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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 11 months

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Comet Donati [Chapter 1: History]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+) and drugs, alcohol, smoking, astronomy, mental health struggles, Missouri.

Selected Chapter Quote: “You’re gonna love Aemond. He’s so fucked up. He’s like Disney World for therapists.”

Word count: 4.1k.

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. 🥰😘 * * *

@borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @teenagecriminalmastermind @quartzs-posts @tclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @chainsawsangel @itsabby15 @padfooteyes @arcielee @travelingmypassion @what-is-originality @burningcoffeetimetravel @randomdragonfires @aemcndtargaryen @jvpit3rs @sarcastic-halfling-princess @flowerpotmage @ladylannisterxo @thelittleswanao3 @libroparaiso @tinykryptonitewerewolf @girlwith-thepearlearring @minttea07 @trifoliumviridi @deltamoon666 @mariahossain @darkenchantress @doingfondue @atherverybest @namelesslosers @skythighs @moonlightfoxx @partypoison00 @bellameshipper @coffedraven @greenowlfactif @catalina-howard @babyblue711 @marvelescvpe @heimtathurs @ammo23

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters! 💜

“You are a professional,” you tell your reflection threateningly, like it owes you money. Your hair is painstakingly tidy, your makeup neat, subdued, businesslike. You are wearing a black blazer, a white blouse, and Cookie Monster pajama pants. You are in your one-bedroom apartment in Kansas City, Missouri: grey, thunderous, humid as hell, June raindrops on the windows. “You have a master’s degree and hundreds of clinical hours and you are not afraid of clients. Not at all! Not even a little bit!”

You check your phone. 2:55 p.m.

“Oh God,” you whine to the checkered tiles of the bathroom floor, to the floral wallpaper. You clutch the cold porcelain of the sink: rose-pink, 1950s, diners and Thunderbirds, housewives and Valium. “Oh my God. Oh my God. I can’t do this. Oh my God.”

But there is no escape! You hurry, sweating profusely, to your laptop. You start the Zoom meeting and wait for your client to arrive, chewing your thumbnail until it bleeds, a scarlet semicircle of dull warm pain, a crescent moon like spilled merlot. You glance at your notepad again. David Mills, 25, married, anxiety upon relocating to a new city and beginning employment there.

Wait.

You confirm with a quick Google search in a new tab. David Mills was the protagonist in Se7en.

You sit back in your swivel chair, eyes narrowed with suspicion. The blue-white luminance of the screen glows on your face like moonlight. Your client is either a coincidence or a liar.

So what? People lie. People lie about therapy especially. So he wants some anonymity. Big deal.

“Strange,” you murmur to yourself.

You have no further opportunity to mull it over. A gratingly cheerful ding announces your client’s arrival in the Zoom meeting waiting room. No avatar, name still listed as David Mills.

“Okay. Okay. It’s fine. Here we go.”

You shake the tremors out of your hands and admit him. He pops onto the screen like a bloom of ironweed, like fireworks on the Fourth of July. It’s nighttime wherever he is. The background is dark and indistinct, shadowy; lamplight cascades across his face, topaz and fool’s gold. You are startled to realize that you already know him. And his name is definitely not David Mills.

“…Aegon?!”

He grins, sly and cocky but never cruel. “Hey.”

“Aegon Targaryen??!!”

“That’s me!” he concurs brightly. “What’s up, Stargirl?”

And instantly, you are transported back to almost exactly one year ago: a rooftop bar downtown, neon signs coiled in shades of violet and rhodonite and sapphire, night wind, constellations, ice clinking in misty glasses, locks of his hair skating between your fingers, the sting of his teeth on your throat, the Weeknd. “Hey,” you say softly. And then again, with more enthusiasm: “Hey! I saw you on Good Morning America last week!”

“Yeah? Was I good?”

“Jace was good. You were slightly offkey.”

“Aw shit. I usually am.”

“That’s okay. You’re the hot loser, right? That’s your character?”

“That’s me, baby. That’s why it works so well.”

It’s impossible: time has passed, thousands of miles have opened up between you, and yet it’s like he’s right here in the room, he never arrived, he never left, he’s always been here for life to grow up around like the framework of a house, a trellis, a skeleton. “How did you find me?”

“I couldn’t remember your name, but I figured you must have finished school by now. So I Googled therapists in Kansas City. Do you know how many there are?”

“500,” you guess.

“712,” Aegon says. “At least, that’s how many I scrolled through before I found your photo.”

“Wow.” You’re smiling; you can’t take your eyes off him. A lot of girls have that problem. That’s why he’s worth $100 million. “Couldn’t remember my name, huh? I guess I didn’t make much of an impression.”

He chuckles, a little bashfully, sweeping his blond hair off his face. “No. No, you definitely made an impression.”

So did he. In the downstairs bathroom of the bar, tucked beneath a staircase, stark white florescent lights and red walls, lip biting and ripped seams on your dress. He’d finished in approximately thirty seconds—which, oddly, felt more like a compliment than anything else—and then promptly snapped off the condom, dropped to his knees, and went down on you until you came not once but twice, a rarity for you. But that wasn’t the best part. Afterwards you’d gone back up to the roof together, sat in a quiet corner booth until the bar closed, talked about anything and everything with your bodies folded unconsciously into each other, origami, blended watercolors, whispers and murmurs, your palm on his thigh, his fingertips ghosting the underside of your wrist.

“So,” Aegon says through the laptop screen. “Are you, like, kind of unemployed currently?”

“No,” you reply, palpably defensive. Embarrassing! “I’m clearly working right now. You literally made a virtual appointment with me. I’m just…getting my practice off the ground.”

“Yeah but you seem lowkey unemployed.”

“You are so fucking rude.” But you’re laughing.

“I’m just saying, you had a lot of appointment times available. A lot.”

“I’m recruiting clients!” you exclaim. “I’m not like you. I can’t simulate sex with microphone stands to sell tickets.”

“That was one time!”

You smirk at him, eyebrows raised.

“That was…four times. That I recall.”

“I’m a professional. A serious, grown-up, certified professional.”

“You’re a glorified hobo, admit it.”

“You’re a dollar store Harry Styles.”

“Fuck,” he sighs, clutching his chest. “Okay you win.”

“Why did you do this? Why did you track me down in order to make some fraudulent therapy appointment?”

Now Aegon is something you’ve never seen from him before. He’s nervous. “I, uh…I need your help.”

“Really?”

“Well, not me specifically,” he amends. “We need your help. Comet does.”

Comet. What he means—what screaming fans all over the world mean when they drop this name in Reddit threads or Twitter hashtags or Tumblr gifsets—is the boy band Comet Donati. Three albums, five members: Aegon, Jace, Luke, Cregan, Daeron. The lineup has changed recently. Everyone knows why. “Help with what?”

“I mean…I’m sure you heard about what happened.”

“Yeah,” you say, somber now. Six months ago a piece of rigging collapsed during soundcheck at the Nippon Budokan in Tokyo. It hit Aemond, costing him six inches of flesh on the left side of his face, his sight in one eye, and his position as the undisputed, archetypal fearless leader of Comet. The celebrity gossip sites had reported that he was taking time off to recover, and then that his younger brother Daeron would be filling in for him at a few shows, and then suddenly Daeron was the fifth member of the band, and everyone was so charmed by his distinctly buoyant, sunshine-and-rainbows quality that Aemond faded from the discourse almost entirely, a ghost, a phantom, an antiquated word like telegraph or courtship or laudanum.

“So things are different now,” Aegon continues. “Things are…not always easy. And I think it might be a good idea to have you around.”

“Look, I’m not…like…” How can you put this? It’s something you have difficulty admitting out loud. “I’m not a real therapist, you know? You’re right, Aegon. I’m basically unemployed. I’m fresh out of my master’s program, I don’t have anywhere near the kind of experience that someone would need to adequately help Comet. So, maybe I could recommend some people to you, but other than that I don’t think I can—”

“It has to be you,” Aegon says.

You shake your head, gazing through the screen at him, through the space and the time. “Why?”

“When Comet performed in Kansas City…when we met at the bar that night…” He is hushed, meditative. “I don’t really remember what we talked about. But I remember exactly how you made me feel.” He smiles, the sort of smile you didn’t know he had in him: soft, pure, nostalgic, without edges. “I think Aemond could use some of that.”

The walls fall down around you, this apartment, this city, this life. “Where are you right now?”

“Capri.”

“Where?”

“Capri,” he says again, amused. “But we’ll be in Rome tomorrow. You can meet us there.”

“In Rome,” you repeat, like it’s Mars or one of Jupiter’s moons.

“Catch the next flight out. The band can reimburse you. We’ll get you a contract of some sort. Nothing too long-term, so you won’t be locked in or anything. A few months. Then we can reassess.”

“Okay, but…I don’t feel comfortable serving as an official therapist to you or anyone else in Comet, Aegon. The circumstances are less than orthodox. And not just because of the…um…bar bathroom situation.”

“Fine, whatever.” He’s high on the victory; the details don’t matter so much.

“Okay,” you say. And then again, giggling wildly at the ludicrousness of it all: “Okay! I guess I’ll see you in Rome tomorrow!”

“Cool. Let me give you my WhatsApp.” You exchange information, and then he grins at you, crafty and radiant through the screen. “You’re gonna love Aemond. He’s so fucked up. He’s like Disney World for therapists.”

“We’ll see,” you reply distractedly, already opening Expedia in a new tab.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Midwest, the East Coast, the Atlantic Ocean, the Mediterranean Sea, Southern Europe, green to blue and then green again as the plane descends into the Leonardo da Vinci Airport of Rome. You roll your single carry-on bag through the corridors, peering out the windows at cloudless cerulean skies and towering stone pines. Aegon meets you at the bottom of an escalator. He’s wearing cargo shorts, a neon green tank top, and matching Crocs. He’s slightly chubbier than you remember, just as beautiful, just as chaotically charismatic, the sun made flesh. He’s standing with a man you don’t recognize.

“Benvenuta, bella!” Aegon proclaims, nearly tackling you with a hug before taking your bag. He smells like beer, sunscreen, Axe body spray, summer air that unfurls warm and golden in the lungs.

“Oh, thank God,” the other man—possibly Italian, definitely gorgeous—exhales with great relief. “Aegon said he needed to meet someone at the airport and I was 90% sure that you would be a drug dealer. But you do not look like a drug dealer. You’re not a…are you a…?”

“No, I’m definitely not a drug dealer.”

“Okay. Great. Hello.” He extends a hand, tan and muscley. “I’m Criston, I’m the tour manager. It is my job to keep everyone alive and uninjured.”

“Four out of five isn’t bad,” Aegon says. And then, when Criston is clearly distressed by it: “Uh, anyway, there’s an Escalade waiting outside.”

The SUV is massive and black with tinted windows. As you follow Aegon into the backseat, several paparazzi appear on the sidewalk and begin snapping photos, calling out to you and expelling rapid-fire white flashes like lightning. Aegon ignores them. You’ve been travelling all day, and the sun is setting now in Rome. The sky is the color of embers, autumn leaves, Saturn. Criston climbs into the passenger seat and gives instructions to the driver. The Escalade wheels out of Arrivals, paparazzi sprinting down the sidewalk after it to take a few final pictures.

“So,” Aegon says, smiling. He pops open the mini fridge and hands you an ice-cold can of San Pellegrino. “Do you have a boyfriend back in Kansas? Or, maybe, boyfriends?”

“Missouri,” you correct him automatically. “And no. None worth mentioning.” A guy you’ve had lunch with twice, a guy you made out with at an Olive Garden, a guy you hooked up with back at UChicago who you’re still texting, guys who flit in and out of your mind like birds through the sky, impermanent, inconsequential.

“You still on the pill?”

“Yes.” You’re not offended. Aegon is teasing, and so are you. It occurs to you that talking to Aegon is a bit like talking to yourself; there are no awkward lulls, and he rarely says anything that shocks you. “But that’s not why I came to Rome.”

“That’s fine. That’s not why I invited you.”

As the Escalade zooms by iconic landmarks—the Spanish Steps, the Pantheon, the Piazza del Popolo—you ask Aegon about them. He has no idea; he makes things up instead.

“That’s the duck waterpark,” he says as you pass a fountain that’s over 1,000 years old. Then he points to a naked statue of an extremely buff Mercury. “That’s me before I started eating carbs again.” His only snippet of accurate trivia comes as you drive by the twilight-lit Colosseum. “Holy shit, that’s where Taylor Swift made out with Tom Hiddleston!”

“Surely more important things have happened there at some point in the past two millennia.”

“I doubt it,” Aegon replies, frowning out the Escalade window, taciturn. “I wish I got to make out with Taylor Swift in the Colosseum.”

Comet Donati is staying at the Anantara Palazzo Naiadi Rome Hotel, which closely resembles a palace. When the Escalade stops at the front doors, you drag your luggage out onto the cobblestones.

“No no no,” Criston says, grabbing the rolling suitcase from you. He gives it to a white-gloved butler along with a room number and then escorts you and Aegon to the top floor. It’s not until the three of you are in the elevator that you realize you are still wearing your highly unsophisticated travel-day attire: yoga pants, flip flops, a tie-dye hoodie with Louis Tomlinson’s face on it that you purchased from Etsy last winter. Aegon catches you scrutinizing your reflection in the mirrors that line the inside of the elevator.

“Traitor,” he says with a grin, massaging your shoulders. His eyes lock with yours in the mirror. His touch is—just as it was a year ago at that bar in Kansas City when you were home from school on break and he was a transient visitor, fleeting like a rainstorm—familiar somehow, pleasant and comforting but not profound, welcome without being necessary.

“Don’t hate him ‘cause you ain’t him. When was the last time you wrote a #1 hit single?”

“Never,” Aegon readily admits. “Although I got into the Top 5 in Norway once.” No, everyone knows that Aemond was Comet’s Louis Tomlinson: their best songwriter, their relatively unproblematic and grounded team captain, their protector, their compass. And now he has no official place in the band at all.

When the elevator doors open, Criston leads you and Aegon down the hallway to a bustling suite. Inside there are white leather couches and gold-colored lounge chairs, a bar, a staircase that leads up to the loft bedroom, people wandering in and out of air that is hazy with whispers and cigarette smoke. There are men in suits, women in short tight dresses, leather and velvet and sequins. You are woefully underdressed. Fortunately, so is Aegon. He is greeted with a dizzying array of cheers, waves, and toasts. Someone shoves an emerald green bottle of Peroni into his grasp. Kesha’s Your Love Is My Drug is vibrating through the speakers mounted on the wall: “What you’ve got, boy, is hard to find, I think about it all the time…”

“Hey, hey, listen up!” Aegon shouts, stepping on top of an ottoman, and the chatter lowers in volume like a radio being turned down.

You scan the smokey room until you’ve located all five current Comet Donati members: Aegon the disaster playboy, Luke the sensitive and kindhearted one, Daeron the energetic ray of sunshine, Jace the heir apparent in the power vacuum created by Aemond’s departure, Cregan the brooding, mysterious, sexy Northern Englishman. You know them, and yet you don’t. You know the characters they play, their reputations, their public personas…but that doesn’t mean you know them. Aegon is the only man you spoke to at the rooftop bar that night in Kansas City a year ago. So far, the mythical version of him seems quite consistent with reality.

Cregan is slumped at one end of the couch by the window and knocking back shots of what appears to be straight vodka. In the night sky beyond the glass, you can see stars and the illuminated Rome skyline: modern skyscrapers, ancient rubble. At the other end of the couch is Aemond. He’s smoking, drinking something iced and bloody pink, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, all in black like he’s trying to disappear. His left eye, the blind one, is an ethereal cloudy blue that reminds you of renderings you’ve seen of Neptune, Uranus, exoplanets, the Earth from space. He glances up at you and holds your gaze for just a few seconds too long. Then he looks away, bewildered, taking a drag off his cigarette.

Aegon introduces you to the room as you stand beside the ottoman, awkward and ashamed in your Louis Tomlinson hoodie. “She’s a friend,” Aegon says. “And she’s also a therapist.”

“Good, you need one!” Jace shouts through cupped hands, and there are tipsy titters and guffaws.

“Not for me,” Aegon snaps. “For you deranged bitches.”

As Aegon descends from the ottoman—klutzily, stumbling, clutching onto Criston like a baby lemur to its mother—Luke approaches to present himself. He has a mess of dark curly hair that falls over his face and large, honest eyes. There’s a black spiral notebook and a white gel pen in his left hand. He offers you his right. “Hi! I’m Luke Velaryon.”

“Yeah, I know. I spend a lot of time on Comet’s Spotify page.”

He groans. “I look so bad in that header photo.”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s the nose. I have a pug nose. The label has been trying to convince me to get it fixed for years.” He turns to a girl who is practically hiding behind him: arrestingly beautiful in a fragile sort of way, gentle like a doe. “Maybe you can help Rhaena talk to people.”

“I have social anxiety,” she explains apologetically. Her voice is very quiet yet lyrical. There are weights tied to her confession, years of shame and despair. Luke throws an arm across her shoulders and hugs her to him, touching his forehead briefly to hers.

“That’s okay.” You give Rhaena a reassuring smile. “It’s super common, and there are a lot of strategies you can try that might make it more manageable.”

“It wasn’t a big deal at first, you know?” Rhaena says. It comes out in a rush like water through a cracked dam. Luke looks astonished but pleased. You have been known to have this effect upon people, a compulsive sort of disclosure that drains, empties, unburdens. Aegon is watching from several feet away, beaming between swigs of Peroni. “Luke and I met before he got famous and we could just hang out around the neighborhood. Ice cream, public parks, Pret a Manger, riding the Tube together. But now…now he’s always meeting new people and there are all these events I’m supposed to go to with him, and I can’t sleep properly for days leading up to each one, and half the time I end up hiding in the bathroom or being too nauseous to eat anything, and…”

Jace is at the bar and slurping a vesper: shoulder-length curls, flashy blazer with nothing underneath it, a contemplative appraisal of you. There’s a stunning girl sitting beside him that he’s not listening to.

As you are explaining the potential benefits of exposure therapy to Rhaena and Luke, Daeron bursts through the crowd to greet you. He’s their Niall Horan: warm, uncomplicated, disarmingly friendly, beachy blond hair, a golden retriever on two legs. He hugs you—spiritedly, like Aegon did—and then compliments your flip flops.

“So you’re our new therapist?” Daeron says eagerly, like this is something he knows they’ve needed.

“Well, I’m a therapist, but I’m not really your therapist. Because I can’t hang out with you guys all the time and also be your therapist. It’s unethical. But Aegon thought I might have some good ideas, I guess. In a strictly unofficial capacity.”

“Okay! Cool! And you and Aegon are…friends?”

“Um…yeah. Sort of.”

“Remember that show in Kansas City last summer?” Aegon tells Daeron. He’s supernaturally gifted at making everything sound blissfully casual, like there couldn’t possibly be more to the story. “I met her at the bar we went to afterwards.”

“Totally,” Daeron says. “Great city. Awesome barbeque.”

Criston asks him: “So, uh, how’s your mom doing?”

Daeron is puzzled. “Fine…?”

“Criston, please stop asking about my mom,” Aegon says. “It’s getting weird. It’s been weird. It was weird four years ago and it’s weird now. She has a husband.”

“Yeah, but is that…you know…is that still going well?”

“Yes, Criston.”

“Fantastic,” Criston mutters, pouring himself a Scotch. He uses the glass to gesture to you. “So what the hell am I supposed to bill her as? Aegon’s friend?”

“She’s a…” Aegon considers this, waving his Peroni around in the air. “Human resources mental health consultant.”

“She’s a what?”

“She helps resolve both intra and interpersonal conflict.”

“That sounds imaginary.”

“Well then you figure something out!” Aegon says, exasperated. “Isn’t this what you get paid for? To make problems go away? To keep us happy? To stop us from killing each other? You figure it out.” He saunters off to grace the drunken masses with his presence. Criston sighs and goes to stand by the wall with a herd of stone-faced businessmen in suits, record label guys, guys who only know how to see the world in terms of contract clauses and account balances.

Rhaena goes to stand by Jace’s companion, who—as you conjure up vague recollections of celebrity gossip sites—is named something like Bella or Bailey. Daeron is commandeered by a gaggle of adoring Italian women. Luke is showing Aemond something in his notebook: black pages, sparkly white ink. Aemond is nodding and giving critique, not that saccharine, generic, brainless kind of praise but authentic encouragement: try to think of a more specific word here, move that line up to the first verse, I love the use of this metaphor. Aemond’s voice dredges up memories you didn’t know you had of him on talk shows, in YouTube compilations, in songs you’ve been streaming on Spotify for years. Smoke drifts from his lips. Ice jangles in his organ-pink cocktail. And again, he looks up at you, inhaling poison as Luke makes his opal-ink edits.

“What’s that drink called?” you ask the bartender, and he squints across the room to where Aemond is seated on the snow-colored leather couch to discern it.

“A Bramble,” he says. “It’s named after blackberry bushes.”

“Can I get one?”

“Sure.”

You procure your drink and when Luke leaves the couch, you whizz past him like a meteor as you walk towards it.

“Hey,” Cregan flings impassively, not knowing why you’re here, not caring either.

“Hey,” you return.

And then you sit down next to Aemond, deliberately on his blind side. He glances over at you, his brow crinkling with confusion. Because—surely, undoubtedly—no one ever speaks about his injury, but it’s veined through everything they do, it’s a perpetual undercurrent that steers his life and yet cannot be voiced without breaching those vigilantly constructed levees of propriety. It’s the elephant in every room. It’s a ghost rattling doorknobs and tapping on windows. And sometimes the only way to free yourself of something is to throw the cage door wide open and set it loose.

“I accidentally wore your competitor’s merch,” you say. “I didn’t want you to have a good view.”

Aemond laughs, and the strangest thing happens: everyone in the room turns to look. On their faces are expressions of shock, bafflement, relief, wonder. Aemond shifts so he’s facing you, one elbow propped on the back of the couch. He sips the Bramble in his right hand, puffs on the cigarette in his left. And there it is, what people like to call a spark, but it’s something deeper than that: organic chemistry, neurotransmitter plumes, wells of marrow that sing to each other from beneath the darkness.

You nod to his cigarette, Benson & Hedges according to the shimmery gold pack that lays open on the glass coffee table. “You think that makes you cool?”

“I know it does,” he says. His gaze flicks down to your Louis Tomlinson hoodie…or what’s under it, perhaps. “Wouldn’t work on you though. Too far gone.”

You hold out your hand. After a few seconds, Aemond passes you his cigarette. You—very stoically, very nonchalantly—take a single drag and then erupt into a coughing fit, eyes watering, lungs gasping, surrendering the cigarette emphatically. Humiliating! Irredeemable!

“Told you,” Aemond notes. But he’s rubbing your back with a hand that is large and strong and yet careful. You smile at him. Aemond smiles too.

Criston pulls one of the suit guys aside and says: “Get her on the payroll.”

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

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unicorncornflakes · 1 year

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Dark Desire - Modern AU! | Chapter 4

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Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader

Summary: Aemond doesn't know how he feels every time he sees you. Neither do you when you look at him. Your father Aegon has always been absent from your upbringing ever since he divorced your mother. That role has been filled by Aemond until last summer, when everything changed.

Tags: Alternate Universe – Modern/ Setting Emotional Hurt/ Comfort/ Drama & Romance/ Eventual Smut.

Warnings: This fic includes manipulation, violence, death, and inc3st, at some points. Reader has purple eyes and her mother is from Dayne House, the rest is complete free :D

Tag-List (If you wanna be tagged in thi series or all of my work, let me know): @thedamewithabook @afro-hispwriter @chainsawsangel @thetrueblackheart @atherverybest @itsabby15 @boundlessfantasy @partypoison00 @glame @tempo-rary-fix @tssf-imagines @aaaaaamond @imaloserbby @youngcomputerpuppy @aemondsfavouritebastard @cloudroomblog @queenofshinigamis @bluevxnus @wooya1224 @serving-targaryen-realness @darkenchantress @padfooteyes @mariannnavao @moonlightfoxx @jennifer0305 @ammo23 @iloveallmyboys

Author´s note: Pls, enjoy! Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome!

Word Count: 5.3K

When Aegon got up, his head ached. Then he thought he could use another drink, but it was twelve noon. He should control himself. Yes, you were there and what he would normally do he couldn't do. It also crossed his mind that this behavior was due to the guilt of the first days of summer that you spent there. The charge of conscience for not having been there for you. But, he told himself that he would get over it, like he always did. Although that time was different. It was your last summer there. For thirteen years, Aegon had told himself that it was okay, that he could reconnect with you the following summer. But… that was his last chance. Did he care enough to do it about you? He really cared about you. The problem was as always... the way he was. He stretched and yawned. He got ready a little in the bathroom and left his room. He promised himself that this summer would be different, as he promised every year... He shook his head. No, this summer would be different. Yes, it was going to be.

He went down to the kitchen looking for someone, but the cook told him that you had all gone shopping. Your father remembered and hurried off heading to your room. Good. If you weren't there, he would carry out part of his plan. He entered your room as if he felt that he was invading your privacy. Really, he was doing it. He remembered how terrible it was for him at your age that someone entered into his room. But, of course, he had always hidden marijuana in an old metal container gnawed by rust. He smiled to himself remembering how much fun his younger days had been. He had been funny until Aemond had screwed everything up. Mr. Perfect had found the weed and told their parents about it…and that even Aegon had offered him. As always, his little brother had to be proper and stoic, making Aegon look even more of a jerk than he already felt. He shook his head, refocusing on why he was there.

He saw that you had already left most of your things out of the suitcase, all placed and in perfect order. In that, you resembled Aemond, always with everything so in its place. But he smiled when he saw how you had left the suitcase open and unplaced behind the door. You had something of him. Surely it had not given you time and you had wanted to eliminate the evidence of the crime without much success. He checked that you had left your computer on. As your wallpaper, you had a photo of you with a couple of other girls at the beach in Starfall. Good. At least you had friends. You always looked so lonely when you were in King's Landing that he almost thought you always were. But, he was relieved to see that no. He kept looking through your things for his objective.

He opened the closet and found all the clothes that brought his mother to his head and smiled. In that he was glad that you had gone out to your mother. That was how he had fallen for her, so wild and determined…wait. He wanted you to end up with someone like himself? He stood still for a moment. Thinking. No, he definitely didn't want you to end up with someone like him… that being a father was bullshit. It was the only thing Aegon could think. How could his ex-wife spend the whole day of the year so worried about you, just like he was at that moment? But, what the hell…? He shook his head. He was the cool dad of the situation. He was only up for the good… if he ever was… he hated himself again, but he kept going through your things. He found it finally. In a corner of the closet. The fucking bandolier Aemond had given you three years ago. It was tattered, from wear and tear apart of your father's family heraldry. But, you still had it. You must appreciate it. Was what he told himself while he took it in his hands.

At that moment, he realized that this entire mission could have been solved simply by sending a message to Aemond, asking him where he had bought the damn bandolier. He wouldn't even have had to talk to him. But, it would have been acknowledging his failure as a father in front of his brother, and he'd rather die than give that asshole Aemond that satisfaction. He'd buy another sling just like it, have the Dayne of Starfall house crest put on it, and his daughter would be the happiest in the world at her family's next birthday party, which shouldn't be long. He opened the shoulder bag and saw that you had it packed with things. You were wearing a small cosmetic bag with a red lipstick that must have been very expensive. Aegon understood little of such things, but some of the girls he had been with wore it from that same brand. Then he realized that you must have liked animals because the keys you carried included two key rings: one of a dog very similar to Sunfire and another of an angry cat that resembled Vhagar. A couple of tickets from that same year to exhibitions on Ancient Valyria, a small sketchbook… Where the hell was the label?

He inspected the pockets and then found that in one of the pockets was a blister pack of birth control pills. OK. Good. Well... he scratched his head as if he had inquired too much... then, you had already... well, it was normal. At your age, he had already had three girlfriends and with all of them he had… well. Okay… you weren't a little girl. End of matter. He put them back and was relieved to find the label of the store where it had been purchased. He took a photo of it with his phone. He wasn't the least bit surprised by the store. It was where Aemond had bought all his teenage clothes. He rolled his eyes in boredom at his brother's always routine behavior and just as he put down his backpack, someone's business card fell out of another pocket. He took it and wasn't going to read it, but his eyes flicked to the heraldry on it. It was one of Cregan's business cards… He frowned. Why did you have one of his cards? But his surprise increased when he saw that right behind it, there was a phone number written. He left it in the same pocket from which it had fallen. He stood in front of the closet door once he closed it. Should he talk to you? Perhaps he was overthinking everything. Aegon left the room full of questions, and then he did go to make himself a drink. Why was being a father so difficult?

You had spent most of the day at the mall. You were very tired when you got home, but you didn't let your guard down for that. Aemond had been around in silence all day since you'd made him jealous with that dress. He had only growled at the maître of the restaurant where you had eaten and at the waitress who had taken your order. You liked how he looked at you at that moment. He was challenging you to continue. He was giving you a silent warning of how bad things could get between you if you didn't give in to his will. But you weren't going to give in. You liked to see him like this. He turned you on to tease him, and you knew he liked him too... you were a new challenge. Aemond was no longer used to losing. He had lost too much during his childhood and youth for him to continue to do so now. He parked the car right at the garden entrance of that mansion and got out of the car in a rude way. You saw that he was going to open the door for you and once he did, you looked at him provocatively with that innocent white dress that at the same time showed too much. "That asshole wouldn't know how to enjoy you in that dress" it was all he whispered in your ear. You loved making him so jealous that you just smiled at him with a mischievous look. Your eyes went to the poorly concealed bulge in his pants.

"It must be painful to be... horny all day..." you whispered to him smiling and he only sneered, an arrogant smile, but it hid a lust that only you two could understand "I'll tell you... if he enjoys it... or No" you said laughing. But then, just when the tension was building, your grandmother opened the car door, waking up you two from the fantasy you were in. You needed to be alone with him. You told yourself that was what you needed. If you were to be alone, you knew that your 'uncle' couldn't resist anymore.

Aemond separated from you with a smirk and went to open the trunk to get the bags of what you had bought. Your grandmother smiled as she walked towards you. “I love to see that you get along again. Nothing a day of shopping won't fix” your grandmother said sweetly as she took your arm as you walked towards the mansion. She started talking about the things you could do the next day. All things that only seemed to excite a woman of her age, but just before you spoke sweetly; you gave Aemond a sidelong glance that he could only answer by following you with his eyes fixed on you, while he undressed you in silence oblivious to everything. All his attention on you.

Aemond never went down to the pool. He never did. Being in a swimsuit no longer seemed to him to be the lifestyle he wanted to achieve, but at that moment, seeing how you swam, he didn't mind smoking and sitting in the shade. He told himself that this was what he wanted. Have you like this Always with him. He couldn't touch you, but he could handle you. You would not belong to anyone so that you could be his. You smiled at him all wet in the pool, sitting on the edge with that bikini that looked so good on you. He smiled again after blowing the cigarette smoke out of him. He was sitting at a table in front of the pool. His ashtray and his cigarette case there with him. He leaned back in his chair, his trunks not hiding the fact that he was hard and willing. With his shirt completely unbuttoned and savoring his cigarette as if it were you. Neither of you spoke but you said everything with your eyes. Aemond didn't know who he was playing with, but you didn't know who you were playing with either.

He kept looking at you as you went back into the water. Right now, it seemed to Aemond was a bloody winner again. You got out of the pool and approached him, completely wet and tremendously suggestive. The one-eyed man smiled when he saw you approach him. You sat in front of him in that black bikini and he took another drag without taking his eye off you. ‘How glad I am that you got along again!’ Alicent had exclaimed. He had no idea how well you two got along and Aemond smirked again.

"Aren't you still swimming? I find it very… entertaining” he said lustful and you smiled at him fixing your most suggestive gaze on his.

"Maybe, if you got into the water with me" you whispered to him before sucking on the straw of your cold tea. You preferred that summer. It was much better than before. You were still alone, as alone as ever. But at least Aemond was paying attention to you.

"Hmm" was all he replied, leaning back even more in his chair "I don't swim anymore, (Y/N)."

"A shame. It would help you with the swelling” you laughed coquettishly while your eyes went back to the bulge that was now pressed against the fabric of the swimsuit. At that moment, Aemond imagined that you knelt in front of him to help him, while he remained impassive, smoking and with the other hand grabbing your hair and setting the rhythm. He would return the favor. He always did… He shook his head. There were too many witnesses there... and besides, he knew it wasn't right. He focused again. He could play. Playing was fine, but he couldn't have you, not how he was interested.

"I don't think you knew what to do with a swelling like that" he provoked you arrogantly, trying to mock you down and you laughed beautifully and suggestively. He liked seeing you like this. He loved it, it drove him fucking crazy. By the seven, what was to become of him?

"Well, if you say so" you narrowed your eyes flirtatiously and gave him his pride again "My ex said that... I was pretty good at producing swelling... and helping them go down..." you winked at him, and all his smile disappeared again from her lips.

"What ex?" he blew out the smoke quickly and looked into your eyes, as if he wanted to know what the hell was going on, as if he really owned you. Playing with the fact of Cregan was one thing, affirming that you had already had a boyfriend was another... the prospect was getting on his nerves. It couldn't be…fuck, no…if someone had to fuck you it was him…and he couldn't, then logically…the fact that you had already been with someone bothered him…Where did that leave your standards as a Targaryen? Didn't you think of your… superior origin when you went to bed with someone? He didn't know who the hell that ex was, but he had a pretty good idea why he wouldn't like him.

"My ex in Starfall" you replied, shrugging as if you were an innocent child. You looked at him and you could see how he frowned again and kept silent. He saw him light another cigarette, although he did it in a bad way, without even looking at you. It seemed as if every single thing you said about your love and sex life bothered him…at the same time that it turned him on in equal measure.

"Then you…?" he asked you without looking at you, you saw how he clenched his jaw... definitely, you weren't a girl anymore. You weren't, and all the desire he'd had to covet you just for himself was fading from his mind. How many times had he not spent the last year wishing he was the first and only? He felt like an asshole again for ignoring you last summer. Now he would be the one who would have you all to himself if he hadn't ignored you.

"Yes, of course" you answered, not knowing what to think from what you could see from his tense appearance. You could see how he was trying to digest it in silence. You would have given it all to him, but not after last summer. Not the way he had treated you. Had you forgotten him during your time in Starfall? No, definitely not, but you had tried unsuccessfully to continue your life there. "His name is Bryden Rivers" you told him, wanting to continue playing with him, but Aemond only looked at you with contempt, as if something inside his heart had broken for not having you just like that.

“On top of that, he's a fucking bastard” he sighed disappointed, as if he was starting to lose his cool “Where the hell does that leave you? Were you not thinking before getting into bed with him? You're a Targaryen, damn…” he told you, truly angry, as if he had never expected that from you. He was really obsessed now that he had not been the first. He had imagined it so many times that now that his fantasy was not going to come true he didn't know what to do or think. He took another quick drag on his cigarette, actually seemed unfazed, though Aemond felt his heart racing at those confessions. You attacked him, really mad at him.

"AND? you fuck Alys, which is exactly the same” you told him nervously, completely losing your temper and he just attacked you again.

"It's not the same, damn it" he told you, looking at you with that look that could kill you on the spot, only to turn it back in front of really disappointed with you.

"Oh no, of course not. Alys is a saint. She's just a bitch, and now you don't want me to do whatever I want with whoever I want” you said, whispering under your breath, not wanting anyone to find out what was going on between you.

“Alys can be as slutty as she wants. She's not a Targaryen like you ”he blurted out reluctantly, as if he had expected more from you just because you belonged to his family, as if you belonged to someone better just because of that blessed family name.

“You are a Targaryen and you fuck the same. Besides, I'm a bloody Dayne!” you answered him again, visibly angry. It was clear that you were going to continue arguing. You held a grudge against him for the last summer you spent alone.

“I'm a man; I can do whatever I want. The problem is you” he said through his teeth and you stared at him in amazement. You didn't even know how to respond to that. "A girl like you... she can't do whatever she wants" he blurted out to end up remaining silent. How could I tell you that? What was happening to him? He knew what was wrong with him; he was jealous, jealous of not being first, jealous of stupid Cregan, asshole Bryden and all the others you hadn't mentioned. His jealousy was leading him to a blind alley from which he did not know how to get out. The Targaryens had slept with each other for centuries, in the past. Not in the present. It had been at least 500 years since he'd stopped doing it, and he couldn't help but feel like a monster for such a desire for his blood.

You remained silent after the entire maelstrom that you had felt for each other. The problem had only been caused by Aemond, separating from you, and now he was demanding something he had denied himself until only a couple of hours ago. He took another drag in silence. He wasn't about to apologize for what he'd said, even though he knew it was wrong. He never apologized.

"What do you want from me, Aemond?" you asked, breaking the silence that existed between the two. Aemond sighed and spoke, though it was clear he still didn't know what he wanted. What he wanted made him feel like a monster actually...

“I can… I can take you out to dinner, and buy you lingerie, watch you dress it on. We could walk together and go to the movies... you could put on that black dress just for me, end up touching you while I look at you..." he said desperately "Just be mine, without me touching you... that way we'd be fine..." he said, he ended up looking at you when he finished talking, as if he had found the solution to what was happening to you, as if the great Aemond Targaryen had solved world hunger and had achieved world peace "No kisses, no sex... but, we would be together, like... you only mine... without any asshole touching you.” Yeah, that was the right thing to do. He would protect you from others, he would take care of you, you would be his, and he would not feel like a monster… you would be his, even though he couldn't have you the way he really wanted you.

"And would you fuck Alys while you're thinking of me?" you sighed, looking away, disappointed by his proposition. You didn't like what you heard, you wanted more. No, you needed more. Aemond looked the other way again, giving you the silent answer, as if that had already happened more than once.

"I can do whatever I want. I am a Targaryen” he replied, taking another puff again. He had given you a solution, what more did you want? He would keep it a secret. He knew that he could make you happy that way, but he also knew that he was being selfish. However, he needed you, in any way, his property. You had him fucking crazy.

You run away from there. It wasn't what you expected from him. He was being a complete asshole, and Aemond fell silent as he stared at the pool. Now, without you. He felt like a real failure.

“And this is Lya, (Y/N)” Daeron told you, introducing you to his new girlfriend. The girl, who you noticed that she was from the north, approached you and gave you two kisses while she introduced herself. She was younger than your uncle, by at least ten years, but she seemed nice and charm, with her brown hair and sincere but gentle eyes. It was quite clear that she, too, felt out of place in this house.

"And how long have you been together?" you asked, sitting in Aemond's chair in the garden. After you had argued in the pool you hadn't seen him again all day. And, you thought maybe it was better that way. The girl sat next to Daeron in the same chair, she smiled amused before speaking to you.

"Five months" she told you sincerely and you avoided twisting her face. Brilliant. She had only been with your uncle for five months and was in the family photo… you had been there all your life and they hadn't even notifyed you… You hated Aemond, with all your might, just like your father.

"Great, I wish you much happiness" you said, faking a smile, upset by what you had just learned, and your uncle Daeron snorted.

“It was just the same as Aemond said. You shouldn't spend so much time together” he told you with a smirk and Lya jumped on the seat amused. She seemed like a good person, even if you knew Aemond didn't like her. Your father just came by the door and sat next to you after ruffling your hair. You greeted him with a smile. The truth is that you were also dying for him to pay attention to you. You couldn't hate him.

“(Y/N), I go out with my friends every Friday night, in case you ever wanted to come over,” Lya offered sincerely, almost as if she wanted to be your friend. Just when you were going to speak, your father spoke for you, as if he cared what happened to you those summers.

“Oh, that would be fantastic. So you would leave the house, (Y / N), you would go with his group to have a good time” he told you with a smile, and you looked at him confused. You would never have expected that from your father. The truth is that Aegon was worried that you would spend all your day within those four walls during the whole summer, with Aemond as your only company. He was scared that you were around adults, and not people your age… For once he had a real concern. He had jumped him when he saw Cregan's business card in your shoulder bag, but he didn't dare say anything to you. He would just try to handle it differently.

"Yeah, sure, thanks" you answered with a sincere smile and looked at your father who smiled back.

“You have to come next Friday. We are going to the club that Joffrey Velaryon has opened, to the inauguration” Lya said excitedly and you laughed at her enthusiasm, while Daeron massaged her hips. At that moment, Aemond appeared there too and without saying a word to anyone and just a glass of wine in his hand, he sat next to you, in a very similar way to the one Daeron had with his girlfriend. But, nobody said anything. It was normal to always see you together. However, your heart was going a thousand an hour. Aemond leaned back in his seat while you stayed close to him. You almost looked like…his girl.

“But that asshole is still opening clubs?” Aemond asked with a sneer, fixing his single eye on Lya. A dark presence that seemed to hover over her with Aemond wearing his patch again, that patch that didn't cover the entire scar but that he always put on if there was a visitor or he was leaving the house. "I thought, after the cocaine bust last, He had never had the idea of opening any of his clubs again,” he said, arrogant, conceited and powerful. Daeron swallowed, as if he knew the truth about that raid and that drug that had turned up at his place. Joffrey had sworn that he didn't know where he had come from, while Aemond had been in good spirits for the next week, almost until the trial. Everything in King's Landing passed through the hands of Aemond Targaryen, absolutely everything. And you could feel the strength and power that emanated from Aemond... you felt powerful and excited in his presence, even though no one could see it, you became even more suggestive in the chair with him. You could say what you wanted, like the snatch you'd had at the pool, but you needed him, you coveted him. And he smirked as he watched you sat next to him. You were completely his. Even if he wasn't going to touch a single hair of you, he knew that he possessed you just the same.

You approached Aemond after dinner. Your father had gone with Daeron and his girlfriend for a drink, and you knew he wouldn't be back until late. Your grandmother had gone to bed early as always, so that left you and Aemond completely alone. You needed him You had realized it. You didn't care how I wanted to have you. You needed it, whatever it was. If he loved you that way, you would wait. You didn't care about anything. You had realized that you needed him. You needed him. You needed him. Your head repeated it over and over again as you approached his room. If he didn't want to touch you, then he shouldn't, but you needed him to want you. He didn't care how. You were desperate for him. You entered his room quietly. Dressed in those shorts that you knew drove him crazy. You found him reading, eyepatch removed. He looked at you with a cold face, leaving his book slowly on the table, while he got up to face you. He was still dressed in those pants and that shirt that pressed against him because of his slender body. He smugly put his hands in his pockets, while you looked at him like a girl just in love. You didn't care about anything. You just wanted to be with him. It didn't matter how. He moved closer to you and sighed, as if he knew in his arrogance that you had already bowed to him. Once in front of you, you grabbed onto his shirt, pressing your body against his and the only thing he offered you was a kiss on the forehead, as if that were the greatest example of affection he could give you. You felt your legs shake as if he had kissed you on the lips just as he finished. There was silence between the two of them, as if you had kneeled before him.

"Touch yourself for me" was all he whispered to you as he pulled away and sat in an armchair strategically placed in front of his bed. You smiled at him. That was the most you could hope for. You saw him smirk with triumph as you slipped out of your t-shirt sitting on the edge of his bed, arching your back for him. Your breasts aroused at the sight of him. Aemond was everything to you. He just remained stoic as he crossed his legs in front of you, ready to enjoy the show. You were going to give it to him, you would give it all to him even if he wasn't going to give you much more... but, right at that moment, his cell phone vibrated. His damn cell phone on his nightstand vibrated and he got up to pick it up. “Fuck…” he sighed as he got up and just at that moment, you could see that it was a message from Alys. That left you cold, as if it were a blow with reality again. Aemond took his mobile and put on that arrogant smile that he always put on, answering Alys. In that moment, all the desire you had for him vanished. You couldn't even have him like that? Without him touching you? Alys always seemed to be there and he put the phone in her pocket while he sat across from you. "Go on, niece," he said in command, completely excited at the use of that word. You put on the t-shirt you had taken off again in that docile way for him. And he looked at you raising an eyebrow.

"I... I... need more, Aemond" you told him getting up from the bed, while he quickly got up from the chair. You were back to reality. Either you had it all, or you wanted nothing.

"We can be happy like this" he whispered to you, almost mad that you had stopped. "Tomorrow... tomorrow we can go get lingerie for our game... and have dinner..." he told you desperate because you would have stopped. "Yes... if we don't touch each other, no... we won't be monsters... I won't feel like a monster" he told you between his teeth. In the end it all came down to him not succumbing to the worst of his dark desires.

"I need more" you told him just before leaving the room again. You needed something else. You waited for him to show up in your room that night, for him to tell you that he didn't care what other people thought, but he didn't show up. You had almost lost your mind that he wasn't there with you. You cried bitterly. You needed it, dammit. You needed him, and he didn't want to give you what you both wanted for fear of being found out or what they would say... At that time, it was fine, okay. He had Alys, and it drove you crazy. You were going to hit him back. It was the only game you knew how to play. You went to the bandolier, which seemed to have been stirred up that day, but you didn't care. You searched through the pockets until you found it. You saw that it was one in the morning. He wasn't going to be awake at that hour, but he didn't care. You added his phone number to the contact list. You just sent a short message. You wanted to see again how far you could go with the men, how far your power would reach. ‘Hello :)’ It was all you typed and, after a few mere seconds, he answered you.

‘Hello, I thought you weren’t going to write to me :)’ Cregan replied. The game had begun, and you were going to show Aemond that you too were a dragon.

#aemond x y/n #aemond smut #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen modern au #aemond modern au #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader

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ai-megurine · 8 months

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Dollhouse by Melanie Martinez is so Helaena-coded, I can't breathe. The lyrics are just –

Hey, girl, open the walls, play with your dolls

We'll be a perfect family

→ Alicent begging her to be a normal family and trying to salvage her family. The walls are Helaena's "oddities"

When you walk away is when we really play

You don't hear me when I say

"Mom, please wake up

Dad's with a slut, and your son is smoking cannabis"

→ Viserys doesn't care about them, Aegon is drowning in self-loathing and nobody listens to Helaena

No one ever listens, this wallpaper glistens

Don't let them see what goes down in the kitchen

→ No one listens to Helaena (again), and they all look like the perfect royal family

Places, places, get in your places

Throw on your dress and put on your doll faces

Everyone thinks that we're perfect

Please don't let them look through the curtains

→ Alicent wants to save their public image, and prays no one will look too hard

Picture, picture, smile for the picture

Pose with your brother, won't you be a good sister?

→ Alicent about Helaena's wedding to Aegon and, again, their public image, or Helaena repeating herself what her mother told her. Please be good, and be a good sister-wife to Aegon.

Everyone thinks that we're perfect

Please don't let them look through the curtains

→ They look the part but if you look too hard, you'll see they're all a mess

D-O-L-L-H-O-U-S-E

I see things that nobody else sees

(D-O-L-L-H-O-U-S-E

I see things that nobody else sees)

→ It's all a game, and nobody listens to Helaena

Hey, girl, look at my mom, she's got it going on

Ha, you're blinded by her jewelry

When you turn your back she pulls out a flask

And forgets his infidelity

→ Alicent can look the part but Helaena knows she's broken. The jewelry is her crown and the Faith but when you turn around, she breaks down and tries to forget that Viserys doesn't care.

Uh-oh, she's coming to the attic, plastic

Go back to being plastic

→ She's coming to see Helaena, who forces herself to be good for her mother

#helaena targaryen #dollhouse #helaegon #alicent hightower

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sunnyhvnny · 1 year

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Get to know the blogger: Tagged by @slayhousehightower

Share My Wallpaper: a blue screen with Taylor Swift Lyrics.

Last Song You Listened To: Georgie by Phoebe Bridgers

Last Show: Shadow & Bone on repeat

Craving: A sprite from McDonalds

What Are You Wearing Right Now: animal spotted pajama pants and a yellow tank top.

How Tall Are You: 5’5”

Piercings: Just my ears

Tattoos: None

Glasses or Contacts: Glasses but I accidentally got super glue on the lenses so I don’t wear them anymore.

Last Drink: non alcoholic: Baja blast alcoholic: Fireball

Last Thing You Ate: macaroni with taco meat in it

Favorite Color: yellow or a burnt orange

Current Obsession: Asoiaf, grishaverse, Taylor swift, etc…

Favorite Fictional Characters: zoya nazyalensky, Cassian Andor, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Nina Zenik, Nikolai Lantsov, Sansa Stark, (book) Aegon III, Alicent Hightower, Leia Organa

Last Place You Traveled: Up North in the state I live in.

No Pressure Tags 💛: @rufairy @queers-gambit @missglaskin @vhagar-apologist @saltywritings @written-in-flowers @inthedayswhenlandswerefew @tinfairies

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feyhunter78 · 1 year

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Targaryen Inc (3/?)

Description: Helaena talks with her dad and unintentionally spies on Jacaerys' fight with his girlfriend.

Helaena scrolled through her email, marking the urgent ones when her father, Criston Cole, knocked on her door. She got up from her fuzzy pink desk chair and swung open the door, ushering him in.

“Dad! Have you come by for tea?” She asked, moving to the shelf where she kept all her mugs. Criston wasn’t her biological father, but he’d married her mother when Helaena was six, a few years after her biological father had died.

Her father looked around her office. “Did you redecorate again?”

Helaena smiled, “I just added some more plants.”

As Head of HR, her office was a safe space, and she aimed to make it as comfortable as possible for anyone who visited her.

One wall she covered with floral wallpaper, and her desk was a warm brown color with a small rose gold lamp, her computer, and teardrop shaped terrarium with a tiny village inside sitting atop it. The terrarium had been a gift from Alyra, and Helaena smiled every time she looked at it. A large bookshelf sat behind her desk. She decorated said bookshelf, a gift from Aemond, with plants, small pieces of art and pictures of her family.

Criston took a seat on the plush pink couch that sat in front of her desk, with a fond smile. “You’re just like your grandma, a green thumb through and through.”

Helaena busied herself with making them tea while he continued speaking. “Your mother’s father is downstairs. Harwin and I are going to take care of it, but your mother wanted me to let everyone know to stay upstairs until he’s gone.”

Helaena swallowed hard. She remembered the screaming matches between her parents and her Grandfather Otto. He was paranoid, claiming that her Aunt Rhaenyra was going to try and squeeze them out of the company once Viserys retired. Her mother didn’t believe him, and told him so, causing Otto to turn his back on them.

“Do you think he’ll cause any trouble?” She set the mugs down a bit too hard, her hands shaking.

Her father caught her hand, his grip warm and reassuring. “Helaena, nothing is going to happen, Harwin and I will escort Otto out, and then everything will be back to normal.”

Helaena gave him a weak smile. “If you say so.”

Her father wrapped her in a tight hug. “I know so.” He pulled back and kissed her forehead, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Helaena blinked back tears. He always saw right through her. Her biological father had been killed over a gambling dispute, and Helaena could still hear the sound of gunshots whenever she saw poker chips or smelled cigar smoke.

She hugged him once more, then let him go. “At least wear a bulletproof vest, you and Uncle Harwin, grandfather owns a lot of guns.”

He promised her they would and left, taking the mug she saved especially for him when he did.

She waited until he’d disappeared from view, then collapsed onto her couch, curling into a ball. She blew on her tea before taking a sip, relishing in the way it burned on its way down. Her father would be fine, her grandfather would be fine, everyone would be fine.

Panic struck her, and she stood abandoning her tea and made her way down the hall turning right past the conference room, heading for Jacaerys’ office. His warm eyes, and calming voice would soothe her nerves, then she could get back to work. She froze at the sound of raised voices, pressing herself against the door of the file room, careful not to be seen through Jacaerys’ office window.

“You do this every time, just admit it, you don’t care about me.” A shrill female voice accused.

“Sarah, I do care about you, but I’m busy. This is my job; I can’t just drop everything every time you need me.” The frustration was evident in his voice, and Helaena sympathized with him. Legal was always busy, whether it was dealing with Aegon, clients, or making sure The Aemma Fund was being managed properly.

“What a liar. I bet you’re cheating on me, and that’s why you never answer my calls.”

“You’re one to talk about cheating. Remember your friend, Dale?” Jacaerys fired back.

“You’re just jealous because he fucked me better than you did.” Sarah snapped, her voice loud enough to cause Rhaenyra to crack her office door and poke her head out.

Helaena gasped at Sarah’s words, and her hands came up to cover her mouth as her eyes widened. So, this was the infamous Sarah. Her office being next to Lucerys’ she heard him complain about his brother’s girlfriend quite often, but she resolved to give the woman the benefit of the doubt, seeing as Lucerys had never liked any of Jacaerys’ girlfriends.

When Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow at her, Helaena removed her hands and mouthed, “Jacaerys’ girlfriend.”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes and went back into her office.

Helaena wondered if she should beg her aunt to let her hide in her office until Sarah had left, but soon, she heard shuffling from Jacaerys’ office. She pulled the file room door open, pretending she’d just come from there when Sarah stormed out, not even looking at her.

Jacaerys was standing in his doorway, hair mused from running his hands through it, and she gave him a small smile. “Everything alright?”

He laughed bitterly. “It’s over with Sarah.”

She fought back the delighted expression that threatened to form, and schooled her features into one of sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that, do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head and held out a hand to her. She took it, and he pulled her into his office. “It’s not worth weighing you down with.” Their hands were still joined, his thumb gently rubbing circles into the back of her hand. “I’m sure you’re nervous about Otto being in the lobby.”

Her heart melted, he’d just fought with his girl—ex-girlfriend, and he was still thinking about how she might be feeling?

“I’m a little nervous, but I talked to my dad, and they’re going to be careful.” His father was going down there too, and while she doubted her grandfather would try anything, she couldn’t help but worry.

Jacaerys nodded. “They’ll be fine, they’re trained professionals.”

Both their fathers had served in the military, then worked in private security before their mothers signed on with Targaryen Inc. They often joked how funny it was they’d never crossed paths until that day.

“And my grandfather is an angry old man with too much time on his hands.”

Jacaerys laughed at that, his breathtaking smile returning. “Have you made your afternoon tea yet? I find myself craving some blueberry tea.”

“Not yet.” She lied, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Jacaerys rarely had time to join her for tea, but when he did, it was the best hour of her week.

“And then she accused me of cheating.” He said, an expression of hurt and disbelief on his ruggedly handsome face.

Helaena had already heard this accusation, but when he was here, sitting on her couch, knees brushing hers, she wouldn’t care if he tried to explain everything, he learned in law school to her.

“You would never.” She said, tone soft but earnest.

“Exactly, I could never break someone’s trust in that way.” He explained, taking a sip from the novelty mug he’d bought her that read, ‘hug dealer’ in big block letters. “And she’s the one who cheated on me.”

Helaena let out a scandalized gasp. “No, why?”

Jacaerys shrugged, his face tinting pink. “I don’t know, she wouldn’t tell me.”

Helaena bit her lip, of course she would never tell Jacaerys she heard his argument with Sarah, but a part of her wanted to reassure him there was no way this Dale could be better than him. At anything. Not that she’s slept with either man, but she just had a feeling Sarah had lied in an attempt to hurt Jacaerys.

Jacaerys’ thumb freed her bottom lip, and she felt her face heat up. “You’ll bruise your lip if you keep that up.” He warned, his chestnut brown eyes fixated on her, his thumb still resting on her lip.

Her eyes met his, and her breath caught in her throat at the intensity within them. “I’ll be more careful.” She whispered, not wanting him to retract his touch.

A knock on her door had them jumping apart and Jacaerys stood opening the door. Her father stood there, a confusion look on his face when he saw Jacaerys instead of her. “The ex-employee has been removed from the premises. Everyone is now free to visit the lobby if they wish.”

“Thanks, Dad.” She said, relief filling her veins. No one had been hurt.

Tag List: @nyctophilic0vitnir

@svtansdaddyx I know you didn't request to be tagged, but I still thought you might want to be notified that the new chapter is up!

(let me know if you'd rather I not tag you, or you want me to take this bit out, it won't hurt my feelings at all <3)

#hotd fanfic #jacerys velaryon #helaena targaryen #jacaerys x helaena #aemond x oc #aegon ii targaryen #modern au #Targ Inc fic #meg's writing #modern aemond #modern jacaerys #modern aegon #modern helaena #Criston cole is a good dad to the Hightower kids I firmly believe that #In my fic he is at least #jacelaena #aemond targaryen #helaena x jacaerys

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