.”

Aegon grins, showing his teeth. His dazed, deep blue eyes glitter mischieviously. His hand has not disentangled itself from yours. “Then carry me.”

The deal is struck, like a face minted onto a coin or a bolt of lightning meeting the earth. Soldiers transport Aegon down to the stony, mist-sopped shoreline. Blade-sharp agony is flooding back into his face, but he refuses more milk of the poppy. He wants to be awake when he gets there. He wants to be himself.

The soldiers cannot get too close to Sunfyre; no one besides Aegon can. He is helped off the litter and then tries to amble across the wet, grey sand. After a few steps he collapses. You rush to him, dodging Aemond and Criston’s grasps as they try to stop you.

“No,” Aegon says when you attempt to help him to his feet. He is panting from the pain, his face flushed with torment and exertion. His white-blond hair whips in the wind. “Do not follow me. Not even if I pass out, not even if I’m dead. I don’t know what Sunfyre would do to you.” And then he crawls forward alone on his hands and knees.

Waves crash, spraying saltwater into the air. Crabs scuttle over rocks. Gulls swoop low to claim mouthfuls of flesh from bloated corpses in worthless uniforms. The dragon known as Sunfyre the Golden is curled up on the beach. Many of his metallic scales are singed; the pink membranes of his wings are tattered like lace. His right wing hangs at a ruinously odd angle. You would know how to set that if he was a human. And you could do it without the threat of being reduced to ash and history.

Sunfyre unravels as Aegon nears him, long angular face rising, frayed wings settling by his sides. You have seen dragons before, of course—Syrax, Caraxes, Arrax, Vermax, Meleys—though never from this close. They horrify you. You cannot look at them without thinking of the devastation they sow like a plague, of how they so unmistakably no longer belong in this world.

Sunfyre’s head stretches out towards his rider, a half-dead man kneeling in wet sand and wearing only bandages and loose cotton trousers. Beside you, Sir Criston Cole sucks in a noisy, nervous breath. Aemond watches Aegon, his face like stone. His hair hangs in long, damp waves.

Aegon embraces Sunfyre, clinging to him, resting his face against the dragon’s. They stay like that for what feels like a very long time. Then Aegon crawls back to you, sobbing with pain by the time he is lifted into the litter. You give him milk of the poppy and he accepts it eagerly. He is unconscious again within seconds. Down the beach, Sunfyre looses a soft desolate cry like a plea: Don’t go. Don’t leave me. You might never come back.

~~~~~~~~~~

The drivers have been instructed to proceed slowly and with caution; still, the carriage pitches and jolts as you traverse the Rosby Road towards King’s Landing. In addition to the caravan’s most precious cargo—the Greens’ fragile and intermittently sentient king—it transports also two severed heads: Lord Simon Staunton’s in a basket, and Meleys’ in the bed of a mule-drawn wagon. High above in slate-grey clouds, Aemond and Vhagar are safeguarding your progress. Criston rides on a monstrous warhorse just outside the carriage. You are leafing through a book that you found in the castle library at Rook’s Rest: anatomy, surgery, sicknesses and cures. Aegon is bandaged and heavily medicated in the cushioned seat across from you. While servants flit in and out frequently, you are the only passengers in the carriage at the moment. You do not know that Aegon is awake until he speaks.

“Sinful,” he says. His voice is groggy, only half-here. He is gazing blearily at the illustration on the open pages of your book: a quite detailed naked man, his arteries and veins mapped like the roads of Westeros, his cock bare and sizeable.

“It’s informative,” you reply in your own defense, smiling.

“My father would have hit me for looking at something like that. If he’d noticed.” Aegon smirks, resting his head against the back of his velvet seat. His hair has been scrubbed and rinsed by servants, the braid you made for him undone. “He probably wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Mine has a great love for all books.” Bartimos Celtigar is eternally turning pages: computations, records, revenue. He does not just sit on Rhaenyra’s council. He is her Master of Coin. He funds her war effort, he fuels her like wood to a fire. “Besides, I have seen naked men in person. No book can scandalize me now.”

A little twitch of his silvery eyebrows: fascination, amusement. “He does not lose sleep over your spent innocence?”

“He has other things on his mind presently.”

“Like what?”

Like helping Rhaenyra win the war. You find a different truth to tell him. “Some men consider one daughter to be too many. My father has four. His attention is thoroughly divided.”

“He doesn’t like you?”

“He likes me plenty. He just doesn’t need me.”

Aegon nods. His eyes travel over you slowly and meditatively, not leering but learning, memorizing slopes and angles, taking you in like he’s never been able to before. He is in the brief lull between doses of milk of the poppy: lucid enough to speak but not so much that he can feel the full extent of his injuries. “Are you married?”

This is a bit of a fraught subject. “I am betrothed.”

“Oh,” he says, with what might be disappointment. “And he wouldn’t rather have you home right now? Putting all that knowledge of male anatomy to good use? That’s difficult to believe.”

You peer evasively down at your book. “He has a role to play in the war. I’ve been given permission to serve in my own way until it is over.”

“Permission,” Aegon echoes. He finds this interesting. He studies you for a while before he asks, his voice gentle: “What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing. He’s honorable, he’s brave. He’s marvelously formidable. He could carry you around like a sack of potatoes.”

Aegon chuckles, a slow reflective laugh, curiosity, intrigue, something to think about besides the fact that he’s missing half his skin. “Do you fear marriage?”

What is the answer to that question? Do you even know yourself? “I fear being possessed. And having no remedy if the circumstances are not to my liking.”

“You can’t get one of your three superfluous sisters to marry him instead?”

You smile faintly. “No, we’ve met. He chose me, he favored me. I’m not sure why.”

“Probably because you’ve read all there is to know about cocks.” Aegon grins, drowsy and crooked and playful. “Who is he?”

“Just a man,” you say. You can’t tell Aegon more than that. It would give your Black affiliations away.

You are betrothed to the Warden of the North, Lord Cregan Stark.

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

[sweetandabitspycho]

Aegon Targaryen x GN Reader

Title: One Hundred Kisses

Summary; you have to kiss Aegon a hundred times after losing a bet.

Warnings: None

Tag list. @reader-inserts-and-others-thing

Let me know if you want to be added. Please let me know if I'll enjoy this!

“Tell you what, my love, if you magically win I'll kiss you one hundred times,” I say smugly as I run my hand throw his long hair. “If I win and I will, you will put on a dress,” I say kissing his soft lips. He moved up so he was sitting on the bed and grabbed my thighs. “I will never put on a dress,” he said nipping my neck. “We will see,” I stated as I got up to get dressed. “Why must you get dressed? I love seeing your body,” he said in a smug tone. “I know my life, but I have to go,” I said after I got dressed. “Why?” he asked in a whining voice. “I must join your mother the Queen for tea.” he grabbed me and kissed me. “Fuck my mother, I want my hundred kisses.” I smiled at him. “You haven't won yet!” I said moving too fast for him to grab me again.

“Hello, my Queen,” I said bowing, and then sat down. “Please, Y/n I already told you to call me Alicent,” She said moving the teacup to me. “How is my son treating you?” she asked softly as if she was scared. “He is truly the sweetest,” I said sipping on the tea. “Really? He has been nice?” she question as if I was lying. “No my Queen. He is amazing!” I said and then we talked for hours.

“How was tea? Was it better than spending time with me?” he said bitterly. He hasn't moved since I have been gone. “No, my fire,” I said walking to the bed. “I wish I could spend all of my days in bed with you, but I can not. Now get dressed.” I said making sure I looked good. He still hasn't moved. “You want those hundred kisses move your ass,” I said as I grabbed his clothes. “Find.” he said getting up.

I moved my hand to his thigh. He smirks at me. Please let me win, not that giving him a hundred kisses was a bad thing I just wanted to win. Aemond started the fight with Jacaerys not with Lucerys, shit I lost.” Aegon smirked at me. Yes, he likes this too much.

Aegon grabbed me and pushed me on the bed. "It's time for my reward." He said then I kissed him once on his cheek. “I love the way you hold me,” I said, kissing his forehead “I love the way you make my life full of happiness,” I kissed his chin “I love the way you look at me as if I am the only one in the world,” I kissed him one hundred times and each kiss I told him why I loved him.

#aegon targaryen ii x you #Aegon Targaryen II x Reader #Aegon Targaryen II x GN Reader #aegon targaryen #hotd x reader fluffy

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

What did you just say? Pt. 2.

Aegon x FEM reader.

Aegon confronts his mother, the truth leaves his mouth as the fire leaves the snout of his dragon. To his surprise you don't share the same desires of being with him anymore.

Warning: maybe it wasn't as good as the first part lol. Grammatical and spelling errors, maybe a Dark obsessed Aegon at the end but nothing very serious.

Credits of these gifs to whoever they belong to

(...) The goblet In his hand flew to the other side of the room, tension filled the room, silence was uncomfortable, then, Aegon simply asked.

- What did you just say?

Poor servant, avoiding Aegon's look, he simply muttered and kneeled down.

- I... Said lady y/n is pregnant... please Forgive me my king, I beg for your pardon.

Aegon didn't understand why the servant was apologizing, he only rolled his eyes, he was furious, fire was running through his body.

- Get up and leave. ALL OF YOU, LEAVE! I need to talk with my mother. NOW!

Everybody left the room in an instant, Alicent was in the same place, she didn't move but was also avoiding to see her son.

- Look at me and tell me you didn't know about this, mother.

She looked at him but was speechless, there were no words.

- TELL ME YOU DIDN'T!

She felt fear, she was always behind him, she was always the one who reprimanded him, but right now, she's feeling like a little kid In trouble.

- Aegon, you have to understand...

- Understand what? Is it not enough that we're all dragged into this unhappy family, full of hypocrisy and sadness for all your decisions? Your decisions had taken us to misery, my sister is right, if you weren't so blind and full of hate against Rhaenyra our story would be different.

- This, is totally unfair, You have no idea of the sacrifices that were made to put you on that throne.

- A throne I never asked for! This is all your Father wants! You've been so blind, thinking you're doing all this because of the safety of the crown, your family and the kingdom when In fact, it is only that old man's desire, to see his own blood sitting on that stupid chair!

- ENOUGH!.

Aegon's point of view wasn't totally wrong, he always saw his grandfather as a spider knitting its web waiting for its prey, like a moth attracted to the brilliant things, waiting for the right moment to get inside and be around the warm and brightest light, an opportunist, that's how Aegon secretly always described his grandfather. He sighed, clearly annoyed.

-...When did you receive the news of her marriage?

- Months ago, I received a letter when she was betrothed to him... and later another one arrived with the news of her wedding, but I can promise you that I don't know nothing about her pregnancy, I doubt she is pregnant.

Her words are honest but not reassuring enough to calm Aegon.

- Do you see me, mother? Do you see how painful it is for me? This marriage with my own sister, this crown over my head that I never wanted. Your decisions had been brought pain not only for me but for my siblings too. You hate Rhaenyra for all the things you consider wrong and improper , but I've done all of them too, and you hide them and pretend we're the good ones, it's pure hypocrisy. Helaena could be happier if you accepted the proposal of marriage with Jace or even if you married her to Aemond she would be happier, I could be happier if I were married with (y/n) and you wouldn't have your youngest son far from you and his true home, but no... Here we are, with a war knocking on our door, our family crumbling and with my beloved In the arms of that fuckin' wolf In the north!

Alicent approached Aegon, trying to be a loving mother, her hands on Aegon's cheeks, she can see his eyes, there's anger, pain and deception. She's trying to convince him that your marriage can bring good things in his favor.

- Aegon, you cannot see it now, but the marriage of lady (y/n) with Cregan Stark could be useful, she will do anything you asked her, she will ally to us in this war if it's necessary. Your brothers will fight at your side and your wife and children will be there too.

Aegon gave a step back, neglecting with his head, his face only shows how disgusted he feels. He never expected kind words from her but also not this kind of poorly try to calm him down, at this point he feels like he's trapped, he's a little boy trapped in a man's body, he wants to run away from that room, he needs to calm himself before doing something he could regret later.

Suddenly, your voice and the memory of your face, your hands and the affection between you and him filled his mind. You were his safe place years ago and yet, he still thinks about you when he feels lost and suffocated.

He left the room while Alicent was yelling his name, some guards tried to go behind him but he stopped us, he only wanted a person close to him, You.

He arrived at the dragon's pitch, Sunfyre his precious Dragon sensed instantly Aegon's emotions and roared to let Aegon know it was ready to fly away with him.

And that's what they did, Aegon disappeared in the sky, the clouds covered them, it was possible to hear them but to see in what direction they went wasn't that easy.

You were in your chambers resting when one of your ladies appeared, pallid as snow.

- My lady. There's... A... A dragon landed not so far from the castle.

You sit on your bed quickly, it is not possible, you try to calm yourself thinking it can be any dragon.

- A dragon? Which one?

- I'm not sure, it looked like a golden dragon, shined like the sun.

No, no, no. The fear of seeing him after all this time has appeared and grown inside you.

- What do we have to do my lady?

- Bring my coat, we have to welcome our unexpected guest by our own since Cregan is not here.

As soon as you arrived at the hall of the castle, Aegon was already there, waiting.

- My... (You doubted) King. What do we owe the honor of your visit?

- Lady (y/n), I recently found out about your marriage, I merely came to give you my congratulations.

- Thank you, my king, I've been blessed with such a wonderful marriage with a good lord.

- Where's he?

- Hunting, we weren't expecting visitors or he would be here to give you a proper welcome.

- That's fine, lady (y/n) I would like to have a private audience with you.

You looked at your ladies and knights, you didn't say a word but they understood instantly and left you alone with Aegon.

- What are the real motives of your visit... My king?

- there's no need for such formalities (Y/n)...

- Well, tell me Aegon, what are you doing here?

- I came here... To take you with me.

You are in shock, while he is walking to you, getting more and more close.

- Pardon?

- Come with me, we will annul our marriages, now that I'm king, only my word is the law. We can finally marry as it was planned years ago.

You're still surprised, you haven't moved from your place, he doesn't wait and hugs you, you can feel his nose in the crook of your neck, it's just like when you were children, he was always hiding his face in your neck while you were hugging each other, it was innocent and pure. But you two are not children anymore, both are married now, he's father and king now, you're married and soon to be mother, you haven't bled In two moons or more, your breast started to grow and hurt a little, and all your ladies had told you you look different, more beautiful, Cregan said to you that being pregnant with a boy brings more beauty to some women.

You kindly stepped back, you will not leave your husband or your new home just for an old childhood love. Aegon doesn't look surprised by your reaction.

- You don't smell like the roses anymore, now you smell like forest and berries.

- I've changed, you don't smell like cotton and Oak either, you smell like ashes and sea. You've changed too, my king.

- Probably we changed, but I'm sure our feelings are still the same (y/n) please let's go, you don't belong here, your place is at my side... Please.

His pleading eyes are like knives in your heart, but there's no way this works, people will speak, your parents will abandon you, you know a war is coming and you know who your house will support. And there's Cregan, the man of your dreams, the one who took his time to know all about you, the man who patiently won your trust and your heart, he made you a promise under the God's tree, you did too and you will not break it.

- We're adults now, Aegon, those dreams were erased, I'm married and I love him, a wolf grows inside me, I will not leave nothing of this just for an old children's dream, I moved on.

Aegon's eyes are full of tears, you're breaking his heart, but someone needs to be right-minded. You're observing him with sadness and pity while him is remembering what Alicent told him. You would do anything he asked you, maybe his mother is right, if he can't have you as wife, at least he can have you as an ally.

- I understand, you're right, I'm being a fool and I ask you to forgive me.

- It's okay Aegon...

You held his hand and squeezed it, he's contemplating the small interaction and then he looks into your eyes.

- I want to ask you for something else too.

- Go on, tell me.

- People say a war is coming, my question or the favor I want to ask for, is, will your house and the north join me?

You know the answer to that, you know your house and the north decisions are, even you have your own decision. Maybe you can avoid this uncomfortable moment.

- Aegon... I beg for your pardon but I cannot decide the loyalty of my house or my husband's house on my own. If you wish, you can stay and wait, my husband and I will discuss and consider your proposition.

He smiled at you, certainly he's not pleased with your response, he simply whispered in your ear.

- You're a terrible liar, Lady (Y/n), your decision is already taken, isn't it?... Don't worry, I forgive you, but remember this, After I win this war, I'll be back here and I'll take you with me, I will not have the kindness to ask for your permission or opinion, I will be back for you.

He left a kiss in your cheek and your hand, then he left without saying anything else, the roaring of a dragon echoed through the castle, your ladies appeared just in time to catch you, you fainted.

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon imagine #house of dragons #house of the dragon x reader #x yn #x reader #fanfiction #long reads #reader imagine #reader insert #house of the dragon x you #house targaryen #house stark #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen ii x you #aegon ii #aegon ii fic #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon x oc

[maidragoste]

Every time Aegon turns one year sober. You and Aemon make him a cake and fill the room with balloons. The first time he totally cried because he didn't expect that kind of gesture, he feels so lucky to have you and your son in his life and he feels so love. You know how important this is to Aegon, you know how his family had stopped having faith in him after having so many relapses. then you remind him how proud you are of him and how you love him while you and Aemon hug him.

#lu speaks #the parent trap au #parent trap au #I hope one day to finish writing chapter 3 😭 #aegon ii imagine #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x you #hotd modern au #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii x you #aegon targaryen ii x reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n

[howyouloveyourdragon]

Gold Rush

pronouns: she/her warnings: angst, mentions & depictions of alcoholism, car crash, fluff summary: Aegon didn’t like most people but he liked you until it tore him from the inside out. You’re perfect, his gold and shimmering light. The problem? He’s not perfect. He’s not even a third of what you will one day amount to and everybody knows it…even him. verrryyy loosely based on Gold Rush by Taylor Swift. dividers: firefly-graphic wordcount: 4,039 A/N: i hope my favourite aegon girlie @adelusionalwriter enjoys!

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Aegon’s eyes sparkle as they watch your figure embrace his mother. His suit is uncomfortably tight and he doesn’t understand why the collar is pointy but a sly grin spreads up his face at the sight of his sunshine…at the sight of you. His perfect golden girl, the one who lights the remaining warmth of his heart and strengthens his overworked jaw until he’s turned into a bumbling mess. His mother would argue that that is his natural state but even she can’t ignore the glow you permeate onto him when you are near. Every sunday she slides a porcelain plate, her muscle memory too deep to forget you. It hasn’t even been a year yet, he thinks to himself as his hands hesitate on the flute of champagne beside him. Only seven months by now, he’s sure. Gods, why does it feel like he’s known you all his life? He supposes that’s ridiculous, if he had known you all his life then perhaps he would not have been so miserable in his teen years. His touch lingers on the tall glass then snaps away. The heat of your memory turns into a scalding burn at the temptation. He tucks his hands into his pockets and smiles at you across the room. Your soft features turn up at him like the pour of glitter–smooth and sparkling. You make him feel like summer. As if summoned, the chandelier catches its outstretching beams and it feels as though it has changed nothing because there you are smiling at him. He thinks that you’re the only light he will ever need. You’re as kind as a gleam, reflecting his best qualities into him. He’s still Aegon but people enjoy his company now, seek him out even. His own father comments on it sometimes. That might be the only thing Aegon dislikes about you, how easily you collect the affection of others, faster than he, Aegon himself, ever could, you have garnered the affection of even his father. He wishes sometimes that he could keep you locked up in a little box to preserve forever but that would be selfish and he promised himself that this time would be different. It had to be. He will be good enough for you, he knows it. 

So he dismisses the champagne and tentative curling fingers wave at you across the room. Gods, his heart starts thrumming gently again at the sight of your smile. When your feet patter softly in shining shoes, his arms are already outstretched and waiting. A soft giggle slips from your lips like the purest wine–the one that replaces his damnable urges–and your hands glide up his neck to wrap him in an embrace so tight, his breath catches. His eyes flutter like a dandelion loses its seed, alongside the flow of gentle wind; it’s with careful tandem with your own closing lashes. “My sweet girl,” He breathes as his lips dip his head of their own desperate volition. They coax your own so his tongue can sail at the seam of your silken lips. He drinks in your hot breath as if it’s the antidote to all ills and fuck, he thinks he’d be dying without it. He wants to drown in you, he decides, hands pressing so carefully on your hips as he draws you close. Aegon worries that if he presses too hard you will flow away into the air like dust. Your mouth coaxes him into a world beyond his own–instead of cruelty and pain, it is filled with replenishment and golden sunlight. He wants to conquer your lips in that moment or any part that you’ll give him, his brows scrunching in need and fingers rolling the rayon fabric of your dress back and forth between them. It’s not enough to have you in his arms, he wants to commit every part of today into his memory so he can replay it over and over in his mind’s eye until it fries like the computer his sister Rhaenyra fixed for you. He was embarrassed at the time that he couldn’t do it himself but his fears quelled the moment your darling tongue descended on his own. 

Panic ebbs at him whenever you look at him like this, when your dilated pupils are so wide they consume him. A rosy blush invades his face; his nose, his cheeks, even his neck and ears are pink. He jumps when a firm hand lands along his back and shakes him out of this fantasy. It’s his brother Aemond giving him a pointed stare. Aegon caves in on himself as quick as a frightened rabbit though he is not so harmless. His blue eyes flicker up at him through shielding eyelashes, anticipating the worst. Instead, Aemond is reaching across to introduce himself to you, having missed the initial family hounding while on a business trip. His face is stoic as always with a straightened back and hair slicked back behind him so unlike Aegon’s messy brush of gilded curls. Unsavoury tastes climb up to his throat before stuffing his cheeks with foul-tasting cotton. “I apologise for our late meeting…” Aemond says, wet tongue gliding the words like prayer through his white teeth. Aegon swallows and looks at the floor. He doesn’t like who he feels like in his brother’s sight. An intruder. A ruiner. A failure. Oh Gods how he wishes for once in his life he could be like you. He wants to be your sunlight as much as you are his forever. But you don’t know this and he would never dream of tainting your sweet gaze for anybody nor any selfish emotions. You won’t be him, you won’t be him. Aegon reminds himself, determined to disrupt all of him if it means keeping you, of being a man you deserve. “I was otherwise engaged and my brother has seemingly ignored the pleasure of my company.” Suddenly a tunnelled light is all that he can see of you, and darkness circles his vision like a deranged tunnel. His fists dig sharp nails into his soft palms. His eyes squeeze shut briefly at the hum of your sweet laugh. A laugh reserved for him. He sucks in an unsteady breath but then your reassuring hand squeezes his bicep just as tightly before releasing with care. Even your hands feel like silk. 

Helaena suddenly springs to your side with wide excited eyes and practically begs you to dance, which you eagerly accept even though no one is dancing at all. Aegon watches with a grin rivalling the sun’s bright intensity though he would not think such a comparison would be worthy of him. He’ll keep that reserved for you, for now. Aemond hums from beside him, tapping his fingers against the table. Aegon grinds his teeth. He loves his brother, he loves his brother, he– “A sweet girl, isn’t she?” Aemond asks to which Aegon groans heartily. Normally he’s the one bringing you up at any available opportunity but he knows this isn’t going to be a conversation he likes. Aegon clenches his jaw and remembers what his therapist told him, think of something else…the trees, the sun…her…her smile…her laugh. His lips twitch upward but then the blow comes full force and barrelling. “A shame she’s picked the wrong brother.” Aemond spoke with such vindication before slipping away to engage with another one of their grandsire’s businessmen. 

It’s nine weeks later when the panic sets in again, he’s running around a supermarket frantically in search of a birthday card, clutching a (mostly) fresh bouquet of asters and anemone in his grasp. His breathing heavies, sweat collecting on his pale brows and desperately trying to hide his dilated pupils. His hands shake as he thrusts the card at the cashier–he can tell they’re slightly scared as they scan it with flickering wide eyes. “T-Two seventy five.” They inform him and he snatches it with one hand, the other casting coins at her hurriedly. He needs to be out as soon as possible. Aegon sprints faster than he ever did in cross-country and then shoots into his car with a relieved sigh. He checks his phone and smacks a hand over his forehead, groaning. 16:43 pm. He was supposed to be there at three. God damn it why wasn’t he there at three. His heart beats against the concrete wall of his skull. His hand clutch the steering wheel like a lifeline and his foot presses so low on the revs that he’s probably 20 miles past the speed limit. Of course this doesn’t end well, he rushes through a red light. A screeching alerts him first at what’s happening before the weight of a 2010 toyota prius smacks hard into his own car which is sent spinning across the road, hitting another car as it goes. Aegon is sent flying in his drunken haze across the car and burning shards dig through his skin but he doesn’t know what they’re looking for. His ears beat with a deafness he’s never felt, urging his mouth to spew vomit out of his broken window. Aegon’s already throbbing head strikes against the rough tarmac, blood seeping across the mud and dirt that infects his insides. A jagged wedge of glass rummages easily through his pale skin but he doesn’t have it in him to scream as his eyes drop shut. He feels like he hasn’t slept for days…he probably hasn’t as he lets the pain suck him into the dark void. 

The flowers and their pathetic petals skid like an empty promise beside him–they infiltrate his nose like a lie. 

You don’t like hospitals, you decide, as you try to stop the sobbing that gyrates your body as strong as a vice and as cruel as the wicked world around you. A warm hand is wrapped comfortingly around your waist but it’s awkward because as much as you love Helaena, you don’t want her. You want Aegon. You want your sweet stupid boyfriend who you’re not sure you’re going to ever forgive for making you love him this much. For making you hurt so badly as you sit desperately awaiting a doctor or nurse or someone. You didn’t even know you were his emergency contact until yesterday. Your weary eyes stand red and puffy as you finally settle. You can’t rest–no–you will not. Helaena sighs in relief when Alicent arrives with the coffee and takes her place beside you. The loud footsteps approaching are what snap your head up and send your coffee flying to the floor. A couple opposite you gasp but you ignore them, fixing interrogatory sights on the nurse before you. They lick their lips and you already know they’re hesitant. Their head leans slightly and double checks the papers. “Aegon Targaryen’s fa–?” “Yes.” You say instantaneously, playing with the ring you moved onto your engagement-finger. Aegon hasn’t proposed but you’re not about to let some half-pint tell you you can’t see the love of your life based on a technicality. Your tongue darts to wet your stark lips. “What is it?” For once you don’t have the time to be polite. 

Aegon smiles weakly when you jog in, not even exposing his teeth like he’s trained since birth. His voice is drained and devoid of his vibrant heart. It’s quick when you latch your teeth on your lower lip, sucking it to soothe your ever-growing nerves. You hold back from launching yourself at him and instead settle for gently embracing him, tears collecting on that stupid itchy gown they forced upon him, as he says so eloquently. You can barely choke a laugh. Even now, he can’t be serious for too long, you should have expected it. You’re scared to look at him, instead burrowing your face into his smooth neck even though now it’s gash laced and a thick goo seeps from it. Dainty and beaten hands tremble as they try to guide through your hair but you hear the hiss that tears through his teeth. It’s reflexive when you jump away but he whines. “P-please, baby,” He simpers. You want to slap the stupid grin off his face, instead you tuck your hands beneath your chin and reluctantly let him try again but his eyes twitch and squeeze, veins jutting at even this. Your own face crumples at the sight and even more when tears wet his eyes, as overcoming as a tidal wave. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, breath hitches. “I tried, I promise, I-I-” You shake your head, fingers twitching to hold his hand but you force them away. “Sh, sh,” You soothe. “That doesn’t matter right now. I’m here to take care of you, nothing else.” He lets out a whimper and you swear someone has punched your intestines. “It’s not fair to you.” Aegon argues uselessly against himself. “This isn’t fair. If I wasn’t so fucking drunk all the time–” You shush him again but it doesn’t calm him this time, instead it only intensifies his inner guilt and turmoil. “No, stop, I don’t want to be coddled…Please. This isn’t good for you. I’m not good for you.” Your brows knit, your mouth parting but he slides a shaking finger in front of you. “No.” He repeats. “I want you to leave me.” Aegon sniffles now, trying hard not to let the wave win but he’s tired, so exhausted of trying. “I want you to go!” He spits like poison. You reel back as though he had stabbed you. “What? No.” You snap back but the dam has finally broken. “Just go!” “Just talk to me!” You plead, reaching to grasp him but he dodges like a cat in water. “Go.” He grinds out. “Please,” he sniffles again, vulnerability engulfing his tortured tongue. “I want you to spread those beautiful wings of yours.”  You shake your head. “You’ve been doing better!” “Not better enough!” “I don’t care; we both knew something would happen and I’m here because I love you, not for what you can give me.” He huffs at the resolute tone flying through his ears at your voice. He refuses to look at you now. 

Instead his eyes snap to the door where a familiar face stares back at him with concern embedded in his lone eye. You’ve switched places with him, this time you’re the one desperate for him. Unlikely but in truth , however, you both still move in perfect, infuriating tandem. He’s okay with dying if the cost of living is you remaining trapped in this little bubble of life beside him. He finally decides with the words of others ringing in his head. He can’t keep doing this, he won’t let himself. He can’t keep you if this is what it means. He wants you to fly–no–he wants you to soar, above him, above everybody. Always. His curled hand reaches to brush back your hair but he holds off the begging flinch this time as he rests his forehead against your own. He’s done trying. “I’m sorry.” he whispers to you before kissing your forehead. “I’ve already had you for far too long, as long as I could but I won’t keep doing this to you.” Neither of you care as chalked and decaying blood snaps from his wounds onto you. Selfish. Aegon Targaryen has always been selfish. That’s what he’s sure they will one day sear on his tombstone once his miserable life comes to an end. You’ll be there too, he knows it. His eyes lock on the flowered vase behind your head and which rests like a threat on the window sill. Begonias, he almost laughs aloud at the irony of it all. 

When you leave, he expects to see that familiar smirk on his brother’s face but instead the expression is tight and not even a hint of guilty glee threads through his lips. 

Your eyes glimmer when you embrace Alicent as tight as possible without cutting off her circulation. It’s been a month and four days and you still wake up with the sick feeling in your stomach before work. The dread that tears into your open wound because you can’t bring yourself to close it…not yet, it’s too soon. Instead you accept the sweet advances of your ex-boyfriend’s family. You move into Helaena’s apartment with her, you befriend her roommate and cousin, Baela. You start tutoring Daeron on the weekends. You even agree to meet Baela’s friends and go to the parties her girlfriend arranges every Friday. They mean well and so you agree. You want to feel better, you swear you do but everyone sees the look on your face when someone says his name. Part of you worries sometimes that he was a figment of your imagination at the sheer concern they express but you're moving on, you promise. Or at least trying to. It doesn’t feel enough because as always, you’re all or nothing. He liked that. Fuck, no. He doesn’t exist, just tell yourself he doesn’t exist. You take a deep breath and step out of the bathroom and into the blaring loud hallway. You jump when your head makes contact with a hard figure who struggles to keep liquid in his scarlet cup. The masculine voice chuckles and when you meet eyes, you remember why you came and give him a tight-lipped smile. “You enjoying the party?” CCregan Stark asks–the kind stoic boy in one of your uni classes. You lick your lips while taking in his dark curly hair and stubble, he brushes it out of his face awkwardly. You’ve replayed the story in your head a million times; his barber thought he said jaw instead of chin somehow so now it’s cut just a bit too short to comb behind his ears like he used to and prefers. You smile up at him but as you part your lips, he shakes his head softly. “You’re not, are you?” His playful voice rings in your ear. 

Your laugh comes out forced but there all the same and nod reluctantly. “I hate it.” You answer, words spilling like leftover wine. He chuckles again and curses when his hand tilts his cup again. He steadies himself, rising back to his towering height. It almost feels weird that he’s not leaning over you, he’s like the empire state building or something. Your eyes lift up to his steel grey ones but they don’t sparkle like Aegon’s did. They don’t have the same warmth, he doesn’t give you flowers between classes, he doesn’t collapse on you in bed because he needs to know you’re still there, he doesn’t make false promises either though,…He doesn’t beg you to change your own mind about him no matter how many times you tell him you want him. “You okay?” Cregan asks, tongue darting to wet his cracked lips.You briefly recall the lip balm Aegon used to steal off of you at home–no. Not home. Not anymore. You look up at him, barely nodding with a jut of your chin. “Yeah. Perfect.” You let the poison slip over your tongue, the taste too bitter to ingest. It’s okay. So long as other people believe you then it’s alright. Cregan bites his lip and glances behind him then leans down to your ear. “You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to.” Your face erupts in crimson embarrassment. He knows, of course he knows. You aren’t deaf to the whispers of class so why should he? “No one’s by the backdoor right now, I’ll pretend I gave you a ride home if you want to tell Baela. She’s worried but you don’t need me to tell you that.” He takes a sip of his cup and reluctantly you let out a suffocating breath. 

You wish you could call Helaena. Instead you nod and thank Cregan quietly before sneaking outside and into the cold air but even that feels stale somehow. You feel sick. More sick than you’ve ever felt since seeing him in that stupid hospital bed, that stuffy room clutching you like a child does their barbie. When you finally stumble into your apartment again, it feels as empty as ever. Bare, stripped, motionless. You can almost trick yourself into thinking that it’s a photograph. In your mind you can pretend you’re on the sofa, the one that’s caked in memories and late-night conversations. “You’re so wonderful,” He had said the first time you visited, long before it had become your own. He had pressed soft, warm lips to each of your cold knuckles and grinned at the gentle laughter that poured between your own. You feel dizzy as you let your feet guide you through the door of your painfully new bedroom. You slip onto the covers, feeling too trapped to go beneath them. You don’t like this feeling, this loneliness. You want to feel those comforting arms again without the fear of waking up, of knowing what is awaiting you. It’s not healthy, you know that, but it still hurts. 

Three months. You both wake up. You both lose your keys before letting them rattle between either palm. You both feel the dull ache when you turn around to call out a name you want to forget. Aegon swallows the words while you let them out with a mere breath. You both go to uni with a sour face. You’re walking through the lengthy hallway when you hear the collapse of the heaviest binder you’ve ever seen. Your head snaps up, expecting to see a first year or awkward collection of joking friends. Instead your eyes meet familiar watered pools of soft blue. His lips are tugging downward but his hair is styled and his sweater clean. He looks good. He looks like Aeg. You swallow but don’t lose eye contact and neither does he–binder forgotten. Neither of you move at first but then his hand twitches and instead of avoiding you like all the times before, he breaks out into a run and you eagerly meet his pace. His hands reach out, fingers spread and waiting to lock with yours, entangling once they do. They squeeze tight, refusing to let go as you breathe out in mutual relief. It’s been so long. Too long, too far, too much. Blood thumps loudly, hearts connecting. “Oh thank fuck.” Aegon chokes out. His breath stutters and he ruefully pulls away his finger to wrap one along your back and another in your hair. You look up at him, the students around you melting from your vision because nothing matters anymore now that you can see his rosy cheeks again. Your eyes roam his face. “You look good.” You whisper after about half an hour passes with him leaning against the wall with you head lost in his shoulder, your lips just barely ghosting his neck. He smiles but there’s a hardness in his face. Something beneath the irises of his eyes. “I wanted to be good for myself, for you, for my mum.” He says then gently shakes his head. “I didn’t want people to remember me like that, I want you to be happy when you see me.” He bites his lip then sighs. Your brows twitch and your hand carefully cups his face. “I just wanted you.” You respond, voice soft and lips curling. “I just want you to be happy…Are you?” Aegon swallows. “Mostly.” He whispers. His thumb runs over your palm. “I’m getting better but-” He wets his lips. “It’s hard. I’m gonna do it this time though, I promise.” He turns to press a chaste kiss to your palm and smiles. “Aemond’s been visiting.” Your brows shoot up. “Really?” He nods. “And he’s…?” “He’s actually helping.” He chuckles then breaks out into a grin. “Of course mum is, as well. She had to practically chain me down to get me to stop asking about you. Helaena’s sick of my shit by now.” He seems so much warmer now than he was before. He feels like Aeg. “Oh!” He snaps his fingers. “Get this, I make tea now.” His stupid grin is like a beam of gold. “Tea!” Your giggles echo around the large now long-empty hallway. 

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