#guiltypleasures

I was still tingly from the massage, following a long hard day of drills with Coach. Coach had spent the last hour working the knots out of my quads with a precision that bordered on surgical. When he finally stood up, wiping his hands on a towel, he’d looked down at me with that dark, unreadable gaze.

"Your kit is still in the dryer, Wells," he’d rumbled, his voice low. "Go find something of mine to put on. Dinner will be here in ten."

I didn't need a second invitation. I made my way to his bedroom, the plush carpet soft under my feet. I pulled a pair of his heavy black joggers from the drawer and a deep-cut charcoal tank top. As I pulled the cotton over my head, the scent hit me, cedar, expensive leather, his sweat and the clean, masculine heat that was uniquely Coach. It was a sensory overload, making me feel centered, safe and comfortable. It also made me feel a little horny and turned on at the same too.

I was still adjusting the drawstring when I heard the heavy thud of the front door closing.

When I walked back into the living room, the atmosphere had shifted. The coffee table was no longer empty. Coach was standing there with, two large, steaming takeout containers from Golden Curds were waiting, the lids popped to reveal a mountain of fries and gravy, in his hands. It was the only place in the Golden City that did it right, importing the curds straight from Quebec to ensure that authentic "squeak." It was my guilty pleasure when I was in the Golden City, a taste of home a taste of Canada.

Coach was sitting on the edge of the couch, looking like a total force of nature. He was rocking his red-and-black plaid flannel, completely unbuttoned and hanging open over his massive, sculpted chest. He had on his faded blue jeans and white socks, looking rugged and dominant in the low amber light.

“You’re trying to soften me up, Coach,” I teased, taking a seat on the sofa and pulling a container toward me. I took a massive, blissful bite. The cheese curds were perfect. “If the guys saw you in flannel ordering poutine, they’d never take another lap seriously.”

Coach didn’t laugh. He just sat there, inches from my knees. He leaned forward, the open flannel draping around his frame, his eyes locking onto mine with that dark, predatory focus that always made my pulse jump.

“I’m not softening you up, Wells. I’m fueling the engine,” Coach whispered. He reached out, his hand sliding over the charcoal cotton of his own tank top to grip my shoulder, his thumb tracing the line of my collarbone.

I watched him take a slow, deliberate look at the mountain of fries and gravy in my lap, then back up to my face.

“It’s a lot of calories, Wells. High density. High impact.” He leaned in closer, the scent of the poutine and his cologne wrapping around me. “And you know my rules about efficiency. We aren't letting a single one of those calories go to waste.”

I swallowed, the poutine suddenly feeling secondary to the heat coming off him. “And how do you suggest we… optimize the burn-off?”

Coach’s smirk was slow and wicked. He gave my shoulder a possessive squeeze before sliding his hand down to the waist of my joggers, his joggers.

“I think you know exactly how we’re going to spend the next few hours,” Coach purred, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. “By the time I’m done with you tonight, you’ll have burned off that poutine and then some. I’m going to make sure that by tomorrow morning, the only thing you’re 'full' of is me.”

I felt a cocky, breathless grin hit my face. I set the bowl down on the side table, my "relaxed" vibe instantly shifting into high-gear loyalty.

“Consider the workout accepted, Coach,” I rasped, leaning into his space until our foreheads almost touched. “But don’t be surprised if I’m a little hard to handle once you get me into the 'end zone.' I tend to play rough when I’m properly fed.”

Coach’s grip tightened on my waist, his thumb hooking under the elastic of the joggers. He pulled me just an inch closer, his gaze dropping to my mouth.

“That’s fine, Wells,” he whispered, his voice dark and satisfied. “I’ve always preferred an asset that stiffens up under pressure. Just make sure you’re ready to take everything I’m about to give you—I don’t do 'half-time' adjustments in the bedroom.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH !!! in advance

HI!!!

First of all, again, I'm glad you liked it 😼 and were able to pick up on the complexities of their dynamic!! Thats usually what I try to go for when it comes to all my fics, some sort of complication, especially with characters like Aegon. HOTD is practically a breeding ground for my weird angst 😈. I also just have a general greater liking towards problematic down right horrible characters in general…

But anyway!! When it comes to Guilty Pleasures I sort of already had a thought out idea in mind. I knew I had been wanting to get a HOTD fic out on my page and I’m not sure what exactly compelled me to write for godforsaken Aegon Targaryen before I write for godforsaken Aemond Targaryen but alas here we are. The inspo behind Guilty Pleasures actually stemmed from an in-the-making-idea that I plan to implement in my fanfic, Of Crowns & Chains. It's a Aemond Targaryen x Servant Male OC and in my head, seeing as the main character not only grew up around Aemond but Aegon as well, there would have to be an interesting dynamic there. The prologue and chapter 1 are on my page if that's something you'd be interested in checking out 😛. But, I essentially implemented a similar dynamic that the main character and Aegon have and made it into Aegon x reader. The only real difference is the sexual nature of it all that we see happen with reader and Aegon.

Now, when thinking in terms of Aegon and the reader, there has to be some reason behind why he is so inclined to cling and seek out sexual favor from reader despite the nature of their circumstances. Not only that but reader is also a non-woman (ofc guilty pleasures in particular can be read by anyone especially given the gn tag but like all my fics, they are written with intent of a non-female character but i digress). In my head, Aegon would be the more sexually…robust of the family so therefore more inclined to (at first drunkenly and then not) seek whatever –and whoever– makes him feel good in the moment, both sexually and not. But the question is, why reader? Who is stopping this man from venturing out onto silk street? It's also quite well known that Aegon has eyes for the servants just –in his general vicinity cus yk, that's who he is 💀. But, as mentioned by reader, this is not the first occasion this has happened and seemingly not the last.

Not to mention, reader is, somewhat, willingly going along with Aegon and his–habits? There is a clear (at least in my head) wanting to participate in these times when the crown prince becomes so desperately out of his wits. Is it power? A servant having one reign of the dragon locked around their fingers? That must evoke some sense of pride. Especially given his wishy washy state reader constantly finds themselves involved with. There reader is, for once, bending Aegon to their will. I could go on. Reader themselves is written with their own complexity seeing as they are a servant and correspondingly, all servants have had gratingly tough lives but. —I’ll depart before I get ahead of myself.

Perhaps a part two is in order?

Guilty Pleasures

Edit: Part 2 is out :]

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FINAL BRIEF: EVERYDAY THINGS - PHOTOGRAPHY

Photo 1 is of jigsaw pieces.

Today’s photographs are of things that have entertained me during this time in quarantine. Today I started yet another jigsaw to fill the time.

luv how u write! <3 

dude I’m legit so in awe (it’s so fun to watch!) of everyone that once made fun of me (such a sun Scorpio/Lillith, lol learning to love it). The tide is turning real fast hehe, watch out neoliberal dream babes ur collective symbolism might be under attack in 2020 <3