Let The Light In
Pairing: Aemond x fem!reader
Summary: You try to help Aemond relax when the world outside your shared bedroom becomes too much for him to handle.
Warnings: slight angst & fluff
A/N: This fic is incredibly self-indulgent, as I am deeply infatuated with Aemond's hair. No beta, so I apologize for any spelling and grammar mistakes!
The soothing, gentle sound of crackling wood from the fireplace echoed in the air. The shadows of the flames danced along the walls of your and Aemond’s shared bedchamber. Lately, though, it seems like it’s just yours. Your husband had decided to sleep in his own private quarters for the past week. Something that perturbed you deeply.
This week has been filled with the most restless nights you've had in years, leaving you thoroughly exhausted. You had grown quite accustomed to sleeping in Aemond’s strong arms. The two of you had never spent a night apart since your wedding night two years ago. The marriage had been arranged, of course, but the two of you had quickly become besotted with each other.
Has your spark faded so soon?
You took a deep breath, trying to keep yourself calm. Surely, you were just overthinking things. Aemond had his hands full with the threat of war looming on the horizon. It made sense that he would have little time for you. That was just something you would have to learn to accept.
You let your eyelids fall closed as you continue to run the brush through your hair. The day had quickly come and gone. The hour of ghosts was quickly approaching. You prayed that sleep would come easier tonight. Your poor mind and body craved a peaceful night's rest.
You jump on the small cushion bench you have been sitting on as your bedroom door slams open and closed—Aemond storms into the room. You watch quietly as he paces the room, mumbling angrily in high valyrian. You try to gauge what he is saying, but he is talking too quietly and far too quickly for you to understand. Even with the lessons Aemond and Maester Orwyle have given you over the past year and a half, it was nearly impossible to comprehend Aemond when he spoke so quickly.
You call him, but he ignores you. So you try again, this time much louder. His back is turned to you. You watch as he slowly turns, his eye wandering about the room as if it were some foreign place. You squirm in your seat when his gaze finally falls upon you.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I thought I had gone to my room.”
Your heart sinks at the thought that he no longer considers this his room.
“It is yours, just as much as it is mine,” you shrug.
“Of course,” he mutters sheepishly, shuffling his weight back and forth on his feet.
“Has something happened?” You ask, hoping to draw him into a conversation before he tries to flee.
With an exasperated sigh, Aemond moved to the bed, sitting at the edge. He clenched the blanket tightly in his hands. The two of you sit in silence. You have to bite your tongue to keep yourself from badgering him with questions. He’ll never talk if you do that. The minutes feel like hours, but soon, he speaks.
“My mother is angry with me,” he says quietly.
I should have known, you thought. You were well aware of the strain growing between your husband and good-mother since he had returned from Storm’s End. Since the murd- the death of Prince Lucerys Velaryon. Your heart aches for your husband. You know how close Aemond was to his mother and how much she meant to him. No doubt, the distance between them was significantly affecting him.
“She blames me for starting this war. As if she and my father's council have not been plotting to usurp the throne for years,” he scoffed.
His voice was laced with anger and frustration. You want nothing more than to go to him. To reach out and soothe him, but you're afraid he will leave. This was the most time he had spent with you in a week. You were desperate for his attention.
“The realm is preparing for a war the likes of which Westeros has never seen. She is afraid.”
“Aren’t we all?” He snickered.
The two of you sat in silence. Aemond rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head in his hands. He seemed so small, almost like a child. Your heart grew heavy, weighed down by your worry and concern for your sweet husband. You wanted to help him, but you did not know how—or if he would even let you.
Your fingers twitch, curling around the brown wooden brush handle in your hand. You look down at it. A smile spreads across your lips as an idea finally comes to mind. You turn around, placing the brush down on the table before turning back towards him.
“Come here,” your soft voice cuts through the silence. You beckon Aemond closer with your hand.
Aemond lifts his head. The man looks at you apprehensively, his eye flickering towards the door. For a moment, you fear he will run, but he doesn’t. Instead, he gives you a slight nod and pushes himself up from the bed. You stand just as he’s about to reach you and quickly step aside. You gesture towards the cushioned bench, instructing him to sit. He hesitates but follows your instructions.
Aemond sits up tall on the bench, his body tense and rigid. His violet eye watches you in the mirror as you step behind him.
“May I?” You ask, gesturing to his eyepatch.
His face goes pale, and for a moment, you regret asking. Perhaps you were overstepping. Though before you can apologize, he nods his head. Your heart skips a beat, overjoyed that he still trusted you enough to see him like this. You have to stop yourself from smiling like a fool.
You try to steady your trembling fingers as you loosen the eyepatch strap. Your eyes flicker towards the mirror. He isn’t looking at you anymore. Instead, his violet eye is closed. He flinched, and his brows knit together as you pulled the eyepatch off his head. You freeze, unsure if you hurt him or he is just uncomfortable. It had been years since he had lost his eye, but it still caused him some discomfort.
“Are you alright?” You asked.
He blinks, eye flickering towards you. He watches you, no doubt waiting for some sign of disgust or repulsion. But you give him none; you never have. In your eyes, he was perfection. You do your best to look at him with all of the genuine concern and admiration that you can muster.
“I-,” his voice cracked. He blushed and quickly cleared his throat.
“I’m fine.” He answered, more assuredly this time.
You nod, leaning over his shoulder to carefully place the eyepatch on the table. Your finger moved back to his hair, gently tugging on the tie that held his hair away from his face. Thankfully, it slips off with ease. His hair falls forward, curtaining around his face.
You gather the hair off his neck, drawing it onto his back. A soft sigh escapes him as your fingers graze against the sensitive skin of his neck.
You reach over his shoulder again, picking up the brush you had been using moments ago. His single eye falls closed as the brush touches his head. You go slowly, trying to be careful of any knots and tangles, though there are none. The brush skims through his silver tresses with ease. You find yourself growing envious, thinking of all the times you and your handmaids have had to wrestle with your hair.
His hair shines like beaten silver under the candlelight. The sight is almost hypnotic. You continue with your work, letting the brush run through his silver strands again and again. Little by little, his facade crumbles, and his body relaxes under your touch. After a while, you put the brush back on the table.
You massage his scalp with your fingertips. Aemond’s head is tilted back just a bit, and a soft hum echoes from his throat. The sound reminds you of a cat purring. You smile, feeling rather pleased with yourself. Carefully, you remove your fingers from his hair before brushing through it one more time.
“Would you like me to braid it?” You ask.
“Yes, please,” he answers.
You nod and get to work. You don’t do anything too extravagant, just a simple three-strand braid. Once you are finished, you lean down and press a soft kiss to the crown of his head.
“All done,” you smile.
“Thank you,” he replies, sleepily.
You expect him to get you and leave, but he doesn’t. Instead, he spins around on the bench. His large hands gently take hold of your hips, pulling you a bit closer.
“I’m sorry,” he says so quietly that you almost missed it.
“For what, my love?” You ask, gently caressing the side of his face with your fingertips.
“For this ... distance between us.”
“Oh,” you hum. “It’s fine. I’m sure you have your reasons.”
“That’s not an excuse,” he mumbles. “I have been-”
You shush him and place a gentle kiss on his scarred brow. “All is forgiven.”
His lips part as he prepares to argue, but he doesn’t. He closed them and nodded, silently thanking you for your forgiveness. Silence takes over the room again, but it’s more comfortable this time. Aemond rubs circles on your hips, through your thin nightdress, with his thumbs.
“Perhaps I shall rest here tonight?” He suggests, avoiding your gaze.
“I would like that,” you smile.
Aemond stands, and you help him undress before the two of you make your way back to your shared bed. Your husband climbs into the bed after you, wrapping his arms around your waist. Your back is pressed against his bare chest, and almost immediately, you can feel your mind at ease.
“I love you,” he whispers against your hair.
You try to say it back but cannot, as sleep pulls you away from the waking world. You squeeze his hand in yours and hope he understands.
332 notes
·
View notes
Modern!Reader x Alastor Headcanons | Third Place Giveaway Winner
This is very funny to me. Alastor dating or befriending someone who's more similar to Vox to say the least than him when it comes to...technological advancements
CW: none, just some bickering between what could be seen as an old married couple
It's a little hard for almost everyone to tell, but you and Alastor are close
I say it's hard to tell because you two are constantly throwing jabs at each other and honestly, it couldn't be helped
He was just so...old
Everything about his habits and interests were outdated and Alastor wasn't the type to do his own thing quietly
There's always a comment, a sideways glance, a light scoff which leads to,
"Don't be upset because you don't know how to use a cellphone."
"Me? Upset over such a device? You confuse me with someone else, dear."
"I don't think I am. What'd you have again? Messenger birds?"
"Very funny."
You would simply chuckle at Alastor for the most part. You've heard it all before, your love and talent did lead to you VoxTech for a bit of your afterlife, but you didn't stay.
You found it more enjoy using what you know to help Charlie with her cause.
You were a helpful person in your own way. It was the only reason you kept trying to introduce Alastor to some form of modern tech.
"I can make you the simplest most basic cellphone Hell has ever seen. Only phone calls and texting--"
"You lost me."
"--Only phone calls and we'll get to the rest eventually?"
"No."
You'd groan out, "even Lucifer has a cellphone! He's older than you!"
"Was that supposed to help you convince me?"
"...You're such a loser."
You have special nicknames for Alastor when you feel like picking with him.
Old Allie
Old Man Red
Ye Old Alastor
Arthritis Strawberry
Alastor: Great Gatsby Edition
He hates all of them, of course, and that's why you love them
Alastor is completely uninterested in what you do. His focus is just more on your talent and passion than what you're making
You argue that what you're making is your passion so he should show a little interest
This would lead to a breakthrough!
"Only for phone calls."
"Right."
"Don't add anything else."
"Mhm."
"______. I mean it."
"Don't go using that scary tone with me, mister. I'm your friend, so trust me!"
It took all your willpower to not add anything extreme to the, in your opinion, useless cellphone. Phone calls only, just as promised. You knew Alastor agreed to shut you up, but you were still satisfied with your win
That's why you were very surprised when you got a call from him and you knew he wasn't in the hotel. You of course told everyone who would listen (AKA everyone in the hotel)
You yourself were always on the move and it made you happy that the chance to hear Alastor while you were both away was significantly higher (he lowkey hates the thing, so he doesn't always answer)
After a while, like a lot of elderly, Alastor would just straight up not take the phone with him.
"Al."
"Yes, my dear?"
"The point of a cellphone. You get it, yeah?"
A roll of the eyes
"Al."
"I still use the thing."
"You leave it in the hotel!"
"I forget it here and there."
"You can't tell me you're not someone's fuckin' grandfather with that lame excuse. At this rate, I'm gonna glue the phone to you."
Honestly, he kept it on him for almost two months. You expected to be having this conversation sooner.
After nagging him for a few days, Alastor made sure not to "forget" the cellphone anymore, much to his annoyance. He, of course, couldn't be seen with the thing, so it was just easier to leave it at the hotel
Two more weeks in, and Alastor would definitely be thinking of ways for this device to get in an unfortunate accident, if you will
While fiddling with the damned thing one night, Alastor finally found the one extra feature you decided to add. After a small click sounded, the small phone extended in his hands, making him let it go. The small screen was now larger; touchscreen.
Alastor's eye twitched. He could almost hear you cackling.
He was going to end you.
@theblueslytherin Here as promised! I really hope you like it!
Alastor Taglist: @alastorssimp @saints-wrapped-in-plastic @dasimp777
118 notes
·
View notes