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buzzkillers · 13 hours

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𝔞 𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔡 || 𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔥𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

summary: "there's a serpent in these still waters," helaena murmurs, "lying deep down."

pairing: martell!reader x alicent hightower (mentions of martell!reader x rhaneyra targaryen)

words: 2.6k

warnings/themes: MINORS DNI, soft/dark!reader, implied dubcon, sexual themes, fingering, subtle degradation, corruption kink-ish, mentions of internalized homophobia and religion, murder, alicent is a closeted gay and refuses/hates dealing with it ™

notes: this is a repost from my old blog (that had the same name). in a stroke of genius ™ i deleted the entire thing :') , anyway, hopefully this fic gets more love this time.

NSFW. MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY. IF WARNINGS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE , DO NOT READ. YOUR INTERNET IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY.

ALICENT NERVOUSLY PACED around the drawing room as the hour to meet with Larys drew nearer and nearer.

Everything about this…dependence on him got away from her. Slipped further into the chaotic pit of her desperation and his greed.

She knew she hated all of it—having to depend on him to even have an inkling of an advantage over Rhaenyra, the way he always made himself known, that he was perpetually watching her even when he wasn’t always there, the way she debased herself for his pleasure even when he didn’t have to touch her at all. One favor led to another, and she hated what it had become.

She wished more than anything that she could be rid of him.

Alicent scoffs at the idea, knowing that no such thing could come about lest she damn herself and reveal everything.

As she always does, she goes on her own. No one must know, not even Talya, her handmaiden. Her hands open and close in anxiety despite her outward composure she keeps at all times.

The path to the particular drawing room is laden with noble stragglers far too interested in business that wasn’t theirs, ready to feast on any crumb of fodder they might catch on feigned happenstance.

Alicent sighs shakily once she arrives at the doors that separates her and that snake.

She remembers it all, how Larys purposefully misconstrued her words for his own convenience, how she implored that she hadn’t asked to slay his own brother for her but he did. He did anyway.

She remembers how Rhaenyra couldn’t find it in herself to grieve because she couldn’t, but ever since then the woman that had been meant to leave for Dorne came back and stayed at her side, looking at Alicent like she knew the Queen had something to do with it.

Nothing of convenience happens just because the Seven will it to be so. You had said to her once. She balked at your blasphemy, but you hadn’t cared. Not even with your formalities thinly veiled as inappropriate advances at Rhaenyra, did you care.

Part of her wishes that that so-called…loyalty Rhaenyra indulged in so naturally from you came to her. That it would be for her instead.

Yes, loyalty is what it was. It had to be that. The Seven would never allow anything else.

Alicent can feel the way her hands shake when she pushes one of the heavy wooden doors, quickly making her way inside and latching it closed as quietly as she could. She closes her eyes for a moment, taking a breath to compose herself. Letting it escape her shakily, she turns around.

“Lord Strong, I—” Alicent’s breath leaves her, and this time for entirely different reasons.

You sit in the ornate chaise comfortably, as if you had always belonged there. You donned more Westerosi attire in hues of black and maroon—a gesture of good faith to the Targaryens, a jacquard pattern in the emblem of your House adorning the sleeves, yet your sun warmed skin made you stand out against most of the nobility in the Realm.

Alicent could feel the wind leave her lungs, much like it did when she had an inappropriate dream about you and reluctantly relieved herself of it.

But the way her body shivered then in comparison to seeing the delicately macabre sitting position Larys was in was entirely different.

You greeted her with a warm smile, raising a goblet as if to toast her. Next to you, Larys Strong sat slumped in his chair adjacent to you, the life drained from him only moments ago. Drained chalice at his feet.

“Come, your majesty. We have much to talk about.” You said, gesturing to her usual place across the table.

Alicent hesitates, wondering if she should scream for the guards. But no one knows she’s here, and no one is supposed to know she’s having these secret meetings with the man that now sat dead in front of her.

“Nothing that’s meant for you is poisoned, if that’s what you’re thinking.” You add, casually plucking a few berries from the bowl in front of you.

Alicent swallows as you look at her intently while you pop each berry into your mouth, chewing carefully. She sighs in trepidation, shaking the sins that swim in her head whenever she looks at you for too long.

“How did you—”

“Know?” You ask, completing her question for her, “when you learn to move as I do, you come to know of many things.” You reach for the jug of wine, pouring some for yourself and for Alicent. “Besides,” you add, taking a small sip, “you Westerosi love to talk far too much about yourselves. Is nothing ever kept secret?”

Alicent looks at the goblet of wine in front of her with trepidation, and then to you.

“I took the risk, same as him.” You nod over to Larys, “only, he was not so prepared as I was.”

“You…poisoned him?”

“And myself.” “Then how did you-”

“I am Dornish, your majesty. You forget that where I come from, we are always prepared to take the risk. We were prepared to take it when my ancestor told our would be conqueror to fuck off. I was prepared before you arrived to risk it for Rhaenyra’s legacy.”

Alicent stares at the little vial dangling from your fingers. A spark of dread makes bile rise in her throat, but she forces it down.

“I would be a fool to cast aside all the work I’ve done in the name of truce by killing the Queen.”

You walk over the short length of the table until you reach Alicent’s side, sitting on the corner of the table with your arms crossed.

Alicent can feel her blood boil yet again, especially when she feels the weight of your stare as she wills herself up from her seat.

“How dare you!” She growls, hands balled up into fists as she rises from her chair and is suddenly inches away from your face. “You dare to defend a faithless woman, one who parades her sons as legitimate even though they’re-”

You narrow your eyes, jaw tightening as you cross your arms and tower over her defiantly as you abandon your seat.

“And what of you and Ser Cole?” You ask, chuckling as you watch Alicent’s eyes widen in panic, “yes, I know of that too. I know of all that you do, my queen.”

You reach up to brush aside a copper curl from Alicent’s face, tucking it behind her ear. You smile at the way she shivers when you cup her face, her eyes fighting to stay open.

“Have you ever loved a woman, your majesty?”

Alicent doesn’t answer. She doesn’t want to. But everything she’s thought about in her fantasies with you, her jealousies that give way to sinful dreams when she sees you with Rhaenyra, especially now when she feels your breath on her face, your thumb tracing her lips…

“To love a woman, to be loved by one…it is second only to what a mother would do for her own children. It is to feel the sun on both sides.” You whisper, moving Alicent’s face so she would face you.

You ghost your lips over her own, watching as Alicent struggles internally with her own thoughts.

She hates it, the way she feels when the things she’s dreamt of with you are as alive as they make her feel in that moment.

Suddenly, she gasps as you squeeze her chin between your thumb and your fingers, her lips pursing together. In your eyes, an anger that rivaled that of the dragons’ roars. An uncomfortable dread bubbles in her stomach.

“Do not think of me incapable of doing what I must to ensure that Rhaenyra’s succession isn’t challenged. She is everything to me, and I will make sure to do what I must to protect her.”

Alicent’s lips move to speak when you cup her face gently, in contrast to how you held her just moments ago. But no words come, only a thrill that jumpstarts her heart and burrows itself as an ache in her belly.

“Would you like to know what it’s like, your Majesty, to kiss a woman?”

Alicent doesn’t seem to notice how you move her so easily, one step from you.

Then another.

And another.

“I-I..shouldn’t…the Se-”

“The Seven do not give a fuck in the world, your Highness.” You enjoy the way she lets out a breath when she realizes that her back is touching the wall. “They ask nothing that one isn’t prepared to give. Impose…nothing.”

Alicent’s breath leaves her in a broken gasp when your fingers dance across the neckline of her dress. A conflict within her-knowing not whether to press herself on you or away from you.

But she does not fight it either.

“Why should we impose anything on them, don’t you agree?” You all but purr, cradling her chin between your thumb and fingers. Her lips wobble as your thumb rubs her chin slightly, her tongue darting out to lick a dryness that is there before she swallows.

She knows she is lost when she feels your fingers follow the motion of her throat.

“Would you like to know, your Majesty, what it’s like?” You ask, eyes glinting in a lascivious enthusiasm when her lips press on the pad of your thumb. It makes you hum in satisfaction, like everything you’ve felt to be true about her was confirmed by the feel of her tongue slipping out to take a taste of your skin.

Alicent’s eyes hold on to your own, and you see the conflict swimming in her eyes. It’s clear to her you’ve taken possession– of the power in the room, and of her. She takes your hand, moving it from her chin and downwards, until you catch on to what she wants.

Her crumbling sense of control makes you chuckle darkly. She is fraying at the edges. She lets go of your hand so quickly that her own are scrambling to lift up the skirts of her gown and undergarments. Naturally, her thighs make room for your hands, heart thumping in her chest like a war drum when you tease her.

“Has Rhaenyra…Oh gods..you-” Alicent gasps in relief when your fingers slide into her warmth. Her hands slap onto the wall behind her, scrambling for purchase to tether her somehow. “Has she..and you…”

“I’m here with you now, am I not?” You whisper against the shell of her ear, “enjoy yourself. It’s no one but us.”

It wasn’t just the two of you, but the pleasure blooming across her skin distracts her from the darkness just on the other side of the room.

Alicent isn’t entirely sure what kind of relief to feel. A part of her thought about what you had done. If you were more than willing to kill for Rhaenyra, what would you be willing to do for her?

The back of Alicent’s head falls to the wall behind her as she feels the ache in the pit of her belly about the burst once again. It should be unreasonable for her to do this, to want you the way she does. If someone were to find her, they would have her head put on a pike for impropriety and treason.

And yet, as she remembers how all her life was structured on how to please others, she craved this chaos for herself.

She wanted this. Wanted you, the Princess of Dorne.

Everyone in the Realm had their secrets. Why couldn’t she have one of her own?

“That’s it,” you coo, feeling her hips move along with your hand, “don’t be afraid to let go. Don’t shame yourself out of your own pleasure.”

“I need-” she gasps, her hands grasping your shoulders, nails digging into the embroidered epaulets of your garb, “tell me. There is no shame here with me.” “I need to feel-”

Alicent preens when your fingers curl against that place inside of her that finally drives her over the precipice. Her inhibitions, once frayed at the edges like the fine silk of her gown, finally unravel.

As her climax blooms all over and bursts along her skin, she grabs your face, desperately kissing your lips. You all but practically consume her, and she’d gladly let you do it if it meant that it kept you away from the person she grew to loathe the most.

Your enthusiasm clashes against her desperation, everything is all teeth and tongue and pleasurable warmth she wants to drown herself in.

Alicent closes her eyes, waiting for the adrenaline to wear off. She sighs as you brand open mouthed kisses against her jaw, down along her neck as you take in her smell.

——

Alicent startles awake.

She sits up, momentarily still dazed in sleep and unaware of where she is.

Realizing she’s in her own room, she stops grasping at the sheets. Her reverie breaks when Talya walks in, and helps Alicent prepare for the day.

She passes most of the day functioning as a puppet–going through the usual motions of her activities.

She finds comfort in the presence of her daughter Helaena, until they’re called for supper later in the evening.

She feels the strangest sense of comfort as her family is seated around the table, around Viserys. For the most part, everyone is getting along well, even if it is a farce for Viserys’ placation.

A squire interrupts their conversation, whispering in Viserys’ ear. Viserys nods in approval.

The doors open and Alicent’s heart all but stops.

“My sincerest apologies, your Grace.” You say in reverence, “I could not arrive empty handed. Please, have the finest wine Dorne has to offer as both an apology and a token of celebration.”

Alicent can’t help but follow where you sit–the empty chair right next to Rhaenyra. She picks at the skin of her nails, trying to fight off the jealousy that was as green as her dress.

Viserys, thoroughly amused by the gesture, calls for the cupbearers to serve the wine. You’ve only just sat, but you take the goblet full of wine from your homeland, and stand.

“It would please me greatly to propose a toast to his majesty King Viserys,” you raise your cup, “and to his true heir, the Princess Rhaenyra. I’m sure her reign will be a long and prosperous one, welcomed by all in the Realm.”

Viserys wheezes out a jolly laugh, tapping his walking staff instead of clapping. Naturally, everyone else follows what he does, and raises their cups to drink.

Alicent can feel her throat close up, a lick of fear making its way through her. She wants to say something, anything. But she cannot. Does not.

The way in which everything happens so normally, members of her family each in their own corners of the room talking with each other, bewilders her.

“Something wrong, your Highness?” You ask with a feigned cluelessness so natural, Alicent nearly believed it. “I know history has shown that my people have a…proclivity with certain poisons. Nothing that is meant for us is poisoned, I assure you.”

“Of course.” She chuckles out nervously, taking a small sip from the goblet in front of her.

“I would be a fool to cast aside all the work I’ve done in the name of truce by killing the dynasty that has blended with my family’s for generations.”

You continued, everyone clapping to your toast as Alicent had her attention interrupted by Talya. The young maid bent to whisper in Alicent’s ear.

They’ve found Lord Strong in his study.

It’s then that Alicent glances at your deceptively kind face nervously, the color draining from her face when she notices the very same pendant from her dream hanging around your neck.

It was empty.

Before taking another drink from your replenished cup, you raise your cup to her, winking surreptitiously before taking a drink.

Alicent feels the dread drip down her spine and numb her limbs once again.

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