LUCKY YOU! my name’s mara, 18, i’m a freshman in college straight out of a breakup so i’m pining over fictional characters <3 currently: writing for house of the dragon and wednesday stressing over my upcoming chem midterm most likely, fucking around and drinking too much. everything else is below the cut! under heavy construction.
open to requests!
SUCKED INTO A BAGEL / about
about thegoldtype: attempting to explain my existence
multifandom masterlist: evidence of my debauchery as a teenager
byf, rules, general warnings: i’m a cautious bitch <3
DREAMS YOU NEVER FOLLOWED / latest and upcoming
college au!aemond targaryen headcanon dump
don’t worry darling! inspired aegon targaryen ii fic
college au! jaecerys velaryon headcanon dump
more debauchery from the house of the dragon, go ahead and request <3
modern!aemond has spent the past two holidays alone—frivolous excuses from aegon, his father, helaena, off doing the gods know what. his mother spends most of her days off abroad after the divorce, intent on “finding herself,” whatever that meant. the point was, his apartment laid barren from holiday decorations and there were no gifts or dinners in sight. not for him.
he’s resigned himself to a lonely holiday when he hears an incessant knocking at his door. odd, he doesn’t remember anyone letting him know that they’d be dropping by. helaena operated on spontaneous whims but even she would have the courtesy of sending so much as an email.
when the knocking persists, he groans, throwing his head back. “coming!”
the door opens, and it’s you. instantly, alarms go off in his head. did he forget an anniversary? a date? you two had only been together for a short time, but the thought of disappointing you made him anxious.
“aemond,” you roll your eyes but a coy smile remains on your lips. “did you think i would let you celebrate a holiday on your own?”
he then notices the pile of gifts that lay at your feet and the fruitcake—a fucking fruitcake—that you held in your arms. he hates fruitcake but at this moment, he loves you, loves how you look out for him and think of him, making sure he doesn’t stay alone.
you try to hustle the gifts inside when he takes you in his arms, wrestling the fruitcake from your hands and setting it on a table. he’s kissing your hair, your forehead, your cheeks before he kisses your lips. “aemond! we’ve gotta get these inside—“
“it can wait,” you can feel him smiling against your lips, deepening the kiss and grabbing at your hips. “i have to show you my present for you first.”
man bun aemond man bun aemond. it has some mistakes but I edit with my phone so I can't do my best :(
my edits are free to use and no need to credit if you don't want to. and if you want to send me a kofi as a tip: https://ko-fi.com/amp94382 i'm saving for antidepressants and uni :)
i fully believe aemond targaryen began studying and learning more about history and everything involved because he knew he needed to prove himself to others and because he thought that way viserys would pay him attention, that he would want to spend time with him talking about old valyria. and i really think he found it boring at first, the lessons were not his favorite moment of the day. but then he fell in love with it. he grew up to like reading about westeros, and the conquest, and everything he read. he liked knowing about what others talked, to understand them. he liked being the smartest person in the room. and he’s proud of it. just as he is proud of his swordsman skills. we see it when he says ‘tis i the younger brother who studies history and philosophy’. he’s so fucking proud of it and he knows, his mother knows, ser criston knows, he is the best option to be king.
xavier loves to watch you get ready for the day, usually lounging across your dorm bed and offering hums of approval or advice when needed. the rare rays of sun that grace nevermore’s grounds seem to catch in his eyes, giving his gaze a pale green color that seems to resemble the water that flows from the lake. but when he sees you applying something new, some lip gloss that he’s never seen before in his life, his eyes darken instantly.
you’re sitting at your desk so innocently, puckering your lips and applying a coat of shimmery light pink, smiling and grinning at yourself in the mirror. when you turn around, he swears his heart damn near bursts. “how do i look?”
so hopeful, so sweet, looking at him with adorable eyes and lips that are just begging to be taken. in an instant, he’s off your bed and over to your perch by the desk, towering over you in a way that makes you nervous. “xavier? is something wrong?”
for a moment, he lets the silence linger, watching you with that intense gaze you’ve fallen in love with. lets his fingers brush past your hair, your cheeks and to your lips. without even meaning to, he smears the lip gloss slightly, enjoying the way you look messy and oh, so delicious. he wants to know how much further he can make you a mess, wants to see your lip gloss all over him. on his lips, on his neck, on his chest—
“how do you feel about playing hooky today, sweetheart?”
RETURN OF THE KING BABY, KEEPING YOU GUYS WELL FED TONIGHT 🥳🥳
sorry ab the disappearance there, i flunked the shit out of my chem midterm and i have more finals coming up next week, but for now, enjoy the gems i’ve put out tonight!
pairing: afab!reader x aemond targaryen; genre: headcanons/mini drabbles, nsfw under the cut, minors do not interact, longing, pining, angst ; tag(s): aemond as an authority figure? yes please.
imagine modern!aemond targaryen, after many years of working his way up the ladders of targaryen corporate, years enduring his father’s watchful gaze and his mother’s harsh words, leaves without so much of a second glance. he knows his worth. knows that he’ll always be stuck in the shadows of his half-sister’s success, the family his father pushed above his own. knows he’ll never compare, knows that the only way he’ll ever escape is to forge his own path. and so he does.
it’s a long and arduous process starting from scratch, but the targaryen name still holds a lot of weight. he watches as a new sign is erected upon a freshly built modern building. fire and blood publishing, he reads with a sense of pride that nearly overtakes his senses. he’s determined to avoid his family’s mistakes, embraces the best of his bloodline’s legacy and breaks barriers and opens new doors as westeros’ newest and up-and-coming publishing company.
aemond could do it all alone, if he so wished, but at helaena’s insistence, he relents and puts out an advertisement for a secretary. and that’s how he meets you.
you’re certainly resourceful, he gave you that. he received hundreds of applicants for the coveted position, rejected more than half of them. remembered your application and thought nothing of it, just another college grad new to the industry with no hopes of ever catching up to him.
imagine his surprise, when you arrive at his office--uninvited, mind you--with a written contract for an author that had the biggest publishing houses in a frenzy, a contract to work with him. a nobody compared to other giants. this author was infamous for rejecting deals with publishing companies. “i want this job, sir. more than anything.”
aemond could detect your killer instinct from a mile away. the determination, the stubbornness. aemond knows that if he turns you away now, you’ll end up back at his doorstep anyway. a signature targaryen trait. you’d do well with his family, he thought fleetingly.
that’s how you end up as his right-hand, fielding phone calls, meetings, scheduling his appointments so that he’s free to pursue important deals, coveted authors, almost always with you at his side. you’re by each other night and day, both in pursuit of something greater than the two of you.
everything is so much easier with you, aemond realizes. his normally vacated and cold office bustles with life after you were hired. the espresso machine that he couldn’t figure out now thrums to life, papers he couldn’t be bothered to print out now sat neatly on his desk with highlighters and pens for him to use freely, peppermint tea always sitting piping hot for him to drink in the morning.
you’ve penetrated his regular schedule, infiltrated his thoughts, and somehow... he doesn’t mind.
you’re in the elevator with him when he asks you such a simple question, you nearly choke on your coffee. “what’s your favorite color?”
“i’m sorry?”
he turns around to face you, eyes stoic and expression straight. you almost burst out laughing at the concept of such a serious and determined man asking you a silly question. at your answer, he hums.
the next day, you find a gorgeous bouquet that nearly overflows with your favorite color. vibrant shades and lively stems, and a note on the corner. “for your help.”
something shifts for the both of you after that. you didn’t realize it before, but you do now, working across from him at your own desk. he furrows his brows when he’s deep in concentration, left lip curled, and he bites his nails when he thinks you’re not looking. he softens when you refill his tea, soft thank you’s falling from his lips. his lips that flushed pink and plump, so tempting, inviting--
no. you couldn’t have thoughts about your boss like that. you couldn’t allow it.
you slip into his life so quickly and so easily. he no longer spends meals alone in his cold apartment, usually accompanied with you at new restaurants, cozy bodegas, fuck, you even got him to try a hotdog stand. a motherfucking hotdog stand. vhagar, his great dane, certainly enjoyed it.
aemond sets up a company-wide gala for the success of its first year. for the first time in your career, you’re running late. he started getting concerned, reaching for his phone to dial your number when he suddenly sees you walk down the stairs, dressed in his favorite color. and you’re looking at him, so hopefully, so nervously.
he couldn’t even get through the whole gala. it’s not how he intended to take you for the first time, hushed pleas and confessions hot against your skin as he professes all of the love he’s held for you. “you’re a fucking genius. you’re brilliant, you’re beautiful, and i need you.”
he pushes you against the sink, lips shushing your moans against your shoulder as he makes you watch yourself in the mirror. you look debased and wrecked, but he looks even worse, lipstick stains on his white button-up, long silver hair in a frenzy. oh, but his eyes. so dark with hunger, they were almost black,
when he fucks you for the first time, it’s fast, reckless, and so so fucking needy. he’s murmuring praises to you, a littany of “that’s it,” “good girl,” and “take more for me. take it all, darling.” who were you to deny him?
it becomes commonplace after that. fucking against his desk, fucking in the bathroom after work meetings, fucking in his california king-sized bed, fucking in the targaryen dining room--
he starts lavishing you with gifts and expensive dates, jets you out to paris for dates across art museums, italy for vintage wines, introduces you to his sister and feels his heart soar when she loves you like a sister.
nights spent reading in his library, you on his lap, thumbing the pages and kissing your forehead. laughing at the way he reads the words off the page, making fun of the way a certain sentence is worded.
he needs you all the time, and his love for you clouds his judgement and makes him forget how cruel the world is.
word gets out, and the media is ruthless against you. they think you’re a gold digger, out to take his targaryen fame and money. he remembers the same hate against his mother, how it ruined her and his father’s relationship, the tears she shed and the hopelessness he felt.
he couldn’t let that happen, but he was too late.
you’ve packed up your office, tears in your eyes as you thumb a picture of you, him, and vhagar on his desk. the room feels so, so empty already. in the center of it all, you, prepared to leave, the fire that he loved so much, gone. “i don’t want to fight anymore, aemond. please let me go.”
“no. no. please. i don’t care about the media or what those other assholes think. i’ll burn it all to the fucking ground if i have to. you’re the reason i wake up in the morning grasping for my sheets next to me and the reason my heart drops when i realize you’re not there. you’re the reason i was able to build this company from the ground up and why i kept my wits throughout this whole debacle. i miss the way you berate me in that tone of yours, i miss how you make my tea, i miss your smile, i miss your touch, i miss the way you look at me like you see me, truly see me.”
“there’s no one else i’d rather have with me. i never want to spend another day without you by my side. please.”
wednesday doesn’t like how other people dance. she thinks that the frenzied gyrating and the fist pumping and the stomping of feet is disrespectful to the art form dance used to be. she ignored the stares other people at the rave’n gave her, because she knew she was simply better.
however, as wednesday watched you dance with abandon, lights illuminating your figure, she couldn’t help the cold, gripping intensity that took hold over her heart.
previously, offhandedly mentioned that you did ballet, almost embarrassed at the prospect of being recognized. “i’m not any good,” you insisted. “you don’t have to come watch me.”
wednesday is glad she stuck to her stubborn instincts as she stands against the wall, almost invisible, as you glide through the air and go through complicated motions. she recognizes some it. penche en pointe. chainé turns, fondue and adagio in centre.
she watches the strain of your legs, the muscles taut and the strength it takes for you to leap across the room. focus beading at your forehead, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. she imagines that this is what she must look like when she’s deep into her thoughts, funneling words and sentences into her latest viper novel.
when you finally notice her presence, you almost fall to your knees. in the history of your relationship with her, she has never once looked at you like this. so much awe, so much need. it only takes her a few seconds to reach you, her hand coming up to graze your cheek.
slowly, she looks down at your worn pointe shoes, long dark lashes grazing the pale skin of her cheeks. for once, she’s grateful for the frump family genetics abolishing something so arbitrary like blushing, because she knows her face would be in flames right now. you rarely see wednesday so tongue tied, and when she reaches up to kiss you, you let her.
she pulls away with a gasp, forehead pressing against yours. “don’t stop on my account. keep dancing for me.”
pairing: gn!vampire!reader x wednesday addams ; genre: headcanons/mini drabbles, it gets a bit steamy up in here, mentions of death and violence ; tag(s): vampire and wednesday addams would be such a fucking power couple.
wednesday enjoys mind games. she loves challenges, she loves the downright primal itch she gets when she cannot crack an elusive code, and the almost euphoric feeling that overtakes her senses when she inevitably wins. because in the end, wednesday addams always wins.
her ideal partner would have to be someone interesting, preferably a mystery comparable to the macabre and grotesque novels she adores.
she adores a good argument and a better competition. she's cruised through more than 10 years of schooling and has always held the feeling that she's smarter than her peers. until she meets you.
she has no idea how you've managed to evade her defenses until one history of supernatural creatures class and you easily beat her to the punch to almost all of the questions miss bloodworth asks. by the end, she's fuming, breaking a pencil in half as you turn around with that self-satisfied smirk. bite me.
you're a vampire, she finds out quickly through thing. wednesday watches, enraptured, as you circle the quad, evading the sunlight that bore down heavily in the middle of the pentagon. you catch her eyes and look at her through your sunglasses. "are you stalking me, addams?"
"merely doing research," wednesday stated factually. "had to find out who the new competition was, and from the looks of it, it seems like i'll be disappointed."
you merely scoffed, but she catches the smile that quirks up a corner of your lips. "you'll have to try harder than that."
and so begins your rivalry, of sorts, with the resident weirdo of nevermore high. though you'd argue it was pretty one-sided.
weeks pass, and wednesday just could not get a leg up over you. every assignment, quiz, and exam, you seem to be leagues ahead of her and it frustrates her to no end. enid had to throw a pillow at her from across the room at her senseless and loud clacking. when wednesday looked down on the page, all of the grievances she'd love to commit against you were flying off the page.
of course, there was only one thing she had to do. she had to kill you.
she finds you easily. you liked to hang out by the cemetery, watching as another body was lowered below the ground. no one else came for the funeral, but there you sat. watching without a care, bored with your surroundings. "pray tell. why are you here, addams?"
"why are you at a funeral for someone completely unrelated to you?" wednesday asked, curiosity getting the best of her.
you rolled your eyes. "if you must know, that person was one of my beloved blood donors. couldn't let the old guy kick it without so much of a goodbye," you glanced over at her. "and just because i know your nosy ass is probably wondering, i didn't kill him."
she couldn't help it. wednesday froze, picturing you over a defenseless body, draining them of their blood, watching the life get sucked out of their eyes. you, hands covered in blood, satisfying your hunger.
without thinking, she steps closer. closer and closer until she's near breathless, taking your chin in her hands and kissing you. to her surprise, you kiss back with just as much fervor. when suddenly, you bite her lip and she pulls back. fingers to her lips, she feels the warm blood that's starting to spill. "see you later, addams."
that is when your relationship with wednesday becomes more odd.
coffee dates, quad espressos over ice, walking throughout jericho known as that creepy couple that loved to judge and stare at people. you wouldn't have it any other way.
you became a regular at her and enid's dorm, dancing as wednesday would play a new piece on her cello. she loved watching you dance enjoying the way your arms and your legs seemed as if they were moving of their own volition, your fangs as one of her notes go surreptitiously low.
neither of you could name this new step in the progression of your entanglement with her, but somehow, you couldn't find yourself complaining. fuck labels, anyway.
the stereotype surrounding vampires sleeping in coffins was outdated and had long since been debunked, but wednesday, ever the opportunist, sought out the experience with you. you remember her pressing you against the hard mahogany, excited at the prospect of spending the night in such a cold, isolated box. "get in, darling."
making out in coffins, dark crypts, in your great grandfather's dusty and cold resting place. anywhere wednesday could meet you.
going shopping at uriah's heap, save for the creepy taxidermized animals that sat on glass cabinets. matching black outfits and white gold rings with a drop of your blood. wednesday nearly swooned when you'd placed the ring upon her finger. not that an addams would ever swoon.
modern!aemond grew up without the luxury of the warm family dinners he observed his other peers would have. alicent would try her best, but as they grew older, his father frailer and increasingly more devoted towards the little family his half-sister rhaenyra had built, the number of chairs around the table shrank. first, otto. next, aegon. then, helaena. even daeron stopped bothering to go. he couldn’t blame them, ignoring the pit in his stomach when going home to his flat. closed blinds, lights turned off, vhagar, his great dane sleeping in the corner.
the only times he saw his family nowadays were at weddings, funerals, and high-profile court cases.
when he shucks his coat and turns on the light, aemond turns around and sees you by the dinner table, practically radiating with joy. on the table, a lopsided meat pie that looks burnt at the edges, lemon cakes with lemons and powdered sugar falling off a plate. but in the center of it all, you’re beaming at him. “i hope you don’t mind... we haven’t had a chance to grab dinner in a while, so i thought--”
you don’t get a chance to finish your sentence before aemond is bounding across the living room and into the kitchen, capturing your lips in a kiss that sears your lips when he pulls away. you can feel him grabbing your waist, hoisting you up to his hips as he deepens the kiss and lowers you onto the dining table, kissing you all the way down.
“thank you,” he murmurs against your skin, feeling the ghosts of a smile on your neck. “thank you, thank you, thank you.”
i’d like to write some more for aemond again and i’d love some ideas! i’ll probably post a few blurbs here and there tomorrow but i wanna hear your thoughts :)
new game tell me where you're from, what the current temperature is, and whether you think that's warm or cold, just in general. I'll go first: Michigan, 42F, not that cold.
How do you think Wednesday would ask you out or how your first date would go?
Jenna Ortega has me by a chokehold atm-
ever the multi-tasker, wednesday’s ideal date would be something related to a lead she’s pursuing. breaking into the police department’s office, digging up graves, defacing jericho high school’s beloved mascot. she wants to know if you could keep up, testing your limits and making sure you’re a worthy companion.
you feel her eyes watching you intently as you shovel deeper into the ground, and you miss the slight quirk upwards of her lips as you do so. a first date at the cemetery is certainly peculiar, but you expected nothing less from wednesday.
she thinks you’re enrapturing like this; covered in sweat and dirt, on the precipice of breaking open a coffin. the mere thought has her almost giddy with glee. almost.
onto the side of the gravesite, thing has prepared a picnic of sorts. blackberry pie from the weathervane, aged cheddar stolen from principal weems’ own vault, apple cider and cinnamon chai. a record player softly crooning “la llorona” into the midnight sky.
wednesday could’ve been satisfied with defacing an old relic from the past with you, could follow you anywhere, could do whatever you wanted, but wanted to give you a proper date for indulging her.
you remember the expectant look in her eyes, the way her eyes shimmered slightly with hope and the furrow of her brow as she approached you at the quad with the interesting proposal. her hesitation, your confusion. you hardly even interpreted it as date before she handed you an envelope with when and where to meet her. “come find me after hours at the cemetery. or don’t. it’s a date.”
you couldn’t shake her hungry gaze as you met her deep into the night, clad in the all-black attire she usually donned. wednesday looked close to ravenous as she examined you up and down. “i had to dress appropriately, of course.”
“very well,” she cleared her throat, shaking her eyes off of you to your dismay. you could hear thing going feral from wednesday’s antics in the background. “grab a shovel. let’s dig in.”
“was that a pun from the elusive wednesday addams?”
Hi, i read some of your stories with Wednesday and I really liked your view on her, so I wanted to ask your opinion on something; do you think she would (canonically) genuinely fall in love with someone?
I personally would like to think that yes, when she finds someone who (like she also comments on the series when Tyler hands her Gomez's police report) actually engages with her and understands her, I think she'd be just as devoted. Like, when she falls, she falls.
But I do wanna know your thoughts <3
wednesday grew up watching her parents’ frivolous displays of affection. dates and outings at expensive dinners that usually ended with her and pugsley covering their ears, lavish trips to the catacombs, an endless montage of “mon cher” and “cara mia.” her idea of romance was shaped by this all-consuming love morticia and gomez held for each other.
she’s determined to avoid that.
from the beginning, she has sworn off love. she doesn’t want to be a housewife, she doesn’t want a family of her own. but if you look closely, a few slip through the cracks. her uncle fester, pugsley, enid, eugene. the concept of love, however, is still very foreign. as much as she hates her peers, she’s still very much a lot like of other teenage girls; short-sighted and can lose sight of how other people feel.
for me, i think wednesday falling in love, truly falling, isn’t likely until well after high school and she’s met the exorbitant expectations she’s set for herself. she has so many dreams, she wants to write her books, she wants to solve mysteries, and to her, love is an ending to a lot of those dreams. as much as i want to believe so, i just don’t see wednesday falling into that deep, obsessive, passionate love that morticia and gomez have for each other.
wednesday’s love is cool and steady, sneaking up on you from behind. she’ll be guarded for the longest time, likely not even realizing the feelings she harbors until much later, but when she realizes, she’ll be dead-set on what she wants. she knows you and most importantly, she knows what she has to do. once you’ve captured wednesday’s attention, it’ll be hard to let go.
