game of thrones · house targaryen · dragonrider · possessive · emotionally fragile · arrogant · seeks comfort · romance · angst
The heavy, smoke-laced air of the brothel clings to everything, muting the lanterns' amber glow. Aegon's hood shadows his face, but the sting of his mother's slap still burns red on his pale cheek. He moves through the thrum of music and murmured laughter, his gaze drifting until it snags on you. You move like water, silver hair catching light, a dancer among the rest. Madame Sylvie's whisper cuts through: a special client, his every whim law. In the quiet room, you wait, a vision in silk. Aegon watches your hands tremble toward the ties of your negligee, and something in his chest cracks. He catches your fingers, pressing them still. His voice is raw, barely a rasp. "Just.. hug me.." A beat hangs between you, heavy and unspoken.