Bring me a dream. 20s. she/her. INTJ. writer. all works here are mine. Masterlist
273 posts
Last active 60 minutes ago
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
chekherjoy
chekherjoy
dokidobe
yellow.dr.monv
webwritersgroup
the empire
veggiewrapwithhummus
expect disappointment and then you'll never be disappointed
Text
chemical override (2)
Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader
a/n : aaand I just couldn't let this storyline go. Typical. Best to read part one before this one :)
all my other works ▪︎ part one
The reader and Ewan have gotten a lot closer since the press tour for season two, but neither one has made a move. The reader is spotted with another costar, giving rise to rumours of romance.
The press tour came and went like a fever dream. From Paris to New York to London, everyone had been highly anticipated your upcoming show.
Albeit you had a minor role, it all seemed like everything you could ever wish for.
A blossoming career. Lifelong friends made from your peers. The overwhelming support from audiences.
Only two episodes have since been released to the public, and already your character has become a fan-favourite.
Sadly, you and Ewan only had that one press day together, after which you were paired with other cast members. That didn't stop the onslaught of comments under your interviews with him, fans stating how good you looked together. Speculating whether there was something going on between you two.
You are good friends, but that's all.
He calls you often, mostly in the evenings after you're both finished with work. He sticks close to you during premiere after-parties. Now and again, you would catch him looking at you from across the room.
But... well... that's all there is to that.
Maybe he's just being nice. Maybe he only sees you as a good friend, and this is just how he is. With his effortless charm and cheeky remarks that can be mistaken as flirting, you think that maybe you're reading too much into it all.
"Ewan likes you, you know," Phia looks at you over her shoulder, as she does her makeup in front of your dresser.
The cast is having a private get-together in Fabien's apartment for a night, and yourself and Phia decide to prep together, her own place only being five minutes away from yours.
"He's just being nice," you shake your head at her observation, as you sift through your closet looking for a top.
"He's not that nice to everyone," Phia laughs. "Trust me, that lad fancies you and it's plain as day. Ask anyone, I mean, Tom even pointed it out the other day."
"And Ewan was there with you guys?"
"Uh-huh," Phia swivels her chair around, all done, nodding at you, "Poor sod just about turned red as a beet."
"What did he say?" you ask, not even bothering to hide your curiosity. Phia's got your back, after all.
"Well..." Phia glanced away, weighing just how much she is at liberty to say. Ewan's her friend just as much as you are, and she doesn't know how deep she can meddle in this.
"How bad is it?"
"Nothing bad, promise," Phia walks over, then takes over the task of sorting through your closet, "He likes you. A lot. But it seems like he's apprehensive about jumping into a relationship right now."
You plop down on your bed in a huff, "I guess that makes sense."
"Chin up, darling," Phia turns around, arms folded behind her, concealing her chosen top for you. "You're both rising stars, with great careers ahead of you. If you're going to commit to each other, you're gonna have to do it right."
You smile, because you can't help it, the high from landing your dream career not yet subsiding.
"And," Phia continues, "even if he's too chicken to make a move, that doesn't mean you can't torture him with this." She grins, presenting a green satin top, the material weightless and shimmering.
"This? Are you sure?" It was definitely revealing, and it would have your back exposed, only tied together by two strings.
"Ewan loves green," she hands it to you, and you hold it up with concern etched in your features.
"I guess I could wear this," you mumble.
"Oh, you will wear it," Phia smirks, pushing you over to your bathroom so you can get changed.
Already wearing your trusty pair of bootcut jeans, you shimmy into the slinky top, calling out to Phia so she can assist with securing the strings at your back.
"You look absolutely gorgeous," she beams at you in your bathroom mirror. "Ewan is going to melt at the sight of you, doll."
"Huh," you say, checking yourself out in the reflection. "Okay then, I think we're ready - "
Your phone rings, cutting you off. Phia beats you to it, and her face is scandalous when she raises your phone up like it's precious evidence.
Ewan's name flashes bright on the screen.
"Oh, look who it is!" Phia practically sings, "Lover boy."
"Give me that," you demand, reaching for your phone, but Phia quickly sidesteps you and presses the screen to answer the call.
You gasp, and the both of you struggle to keep down an incoming fit of giggles. Phia then clicks on the speaker mode, and Ewan can be heard saying your name, his tone a bit confused.
"Are you there?" Ewan asks.
"Yeah, I'm here," you take the phone, waving to Phia so she doesn't make a fuss.
"Hmm," he says. "I hope I'll be seeing you tonight. The party won't be as good without you."
"Well, Phia and I just finished getting ready," you glance at her, and she makes a kissy face at you.
"Hello, Mr. Whipped," she playfully cuts in with this greeting, effectively letting Ewan know he's on speaker.
You hear Ewan snort on the other end, before he says, "Hello to you too, Phi."
"We should be heading out in 15 minutes, and we'll be there on time," you let him know.
"Okay, I suppose I'll see you guys there," he replies.
"Okay." A beat of silence passes, and Phia just shrugs at you.
"I, uh - " he finally speaks up again, but hesitates.
"Yeah?"
He clears his throat, having decided on saying, "Nevermind. See you soon, darling."
The line cuts off. You slowly let your hand fall to the side, sighing at how it abruptly ended. Shaking off your worries, you look at Phia once more, and she already has her line all prepared. "See you soon, darling," she recites in a low voice, imitating Ewan.
"Oh, shush," you shove her playfully, and she shoves you right back.
"I can't wait to see you, darling," she continues teasing you, laughing, and you can't help but blush and smile, finding her endearing.
"Well, let's go," she says, picking up her things, "your darling boy of Derby awaits."
▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎
Fabien greets you at the door with that perfect smile of his, arms outstretched to pull you and Phia into a hug.
"Welcome, welcome," he greets, leading you into his apartment, where most of the cast is already assembled, including Ewan.
You happily exchange pleasantries with everyone. Chatting with Emma and Olivia. Profusely thanking Matt when he gushes over your outfit. Catching up with Harry and Bethany. All the while sensing that Ewan watches you from somewhere in the room.
You're eventually directed by Tom to the corner table where Ewan and Phia share a loveseat, drinks in hand.
"I'll get you a drink," Tom kindly declares, heading to the kitchen.
"Thanks, Tom," you say. You sit next to Phia, leaving her between yourself and Ewan. You finally say to him, "Hey, you. How are you doing? Got here early?"
Ewan's jaw clenches and loosens, and you catch his eyes quickly drift down to rake over your figure. When he meets your eyes again, his pupils are considerably dilated.
The boy just shamelessly checked you out.
"Ewan," you hear Phia say, elbowing Ewan from beside him. "She just asked you a question, be polite." She wags her eyebrows at you, mouthing the words lover boy.
Ewan hears that, astute as he is, and it snaps him out of whatever haze he seemed to be stuck in.
He shakes his head at himself, offering a smile to you. "I got here just before you guys," he answers. His voice lowers when he adds, "You look really good, darling."
You smile in return. "Thanks. So do you."
Phia beams at the exchange, then makes some excuse of having to catch up with the others. The look she gives you before sliding off the seat reveals that she just wanted to give her two lovebirds some privacy.
"So," Ewan inches closer to you, his arm outstretched on the back of the seat, "how did the script turn out?"
"It was better than expected," you say. He refers to a script you told him about a week ago, for a potential project which will shoot in Atlanta in the fall. "I'm supposed to meet with the director pretty soon to discuss it further, but I think it might be the right fit."
"That's amazing," he expresses sincerely. "Rian Johnson's a brilliant director and they would be lucky to have you as their lead."
"Thanks, Ewan! Yeah, I'm really excited for it, it's a lot different from House of the Dragon, but I'm all in for the challenge, you know."
"Is it a drama film, or thriller, or - "
"Oh, it's a rom-com, actually."
"Oh," he nods, leaning back a little, like that needed a bit of processing. "And you'll have a romantic co-lead..."
"That's right, and - " you confirm.
He smirks, like he just thought of something amusing. "Well, maybe I could - "
But you finish your statement then, " - I think Jacob Elordi has just been selected as my partner in the film."
His face scrunches in apparent distaste, "Has he now?"
"Mhmm." You note the switches in his expression, how his face fell when you mentioned your upcoming co-star. He can't have something against Jacob; they already did a film together and it seemed like it went well on set.
That thing nags at you, that little spring of vanity and desire creating warmth in your stomach. That Ewan might be jealous.
Which is ridiculous, given your shared line of work. Besides, you were not together. What could he possibly be jealous over?
"You've worked with him, right? What's he like?" you continue the topic, keeping watch for the minutiae of his reactions.
"He's... he's a good actor, I guess. Dedicated and all that. Pleasant on set." His answer is curt, not giving away any details, tone flat like he's disinterested.
"Riiight," you nod slowly, smiling impishly at him to get him to lighten up, "I'm sure he'll be just as pleasant on our set then. Good to know."
He catches the look you're giving him, causing the corner of his lips to pull in a soft crooked smile. "Hmm, be that as it may... I think I'll do a much better job as your love interest, don't you?"
"Oh, will you now?" you lean forward, and he does the same.
"Yeah, didn't you hear?" he whispers conspiratorially, like there's a secret to be shared. "According to the internet, we have a lot of chemistry. Practically oozing with it, based on some comments I read."
"You've been lurking on comments? You? The last crusader against all social media?" you joke, fully knowing that he keeps a few shadow accounts just to keep up with how his work is being received by the public.
"Sure," he shrugs his shouders dramatically, " that, and also to stalk your page, of course."
"Oh, of course," you quip, "I wouldn't expect anything less."
You share another laugh, feeling light all over, and even lighter when his fingertips brush against your arm for a few seconds. Goosebumps erupt on your skin, and you sneakily rub your arms to cover the effect he had on you.
Tom reappears from the side, handing you a drink as promised, "What are you kids giggling about over here?"
"Nothing," you share, "just that Ewan is planning to join Instagram."
"A damn miracle, that!" Tom exclaims, lightly punching Ewan in the shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah," Ewan looks at you warmly, playing along, "you can be in charge of keeping my account running."
"Tough job. All those fan messages I'll have to answer."
"Yeah, you'll have to quit your day job," Tom adds jokingly. "It was fun while it lasted. The industry will miss you."
You feel a pressure by your shoulders, and notice that it's Ewan's arm snug behind you on the seat. In the midst of conversation, he must have drawn even closer. You glance down briefly and see his knees touching yours.
You nervously take a huge gulp of your drink. There is no hiding the effect he has on you now.
"Don't you two look cute?" Tom comments, then he stands right in front of the loveseat and puts his phone up. Before you can say anything, a clicking sound makes it clear that he has taken a photo of you and Ewan.
"Awww, I ship it," Tom gushes afterward as he looks at the photo. He then reaches over and passes his phone to you.
The image betrays what the both of you are probably struggling to hide - it's there, clear as day. The attraction, the tension, the chemistry. Ewan practically has his arm around you, looking at you intensely with the inscrutable spark in his eyes. His teeth lightly clamping down on his lip in desire.
There's a subtle scrunch between your eyebrows as you return Ewan's look, a result of trying to maintain composure when he is so close. But your posture is relaxed, almost cozying right up against him, showing just how comfortable you feel around him.
As Tom just said, you ship it.
If only.
▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎
Two weeks after the party at Fabien's, the main cast members of House of the Dragon are engaged in an additional round of promo work. Season two is at its peak, and the media is just clamoring to get more from the cast.
Some are booked for photoshoots, others for interviews.
While a minor character in the show, they also wanted you to take part in engaging with the press, but you are already busy with your upcoming film with Jacob. You're currently out in LA, doing rehearsals in preparation for the actual shoot.
Ewan is yet again lounging in a hotel suite, about to do an interview with Vanity Fair.
He sends you a text, in response to your complaint about a difficult scene.
You had shared, It's a pretty dramatic scene. What if I can't cry on command?
He easily texts back, You can do it, darling. Trust me, you're one of the most talented young actors I know.
- Thanks, Ewan. Good luck with your interview!
- Thank you, good luck with rehearsal. I miss --
Ewan pauses typing. I miss you, he aches to send. He does miss you so much. Why can't he just commit to it?
He ends up sending, I'll see you soon, in its place.
He knows he wants to do everything with you. Take you out on dates. Sweep you off your feet. Travel to wherever you will be filming just to see you. Confess how much he wants you.
Why can't he? It's terrifying to him, being with someone, in danger of falling in love - truly falling in love - with a fellow actor, and that relationship exposed to much public scrutiny.
He's always been a private person, so will he be able to handle all of that? Acting is his first love, and he's devoted to the craft. If he succumbs to his desire for you, will that cause him to go off track?
What if the relationship is not well-received? He is aware of how passionate fans can be. What if they cruelly decide to make you the object of their ire as a result? He can't possibly put you through that.
But... but fuck it.
The Aemond in him turns proud and defiant. Why can't he? Why shouldn't he?
He types another message in a second, then clicks send.
And I miss you.
His publicist walks over to him, giving him a few last-minute instructions. In a few minutes, the room is all composed and the interview is ready to begin.
The line of questioning has almost become routine-like for him, a far cry from when he first started giving shorter interviews for previous projects.
The answers flow from him smoothly, stemming from his care for Aemond and the show.
Near the end of the interview, he is asked about the remaining normalcy of his life. Surely it has all changed ever since he landed the show?
"Well, I try to go back to my hometown as much as possible. Just, you know, spending time where I grew up really helps maintain a sense of normal, for me," he responds. "It keeps my feet planted on the ground, that is, when I'm not on dragonback flying high up in the clouds."
The interviewer promptly laughs at his last remark, then asks, "What's next for you? Your fans are just eagerly awaiting your next project. Maybe a film like your new costar? Everyone is excited for her film with Jacob Elordi."
Ewan can't hide the way he perks up at the mention of you, never mind how Jacob is included too. "Ah, yes, well there are some things down the line for me. More than anything, I want to choose a project that I am passionate about, with a story and a character that is rich and complex. Whichever that is, I guess you'll find out soon!"
"Yes, yes, we will!"
"And about her project, I mean, I'm just so proud of her. We've become really close and I think she's a fantastic actress and person. She's going to smash it in this film, that's for sure."
The interviewer nods enthusiastically, smirking as he adds, "Apparently a bit of romance on the cards for her as well!"
"You mean in the movie?" Ewan replies, half-smiling in confusion. But he spies his publicist gesturing to the interviewer from behind the camera, a signal that private affairs are off-limits.
After a final question, the interview wraps up.
His publicist grumbles to him afterward, as they prepare to leave the room. "It was clear that no private questions are allowed. Sorry about that, Ewan."
"It's alright, that was... well, what was he on about? Did he mean romance between the two of us?"
"I believe he's talking about Jacob and her. They were spotted out in LA today. The interviewer probably just wanted you to spill some dirt on your costar."
Ewan frowns, "What do mean they were spotted?"
His publicist appears surprised at his question, and his obvious interest. "They've been papped walking arm in arm in LA. Seemed pretty close, not that it's any of that interviewer's business."
As they walk out of the hotel, Ewan can't help but do an immediate Google search of your name, and sure enough, the headlines about your walk with Jacob are abound.
He can't pinpoint how he feels as he sees the photos, the statuesque Jacob with his arm around you as you beam up at him. He notices that his grip on his phone has tightened, so he turns it off quickly and shoves it in his pocket.
Whatever this is, and how it makes him feel, he doesn't like it. He doesn't like it one bit.
His phone vibrates from his pocket, but he ignores it.
So he doesn't yet see your reply.
I miss you too.
Ewaaaan! Make a move, my guy!
As much as we'd like to see them make declarations of love or get into the passion quick, I wanted to make it as realistic as possible. How would two young actors begin dating? Reader, kudos to you for keeping it cool as a cucumber thus far - it's up to Ewan to make the big move.
Part three may be the last. What'll they be? Just friends? PR relationship? Notorious fling? Or new celebrity power couple?
MASSIVE thanks for all the lovely feedback for part one! 💙
#ewan mitchell x reader#ewan mitchell#ewan mitchell imagine#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#hotd
242 notes
·
View notes
Note
AHHHH I LOBE YOUR EWAN MITCHELL X READER ONESHOT! AS A DRAINED STUDENT, I QM BEGGING YOU MORE OF THIS PLEASEEEE! THANK YOUUU ✨
AHHHH THANK YOU FELLOW DRAINED STUDENT 😂
I got you! The next part to that will be up in 3... 2... 1...
💙💙💙
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ewan by Guy Aroch for Esquire
#ewan mitchell#i am in love with this photo#chemical override 2 out tonight!#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen
56 notes
·
View notes
Note
Oh my gosh I have to say how much I loved I will never say that I am in love, I've read it so many times since you posted it. Getting to read it from aemonds POV is so unique to me I've never read a fic from his pov and now I need more lol 😭 I love being able to see inside his head and see what he thinks about reader, him fantasizing about her but also rejecting her and the thought of being with her is so perfect. I would love love love if you ever decided to make a part two 🙏
Thanks, I'm sooo glad you liked it, that one was an absolute treat to write!! I adore Aemond's POV in that story and I hoped to make it as true to his character as possible. 💙
Part two will get done eventually (with sections IV through VII) which will basically wrap up their story. That is, if Aemond ever comes to terms with how he feels 😉
7 notes
·
View notes
Note
pls I BEG when can we see the next chapter of “The Bolter?” iT’S SOOOO FREAKING GOOD
I got youuuu <3 I aim to update the MCU fics before the next season of hotd comes out!
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
I loved loved loved the Ewan x Reader one shot! Their chemistry is amazing and I’m looking forward for a following part.
Thank you so much, I'm working on it! I just can't let go of these two ~~ the next part will have drama brewing (they are actors, after all) 😆🤷🏻♀️
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
chemical override
Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader
a/n: i caved and did an actual Ewan fic! Given that the lad is more of a public persona nowadays, I reckon it's fine (?) This is pure self-indulgence for all my Ewan loves. May have a continuation but idk for now, enjoy!!
all my other works ▪︎ update : part 2 is up!
The reader and Ewan are paired for press interviews. Despite barely having any scenes together and only knowing each other in passing on set, the chemistry they share cannot be denied...
Your first round of press takes place in a primped up hotel suite in Paris, thanks to the team at HBO.
You are an up and coming actress, much like some of your costars in the show, but the pressure is heavier on you because you were entering in season two, whereas everyone was already well-acquainted with one another.
Your few scenes were mostly with Jace and Baela, so you grew close to Harry and Bethany.
However, the media team decided to pair you up with Ewan for the day. A little fun initiative was set by the team that a character from the Blacks would be do press with a counterpart from the Greens - hence, yourself and Ewan.
You're nervous as you walk down the hallway, unable to fully pay attention to the instructions your lovely assistant gives you.
She tells you about the different interviewers for the day, bloggers and magazine writers from all over the world. She reminds you that each one will only be for a maximum of 5 minutes, so it shouldn't be too complicated. She smiles and eagerly says, "Take a deep breath, you got this!", as you reach the suite doors.
But in your mind, all you can recall is your first interaction with Ewan, almost a year ago right after the table read. You had nervously blurted out to him that Aemond is your favourite character, after he just asked, "How are you?". He laughed, said thank you, before he was pulled away in conversation by Tom.
You pray to the fictional Westerosi gods that things will fare better today. That you won't get all tongue-tied when those steel blue eyes land on you.
Upon entering the room, the team is quick to fuss over you. Sometimes you forget that you're actually an actress now. A celebrity, some might say. It all feels surreal and you have a inkling it won't ever stop being this way.
Ewan is already seated in front of the camera, and he stands to give you a hug as you finally walk over.
"Hey there, how are you?" he smiles widely, smelling like cigarettes and something muskier as he wraps his arms around you.
Unroll your tongue. Rework your brain. Calm down.
"Hey, Ewan!" you respond. "I'm doing great, happy to see you again."
"Well, I only wish we could have had more time together on set." Ever the gentleman, he gestures for you to take your seat before he does the same. "But next season perhaps? Who knows?"
"Oh, sure." You settle in, pleased by the fact that your chairs are only about a foot apart. "We can both look forward to my character giving Aemond the arse kicking he deserves."
He laughs, eyes glinting with mischief. "Come on now, I was thinking our characters are actually quite compatible, no?"
"Well, I sure wouldn't want to step on Alys' shoes. She'd probably curse my character all the way to Yi Ti."
"Hmm," he hums, biting his lip. You can't help but hear Aemond when he does that. "I say you can always count on Aemond and Vhagar to come to the rescue of a beautiful maiden such as yourself."
Well, you'll be damned. Ewan, while still an introvert of his own sort, is as charming as can be. If he's turning it on to get himself hyped for the press, it's working.
It's definitely working on you, to say the least.
The media manager gives the signal for the first interview to begin, and a reporter walks in, all ready with prepared script in hand.
"Here we go," you mutter, facing forward.
"Good luck," Ewan replies.
You both shake the reporter's hand, and he introduces himself as Jared.
"So guys," Jared begins. "Why don't we start with you telling me a little bit about what we can expect from your characters this season?"
The question is easy, and it doesn't take long for you and Ewan to think it through. Jared asks a few more basic questions, before drawing the attention more to you.
"When you watched season one, did you have a favourite character?" he asks you.
You smile, "Oh, I mean, I have to say - and Ewan already knows this, by the way - that Aemond was my favourite character."
"Was?" Ewan says, feigning shock. "Unacceptable."
"Was... Is... " you shrug, rolling your eyes playfully, earning a laugh from Jared. "I think I might be more a Daemon girl now."
"Oh!" Jared exclaims happily. "Does Matt know about this?"
"I'll be sure to tell him - "
Ewan interjects, shaking his head at you, "There's no need to tell him, because I'll convert her back to Team Aemond in no time, trust me."
"Daemon is awesome, though," you say to him, smiling.
"Sure." Ewan makes a face like that fact doesn't matter. Wasn't he the one who said that Daemon would be the character he would most like to play if not Aemond?
"And Caraxes is my favourite dragon." You share a look with Jared, hoping he would agree.
"Yes!" Jared says. "Caraxes is the best dragon in the show, in my opinion."
"Ah, you're both wrong," Ewan says. "My Vhagar is the oldest and baddest dragon in all of the land."
"My Vhagar, he says," you joke. "Seems like someone still hasn't shed Aemond for this press tour."
"And I never will, darling." His gaze is intense when he turns to you, and you clear your throat to fight the warmth rushing to your cheeks.
"Alright, they're giving me the wrap-up," Jared thankfully breaks the tension. "It was a pleasure talking to you guys, congratulations on the new season!"
One interview down, and your nerves have already considerably subsided. Ewan tapping your arm to start up a conversation once more surely helps in distracting you.
In the best damn way possible.
"How do you think we did? That wasn't too bad, was it?"
"I think we did quite well," you casually offer a high five, but your heart skips a beat when Ewan interlaces your suspended hands for just a moment.
"I'm glad they paired me with you," Ewan says, after releasing your hand. You hold on to the armrests to keep your fingers from twitching.
"I am, too," you admit. "I am a fan of you, after all, but I think you already know that."
He blushes, "Well, that's not a bad thing. I think you're a fantastic actress. I must have seen your first film a good ten times."
"You mean my first and only film," you add humbly. "But thank you."
"Only film for now," he affirms. "No doubt this is only the beginning for you, darling. With your talent and your charisma, I'm sure you have potential scripts piled up already."
"I could say the same for you! Have you seen what your fans say about you online? You're the internet's new boyfriend, Ewan Mitchell."
The media manager announces the next interview, but Ewan follows up with a response for you under his breath, "I have seen some things. But when I have a girlfriend, I'll make sure she won't have to share me at all."
Oh, so apparently he is single. But wait - why is he telling you this?
You don't get to mull over that thought. For the time being, the next interview starts and you make sure you do a good job at what you're paid to do - promoting the series.
Not daydreaming about getting with a costar, for heaven's sake. Stay professional.
▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎
You feel lightheaded after finishing the seventh - or had it been the eighth? - interview.
Your assistant delivers a coffee to you during the twenty-minute break. Ewan had stepped out to the balcony to have a smoke, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
He certainly is everything you expected him to be, and so much more. Insightful, cheeky, dedicated. An artist, through and through. He was in the business for all the right reasons, passion and respect for the craft.
If he had any flaws, you weren't privy to them yet. If there are any reasons for you not to be attracted to him, you didn't know what those were yet.
And with every flirtatious remark and pointed smile, you can't deny the hope blooming in you.
"Hey," he reappears, pulling you out of your musings. "I hope you don't mind that I smell of smoke."
No, you didn't, not when it's him.
"Don't worry about it," you reassure him. You tilt your head forward to take a sip of your coffee, but a lock of your hair falls in front of your face. Annoyed, you think to reach for it, but Ewan beats you to it, tucking it back in place.
"There you go, darling," he croons, gesturing for you to proceed in drinking.
"Th-thanks." His eyes don't leave yours as you take a slow sip.
"So," you say, desperate to break the silence, "which interview did you enjoy the most so far?"
"How can I possibly choose? I mean, I really liked the one with ComicSociety, the guy that said our characters have a lot of chemistry and should get together next season. He's right, I already told you!"
"Ohhh, sure, that will go down really well with the Blacks and Greens."
He smirks, "I don't see why not?"
"For one, Aemond is ensnared by Alys, and my character will never give up fighting for Rhaenyra. I just don't see it happening, Ewan."
"Right," he mutters thoughtfully, "there is still Alys in the picture."
"Still in the picture? With the amount of steamy scenes you two have lined up for season three, I'd say she will be Aemond's entire picture in and of herself."
"Hmm," he glances at you once, then looks down. Dare you think it, does he look disappointed?
"But hey," you add lightly, "maybe we can talk to Ryan and he can flip the entire script just for our characters."
"Yeah," his cheeky smile resurfaces, "maybe you can take Alys' place."
Take the place of Alys? Of Alys. Is he insinuating...
"Next round of interviews, guys!" The media manager announces to the room.
"Here we go again, darling," Ewan squeezes your hand once, before putting on his professional face once more.
▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎
By the end of it all, not even caffeine can perk you up. You were exhausted, you and Ewan having finished four full hours of press.
Your assistant comes to your aid, ready to direct you back to your own hotel room.
"This has been such a pleasure, Ewan, really." You stand, this time initiating the hug.
He squeezes you gently, humming in your ear. When you pull apart, he says, "I honestly wouldn't mind trudging through hours and hours of press with you."
That's sweet of him. You're too tired to mask the warmth that rises to your cheeks. "And I feel the same. Today couldn't have gone any better."
"Truly, and listen, maybe we could - "
"Ewan!" The manager approaches. "I'm so sorry to rush with this, but we need to film just a quick soundbite with you for Aemond. Just two to three questions for the Max Tiktok account?"
"Oh, okay - " Ewan is reluctant to turn away from you.
"Perfect! If you could just stand there by the windows please..." The manager already has him by the arm, directing where he has to go.
"We have to go," your assistant says. "Still have to prep for tomorrow."
"I'll see you soon, Ewan!" you call out to him. "Thanks again."
He gives a half-hearted wave, dejected as he watches you walk out of the room.
"That wasn't too bad," you share with your assistant as you enter the elevators. "Not bad at all, actually."
"Oh, you did so well," she compliments. "It definitely helps with the press that you and Mr. Mitchell have such insane natural chemistry."
▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎
In the calm of your hotel room, you get ready for bed.
Just when you're about to finish with your nightly routine, your phone rings from your bedside table. You're quick to rush over, thinking it could be your assistant or your manager, with an urgent update about work.
But no - it's an unknown number. A UK number, as it appears.
Confused, you click answer anyway, putting it to your ear with a tentative, "Hello, who is this?"
"Hi, darling."
"Ewan?"
"Yeah, uhm, I hope I didn't disturb you - "
"Not at all," your answer comes out in a rushed breath.
"I also hope you don't mind that I got my assistant to ask your assistant to give me your number? It's what I wanted to ask you before you left today."
"Oh." You feel fully awake now, by some miracle, butterflies finding home in your stomach. "I don't mind. I... I should have given you my number, anyway. I have most of the cast's, in case I need to get a hold of you guys."
"Hmm, right," he says from the other end. You hear him calmly breathing, the sound strangely comforting, and wonder if he can hear the same from you.
He says, "I just wanted to keep hearing your voice. Didn't get enough of it today," and your heart just about stops.
"Oh. Okay," is all you are able to respond with.
"What are you doing?"
"Just... just getting ready for bed." Phone pressed to your ear, you shuffle around the room, putting some things back in place.
He says nothing for a few seconds, but you still hear his breathing, and some shuffling in the background. It occurs to you that he might just be as nervous as you are now.
Maybe.
"Listen," he finally says, "do you want to hear my pitch to Ryan about why our characters should get together next season?"
A genuine laugh escapes you. He sure is persistent. Playful, sure, but you're definitely willing to play along.
"Let's hear it."
"First," he says, "you have to renounce Daemon as your favourite character - "
"Not a chance."
" - and swear your love for Aemond."
"Keep dreaming."
He laughs, and you can only picture the corners of his eyes crinkling.
"Aww darling," he teases, "don't you love me?"
The OGs will know that the final line is a nod to my first ever Aemond fic! 🖤
Did this slightly delay my series works? Yes, yes it did. Do I regret it? For Ewan frickin Mitchell, I would never ~
#ewan mitchell x reader#ewan mitchell imagine#ewan mitchell#aemond targaryen#hotd#house of the dragon
677 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ewan - Paris, France - June 2024
#ewan mitchell#i have no words#this man's visage needs to be studied#michelangelo could never#house of the dragon#team aemond
40 notes
·
View notes
Text
Back from a holiday and back on the writing grind ~
The verdict is pretty much out on this post and the fic will be posted tonight before season two is out! I am so chuffed to hear from a lot of yous recently, much love 💙
I can't even say anything about the influx of hotd promo - he's so pretty, they're all pretty, I've got a LOT of Aemond love to work with ~~~
catch up on recent works here
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
. . .
#ewan mitchell#got home to this#nope he was not out in london today folks#but anyway#i AM writing i swear#but LOOOOOK
69 notes
·
View notes
Text
Before I get on with my marvel and hotd series works...
I've been playing around with oneshot ideas, and I wanna post just one more for now perhaps? But which one?
backhand stroke (18+) - tennis player!Aemond x tennis player!reader
Rivals on and off the court, things get to a head between the two when Aemond crosses the line and sabotages the reader's relationship.
themes : challengers inspired, Art Donaldson is featured <3, a lot of cussing, the reader and Aemond HATE(?) each other (but if they hate each other why are they fcking)
am I making you feel sick? (18+) - Aemond x reader
In retaliation for the death of Lucerys, Daemon and the reader put into motion the brutality of Blood and Cheese. Aemond and the reader reunite after, caught in the throes of fury and bitter passion.
themes : the reader is Aemond's former lover, Aemond deliberately killed Lucerys, morally grey characters - but kinda tipping over to the dark side, hate!fcking - choking, scratching, the works!
I'll leave the choice up to you! Comment here or in my inbox 🖤 + update!
146 notes
·
View notes
Text
I will never say that I am in love (18+)
{ alternate title: you are the love of my life }
Aemond Targaryen x f!reader
When the one-eyed prince falls, the realisation comes to him in the scent of flowers. In his nephew's laughter. In his dreams.
themes/warnings : just pure sweetness, our emotionally constipated and repressed Aemond Targaryen, he thinks some *impure* thoughts in this one (how dare he!!!), he does NOT want to even think about falling in love (what a stupid distraction, he is not weak, you all should know) - also, he is DOWN BAD for the reader.
all my other works
a/n : this is the first fic I'm writing completely in the male lead's, in this case Aemond's perspective. Complete train-of-thought type of storytelling. (also, this is not in my scheduled works, the idea came to me after watching the new promo clips for s2... never in a million eons did I ever think I would hear Ewan Mitchell utter the word "cheugy" but oh well) - Enjoy! 🖤
{ I. flowers ▪︎ II. innocence ▪︎ III. dreams }
I.
Aemond decides that he finds pleasure in your scent.
The thought comes to him as he strolls through the halls of the Red Keep. Not a strong one, not a revelation by any means. A mere inkling of something he favours.
It is innocent. It is nothing.
He had spied some flowers peeking from just beneath a window. Roses, peonies, or some other, he did not bother to truly look. He glanced them out of the corner of his eye.
And he thought of you.
You smell something rather akin to those flowers - blooming and enticing and sweet.
A simple observation, rising to him now from his memory.
That is all.
Your scent reminds him of springtime in the gardens. You are pleasant, there is no doubt, but that very sweetness can only be construed as sickly if divulged in for far too long, too often.
Besides, his icy disposition does not really take well to flowers in the spring. They are more like to whittle under his boot, and shrivel from the coldness in his gaze.
You are not for him. No.
Flowers. Sweet things. The gentleness in your voice when you call him 'my prince'. Aemond scoffs at himself as he walks on.
It is no transgression to be distracted. It is a natural thing.
You are a distraction, and Aemond decides to think of you no more.
II.
Aemond comes to Helaena's chambers to visit with his niece and nephews. It is only by coincidence that you are almost always there too.
"Prince Aemond." Your voice resembles a song in greeting him. "Queen Helaena has just left to speak with Lady Alicent, but she should return shortly."
"Hmm." You are not a lady-in-waiting to Helaena, but more of a companion, a friend. Yet you do not mind looking after Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor when their mother is indisposed.
This is where Aemond finds you, most mornings. Were it anyone else, he might have sent them away, so that he can spend time alone with the children.
But he lets you stay, because, of course, Helaena would prefer it so. She dotes on you so dearly, Aemond has noticed.
In these instances, he lets you stay only because it is what Helaena would want. Why else?
He settles on an upholstered stool and beckons to the children. They eagerly waddle their way over to their beloved uncle.
You watch the interaction with a smile, as you always do. With your legs curled underneath you, comfortably seated on the floor a few feet in front of him.
Aemond used to pay you no mind, but increasingly it has been nagging at him that you are observing, taking him in.
It is inane to be self-conscious; there is no reason to be. He is the Prince - being perceived has been a constant all his life.
He is the Prince, and you are merely a lady companion.
But when you say things like, "They are very fortunate to have you as their uncle, my prince," it makes him feel a sense of pride. Like it is some accomplishment to be complimented by you.
He knows this. He knows he is a good uncle.
Perhaps it is just that. Vanity.
You pointing it out has nothing to do with anything.
Jaehaerys crosses the many strides it takes for him to reach you again, and he pulls at your hand.
"Come," he giggles.
"Where, sweet boy?"
"Come, come here, come here," he mumbles mostly to himself, grunting when you are unmoving and his three-year old form is unable to magically transport you as he wishes.
"Okay," you laugh once, getting on your feet with your body bent to his level, and you let him pull you to where he wants.
Which is... right next to his dearest uncle Aemond.
"There." Jaehaerys claps his hands in glee, as you curl up on the floor beside Aemond's outstretched legs.
"He has a sense of humour, that one," you grin, looking up at Aemond.
Aemond sees your expression up close and you look okay. Comely. Fine. You are not bad-looking, by any means.
You are the most beautiful lady in the court.
You are fine, just fine.
Aemond would not mind seeing your face everyday; he already sees it every night in his dreams.
And it is just fine.
"Is something the matter, my prince?"
Call him that. Do it again. Or better yet, replace prince with his name. Call him 'my Aemond'.
Aemond desires nothing more than to hear it.
Because... because he is vain. Nothing more than that. It would take a high degree of devotion for someone to utter the words 'my Aemond' to him. And who would not want to be at the end of such idolatry.
Perceive him. Worship him. Consume him.
You already consume him.
Aemond stands abruptly, and you scramble to follow suit.
"Aem... Aemond," you stammer. "I mean, forgive me... my prince, what is wrong?"
Aemond looks down. Your delicate hand is gripping his arm, the sleeve of his tunic doing nothing to mask the heat of your skin.
He is of dragon, he is of fire.
But your touch burns.
The clacking of wooden toy horses ring in the background, the children lost in their imagination.
"Nothing," Aemond clears his throat, and folds his arms behind him so your hand falls. "I am alright. I must go."
The smell of sweetness lingers in his nostrils. Your sweetness. He is growing weak.
He steps away, "I bid you farewell, my lady."
"My prince."
Call him Aemond. Call him by his name, title be damned. By the gods, call him yours.
Aemond nearly rushes out of the chambers, his gait sure and his footsteps heavy.
Tonight, in his dreams, he will finally release his foolish desires and that will be the end of it.
Behind his eyes, he will touch you and taste you and watch you crumble underneath him.
And he will be your Aemond.
That will be the climax of this passing fantasy.
III.*
Aemond has stripped down to his undergarments, supine above the silk sheets of his bed. He runs a hand over his face, and he sees you.
All the better for it, he supposes, that he gets rid of it now before it ruins him further.
It is a memory, from only one moon ago, but he sees it clear as day.
You had let your hair down that day, and it flowed freely, following the gentle breeze. Nestled in what Aemond found out to be your favourite spot in the gardens, needle and thread in your dainty fingers, you tell him that you are embroidering a veil for your dear mother.
You request for him to sit with you, and Aemond obeys.
Pleasantries are exchanged, about the weather, your duties, his training. All the while Aemond watches the contour of your lips, how it stretches back to reveal your smile when he says something that could not be the farthest from amusing, but you find it amusing anyway.
He stares you down questioningly.
You blush then, turning your focus back to your work, "Apologies, but I... I admire the way you speak, my prince. As if every word is deliberate, carefully chosen. You are intelligent, and you care what you say."
"Hmm," he said then, but now...
In his mind, he lets you know just what he wants, "Have you ever been bedded, my lady?"
You look at him in shock, of course you do. Those rosy lips part, and Aemond wonders whether your lips below possess the same shade.
In his grand chambers, Aemond lets his hand drift down, down from the planes of his stomach, to his hardened cock. He licks his lips, and imagines the softness of your own. He strokes the leaking tip with his thumb. The picture continues.
"Do you not ever wonder about the deed?" Aemond asks.
"M-my prince...I do not... I - "
"You must," he sneers. "You must, as I do, and when I do, it is you who floods my very thoughts, and consumes my very being."
"I do not know what to say."
"Say you want to kiss me."
His grip tightens, drawing down and up his cock, covering it with the milky white that has leaked from his tip. He is pained, teeth pressing down on his lower lip. He imagines your hands on him, your dress undone as you watch him come undone.
"We mustn't," you look down in shame. Your legs clench together to keep in the warmth.
"Come here, my sweetness," he leads you to sit atop him, and your work clatters to the ground.
You try to look away, try to hide just how much he is affecting you.
"Kiss me," Aemond pleads.
You comply. He slips his tongue past your lips.
Faster, wetter, he gets harder and it is unbearable. His hands are not enough, he wishes to plunge his aching member right into your soaking folds. Wishes to watch beads of his sweat fall on to you as he pounds you without mercy, his cock squelching deep inside your cunny until it is sore. If only you will ache as he does. Come as he comes.
Aemond lifts you up and the two of you end up stumbling down on the grass. He does not relent. His fingers make quick work of the strings and ribbons holding you together. Your breasts come free and he latches his mouth on one, his tongue swirling against the nipple.
"Oh Aemond!" you moan, and it is a scandal. It is everything unholy. It is every dirty thought nestled in his mind.
Soon he has you bare, your skin practically glowing under daylight. You are perfect, and you are his.
"Take me," you say, practically begging. "I want you to fill me with your cock. Fill me with your seed, my dragon prince. Please."
"My sweetness," Aemond reveals himself to you, undoing his breeches and slipping out of his tunic. How could he resist?
"Do you want me?" he asks.
"Yes."
"Say it."
"I want you, my prince," you affirm, squirming under him, you hips bucking up with desire, hopelessly attempting to rub your cunny against his skin.
"My Aemond," he corrects you. "Say it."
"I want you," you say, "my Aemond."
Aemond rubs his cock faster and faster, the thick green veins in his hand and arms straining angrily under his skin. He feels you, he sees you in his mind so clear. You are his, and he is your Aemond.
He plunges his cock inside you, and you are left mewling and writhing as he quickens his assault.
He groans loudly. The lewd squelching of his cock turning sloppy, hasty, mindless. A few more strokes and he comes all over himself, hot white streaks decorating his torso. His silver hair in disarray on the pillows, like a broken halo. Beads of sweat falling from his temple. His mouth parted as he whispers your name.
He gives himself a few more tugs, emptying out. You would do him so much better. Touch him so well.
In his mind, he still sees it. Fragments of his memory bleeding through his fantasies. He does not know anymore what is real and what is not.
He cleans himself up with warm cloth afterward, feeling shame at his actions.
This is enough. Now he has released you from his being. The desire he holds so closely to his chest must have dissipated along with the lewd act he just committed.
"My Aemond," you whisper from behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso.
Enough. No more of such useless musings.
"I love you, Aemond."
I love you too.
🌸🌸🌸
* In III, reality is fully italicized, and his memories + fantasies are typed as normal.
this was meant to have more sections ( IV to VII )... maybe I'll come around to it eventually.
Let me know what you think of this sort of writing from Aemond's perspective!
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#hotd#ewan mitchell
546 notes
·
View notes
Text
But Daddy, I Love Him (chapter one)
Daemon Targaryen x f!reader
synopsis : the reader is a daughter of the Lord of House Arwen - ever so dutiful and mild-mannered. Slated to be the lady wife of some highborn Lord, someone who is noble and decent. Not the volatile Rogue Prince. Not Daemon Targaryen.
in this chapter : The Rogue Prince and the reader meet. Their fates entwine. A fool is made out of a Lady.
themes/warnings : Daemon being Daemon is a warning in itself, Daemon has a superiority complex, highborn!reader, House Arwen is my own creation (name inspired by lotr!)
series list : chapter one - chapter two - chapter three
word count : 2k ▪︎ masterlist
a/n : the title and the series concept inspired by the TS song ofc <3
Dutiful daughter, all my plans were laid. Tendrils tucked into a woven braid...
Your chambers. The Godswood. The library.
Every day is the same. The mornings start with your ladies in waiting helping you prepare for the day. Running your bath, carefully pressing your frocks, lacing you up in your bodice. Making sure each lock of hair is in place, the right amount of rouge dabbed against the apples of your cheeks.
You were once a perfect little girl, now a perfect little lady.
Soon a perfect little lady wife.
This is your story, already woven, already told time and time again. The same story for all ladies of your standing.
All you have to do is to be good. And so you are.
Thank the gods for the stories you read, enabling you jump into different lives. Adventures and romances you know you will never have, not truly. But you are happy to play the fool with every page turned.
The library has become your safe haven, your home within your home. Nestled high in the sprawling castle of House Arwen. Nothing can disturb you here. No one.
Or so you thought.
The very first words you hear Daemon Targaryen say to you come across as rather rude. You will find in time that he does not mean to be rude. Not all the time, that is. This is just how he is.
"I have always found that story rather dull. Amusing how you seem to be so engrossed in it, my lady."
"Excuse me, but I will you have you know - " you raise your head, taking in the visitor. Or intruder.
"Prince Daemon," you rise from your seat, offering a well-practiced curtsy. An instinctive move of obeisance for a lady like you.
He barely acknowledges your gesture, his face flat and impassive. "That book. I was forced to read it in my youth. Our Maester all but shoved it down my throat."
You immediately do not take to his approach. That book is one of the most famous tales from Old Valyria. He should know, being of Valyrian blood and all.
"I believe there is much to like about this book, my Prince."
"Such as?"
"Well, it depicts a warrior knight of Old - "
"Some warrior knight," Daemon scoffs, not even letting you finish your statement. "He gave up his powers for the love of a wench he knew for just a fortnight. He had every chance at glory but he squandered all of it away. For what?"
"For... for love?" comes your response, though you know he did not really want one.
For someone who claims to dislike this story so much, he sure knows it well.
He mindlessly taps his fingers on a nearby shelf, eyes lazily reading the titles. Drifting through the room with the unmistakeable disdain of someone who is used to having so much, the world practically by his feet, but is disinterested with it all.
You think that you could fall dead right then and Daemon wouldn't care. Wouldn't even bat an eyelash. He rolls his eyes at your mention of love, and it does not help your impression of him.
"There are only two things worthy of love in my eyes, my lady, and that is power and blood."
"Blood? Well, my prince, family is one of the most important - "
"Blood is not the same for me as it is for you. My blood carries a legacy of fire and magic, being of Old Valyria. You would not possibly understand how I hold my blood in high regard."
Oh may the gods strike him down now.
Your hands clench into fists, pressing against your skirts, but you don't have it in you to notice the unladylike gesture. All you can think of is letting him have a piece of your mind. "A family can have a flock of sheep or a horde of dragons, my prince, and it makes no difference to me. Your family is your family, your blood is your blood. But whether you choose to love them does not solely depend on blood."
It is as if he sees for you for the first time then, the moment you show that you have your own voice, and that you will not simply cater to his whims.
He turns eager to press you further, make you break, make you cave in. "What of you, my lady? What is it that you find worthy of love? Family, I presume, from your poorly formed argument? What about a lord husband?"
"I do love my family," you nod. "And when I do wed, I am sure I will love my lord husband just as dearly."
He walks closer, but does not stop in front of you as is the polite thing to do in conversation. He circles you, and you feel exposed by the way he openly takes you in. "Oh, but how will you know? You do not have a choice, do you? How can that be love?"
You do not answer right away, for the prince has just voiced one of your biggest fears. What if you do not find love in your lord husband? What sort of life would that entail? One which you have been preparing for since you entered womanhood, one you always thought you would be willing to accept. It is your duty, after all.
So you say just that. "It is my duty, and if I am able to fulfil my duty, then I am certain that will bring me happiness."
Daemon scoffs, his lips forming a self-righteous sneer. "In the story, do you then think that the warrior knight would have been better off fulfilling his duty and abandoning his love?"
"It is not the same."
"It is exactly the same."
"No," you emphasize, "because he had a choice. I do not."
He had stopped right in front of you, a bit too close for comfort, almost as if he needs to lean in to scrutinize you fully. "Love is the death of duty, my lady. Take my word for it, you would be far better off playing your role. If you truly wish to honour your family, you would not fall in love at all."
He's so close that you can feel his breath fanning your face. If you didn't know any better, you would believe that simply being so near Daemon Targaryen is the reason why your body feels like it is on fire. He gives off heat like a furnace, like a dragon.
Maybe he is a dragon. Is that not what they all say about Targaryens?
You open your mouth to take a breath, lest your throat also burns from the dry warmth, your stomach curling adding to your nerves. It prompts you to ask, "What about you, my prince? Has duty stolen every chance you have at love?"
His eyes draw downward to your lips, and his faint blonde lashes catch the light. The Rogue Prince does look otherwordly. Everything you have heard about him has been inadequate.
His violet eyes meet yours once more. "I would not bother with such frivolity. As I said, my lady, power and blood are all there is."
"Perhaps so. Perhaps true love only exists in the stories that I read."
"You are learning," he nods, and offers what might be his first genuine smile to you.
"Nevertheless," you step away from him, and carry your book back to the shelf. "I do not fault the warrior knight for choosing love over glory. I would choose as he had done, if that were a possibility."
His response is glib, but not meant to offend. "Then you are a fool, my lady."
"I wish I were a fool, my prince," you smile, lowering your gaze. "Aren't all fools happy?"
"You wish nothing more than to be mere mummer who has found happiness in love."
"If only," you say. It's surprising how easy you're finding it to engage in conversation with him. It feels like you have known him for many moons and not only for this moment.
The Rogue Prince, of all people. Which begs the question, what is he doing in the library of House Arwen?
"Pardon me, my prince, but why have you graced us with your presence this morning?"
He turns serious, almost bored, that he has to acknowledge the reason for his visit. "My brother, the King, has sent me to relay an official decree to your Lord father. He is to accept the position of Master of Coin for the small council."
"He... he is?" you swallow. This would mean that you have to go with him and live in the Red Keep. This also signals that your betrothal to Tyland Lannister is afoot. Your father had recently paid a visit to Casterly Rock to arrange for your marriage to Tyland or Jason Lannister. If it is to be with Jason, you would be sent to Casterly Rock. If Tyland, your father would take the offer to be part of the small council. You are to accompany him and begin courtship with the Master of Ships.
At least it will be Tyland and not Jason.
"Yes, I am supposed to meet your Maester here in the library to deliver the royal decree," Daemon replies, the task so insignificant to him, unaware that he has just delivered news that determines the course of your life.
Not that it makes any difference. Your father has always wanted to join houses with either the Lannisters or the Baratheons. Forge a true Westerosi alliance. It seems that he will finally get his wish.
Your thinking gets the better of you, and you stand unmoving, the weight of duty suddenly feeling too much to bear.
Daemon's face scrunches in what can misconstrued be concern. But surely he isn't. He must only be uncomfortable at your sudden silence and blank expression.
"Is something the matter? Are you not pleased that your father is graced with an opportunity such as this?"
"Of course. I am sure that he would be delighted."
"You do not seem to be."
No, you aren't. While you have met Tyland Lannister before, there was never any attraction there. From your side and his. Yours would be a marriage of convenience, for the benefit of both Houses.
How I wish I was the warrior knight.
"It matters not how I feel, my prince."
There is movement by the doors, and the old Maester rushes in all out of breath.
"My prince!" He calls out immediately. "My deepest apologies that I have kept you waiting."
Daemon pays him no mind. His attention is solely on you. Conscious that the Maester observes the exchange, you clear your throat. "I shall take my leave, my prince. The Maester will see to you now."
You tilt your head and curtsy in farewell. As you pass by Daemon, your hand brushes against his, the pads of his knuckes rough against your own. The first and likely the only time your skin will come into contact with his, you strangely think with regret. Still, it catches you off guard and you feel a sensation like needles pricking all the way up your arm.
"My lady," he greets, and under his breath, making sure the Maester cannot hear, he adds, "my lady fool."
Another smile is shared between the two of you.
Love is the death of duty, he had said. Sooner rather than late, you will find out just how it rings true.
Supper with your Lord father is but another constant. You have always been grateful for it, especially since the passing of your late mother.
He is the only family you have around, with your elder sister already married off to some Lord in the Riverlands. She has already done what was expected of her, securing an alliance for House Arwen and bearing children for her Lord Husband.
The mantle has been passed on to you. It was never something to ponder over, as it is not something in your control.
Do your duty. Play your role. Pray that you never fall in love at all, Daemon said.
But might I fall in love with Tyland? Should that not be what I aim for?
"I heard that you encountered Prince Daemon this morning," your father says. "I trust that you acted accordingly as befits his station."
"Of course, father."
"Though it matters little to me how that rogue prince fares." The derision in his tone cannot be contained. Your father has never held Prince Daemon in any regard, viewing him as a waste of his titles.
"The Prince was gracious enough to exchange pleasantries with me."
Pleasantries. Never mind how he mocked your story, your family, and by extension, you.
"Careful, daughter. Prince Daemon is never loathe to chase after the nearest skirt that catches his fancy. I feel for his newly betrothed, the Lady Laena Velaryon. Far too good for him, that one."
"Daemon is betrothed?" you ask, unable to hide your surprise. Last you heard, his wife Rhea Royce passed in a tragic hunting accident. You also heard the whispers that she perished by her husband's hand.
After finally meeting him, you would not count it as an impossibility. But some part of you does not want to believe that he could be capable of something so vile.
"Yes, Prince Daemon has been betrothed once more. No doubt the most fruitful union for their Houses," your father confirms. With all this talk of betrothals, you already know what is coming, but your stomach sinks all the same when he adds, "as will be the union of House Arwen and House Lannister, dear daughter. You should consider yourself highly fortunate. I have toiled considerably to bring about your betrothal to Tyland Lannister."
"Of course, father." The words are empty, worn through, forever echoing in your ears.
Of course. I will do my duty. What is love after all, but a passing fancy, mere fiction entombed in between pages?
The red scales of the infamous Blood Wyrm glisten under the bright sunlight.
Caraxes lets off an ear-splitting screech as Daemon guides him across the skies.
"Daor tolmiot sir." The Valyrian smoothly comes from Daemon like a song. Not far now.
Not far from the seat of House Arwen in the Westerlands. His destination, for some unknown reason.
Just the seventh day after he was sent to deliver the decree, he finds himself returning once more. It is the day that your Lord father, yourself, and the rest of your envoy are set to ride for King's Landing.
And Daemon has decided to extend an offer to you, the Lady Arwen, one that might infinitely expedite your travels.
There were a myriad of justifications floating around in his head. He found out that you are betrothed to Tyland Lannister and his actions on this day would no doubt ruffle the preening lion's mane.
Anything to needlessly anger a Lannister, Daemon would enjoy.
He would revel in the pleasure of bespoiling such a prim and strait-laced Lady such as yourself. It would be like sport to him.
It must also not be forgotten that this would rouse the ire of your Lord father, who has never held any love for Daemon and vice versa.
All these reasons make complete sense to Daemon. All but one which he does not allow himself to entertain.
That he wishes to see you.
Who are you, if not just another proper wench with your honour and your faith for the Seven Gods up your arse? Daemon has much more discerning tastes, from dragonrider to tavern whore, but never one with your disposition.
You are nothing to Daemon. No one.
But that does not mean he will refrain from indulging in the pleasure of causing chaos.
The clouds part as Caraxes dips lower, revealing the outline of your meagre castle.
"Sepār ilagon konīr." Daemon refers to the inner courtyard where a line of carriages await, precious possessions being lugged onto them by footsoldiers.
Caraxes dives down with precision, his wings casting a shadow over the courtyard as he suddenly descends, leaving everyone startled.
Daemon's boots heavily crunch against the gravel as he jumps down, and he scans the wary crowd for his prize.
Soldiers rising to attention, bowing their heads to their prince. Ladies-in-waiting openly ogling him as he draws nearer. The Maester and his apprentices approaching him with rushed greetings springing from their mouths.
And then, there you are.
Standing just behind the small crowd, whispering hurriedly to your companion. You shush when you spy Daemon heading right for you.
"My prince." You perform the usual curtsy. Daemon thinks the movement does not suit you. He much preferred it when you were getting riled up at his remarks back at your library.
"My lady," he greets. "Lovely weather we are having, is it not?"
You appear confused, your eyes narrowing and nose scrunching for but a brief moment, and Daemon relishes in prompting such an unguarded expression. But it reverts back into your polished smile.
"Yes, it... it is, my prince. Forgive me, but I was not aware that we were expecting you."
No. Of course not. "Let me rephrase that. It is lovely weather for dragonriding, and I am inclined to think that you would enjoy the journey to the Red Keep."
"I am afraid I do not follow."
Daemon gets right to the point and his next words ring true, leaving no room for doubt as to his intentions. "My lady, I would like for you to ride with me."
Your posture becomes slack, and you gape at him like he has grown a second head.
"That would be inappropriate, my prince."
"No," he sneers. "It would be inappropriate if I take you for myself right there on the dragonsaddle, my lady, but I merely wish to offer a ride."
Your companion blushes profusely at his words. Apparently the image affects her so much all she can do is stare at her feet.
You, on the other hand, are unyielding. Your eyes blazing right through his own violet. A nagging voice in Daemon's mind insists that this is what he came for. Nothing else.
You finally say, "It is unbecoming of me to even entertain that notion, Prince Daemon. My Lord father and my betrothed would surely not approve."
Daemon takes a step closer, and the two of you stand nearly toe to toe. "But do you not wish it? Do you not wish to fly on dragonback? Much like the heroes in your stories I would wager."
"Those are just stories. It would be foolish of me."
Daemon laughs dryly, "My lady, is that not what you are? A lady fool who dreams of adventure and love?"
You frown when he has you cornered, your thoughts whirring in that foolish head of yours. Daemon feels the need to run his thumb over your pursed lips.
Perhaps I am the foolish one.
The Maester interrupts, breaking the impasse, nervously looking between the two of you.
"My prince," he says, "if you came to speak to the Lord Arwen, he is still in his chambers. He should be on his way down shortly."
You glance at the Maester then back to Daemon, awaiting his response, but he has none to offer.
You tilt your head disapprovingly at his outright discourtesy until he extends his hand to you. "My lady," he says with sincerity, "you shall be made a good lady wife soon enough, but today I invite you to be foolish with your prince."
It is the Maester who speaks, "My prince, the Lady Arwen must not - "
But you rudely interrupt, a newfound fire blazing in your eyes. "Is it as exhilarating as the stories say?"
"Enough to please a fool," Daemon replies.
With a smile, you fit your hand right into his, consequences be damned.
I may not write for him as often, but Daemon just might be my favourite to characterize and the most fun to weave stories with 🖤
This is a fixed miniseries, with a more or less fixed story, so it will only a three-parter.
#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen imagine#daemon targaryen#house of the dragon#matt smith#hotd
331 notes
·
View notes
Note
The way i squealed when i saw your update of maroon. 🥺 I love it so much
💙💙💙
thank you!!!! And sorry to have made you feral waiting 😉
3 notes
·
View notes
Note
i just wanted to say how amazing your This world was never meant for a fire like yours fics are! i mean i even got my best friend who knows barely anything about hotd to read them and she loves them! i just wanted to share how amazing your writing is — how strong your writing is because if you can get someone with little knowledge about the show to love a series you made that just has to be praised!!!
i completely understand if you’re taking a step back from the series/it takes longer to write. your writing shows how much care and thought you put into it ! can’t wait to read more of your stories <333
The way this message made my entire week when I first read it ~~ and even now, despite my ridiculously late response!!! Thank youuuu 💗🥺
Not gonna lie, this prompted me to reread the series and all my drafts for it, and I pretty much figured out where the story will end up!
y'all are awesome... more Daemon for you 🥂
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
upcoming releases in order*
but daddy, I love him (daemon targaryen)
so high school 2/2 (bucky barnes)
the bolter part seven (steve rogers, bucky barnes)
sapphire-hearted part four (aemond targaryen)
maroon part six (aemond targaryen)
*part announcement, but mostly a reminder for myself
*also all fics are x f!reader <3
28 notes
·
View notes
Text
Maroon (part five)
modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader
When the silence came, we were shaking blind and hazy
How the hell did we lose sight of us again?
A series loosely based on the song Maroon of off Midnights by Taylor Swift ▪︎ read more Daemon & Aemond midnights imagines here: masterlist
story synopsis : a modern au where we first meet the reader as Helaena's best friend and the object of Aemond's affections. Will a tragic accident cause these lovers to crash and burn? Or will it be the catalyst for something greater?
in this chapter : the Dragonstone ball continues to unfold... Will Aemond ever be able to redeem himself after tonight? Will the reader let him back in?
series list : part one - part two - part three - part four - part five -
themes/warnings : angst, Aemond is a bit of an ass who needs therapy, jealousy, miscommunication
word count : 4k
“... to these three, Strong boys.”
Aemond’s declaration brings the room into a state of silence, everyone in collective surprise.
It is a known truth. One shared among people in hushed tones and averted eyes. But not like this. Never openly, in this way.
Aemond lingers on you, before something - or someone - cuts through in the corner of his vision. Gasps erupt across the hall.
It’s Luke, who reaches Aemond in a flash and disarms him with a rough shove. Aemond barely budges, but is forced to take a step back, his chair skidding loudly across the floor. He laughs menacingly, and simply watches as his nephew makes another move. It doesn’t take long before the security team springs into action. Mr. Westerling puts a hand to Luke’s chest, halting his determined motion.
“Not here, son.” His voice is gruff and commanding. The members of the high table look on, aghast. But Aemond stands still with a smirk on his lips. He raises his glass and takes a confident sip, all whilst staring Luke in the eye.
“You’ve crossed the fucking line,” Luke seethes.
“Have I?” Aemond croons. “I only speak the truth. I was merely expressing how proud I am of my nephews.”
“Aemond, that is enough,” Alicent pleads, wary of the prying attention from the onlookers.
“It’s the truth, isn’t it, mother?”
“Not in front of all of these people.” Alicent doesn’t confirm her son’s statement, but she doesn’t deny it either, and Rhaenyra is quick to note this.
“Enough!” Viserys bellows, and all heads turn to the sound. “The feast… shall commence. Everyone, we apologise for this commotion. You see, this is why family reunions are not to be taken lightly.”
A nervous bout of shared laughter echoes. A line of servers rush out of the corner of the hall, platters of all sorts in their arms. Aemond’s outburst will be ignored. For now.
His jaw is taut, arms tense on his sides like a viper still preparing to strike. You look down and notice that you’ve latched on to Jace’s arm in a death grip, your nerves getting the best of you.
It doesn’t help that it’s the first thing Aemond sees when he turns his attention back to you. It’s enough to divert his thoughts from Luke’s provocation. As you move to sit back down along with the rest of the table, he swiftly strides over to you determinedly, weaving his way past the servers.
“May I speak with you for a moment?” Aemond leans down, whispering. You hear a sense of urgency in his tone, or perhaps his mood is still heightened, his composure strained from the previous argument.
Jace turns his head, and addresses Aemond with a passing glare, but doesn’t say anything. He leaves the choice up to you.
“Can’t this wait?” You whisper back, pausing to smile in thanks at the server who sets down a dish in front of you. “I don’t think I have anything to say to you right now, Aemond.”
“Please, darling,” he implores, still polite. But he knows that one way or another, he's going to have his moment with you.
You take a deep breath, sharing a look with Jace, and he merely nods in acknowledgment. To hell with it.
“I’ll be back in 5 minutes,” you tell Jace. The entire hall is occupied with the feast, and they barely notice when Aemond leads you down an adjacent hallway, then through the side doors. You wonder what his date thinks of this, or if she has even noticed that he left. By the determined way he moves, you doubt whether he even cares.
His hand is at the small of your back, guiding you. Electricity shoots up your spine. Briefly, you consider if you should go back to the hall where it's safe, and it causes your steps to falter.
He appraises you for a moment, waiting.
“Where are we going, Aemond?” you finally ask.
“There’s a balcony just round there - ”
“This is far enough,” you gesture at the empty hallway. “I said I would only take 5 minutes.”
“That’s not long enough,” he protests right away, oddly sounding like a petulant little boy.
“Well, tough.”
He inhales sharply, biting his tongue as he wants to placate you. He wants to make you understand.
He starts to speak, but you cut him off at the same time.
"Darling, I - "
“I don’t know why,” you shake your head at him, at the whole situation, “you do this. Maybe it is because of the accident, sure. I get that. It’s fucked up, what happened. But you shouldn’t have shut me off. I waited for you.” You step forward, and press your hand to his chest. You feel his faint heartbeat resounding beneath. “I didn’t even know what I was waiting for, or for what. But I did.”
He places his hand atop yours, holding it to himself. He did not anticipate that you would be so forward, and it catches him off guard. Whatever ill-prepared speech he had gets caught in his throat. “I didn’t know what to do,” he musters. “I didn’t think you would… still want me.”
Ridiculous. How could I not? “That’s just… an excuse.” Your thought makes itself known. The corner of his mouth lifts in amusement, briefly, before his brows furrow as if something in his line of thinking cast a shadow over what should be a nice sentiment.
“Is it?” he queries, almost mocking. “Look at me. Look at what I almost did back there. You’ve known me for a while, darling, but perhaps you’ve not known me long enough to know how rotten I truly am.”
There’s a menacing glint in his eye, one you’re sure you haven’t truly seen before. Not until tonight’s incident at the hall, and now that it’s being directed at you, you struggle to come to terms with how it makes you feel.
Is this who he really is? Was the Aemond you’ve known a persona he so conveniently wore in the time he met you?
But you cannot ignore that part of you, maybe even greater and strong enough to trump your worries, which knows that you have seen who he is. You’ve always known. Through hints and whispers. And you wanted him anyway.
Aemond’s only ever this gentle around you, everyone said.
Why would he be? What could he ever have gotten out of it? What else, but you?
You say nothing, merely watching the storm in his blazing blue eye. His sneering expression softens, suddenly conscious at how you seem to study him. At how your eyes greedily rake over his face, taking him in like you haven’t been able to in a long while.
After those long and tortuous weeks apart, this is the first time you get to look at him without any distractions. Without the commotion of the ball. Without him trying to hide.
“Then show me,” you finally say.
He makes a surprised noise. His usual hum, but lilting.
Maybe you can blame it on that damned firewine, or you’ve gone insane, because you didn’t expect you would be so gutsy at this moment. But before you can question where your newfound bravery came from, and before your nerves from earlier can resurface, you raise your hand and let it hover over his leather eyepatch.
He hums again, this time low in his throat. A warning.
Your fingers make contact, ghosting over the smooth surface. You wince internally as you also touch a patch of his scar right under. You don’t even want to imagine how much pain he was in. You can’t, or you’ll lose all your nerve, and likely start crying.
Keep it together, now.
Aemond remains unmoving, a feat considering his pounding heartbeat. He lets you continue, and ignores the instinctive twitch in his palms that compel him to push your hand away.
When your thumb runs over the bottom ridge of his eyepatch, you catch his eye. “Aemond,” you whisper, asking for permission.
You barely lift his eyepatch when his hand wraps around your wrist in a vice grip, halting any movement. You look at him questioningly, searching, but his expression stays the same. Lips pursed in a tight line, jawline taut. His gaze holding you in place.
You don’t say anything for a moment, but neither of you show any desire to move away.
You watch as he finally lowers his head, the hand around your wrist gently drifting to cradle your palm against his ruined cheek.
“I’m sorry,” he says, all false bravado gone.
“It’s okay,” you say, letting your thumb run gently over his scar. “You don’t have to show me.”
“I want to, I just - ” He looks at you, words left unsaid, but you understand all the same.
“I know,” you smile sadly. “I can wait.”
It’s not long before his arm abruptly drops to his side, causing your hand to fall from his face.
“You shouldn't have to,” he looks away then, his distant expression returning. “It’s not fair to you. All this waiting.”
You shake your head at the change in his approach. The Aemond you think you know has always been a steady presence, observant and committed to the task at hand. Has he always been this mercurial?
“Don’t you want me to?” you remark, disbelief lacing your voice. You step even closer, glaring up at him. “Is this why you brought me here? To finally put an end to all of this?”
He doesn’t respond right away, and the bastard just stares at you. His good eye rakes across the planes of your face, falling to your exposed shoulders and the outline of your dress, then back again. If you didn’t know any better, it almost looks like longing, like he actually wants you.
And it infuriates you even more.
You decide that - no - he doesn’t get to look at you like that and yet act in the way he does. “Our 5 minutes are up.”
You turn around, your skirts swivelling with the movement. Each step feels decisive, like you’re walking away from something - someone - important. But you do anyway.
“Wait,” you hear him murmur under his breath, but you don’t let it sway you.
Then you hear his footsteps, heavy and sure.
“I said wait,” Aemond repeats, commanding. You startle when he gets a hold of your arm, squeezing by the crook of your elbow, bringing you to a stop.
“For wh - ”
The words are stolen from your mouth in a rushed breath, when his lips claim yours. This is not the gentle Aemond you might have known, as he kisses you with an intensity that is bruising and relentless.
You’re quite sure you had something witty retort prepared, something to put him in his place. Whatever that was, it’s all forgotten as his tongue glides along your bottom lip. As the kiss deepens and you feel the sharpness of teeth.
“Hmm,” he purrs when he pulls away, and you feel it reverberate low in his chest where your palms are pressed. He connects his forehead to yours, and you’re grateful for it. The feeling of something solid calms the dizzying sensation in your head.
You barely register the silence that filled the room, as your ears are ringing with the sound of your racing heartbeat and the small breaths that escape his lips. You think to say something and almost do, but then he crashes his lips against yours again.
Demanding more.
You feel yourself moving, Aemond guiding your movement, akin to the dance you shared in the great hall. Instinctively, you flinch when your shoulder blades collide with a marble pillar, causing you to bite down on his lip.
A surprised hiss escapes his lips, followed by a low growl.
Then, almost predictably, he dons his signature shit-eating smirk. He liked it.
He hums as he lowers and plants a kiss on your neck, sucking a spot tender. "I think you missed me too, darling." Aemond has become a concoction of smugness and self-loathing, which makes for volatile tendencies as you witnessed in the Great Hall.
This won't make for a steady, healthy, calm affair. You just know it won't. But as he leaves a sure mark on your neck that causes the heat to pool down in your core, none of it matters.
You accept that Aemond is the poison you chose.
Gods, I'm starting to become melodramatic.
"Hmm?" he queries, and you realise that some of your private thoughts might have escaped the confines of your mind.
"Nothing."
He smirks, mostly to himself, gaze levelling with yours. He brings you closer, both hands gripping your waist, until your bodiced chest is pressed to the smooth leather of his tunic. From his height, he can't help but look down and enjoy the view.
A confession springs from his lips, without any hint of shame. "As much as you look good in that dress, darling," his gaze openly rakes over you, like a predator sizing up his prey, "it would look much more suited on the fucking floor."
Oh, damn him to the seven hells.
You’re so caught up in a haze, legs instinctively pressing together as a result of his lustful advances, that the oncoming clatter of heels against porcelain tile is almost imperceptible, but it snaps you out of it anyway.
“Aemond,” you grip his forearms and pry them away from you, having to use a bit more force now.
“Aemond!” Someone’s else voice echoes, closing in. It’s Alys, striding down the hall with sheer confidence. No doubt on her way to reclaim her date.
Her date. Not mine. What the hell am I doing?
You give him a withering look, and he straightens, folding his arms behind him.
“Alys,” he greets her coolly when she reaches the two of you.
“You can’t just run off like that,” she scolds, glancing at you just once before seemingly deciding you’re not worth the time. “They’re taking photos of everyone. You’re my partner. You need to present yourself with me.”
“There’s no rush,” Aemond says. And there truly isn’t. He knows that those bloody photographers would wait endlessly for him, of all people. No matter how long, just so they can get exclusive snaps of what people are deeming the return of the Prince of the City. “Give us a few minutes.”
"You've had more than a few minutes," Alys counters, unrelenting. Anyone else would've spun on their heel already, shirking under Aemond's pointed gaze. But not her. She's learned from having to deal with his moods.
And besides, he took her as his date. He owes her the satisfaction of having this as a part of her image. The city's most wanted bachelor with no one but her on his arm. Call her opportunistic, Alys doesn't care. This is the game, and she will play.
"Sweetheart," she says to you, the name not matching the condescension in her tone, "I believe Jace is looking for you too."
"Right, of course." You take a deep breath before finally walking away, hoping that the flush that's likely on your face doesn't give anything away.
Just before you pass by Alys, she says your name. Bringing a perfectly manicured finger to the corner of her lips, she dabs at it in some sort of gesture. "You've got a bit of lipstick there, sweetheart. Might want to tidy that up."
"Alys," Aemond warns, unamused by how Alys is sizing you up, like you're beneath her.
She knows. Of course she does.
Alys has a sneer that can make anyone feel like nothing but dirt on the sole of her high heels, but you stand your ground, despite the chill running up your spine. Her approach to you now is a drastic change from the friendly and poised confidence she sported when you first met her at the Targaryen penthouse.
Sparing Aemond a cursory glance, you address her with a self-assured smile of your own. "He's all yours. I'll leave you to it."
You feel both of them watch as you walk away. It might be all the glam and the buzz of the ball which leads to your next thought. Vain, but you let yourself have it anyway. Feeling like a runaway princess as your gown billows around your legs.
Aemond isn't yours. It was my mouth against his just a minute ago, his tongue dancing with mine.
When you return to the table, Jace immediately asks how it went, to which you just tiredly shrugged and said, "Uneventful."
He narrows his eyes at you. "You'll tell me later."
In the middle of your meal, Aegon approaches, clearly more sloshed drunk than he was before. Jace just watches him, with the calm recognition that this is not the uncle to watch out for.
"Hello, kids," Aegon leans against the table. He angles his head close to you, like he is about to divulge some secret. "Not that I was checking you out or anything, just saw it from where I was sitting over there and - "
"What do you want, Aegon?" Jace shakes his head, bored with his uncle's antics.
"Alright, alright!" Aegon playfully holds his hands up, wine glass and all. "No hostility from me, nephew. Just letting her know that maybe she should cover up my brother's work."
"What are you on about? Maybe drink some bloody water instead, mmm?" Jace counters.
His brother's work? Oh gods.
Your hand shoots up to your exposed neck, and the tender spot makes itself known as soon your fingers drift above it.
Jace's confused expression disappears when he realizes where your hand immediately went to. "Oh, really?"
You sigh guiltily. Scanning the table quickly, you don't find Aemond there to glare at. He must be posing for the cameras somewhere with his date. You find a friendlier face in Helaena, who catches on to your nervous expression.
She floats over to the small commotion of your little group, practically having to shove Aegon out of the way.
"You alright?" she asks sincerely, and you can't bring yourself to say, everything's fine, but I was wondering if you could lend me some concealer because your dear brother left something on my neck.
Thankfully, you don't have to. Or not thankfully, because Aegon does it for you in a way only he can.
Tapping on his own neck and gesturing to you, he explains, "Aemond's a monster, sis," through a graceless swig of firewine and then, "horny jail for him."
"Actually," he raises his arms like he's making some proclamation, "horny jail for both of you kids. Where is he anyway?"
"Leave it, Aegon." Helaena rolls her eyes, then offers her hand to you. "How about we run to the ladies room and take care of that?"
Thank the gods for Helaena.
"You owe me," she says, as the two of you head to the side of the hall, "and Aegon might be right."
"About what?"
She slaps your arm playfully, and you feign shock but a giggle slips out due to her expression.
"You and Aemond, I swear," she laughs dryly. "He's been even more sullen and emo since the accident - actually, the both of you have been - and now you're back to making out right in the middle of the ball!"
"We weren't - " you start to say, but you're met with Helaena's don't-you-dare kind of glare.
"It's your brother's fault, you know," you shrug as you enter the ladies room.
"Oh, I know," Helaena nods, pulling what she needs out of her purse. Right before she dabs concealer to the purplish spot on your neck, she can't help but smirk and add, "but still... horny jail for you."
- - - - - - - - - -
Aemond doesn't know how much more of this he can take.
The cameraman clicks again, the damned flash is enough to blind his remaining eye.
Alys, being Alys, brought her own personal photographer to the ball. Which is fine, all things considered. She does this for every ball, every year. Aemond's well versed in her ways.
But for some reason, now it's driving him to be more irate.
She positioned them in a partially hidden alcove at the back of the hall. Something to do with a painting she wants to get captured as the background. But it's taking too long, and Aemond can sense the attention of some guests being piqued.
If they ask to take photos with him, too, Aemond just might pull off a runner and abandon the bloody ball.
But not without you.
Where were you anyway? One second you were at the table, then the next you were trailing after Helaena back out of the hall.
At least it was his sister you are with, and not Jacaerys. Or gods forbid, that degenerate Stark boy.
It wouldn't matter to Aemond that he's not his father's top boy, his most precious heir. Whatever pull he has with the Dragonstone empire, he will use against Winterfell Limited, if Cregan Stark ever thinks he can have his way with you.
He catches himself, mid-thought.
And she still thinks I'm not rotten.
"Aemond," Alys lightly digs her nails in his arm, smiling through gritted perfect teeth. "Smile, why don't you?"
"I am."
"Just one more."
So he does. Barely. But it's enough to placate her, and she quickly sifts through the photos.
Almost on instinct, like he's a moth drawn to your flame, he spies you and Helaena making your way back in the hall. Arm in arm, laughing to each other. You bite your lip as you lean in and whisper something in her ear, which makes her shake her head and laugh even harder.
Several heads turn as you pass by, and Aemond can't really blame them.
"Just like that," Alys says out the blue.
"What?" Aemond turns to her, unaware that she stands beside him once more, her photographer already dismissed.
"If only you smiled like that for our photos," she says. "It looks good on you."
Was he smiling? He didn't even notice.
You turn your head just before sitting back down at the table, and catch his eye even as he stands near the end of the hall.
You always will.
Aemond smiles.
- - - - - - - - - -
preview: part six
You hear it. There's someone at your front door. Living alone has never given you much anxiety before, and you didn't think it would start tonight. But who could be knocking at your door past midnight, when you didn't buzz anyone in? You were never on close terms with your neighbours, either.
You sit on your couch looking like a deer in headlights, staring at the door like it's supposed to silence the knocking.
When did you get so wary? It could be Jace. It could be Helaena. But then again, they're not the type to show up unannounced. And also, you would have buzzed them -
Aemond's voice calls out your name, quieting your worries.
You can sense hesitance in his tone. Almost embarrassed. Like he knows he shouldn't be here.
"Aemond?" you find your voice, and go to open the door. You start to ask him just what the hell he's doing here, but the words get caught in your throat.
"Hi, darling," he says weakly, obviously tired. "I didn't know where else to go."
Something resembling a gasp escapes your lips when you fully take in the fresh bruise blooming under his right eye, in angry shades of maroon and violet. The skin split slightly, but thankfully his eye is untouched.
"Aemond, what - "
"Can I come in?"
Series taglist (closed!): @caught-in-the-afterglow @aemondtargaryensrider @punggo66 @dollfaceyourfear @candypurplebutterfly @moonmaiden1996 @mxrgodsstuff @lolitaisreal @blue-serendipity @melsunshine @thejanecampaign @fxngsfxgxrty @padfooteyes @msmarvel-19 @tempo-rary-fix @lauraneedstochill @julczimozart @sarcasticfangirl @witchyv @pyjama-shorts @bellaisasleep @zillahvathek @thincrusttheworks @krispold @yougotthatlove @raging-panda @fleetingly-artistic @throughgoeshamilton @polireader @katsav17 @minttea07 @kravitzwhore @meggiemay82 @hedonefox @daenysx @schniiipsel @namoreno @afro-hispwriter @aemondswifeisme @emcharra @malfoytargaryen @iiamthehybrid @fullmetalriotts @kellzlib @justsumtuffstuff @daydreamy-me @yentroucnagol @kezibear @queenofshinigamis @paprikaquinn
oh, Maroon...
I know I said there'd be smut, but it just didn't feel right (yet) - it WAS written for this chapter, but I'm saving it for part six. Just you wait, folks, not long now!
My Aemondfire is decisively back <3 expect more of our favourite boy
Also - I will take requests for short Aemond oneshots! 💙
#ewan mitchell#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader
233 notes
·
View notes