#arrax the bearded dragon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darushi-chan · 1 year

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MORE HOTD REPTILES AU 🤗 EDIT: After I took a nap I checked the post on my phone and the quality of the image looked like crap, dont know if it is my damn phone or what, but just to make sure I divided the strip in parts, now it looks fine in my phone, I like looking at Vhagar the komodo dragon in good definition ok xD? Also Arrax with his cute little crown. Im in pain, I commited myself and finished this in almost 3 days, never again lol. Headcanons time: -If you follow my other posts you know Aemond and Luceyrs are roommates, Aemond lied and said Vhagar “was friendly” so Luke will stay with them, he had been very careful and nothing happenned for like 3 weeks, but the one time he went jogging and didn’t make sure Vhagar’s enclosure was properly closed something happened. -His “Lucerys it’s in danger” sense tingled and he came back in time to prevent disaster, but Luke saw Vhagar in his room. -Lucerys knows Vhagar its not “friendly”, but he also wanted the roommates situation to work, so he feigned ignorance and trusted Aemond, after all Vhagar did listen to him, most of the time. -Vhagar did want to have snack time so bad 😞, but she also loves her almond, so no eathing the tiny dragon, Arrax its “her friend” now, and shes also a new member of Luke’s youtube videos! Plenty of new subscribers thanks to that 😂. -Yes, their silly costumes are a little bit of an hommage to their HOTD real characters, after all we do love to make Luke and Aemond queen and king (Or kings) in a lot of fics 😋. -Also also, yes Luke its wearing crocs with cute charms on them, I also love jogging pants, very comfortable 😌. -Vhagar its inded as tall as Luke when she stands, she’s a full grown Komodo, my doberman its as tall as me when he stands, so I think that makes it possible, I’m like 1.60 m, 5.25 feet, so yeh. -After this Vhagar and Arrax become really good friends indeed, they take walks together with Luke and Aemond, they sunbathe, Luke makes videos with both of them from time to time, they also play catch and chase together, this scares Luke a little, but Vhagar will not hurt Arrax, they are important to her know, Aemond likes them, so does she. -The costumes and videos are a little bit tedious, but Luke makes sure to never do something she hates, and Aemond always gives her special treats and cuddles after them, she also gets a fanbase that sends her gifts! Luke says she’s a star now 😘. -MOre lore that keeps me awake at night: Targ special pet companions Need to be a reptile or amphibian+ blood magic with a Targ blood family member sample, usually blood+ some other secret enchantments. Usually, the parent will bring their baby or child and be shown a wide variety of options, specifically eggs, and if there’s a connection with one or more, they are taken and can go through a series of trials and blood magic rituals, and the one that hatches at the end it’s the one that goes with the client. This process can take some time and specially lots of money from the client. Also, it can only work with people from Valyria, the only ones that can really afford this type of thing are the Targs and their blood family members. They may or may not also have a very restrictive contract with the dragon keepers for this kind of service too, hehe. Driftmark incident and bonding with Vhagar!: Alicent lets Viserys have his way with Aegon and Helaena, they got their pet companions since very young, she agreed since both were also relatively safe options, but then he started to get sick and wasn’t as able as before. She never liked this tradition the Targs had, just looking at Rhaenyra’s Syrax, or even worse, Laena’s Vhagar, the seven forbid one of her kids bonds with a monster like that, so with Aemond she gets more control of what her son get access to bond with, small geckos, frogs, turtles…safe and/or small companions, but none of those take, time passes and then Aemond decides he wants to have a big crocodile like his father, Alicent hates the idea, she wasn’t a Targaryen, so she really didn’t believe it was safe. But no matter what other small safe reptiles Aemond was shown none of them reacted. Aemond knew why, he didn’t want any of those “safe” companions, Aegon and Jace won’t stop bullying him with one of those, he needed something that commanded respect, not something “small and safe”. More time pases and Aemond still doesn’t have a pet companion, Alicent stops trying, and he gives up a little. The day of the funeral the kids dare Aemond to go into Vhagar’s enclosure. He accepts and goes into Vhagar’s room at Daemon and Laena’s house, there he finds this really big lizard he has never seen before. The dragon keepers haven’t shown him anything like it, and even if it’s not a croc, he knows this would definitely do, his excitement goes away when he kind of feels the creature’s sadness. He starts to sing her a Valyrian lullaby (The one Daemon sings to Vermithor), and this catches Vhagar’s attention, she goes out from her enclosure and Aemond touches her snout (Like in how to train your dragon, hehe) while he says Lykiri and Dohaeras (Like in the show!). Vhagar can sort of feel the connection, but we still need the blood for it to be completed. Cue the other children. Aegon and Jace can be a little bit mean and feel kind of “attacked” (Inferiority complex it’s that you?), that Aemond it’s getting a good reaction from Vhagar, they weren’t expecting that after all, and because children can be little shits they enter the room and try to make fun of Aemond for singing Vhagar a lullaby, Vhagar has never seen this other children before and doesn’t like all the noise so she goes back to her enclosure. Rhaena and Baela are not vibing that much with the bullying, neither does Luke, but then Aemond gets mad and lashes at everyone, telling them they have lame companions, how they wish they could have something as cool as Vhagar, especially the idiot Strong bastards. Luke and the girls are sad and crying and answering their own mean things to Aemond and then everyone its fighting. Aegon knows their parents are gonna kill him if something happens, so he runs away in search of the adults. There is some stuff used to feed Vhagar in the room (Gloves, scissors, thongs and stuff like that) and in the struggle those things end up in the floor with Aemond and Jace, Aemond grabs the scissors and slashes them around in desperation and ends up cutting Jace a little. Its then that Luke, that was comforting Laena and Baela after they got punched in the squabble, sees this and gets scared, and ends up pushing Aemond, he trips around the mess and pierces his eye with the scissors, by then the adults arrive and all hell breaks loose. While everyone screams, Vhagar gets close to Aemond and licks some of his blood from the floor, Laena its dead, and she likes this feisty hatchling, so the bonding gets completed. Still, the adults are fighthing, but the kids get to say the truth about the taunting and the mean words and Alicent, Rhaenyra and Viserys see the damage that has been done through the adults mean remarks and hatred. So yes, they are all very mad, and are not in the very best terms then, but they all decide to start going to family therapy, so not everything goes to shit in a couple of years, this way Lucemond and Jacegon can still be a little bit toxic, but nobody needs to die, ok? Also Alicent freaks out and almost passes out when she sees the monstruosity sitting at her son’s side, that makes everyone go back to their rooms, lol.

#lucemond #simple comic that almost makes me lose a hand #lol #Im going away on a trip this friday #so i really wanted to finish this before wednesday #its wednesday and 3 am now #but i finished before #so its fineeeeee #i have a lot more of ideas i want to draw!#but that will have to wait till next week when i come back #vhagar the komodo dragon #arrax the bearded dragon #hotd reptile AU #a little bit of #jacegon #i need sleep #but it wont come #halp

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humanpurposes · 8 months

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Sour Switchblade

No sooner has she landed in the courtyard of Storm’s End, she knows her mission is doomed // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x nameless female character (daughter of Rhaenyra)

Warnings: 18+, smut, childhood friends to enemies to lovers, Targcest (uncle and neice), threats of violence, bit of blood, dub-con, breeding kink

Words: 4100

A/n: Also available on AO3. Inspired by my current obsession with this song.

She knows where she is the moment she reaches the skies above the Stormlands; this part of the world was not named in irony.

She clutches tightly to Silverwing’s reigns, dragon and rider fighting through the fierce winds and heavy rain that stings the skin of her cheeks.

Lucerys and Arrax would have never made the journey. They are both too small, too young to take on such a burden as messengers on the eve of war. Jacaerys should have the more arduous task ahead of him, to fly to the Eyrie and then to Winterfell, to earn the support of the Arryns and the Starks to their mother’s cause.

She has one destination, one objective, one Lord to win over. But no sooner has she landed in the courtyard of Storm’s End, she knows her mission is doomed.

She hears Vhagar’s call, or rather feels it reverberate in her chest, before she sees her. She is a monstrously large dragon, the oldest of her kind. Only her head and neck loom over the battlements, but it is enough to terrify the Princess.

Because with Vhagar comes Aemond.

He had hardly spoken so much as a word to her during the petitions for Driftmark, but his eye never left her.

She pushes aside any childish ideas of hope for a civil encounter with her uncle. Any love between them was severed the night he claimed his dragon and Lucerys claimed his eye in the tunnels below Hightide.

Her name is announced to the Round Hall as she trails in behind an escort of guards. Rain drips from her soaked leathers and hair, the braid she wore long blown apart by the wind. She clenches her jaw, determined not to shiver in the presence of the Lord of Storm’s End, or the one eyed Prince who lurks at the edge of the room.

Aemond stands with his hands clasped behind his back. For a moment she sees surprise in his gaze, but it soon settles into a smug smile, his single eye positively gleaming through the miserable light of the hall.

Beside him is a young woman, dressed in all the finery of a Baratheon Lady. Her suspicions are confirmed when Lord Borros mentions a marriage pact.

She can’t stop herself. She looks to Aemond, knowing full well she is doing nothing to hide the fury in her face. And he stares back, like a hunter stalking prey.

She has nothing to offer Lord Borros, nothing that could compete with such a match. Her brothers are either betrothed or too young.

But she cannot fail, not when Rhaenyra has lost so much already these past few days.

Aemond’s eye remains fixed on her, vaguely amused, but still alert and intent. Perhaps he believes he has found a weakness, perhaps the shark smells blood.

If memory serves correctly, Lord Borros’ wife passed some years ago.

“I offer my hand to you, my Lord,” she says. “Pledge your banners to the true Queen, and your sons will be Princes.”

Lord Borros brings his fingers to his beard, muttering into the ear of his Maester and nervously glancing towards his other royal guest.

The amusement has faded from Aemond’s face, his moment of triumph snatched from him. Even the mere consideration of her proposal undermines him.

His chin is tilted down now, his eye dark and lips pressing together to withhold a sneer. She revels in it, taking a breath to stop herself from smiling.

“I will need time to consider,” Lord Borros says. “I will make my decision known on the morrow.”

Aemond takes one step towards her before she is whisked away by the eldest of the Baratheon sisters, Cassandra, and no less than four guards. Cassandra takes her arm in hers and leads her through the castle to a guest chamber, in a tower that overlooks the courtyard and Shipbreaker Bay beyond that.

A bath is drawn for her and a gown of black with gold embroidery laid out of her to change into. It seems unusual to see herself in these colours, but then again, her grandmother, Rhaenys, is half Baratheon.

Dressed in her gown and with her hair newly done, she watches Silverwing seek shelter from the Storm under the battlements. Vhagar is apparently sleeping, with her wings cradled over her body to keep out the rain.

Silverwing would be miserable here, she thinks. A dragon needs clear skies, they cannot always fight against the wind and rain.

It’s hard to tell exactly when the sun sets. There are no warm colours in the sky, no streaks of orange or gold. The sky beyond the storm clouds fades from grey, to indigo, and then to black.

Lady Cassandra escorts her to the Round Hall for supper. It is a modest affair. Lord Borros’ advisors and bannermen sit at tables in the heart of the hall, while a high table is set before the Stone Throne. Lord Borros sits at the centre, with two empty spaces either side of him. She might guess who they are for.

She sits between Lord Borros and Cassandra, and finds just enough time to steady her nerves with a sip of wine when Lady Floris enters with Aemond on her arm.

She swallows her mouthful wine thickly, meeting her uncle’s gaze for only a moment out of courtesy.

He takes his place beside Lord Borros and the meal commences. Servants bring out whole roasted boars, and given Aemond’s reaction to the suckling pig at dinner in the Red Keep, she refrains from moving her mouth or looking in his direction. In fact she hardly has an appetite at all. She sits with a stiff spine, glancing down at the plate of potatoes and greens placed in front of her.

Lord Borros asks her a question which immediately slips her mind. It occurs to her she’s supposed to be winning him over, to prove to him that she will be a good and dutiful wife. A better wife than Aemond will be a husband for Floris anyhow.

The thought churns her stomach and leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

She allows herself another glance to Lord Borros’ other side. Aemond’s head is close to Floris’. The light from a candle on the table flickers over his chin, his jaw, the top of his neck underneath his collar. He leans in closer to mutter something in her ear.

He was always so softly spoken as a boy, subdued, even in moments of frustration. He still seems subtle, but in a different way now, a quiet kind of arrogance, a silent threat with the smallest of gestures. The few words he had spoken at that dinner, though aimed as insults towards her brothers, had ignited a thrilling sort of intrigue within her.

And now Floris gets to sit beside him, gets to feel his breath on her ear as he whispers in that low, chilling voice–

“Princess?”

“Y-yes?” she stutters, turning her eyes back to Lord Borros.

Only she seems to have caught the attention of Aemond and the other Baratheon girls now.

“I said our union should be a plentiful one, if your mother’s talent for producing sons is anything to go by.”

The only thing that stops her from reaching for her knife and jamming it into Lord Borros’ neck is the quiet huff of a laugh coming from Aemond.

She shoots him a deadly glare but his cruel smile does not waver.

“The man who eventually claims my niece’s hand will have Strong sons, there’s no doubt about that,” he says, reaching for his cup.

She watches him drink, the way he pouts his lips, how his throat bobs as he swallows.

“What a kind compliment, uncle,” she says, “though not one I could extend to you.”

Aemond sets his cup down gently. “Meaning?” he asks, not looking at her.

“It took you a decade to claim a dragon, did it not?”

His head snaps towards her. “Yes, and I claimed the largest dragon in the world.”

“An impressive feat,” she says, “one your father was proud of, I’m sure.”

He wants to lash out, she can see it, his fist clenching on top of the table, his lips pursing together, his eye going wide, his nostrils flaring as he takes a few breaths to compose himself.

The rest of the table has fallen to an uneasy quiet. She simply reaches for her wine and takes a generous sip that slips over her tongue with a delightful burn.

Lord Borros calls for music, and his daughters, Cassandra and Ellyn find partners to dance with. Maris remains seated, with her arms folded over her chest and a sour look on her face.

Floris seems hopeful, sitting up and trying to catch Aemond’s eye from his blind side. It is a hope he will not entertain. He keeps one hand on the table, tapping a long, slender finger against the wood.

“You will forgive me,” Lord Borros says to her, “I am too old to dance now.”

She tries to smile to hide her repulsion. What an endearing match she’s managed to find for herself. But this is for her mother– her Queen, so that the throne might pass to the rightful heir and not a usurper.

In the corner of her eye she sees Aemond is watching her, and she does not shy away from his gaze. His lips curl into a smirk but she can see the calculations and strategising behind that piercing, violet eye.

What lurks on the other side, she wonders, underneath the leather eyepatch and the scar slicing down his face?

A bloody mess of flesh flashes before her eyes. She remembers how he cried out in pain, how he clutched his hand to his face, how the thick, dark blood seeped from between his fingers and spilled onto the floor as he fell. She had only watched dumbfounded, as Lucerys dropped the blade, as she and the other children were ushered into the Hall of Nine, as the gash in Aemond’s socket was sewn and their mothers both called for justice.

Could she have stopped her cousins from confronting him? Could she have defended him from her brothers? Would he have at least felt some of her sorrow if she had gone to him that night or wrote to him in the years that separated them?

Those possibilities mean nothing now. Aemond looks at her with no warmth, no fond memories of their shared youth.

He’d be handsome without the scar– he still is, but it is a severe kind of beauty.

The moment she manages to finish the food on her plate, she excuses herself, declaring that she is tired from her journey and will need to recover before Lord Borros makes his decision in the morning.

Lord Borros presses a kiss to her hand, and she winces at the way his beard feels against her skin. When she looks to Aemond, he is suppressing a smile by bringing a cup of wine to his lips.

She walks quickly through the halls, towards the guest chamber, already taking off the heavy gold earrings and necklace she had been adorned with, and sighs at the relief of their weight. The sooner she can get to sleep, the sooner the morning will come, then the sooner she can finally leave, either a success or a failure, but she will be free of him. Free of the tight, restless feeling in her chest.

The enduring storm does not help her nerves, the rain beating down and the wind howling against the castle walls. Her heart leaps at every irregular noise, anything that might be mistaken for a voice, a breath, a footstep. She glances over her shoulder repeatedly, but all she sees are the empty hallways she leaves behind.

Two guards wait outside her chambers. They do not move to open the door for her, as they would on Dragonstone. She huffs and pushes it open herself, falling against the door once it is closed.

Borros Baratheon is hardly a man of principle. He has no love for Rhaenyra, and is only considering offering his support out if pride. She has no friends here.

She quietly turns the lock on the door.

She heads to the vanity to set down the jewellery and release the pins from her hair, watching it fall around her shoulders.

Outside the window, she hears Silverwing’s lamenting coos through the clashes of thunder. She reaches behind her back to undo the laces of her gown as she goes to the window, but she cannot spot her dragon through the dark and the heavy rain.

“We’ll be home soon,” she whispers into the night.

She nearly screams when she hears the door rattle.

The wood clashes against its frame, but the handle does not budge, for now.

She barely has a few moments to run to the vanity, hand outstretched and eyes fixed on a long, sharp hair pin when she hears the door burst open. It slams and heavy footsteps thud against the floor, towards her.

A hand clasps over her mouth before she can make a sound. An arm wraps tightly around her waist, keeping her arms by her sides, before she can reach the closest thing she has to a weapon.

She thrashes, squirms, tries to call for help or graze her teeth against the intruder’s flesh but nothing deters him.

She looks down at the arm around her waist. She recognises the black leather sleeve of his jerkin, the wide palm pressing down on her stomach, veins and tendons running underneath pale skin.

He rests his chin on her shoulder, so his long, silver hair falls around her face. He smells of smoke and lavender.

He lets out a frustrated huff as she unsuccessfully tries to jerk her elbow into his side. “Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm, trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?” he hisses against her ear.

She squeals in fury against his palm, trying to twist her way out of his grip. She manages to drag him with her until their sides collide with the vanity. Pieces of priceless jewellery and bottles of perfume fall to the floor, and shatter.

She has a mere second to wrench herself from his grip, only for him to grab her again, turning her to face him as he pulls her into his chest.

Aemond’s expression is deadly, his eye wide, lips pressed together in a scarcely contained rage.

“The throne belongs to my mother,” she says through the drumming in her chest, with all the defiance she can muster. “She is the one true heir. King Viserys–”

“Viserys is dead!” Aemond bellows, pushing her back against the vanity. “His word means nothing now that he can no longer enforce it.”

With her hands suddenly free she attempts to strike him, but he sees her intention before she even moves, pinning her wrists to the wood, keeping her body in place with his own.

She clenches her fists, only able to dig her nails into her palms. “What is it that you want from me?”

Lightning ignites the sky behind her. The white light dances over his scar and the shape of his mouth. His expression is softer now, lips slightly parted.

“I will have what I am owed,” he says.

Her eyes flicker to the eyepatch and the edges of the scar it cannot conceal.

Aemond hums a small laugh at her presumption. “Fear not, dear niece, that is not your debt to pay.”

His gaze trails over her face, then lower, to her lips, along her neck, to the gown slipping from her shoulders and the bare skin at the top of her chest.

“Do you remember what you said to me, the day you left?” he says softly.

The children they were are almost half a lifetime away.

She remembers standing under the weirwood tree in the Godswood of the Red Keep, a warm breeze rustling the red leaves above their heads, the sun shining through the branches.

She remembers holding Aemond’s face in her hands, wiping away the bitter tears as they fell from his eyes.

He had begged her not to leave, but they were powerless then.

He is the one to bring his hand to her face now, running his thumb over the lone tear that spills from her eye.

“I said I loved you,” she utters. “I said my heart was yours, and it always would be.”

Aemond hums softly. “You made a promise to me,” he says. “Do you intend to keep that promise?”

How can she? She would have to forsake her mother, her Queen, her brothers, the realm, her own dignity.

“It was a childish infatuation,” she says.

“Not to me,” he says, fury creeping into his voice once more, his grip on her hand tightening.

She pushes her one free hand against his chest but he does not budge. “Aemond, please, you’re hurting me…”

He presses his body into her, forcing her further against the vanity– a warning, a command for obedience. He trails his thumb over her cheek, to her lower lip, taking her chin in his fingers. When she tries to look away he brings her eyes back to him.

He leans in gradually, pressing his forehead and his nose against hers, before he takes a steady breath and captures her lips in his. His kiss is starved but slow, bruising, deep and desperate. The hand that was on her chin comes to her neck, angling her head precisely where he wants her.

His hands trace down the back of her neck, between her shoulders, to pull at the laces of her gown. They fall apart between his fingers and, barely breaking away from her, he tugs it down until the black and gold fabric falls to her ankles. He lifts her out of it, seating her on the vanity, raking the hem of her shift up to her thighs so he can place himself between them as he continues to kiss her.

A dazed sort of warmth pools within her. She can feel her senses and her sanity slipping.

But he cannot best her, not after everything that has happened in the days since the King’s death.

She grazes his lip with her teeth, and when he seems to welcome it, she clenches her jaw as hard as she can.

He tears himself away from her and staggers back, bright blood dripping from his mouth. She can taste it on her tongue.

“Little cunt,” he hisses.

She slips the hairpin into her hand and runs for the door. Aemond catches her in a few strides but she’s ready for that, turning to drive it into his blindside.

Even then he misses nothing, holding her wrists behind her back with one hand and snatching the pin from her grasp. She hears it clatter to the ground as Aemond drives her forwards, towards the bed.

She lands face down and tries to lift herself up, only to feel his forearm pressing into her neck to keep her down.

“You were always stubborn,” he says, planting a delicate kiss to her shoulder, “and as exciting as that is, I want you to be good for me, dōna riña.”

The iciness in his voice sends a shudder down her spine.

“Say it, say you’ll be good.”

Hit tears prickle in her eyes. She shifts underneath his hold, but her urge to fight is already fading. “I’ll be good, qȳbos,” she whispers.

Aemond’s chest hums with a groan. At last he relents, releasing her neck and her hands. But no sooner is she free, he turns her onto her back and slides his hands up her thighs, hooking his fingers over her smallclothes and bringing them down her legs.

“Up,” he says, dragging her by her hands to sit, so that he can pull her shift over her head.

She cannot be sure why she’s shivering, the cold air, the noise of the storm, or the hungry look in Aemond’s eye at the sight of her bare body.

She keeps her hands on his shoulders as he lays her down and trails his fingertips down her stomach, to the obvious arousal at her core.

With a lingering kiss to her cheek he presses a single finger inside her. She gasps at the sudden sting of it, digging her nails into his skin.

But he reaches deeper than she’s ever been able to, stroking against the flesh within her, until she starts to melt. He edges her closer and closer to bliss until she comes undone around him with a whimper.

“Sȳz riña,” he coos against her cheek. “That’s it…”

She tries to cling onto him as he moves away, but he is not gone for long. He swiftly undoes the buckles of his jerkin, followed by his shirt, boots and breeches. His body is lithe and lean, harsh angles and soft skin.

She glances at his eyepatch again.

Aemond lets out a low, irritable “hmm,” as he looms over her. His hair falls around his face, tickling the skin of her collar. He leans on one palm placed by her head, as he drags the tip of his cock through her folds, teasing between her bundle of nerves and her entrance. The sensation burns brightly and has her hips bucking, but it’s not enough.

“Beg me for it,” he utters.

“Please,” she whispers, cupping his face in her hands, feeling her thumbs along the sharp edges of his cheeks. “Please…”

He pushes into her with a single stroke, filling her to the hilt with a soft sound of skin against skin.

She winces at the stretch, throwing her head back against the bed and trying to steady her breath as he rocks into her.

He’s gentle at first, but before long he is restless.

“I knew you fucking wanted this,” he pants, gripping at her waist to pull her in with every snap of his hips. “You little whore, I can feel you getting wetter.”

She should hate him for it. There is so much she should hate him for, but she cannot think past the pleasure tightening and rising within her, the sound of Aemond’s laboured breaths or the lewd, wet sounds of their coupling.

His hands grab at her legs, positioning them against her chest so he can fuck her harder and deeper.

“Oh gods,” she whines as he pushes against a spot that makes her feel weightless.

“Take it bastard,” he hisses, pressing his forehead against hers and wrapping a hand around her neck. It’s not enough to hurt, but it’s enough to know it could. “Fucking take it.”

She is sure it’s too much, his hold on her neck, his breath over her lips, his body pressing against hers as he pounds into her without mercy.

“I’m going to fill you up,” Aemond rasps, “return you to King’s Landing with a Prince in your belly.”

His promise sparks a new feeling entirely, her cunt clenching around him as her voice becomes a slur of desperate, wanton moans.

“Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you, ilībõños? Want your uncle to give you a silver-haired babe?”

“Please,” she mewls, placing her hand over his, “please, qȳbos,”

With a few sharp, brutal thrusts, her body erupts with her climax, until she is a moaning, quivering mess.

Aemond’s jaw hangs open as he fucks into her through his own release, until every last drop of his seed is buried within her.

He keeps himself nestled within her, positioning them properly on the bed, hooking her leg around his hips, keeping her body and her head close to his chest.

Her eyes flutter closed, lulled by the soft sound of his breath and the gentle thud of his heartbeat.

But the pleasant glow of her peak cannot last forever.

“I can’t go back to King’s Landing,” she whispers against his skin. Not now that Aegon has claimed the throne, not now that her mother is amassing her banners and the Greens are doing the same.

Aemond takes her chin his fingers, forcing her gaze to meet his. “Did you think I’d ever let you go? You’re mine now, dōna riña. That is what you've always wanted, is it not?”

She helplessly traces her fingers along the muscles of his arm, held tightly around her.

Perhaps she did want that, once.

“What of the Stormlands? What of our duties to our families? What of the war?”

Aemond silences her with a delicate kiss to her lips. She lets it soothe her, for the sake of a love once lost, for a moment of bliss in a world unfurling into chaos and bloodshed.

“Lord Borros will pledge his banners to Aegon or I will burn Storm’s End to the ground,” Aemond mutters between their kisses. She can already feel his cock beginning to harden once more inside her. “And no one will keep you from me, my sweet, strong girl.”

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

#my fics #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen oneshot #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x ofc #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #aemond oneshot #aemond one eye #Spotify

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dreamcatcher2113 · 1 year

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The Dragon Dance

Summary: What if Rhaenyra had another child? What if Rhaenyra had a daughter with white hair and purple eyes? What if she was betrothed to Aemond as an alliance with Greens?

You are the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, unlike your brothers you have white hair and purple eyes. You are the twin sister of Jacaerys. You were close with Aemond when you were kids, you two attached to the hip. Ten years later after your family left to Dragonstone, your family reunites with the Greens. You see a familiar face, Aemond Targaryen. Even though it's been years since you last saw him, let's just say you are not the same little girl you were once before.

Warnings: The reader and Jacaerys are aged up, they would be eighteen. Uncle/niece insect. 18+ smut(eventually). Language. Mentions of assault(mainly from Aegon). Violence. And possible other warnings that I can’t think of. There is a happy ending.

Part 12

Masterlist

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The Dragon Dance 13:

Aemond, Jace and Luce arrive at King’s Landing, Jace and Luce let Vermax and Arrax rest in the dragonpit; while Aemond lets Vhagar rest up in the mountains, since she is too big for the dragonpit. There was one last stop that Aemond needed to make before they head back to the castle. The three princes put their hoods over their heads and Aemond led the way to the town, to a specific shop.

“Umm uncle, where are we going now?” Luce asked in a whisper.

“We are going to a shop that is located here, I need something to be done and it’s the only shop that can do it.” Aemond answered. “And Luce you don’t have to whisper, it’s not top secret.”

“What shop is that uncle?” Jace asked.

“You’ll see.”

After a couple turns later, they finally made it to the shop. It was a small shop that had lots of jewelry, gems, and accessories. There were so many items in the store that were made in all kinds of different materials. There were items that were made with leather, metal, gold, silver, and more. Jace and Luce were amazed and in awe, they thought the items that surrounded them were masterpieces.

“Hello? Mary-Weather are you in here?” Aemond calls out, looking for someone in particular.

Someone comes out from the back, from curtains made of beads. A beautiful young woman comes out. She was the same height as Aemond, she had her long red hair in a braid. She wore an ombre orange to yellow dress. She smiled at Aemond once she saw it was him calling for her.

“Aemond. Long time no see. How is that eye treating you?” She asked as she walked up to him and hugged him. Jace and Luce look shock, not knowing how to react.

Aemond smiled a little, hugging the woman back. “Hello Mary-Weather. It’s nice to see you too, the eye you made for me is treating me just fine. Is your husband here? I need both of your help.”

Mary-Weather smiled at Aemond. “My husband is just finishing up. Dear! Aemond is here!”

A large buff man comes out of the back of the curtains. He had black wavy hair, and black beard. A little taller than his wife. He was wearing what it seemed to be a black smith attire. He was wiping his hands with a cloth, and smiled when he saw Aemond.

“Prince Aemond. How are you doing, my boy?” He asked with a big smile. “I would shake your hand old friend but I am covered in gods no what.”

Aemond smiles at the man. “It’s nice to see you too Jon. I see you are hard at work.”

“Well you know me and my wife, we love what we do.” He smiles, standing next to his wife. Trying not to get her and her dress dirty. But Mary-Weather doesn’t care, she hugs her husband anyways.

“Jon and Mary-Weather, these are my nephews. Jace and Luce. Jace and Luce this is Jon and Mary-Weather. They make the best items here in King’s Landing.” Aemond introduced them.

“It’s nice to meet you both.” Jace bowed.

“Nice to meet you both.” Luce bowed as well.

“Aemond, you’re too kind. And it’s nice to meet you boys too.” Jon said.

“Well aren’t you two polite, unlike a first born we know.” Mary-Weather said.

“Darling! Not in front of the customers.” Jon warned his wife.

Mary-Weather smacks her husband on the chest lightly. “Oh please Aemond knows who I am talking about, and he will agree with me.”

Aemond chuckles, he knows exactly who Mary-Weather is talking about. That’s a story he will tell his nephews later. “I see you didn't lose your fire Mary-Weather.” Aemond complimented.

“Of course! How else will I deal with this man.” Mary-Weather pointed to her husband.

“Hey!” Jon said faked being offended.

“I’m kidding my love.” Mary-Weather smiled.

“Anyways, how can we help Aemond? I don’t think you came all the way here just to chit-chat.” Jon asked.

“My nephew Jace and I came here to see if you two can turn our items into something for our betrotheds.” Aemond explains as he and Jace show them the items.

“We’ve been meaning to tell you congratulations on your betrothed Aemond. She is a very lucky lady to have you as a husband.” Mary-Weather congratulates Aemond with a smile, she was genuinely happy for him.

“Thank you Mary-Weather, you and your husband are too kind.” Aemond thanked her.

Mary-Weather started to examine the items that Aemond and Jace gave her, and was in awe. “I don’t see why we can’t. I think we can make it happen. What do you two want for your ladies?”

Jace was at loss, he didn’t think this through. He turned to Aemond silently asking him for help. Aemond chuckled seeing his nephew sweating through his clothes.

“Did you get the material I sent you?” Aemond asked.

Jon smiled, nodding his head yes. “We did. Valyrian steel, that’s a rare material Aemond. Mary-Weather and I thank you for trusting us with this fine material.”

“It is no problem dear friend.” Aemond replied.

“I’m guessing you want something special done for your betrothed, Aemond.” Mary-Weather teases Aemond a little bit.

Aemond smiled a little. “I have an idea, yes.”

“Well, please share with the class, dear boy.” Mary-Weather jokingly said.

“I was thinking, can you cut these two stones?” Aemond points to the sapphire and the glowing stone. “And make into one, and make one of them into a necklace?”

“We can definitely do that. It will not be a problem,” Jon answered. “There’s something more isn’t there?”

Aemond nodded his head yes. “I was thinking if you two could, could you make it matching a set. For me and my betrothed could match.”

“I knew you were a secret romantic Aemond. I doubt you want a necklace as well, we can make your half into a pin if it fits your fancy.” Mary-Weather said.

“That is alright Mary-Weather. I trust you and your husband.” Aemond nodded his head.

Mary-Weather turns her attention to Jace. “What about you young man? What were you thinking for your wife to be?”

“I was thinking a simple necklace for her would be fine. She’s not really picky.” Jace answered.

“Simple. I like that.” Mary-Weather complimented.

“How long do you think it will be done?” Aemond asked.

“I would say a few weeks, give and take.” Jon answered.

Aemond and Jace sighed in a slight relief both necklaces would be done before Aemond’s and Y/N's wedding.

“Thank you Jon and Mary-Weather, I appreciate both of your hard work.” Aemond thanked them, while reaching for a pouch full of gold coins. He was about to pay them but Jon refuses.

“This is on the house, think of it as a wedding gift for you and your nephew.” Jon explained.

“I can’t not just pay you both. Especially since you have little ones to take care of.” Aemond offered.

“There’s no need, Prince Aemond. Like my husband said, it’s a wedding gift. It’s the least we can do.” Mary-Weather agreed with her husband.

Aemond sighed knowing he is not going to win this. “Since it’s a gift for me and my nephew, I can’t say no.”

“Please let me know when they are done.” Aemond pleaded.

“Of course Prince Aemond.” Jon bowed.

Aemond, Jace and Luce waved goodbye to Jon and Mary-Weather and thanked both of them. The three princes started to walk back to the castle.

“How do you know them uncle?” Luce asked, as they entered the castle.

“I met them when I needed something to replace my eye. The shops I went to couldn’t do it, until I met Mary-Weather and Jon. They were able to turn the sapphire into an eye.” Aemond answered.

“They seem like really nice people.” Jace added.

“They are. I go to them when I need something to be made or to be done.” Aemond said.

“We can see why. The things they make are amazing.” Luce complimented.

“They are very hard working people, and their craftsmanship shows it.” Aemond agreed with his nephew.

All three of them start to walk to the dining hall. Since Rhaenyra became queen, Aemond noticed they have been having a lot more family dinners. Usually he would have dinner in his room, they didn’t have a whole lot of family dinners. You would think Aemond would not like these family dinners, maybe in the past he probably wouldn’t. Now since you and Aemond are betrothed, he made amends with his nephews, his brother has actually started drinking less, and his mother and Rhaenyra are becoming best friends again. Aemond doesn’t mind spending time with his family.

Aemond, Jace and Luce enter the dinning hall and see everyone was chatting, and having fun; like it should have been. You turned and saw your brothers and your betrothed, and smiled.

“Aemond, Jace, Luce. Come sit with us, we were getting a little worried.” You called out to them.

“We are coming, my love.” Aemond replied, smiling at you.

Aemond, Jace and Luce took their seats next to their betrotheds. All of you were chatting, eating, drinking a little wine here and there. You were all having a good time, all of you were becoming more and more of a family. Aemond couldn’t help but to look at you with loving eyes. He couldn’t help but to think how lucky that he is betrothed to you. He smiles at the thought of calling you his wife soon.

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Taglist: @random-human02 @buttercupstrand @rosaryos @whitejuliana1204 @schniiipsel @jeyramarie @erylilly @mingiholic @klutzyfreak

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unusual-raccoon · 1 year

Text

Calm Before the Storm | by Unusual_Raccoon (JaceLuke)

@greeksorceress, @livinginafantasysposts @theartificialintellect

Warnings: Dark Jacaerys Velaryon, Politically Savvy Jacaerys Velaryon, Possessive Jacaerys Velaryon, Manipulation, Luke wants what Jace wants, Dom/Sub Undertones, Codependency, Jace preventing Storm's End because he's codependent and possessive, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationships, Masturbation, Oral Fixation, Ball Hog Luke strikes again, Blow Jobs, Ball Sucking, Hand Jobs, Wet & Messy, Jealous Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Summary:

*Spiritual Successor to The Benefit of Losing*

“You should not be going to Storm’s End,” Jace says again, just as he had before and it becomes a mantra in Lucerys’ mind; a prayer to a god made flesh.

I should not be going to Storm’s End, he thinks, do not make me go to Storm’s End - do not make me go where you are not.

WC: 3K+

Ao3 Link

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“You should not be going to Storm’s End.”

Jacaerys barks as they march dutifully to their dragons.

Their sister had died, fresh from their mother’s womb. Small Visenya had been put upon a pyre and their mother named queen of the seven kingdoms. Crowned by her uncle-husband.

Her first decree had been to send letters to call upon allies, a passive decision as far as some men believed. Jacaerys included.

It had been Jace’s idea to bear letters upon dragonback in a calculated show of force, and Luke’s decision to side with his brother - always, always.

“She believes she is keeping you safe by sending you there.”

“She is coddling you.” His elder brother sneers, Vermax trills a throaty sound. He had grown so large of late, to the delight of the dragonkeepers, who remarked Jace’s dragon was nearly Syrax’s equal in size. Green and ghoulish and perpetually grinning, Vermax was a sight to behold, even more so with his rider beside him.

“I-“ Lucerys began, “I do not need to be coddled.” He declares boldly, his brother’s mouth tilts upward at the corner of his full lips.

“No,” Jace agrees, brown eyes softening to a shade reminiscent of molasses, sugar sweet, “you don’t.”

He adjusts dyed oil-black leather straps of Vermax’s saddle.

“But-“ Luke adds, voice softer, eyes round, hands fidgeting.

“Aren’t you frightened?” He asks, using a clever twist of words to disguise his own unease with the brewing war. Jacaerys feared nothing, he was bold and brave and strong.

“Of flying North to treat with barbarous savages?” Jacaerys asks, mimicking the words of men far more jaded than he; Luke shrinks at the image his brother’s words paint - of wild bearded men with bloodstained teeth that would sooner eat a young princeling than treat with him.

“No,” he says in a voice more his own, amused in the face of Lucerys’ fear, “I’m not.

“You should not be going to Storm’s End. Borros Baratheon is not his father, what little dragonblood that house possesses will not make him see reason.”

Luke feels flushed as he brother reaches out to coax a stray curl behind Lucerys’ ear.

“We share-“

Jace’s grip in his hair tightens, pain dances across his scalp. His brother’s face warps with anger as Lucerys makes to parrot their mother’s words.

You have Baratheon blood through your grandmother, Rhaenys.

“They are not our kin.”

The sentiment is so raw that it stings, scrapes away some veneer like a sword upon a whetstone.

“But you said-“ Lucerys pictures the Red Keep’s bailey, examining swords with a frown while onlookers had ogled them, the dark haired sons of Laenor Velaryon.

“It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks,” his brother asserts, “but with me, between us,” Jace's grip in his hair softens, passing through dark curls tenderly, it is the touch of a lover and fresh tears gather in Luke’s eyes, “you must always speak the truth, for I would never use it against you.”

Luke nods, nose pink and throat tight. Arrax gives an anxious little trill.

“Do you think that some fat lord with 4 unwed daughters will be glad for your company?”

Luke cringes, jaw tense, eyes stinging. Jace’s thumb, roughened from swordplay and his time as a squire, gathers tears away from Luke’s wet cheeks. The scrape of friction sparks something like flint on steel.

“N-no.” Luke admits.

“No, he will not.” Jace agrees and it feels cruel, the dance of metal up his spine, the taste of bile in his throat.

His eyes, warm sugar sweet eyes that mask the taste of venom, soften when glancing upon Luke.

‘But I would - I am always glad for your company’ Jace’s dark eyes say with a flutter of full lashes. Luke’s belly tips warm.

“You should not be going to Storm’s End,” Jace says again, just as he had before and it becomes a mantra in Lucerys’ mind; a prayer to a god made flesh.

I should not be going to Storm’s End, he thinks, do not make me go to Storm’s End - do not make me go where you are not.

“Your talents would be better suited elsewhere.”

Luke’s ears burn.

“I do not have any talents,” Luke says, on the verge of sulking.

This gives his brother pause. Jacaerys’ lips pull in a bawdy smile that makes him appear as he is, a boy of six and ten, not some graying wartime strategist.

His eyes darken, leering. A roughened thumb perches on Lucerys’ lips. His pulse jumps, his dragon chitters excitedly.

His lips make way, parting gently.

Suddenly, his brother pulls away and Luke feels the enormity of Jacaerys’ absence - no warmth upon his lips, no salt upon his tongue, no acid in his throat.

“Where are you going?” Luke cries, voice cracking and petulant.

“To speak with the queen.”

Lucerys kicks up gray sands chasing after his brother.

“You would question the decision of her grace, the queen?” Daemon purported with a sneer. Though their mother, the queen, holds up a small pale hand to quell him.

“What are you suggesting, Jacaerys?” She asks diplomatically, Luke digs blunt nails into the meat of his palms to keep from fidgeting terribly. Their mother cuts an awful sight upon the dragon seat, the crown of the Old King upon her white-gold head.

Jacaerys stands tall, back straight, it is an effort for him. Their grandmother Rhaenys observes all from a calculated distance - she shares blood with them - through their grandsire Viserys, not Ser Laenor, a voice in his head asserts that sounds alarmingly like his brother. Their shared blood has never been in question, but her reluctance to be familial was always well noted. She did not look upon them with the same warmth, or any for that matter, as she did with Baela and Rhaena.

“It is not in our best interest to send Lucerys to Storm’s End.” Straight to the point, no dithering.

Mother’s shrewd eyes narrowed. Rhaenys mouth curls in an amused expression.

“Did you not request to deliver these letters yourself, boy?” Daemon asks, hand poised upon the dragon’s egg pommel of his sword.

“I did, and I still do. Though, would it not be most beneficial to play to our strengths?”

“And which strength is it that you are referring to?” Their mother asks.

“Numbers,” Jacaerys answers fluidly, “Daemon has said it before, we have more dragons than they do. With your permission I would personally escort Lucerys to the Vale before venturing North to treat with the Lord Cregan Stark. We would appear stronger traveling together and the Vale is the more amenable of the two.” His position is a strong one and Jacaerys holds it with squared shoulders and a neutral expression.

Their mother’s face pinches with concern. Their sister was dead, a little grotesque stranger that broke their mother’s heart. She looks at Luke like he might be next.

“Mother,” Lucerys begins, voice shaky at firm, but one look at Jacaerys steels him, he does not address her as a queen because he is not speaking to the queen, rather to the woman beneath that gilded crown.

“Allow me to go to the Vale and I will not fail you.”

You rather enjoy failure, that voice persists in his head. But Lucerys denies the thought, and will not admit it to himself - he doesn’t like losing, he just enjoys it when Jacaerys wins.

“I am ready. I… I do not need to be coddled.”

The color of their mother’s eyes scorches a wrathful violet for the knowledge that it is no longer her words that he parrots.

“Very well,” she acquiesces, a mindful edge to her words, “Who would you propose we send to treat with the Lord of Storm’s End in Lucerys’ place?”

Her ire was reserved for her heir, for Jacaerys, for the very person who wanted to steal Lucerys away.

Luke gleans the blackness of his brother’s dark eyes, his stomach tingles.

“A deft touch seems to be in order…Grandmother, with the closest ties to the house amongst us, what say you?”

Luke’s fists clench tight, liquid heat gathered in red crescents beneath each nail.

“Borros is a proud man, whose only concern lies in furthering his line… I will speak with him.”

Luke exhales so deeply his chest aches and his vision falters.

“Very well,” their mother agrees.

Lucerys heads for Arrax once more, when he spots a dark head and a white-gold.

Distantly, he can hear the murmur of conversation. He clutches close to a jagged jut of black stone that dotted Dragonstones beaches like craggy, crooked teeth. He is but small and light of foot, and ducks behind the rock.

“-spoke well, Jacaerys.” He hears Daemon say with an astringent sort of pride in his voice.

“Thank you.” Jace says in return.

“Know that while I am away, you must be your mother’s strength.”

Luke’s chest tightens. The scent of sea salt stings his sinuses.

“Secure the North for her. Do not fail her. This is a war now, and I have no intention of losing.”

“I will not.” When Jacaerys says it, it is with conviction, Luke nearly envies it.

Luke peeks over the craggy edge of the stone he had huddled behind, glimpses Daemon’s white-gold head, his stepfather’s broad shoulders…

“What have I taught you of war, young prince?” Daemon questions, a curious curl to the thin line of his lips. A hand settles on Jace’s shoulder. His brother’s expression does not falter but he examines Daemon’s hand, with its bespoke rings bearing Targaryen heraldry.

Jace’s eyes are so very dark.

“The winner takes all.”

There is ice in Lucerys’ veins. He stares down at his hands and finds bloodied palms.

They depart within the hour of receiving the queen’s blessing, with letters meant for ravens. Meleys goes one way and they go another.

Arrax vocalizes a bright, happy sound, shearing through the sky like a bough of lightning with scales of pearl and accents of gold.

Vermax trills beside him, large and grinning, obliterating a cloud they gracefully fly over, moisture clings to Jace’s hair and clothes.

Lucerys giggles, throat dry and lips blue in the brisk air.

They land just before nightfall to eat and drink and sleep, though Lucerys is terribly jittery.

Jacaerys finds them a cave to settle in for the night. They lay out their cloaks to cushion against the cold stone and coax a fire out of some kindling.

They chew leathery pieces of salt pork packed away for trips such as these, and drink from bloated waterskins.

He wishes to ask about what he overheard, picking bits of dried pork from between his teeth, when Jacaerys stands suddenly.

“Where are you going?” Luke asks, boots knocking together where he sits by the fire. He silently berates himself for how childish he must sound, how childish he must look.

“I need to piss,” His brother says flatly. It is crass and something about it makes his ears burn.

Jace heads for the mouth of the cave, fingers plucking at the laced-up front of his trousers…

Luke averts his gaze swiftly. Cheeks hot. But it feels like a bell that cannot be unrung.

He hears the splash of urine, distantly. If anything it dulls the fire in his belly, the mundanity.

Hears the tread of brother’s steps sauntering back. Jace cuts quite a sight in their measly firelight. His brother is not even seated before flashing an amused smile.

“You’re drooling.” He says.

“I am not.” Luke argues, though he still wipes frantically at his mouth with a red and black sleeve.

He does not think of the taste of salt that sits thick upon his tongue from their paltry dinner, does not imagine that it is but a poor imitation of the taste he truly craves.

His sleeve is damp.

“We should rest.”

Luke offers a little nod, the cave was warm enough between the two of them and their dragons. Jacaerys snuffs out their fire before long and settles down onto his outstretched cloak with a sigh. His shortsword sits in its sheath beside him, Lucerys gropes for the flared fishtail pommel of his own weapon simply to remind himself that it was there.

It was dark, smokey, the bittersweetness of burnt wood tickles his throat. Luke wants to cough.

He squirms to get comfortable. Lays on his side away from his brother.

He can hear his brother rustling upon his cloak beside him.

Jace lays flat on his back and blows out a sigh.

All is silent for a time and Lucerys finds himself lodged in a slippery inbetween of hyper-awareness and muddy consciousness.

His eyelids droop heavily and his breathing slows, and he hears…

Jace exhales another sigh, soft, buttery, warm like a pastry. He hears the creak of something, a stiff joint pops…

When the realization dawns upon him, it peels back a layer of sanity. His thighs press together and heat stirs in him, glitters down to his toes.

Luke cranes his head back and feels panic and delight shoots through him as he discerns the lazy bob of a closed fist up and down in his periphery.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” His brother says, voice scratchy like his throat is dry.

Luke gnaws at his lower lip.

“How can I? You’re making too much noise.” He complains.

Jace huffs something that sounds like laughter. Then hisses through his teeth. Luke’s thighs tense, and his tongue fattens, his own erection twitches.

Frustration plucks at him until he is nothing but ragged edges. Sweat beads upon his nape, scabbed over cuts on his palms weep anew.

“Would you hurry up and…finish?”

“Make me.” His brother goads.

He presses bloody little palms to the sockets of his eyes, presses until he sees white and bites down on the urge to scream.

“Is this why you asked mother to bring me here?” Luke asks, sniffling, yet still drooling.

“Of course not,” Jace sighs and Lucerys cannot help but feel a bit wounded, “it wasn’t the only reason.”

It is vindication of a sort, but he is feeling snide. It is ludicrous to consider himself a jilted lover, but in the quiet of his mind where he cannot be mocked, he does.

“Perhaps if this is all you wanted you should have asked Daemon-”

He is torn back by a hand in his hair, it is sudden and fierce and wrathful. He shrieks for the pain that sears across his scalp, body bent at an awkward angle, neck aching. He is brought face to face with his brother. Arrax growls in warning but his young, beautiful dragon is silenced when Vermax lunges forward and pins the pale dragon to the floor - jaws poised around his neck.

He is weeping, a thin string of mucous hangs from his nose.

“Do not speak of things you do not understand,” His brother snarls, spittle froths white at the corners of his mouth. Jace gives his fist a shake and Lucerys’ head rattles like a doll, more pain blossoms beneath his brother’s touch.

“I’m sorry, s-sorry,” Luke babbles, he is in ruin.

He slaps lightly at his brother’s forearm, mouth dripping apologies.

He worries for Arrax.

“Jace,” he hiccups, short of breath and dizzy, “Jace, please.” His eyes flick briefly to their dragons.

His brother’s lip twitches.

“Vermax,” Jace calls, and the green dragon’s amber eyes linger on his rider, but Jace doesn’t look away, his gaze never parts from Lucerys’ face, his expression tightens like a star set to burst before he exhales,

“Lykirī.”

Arrax is released and squawks his indignation at the larger dragon.

Luke is similarly set free, free from the iron grip of his brother’s fist.

Lucerys sinks to the floor, scalp aflame with pain, tears smear across his face as he tries to stem the flow from his eyes with trembling hands.

Jace’s expression is thunderous, he shoves Luke away when he tries to crawl closer. And perhaps it is his rejection that hurts more than any other slight, the knowledge that he had hurt his brother sat like a poison upon his soul.

Yet he scrabbles closer again, as many times as needs must until he can press his lips to his brother’s skin.

His eyes are swollen and his sinuses ache and all he wants is Jace in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” He slurs, mouthing with wet lips at his brother’s neck. Curries favor from his deity made flesh, begs for mercy with a supplicant mouth that offers no spoken prayer.

Jacaerys is terribly cross with him.

“Show me,” His brother orders, with eyes darker than the night sky.

Shaking fingers tease the unlaced front of Jace’s trousers open.

The scent of musk and sweat and Jace has his mouth watering anew.

Luke lathes the tip with a swipe of his tongue. He watches the flesh fatten and swell with the briefest touch.

He suckles upon the tip, syrupy fluid that tastes of sea salt abrades his palate. He sighs in bliss, nails scrape along his tender scalp.

Lucerys takes the weight of his brother’s cock deeper, stroking at Jacaerys’ parted thighs before worming a bloody palm to cradle hot balls.

He gives the flesh a gentle squeeze as he lowers his lead with filthy slurp.

Jace exhales a sigh.

Lucerys replaces the warmth of his mouth with the curl of his bony fist. The blood upon his palm, partially dried and flaking off, smears the color of rust and taste of copper down Jace’s shaft.

He flicks his tongue lower over Jace’s tense, bloated bollocks. He hums, drool wet down his chin, dried tears tacky upon his cheeks, the thickness of musk floods his senses as he draws a warm testicle between greedy lips.

His brother stutters on a sound between a laugh and a groan.

The curl of his fingers makes a lewd sound as he strokes a steady up and down. He releases one testicle with a wet smack, runs his tongue over swollen lips before descending upon the other.

A hand pulls on his hair, the tender skin howls in protest and fresh tears spring to his eyes. Luke whines a bit, flicks his tongue across his brother’s taint in silent rebellion, celebrates the victory that makes Jace’s thighs spasm.

“You are filthy,” Jace hisses between his teeth, but it is said with pride that has Luke twitching in his breeches.

“Vile,” he adds, “And I would kill anyone that tries to take you from me.”

Luke moans.

Jace wraps a hand around his base, spit-soaked. He pumps a loose fist over himself, it is a familiar motion.

Luke holds out his tongue, giggles madly at the customary blow that is dealt upon it with the thick head of Jace’s cock.

His brother smiles down at him, grins in the way Vermax does and even with war looming above them, all feels right in the world. Jace’s hips lift and he presses along plump tonsils and wet flesh. He tastes of salt and copper.

Acid begins to tickle at the back of his throat, his eyes water and he swallows the urge to gag.

Every draw back of his brother’s hips brings with it the cling of thickened spit and the acrid tang of bile.

And in its own fashion, it is a comfort.

Jace’s hands come down to caress his face and heat prickles along his entire body.

Surges down his spine.

Caressing hands pause and thumbs hook on either side of his mouth, stretching his face to the point of discomfort. Jace’s cock presses in deep, bows the back of Lucerys’ throat with a frantic thrust. The slick squelch drips off the walls of the cave.

The sound and sensation and animosity of his brother’s jerky movements minces his brain to liquid, a useless puddle that oozes from his ears with every wet slap of bloated balls against his chin. Lucerys takes solace as bile sticks hot in his throat, he didn’t need a brain, he didn’t need to think, he’d always have his brother to do it for him.

The least Luke could do was open his mouth for him.

Jace shudders with a wounded sound, hips crashing hard against Luke’s face. His jaw aches and his throat burns in conflict - bile trying to come up, spend trying to go down.

White glazes his tongue and Lucerys swallows before Jace can get the words out.

He sags against his brother’s thigh, opaque drool oozing out of his mouth.

There are fingers in his hair and the taste of acid in his throat.

In the morn they would complete the last leg of their journey to the Vale of Arryn and Lucerys will rouse their storied allies and Jace will travel North to treat with savages and barbarians and wolf-men.

For now…for now they had this.

___

A/N: more dark!Jace anyone?

#my writing #jaceluke #jaceluke agenda #jacaerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon #jacaerys x lucerys #hotd fanfic

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lya-dustin · 1 year

Text

Someone will remeber us

Chapter 4

Cw: refrenced child abuse, homophobia

Gif by: @welightthewaysource

Taglist: @ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon

Her birth came exactly nine moons after her mother and father’s wedding and many speculations concerning her parentage were quashed when she was born with the silver gold curls of her father and the crystal blue eyes of her mother.

The Princess Aemma was said to be a good natured and bright child that many likened to Queen Alysanne, her late namesake and her beloved grandmother, the Princess Rhaenys.

In this both Septon Eustace and Mushroom agree, that not a bad word could be said about her even when she and her husband were on opposing sides during the Dance.

Both sides expected to gain peace by her ascension whether it be as Queen Regnant or Queen Consort.

Neither side seems to remember much of her childhood, only that she was well learned, fond of her dwarf dragon, Elēnar ---whom she called Ōghar for his silver gold color--- and was the only child sired by Ser Laenor Velaryon.

--- On Queen Aemma Targaryen, First of her Name.

---

Aemma has long learned to avoid Aegon, even if once they were betrothed, she has never liked him, and he has never liked her.

She gets along fine with Aemond and Helaena, but Aegon is too much of bully and a twit to even tolerate in public.

Which was why her lessons with her Septa were scheduled at the time the boys had their lessons. Today they were to help Luke claim his dragon, Arrax, who was old enough to be taught and hope Aemond could bond with the other available hatchling.

“But I do not want Ghar to go to the Dragonpit, father.” Aemma whined. She knows he hates it, which is why she had begun whining like Aegon the moment Ghar refused to go with her brothers.

“Father’s beard, Aemma.” Her father wanted to just leave and go have a drink with his friends, he would bend easily. “Fine, you can take Ghar, but if you get in trouble for having him loose again, you will have no dessert for the rest of the week, and he will have to stay at the Dragonpit until your mother and I decide you have learned your lesson.”

“Dragons are dangerous creatures, your highness, he may look harmless, but his fire could burn a man.” The Head Smasher comes with her Septa, Septa Teora, and Aemma’s father tensed.

Teora is young and gets flustered whenever Ser Criston so much as looks her way. She was of Velaryon stock and the best Septa ever.

But she wasn’t perfect, her taste in knights makes it clear.

The Head Smasher is handsome, Aem will give him that.

Mushroom says all the ladies think Ser Criston is the most handsome knight ever with his swarthy complexion, pretty eyes and dark hair. Says it was how he got to be her mother’s sworn shield when she was younger.

“Isn’t that why we are taught the commands, father? To keep it from happening?” Aemma asked her father who nodded. “And Ōghar is lazier than Meleys.”

“Yes, Aem, but still accidents happen. Just promise me you will behave yourself and make sure Elēnar does as well.” Father kissed the top of Aemma’s head and turned to the Septa, “Septa Teora, I leave my daughter in your care, good day.”

“Teora, Ser Criston.” Aemma doesn’t curtsy, but nods politely. She doesn’t curtsy to anyone below her rank, it isn’t proper.

“Septa Teora.” Ser Criston corrects her, and she tries not to be rude.

“Princess Aemma has been my charge since she was much younger and couldn’t quite pronounce Septa, Ser, she meant no offense.” Teora explained with pink flushed cheeks.

She doesn’t know why Teora, good and sensible Teora, would have a crush on him of all men.

There are many more handsome men who are so much nicer. Ser Harwin, Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk, the young acolyte who assists Maester Geradys, Ser Qarl and even father are much better choices.

Even your mother and Queen Alicent had fancied themselves in love with Criston Cole, or so Mushroom had laughed when Aemma pointed out she doesn’t know what they saw in him.

You are different, Princess Aemma, must be because you have the good sense of Princess Rhaenys, the dwarf had said, no woman is as sensible and wise as the Queen Who Never Was.

“I apologize if my familiarity with Septa Teora offends you, Ser Criston. I will try to remember the distinction between ranks next time.” Aemma is quite sharp for a girl of nearly eleven name days, even if she failed to pronounce the c and t in distinction and it came out as distin-sh-on.

“There is no need to apologize, Princess Aemma.” He dismissed the apology she didn’t mean. “Her grace, the Queen, has asked me to escort you and your Septa for your lessons, to make sure you did not bring your dragon again.”

Queen Alicent likes to be present for these lessons, she was skilled in the ladylike arts in a way mother was not. Her skill with a needle was only unmatched with her skill with a brush, and her dancing was as good as her singing.

Mother was better at histories, arithmetic and languages, though. And obviously Mother was a dragon rider and a future queen, so her skills had to be those one can find in a Targaryen King.

“Sunfyre keeps trying to eat him because of his small size, if I let him go to the Dragonpit he might not live to see tomorrow.” Aemma tells the knight. “Surely her grace can make an exception for Elēnar.”

“Queen Alicent has a fear of dragons, a natural fear most of us have.” He says but doesn’t stop Ghar leading the way.

Ghar can fly well and fast, but it’s a clumsy sort of thing inside the castle even if the ceilings are high. It’s a great sight to see, however, even if the sight and sound of him makes the weaker lords and ladies cower in fear.

Once her mother had called a meeting with a Lord short because hearing how Ghar had made his knightly son soil his court clothes had father and mother trying not to laugh.

Aemma had been chastened, and made to present the Knight with her favor as an apology at the next tourney. She had gotten in more trouble for having told the King why she had done that.

Well, Queen Alicent had reprimanded her ---which her parents and grandparents did not like one bit---, but Grandfather Viserys and Grandfather Corlys did chuckle and Aemma counts that as a victory.

“Their fear would be understandable if it were a real dragon like Syrax, or Seasmoke or Meleys, Elēnar is practically a lapdog with wings. Even the King himself finds it slightly ridiculous.” Teora speaks for her, knows Aemma’s mind and can say things that don’t cause offense.

“Elēnar is a real dragon, Maester Gerardys says he is just small.” Aemma mutters in defense of Ghar, who has screeched at Teora for her insult. But alas, her poor dragon cannot talk, and it lands on Aemma to defend him from such slander.

“Even so, a beast as small as the princess’ dragon is capable of murder.” The Kingsguard continues to argue and provided the ten year old princess for a chance to get herself in more trouble.

“As are you.” It will be worth it; the girl tells herself.

“Aemma Velaryon!” Teora never uses her full name, in fact this is the first time her septa is truly angry. “Your mother will not be pleased to hear about this, apologize to Ser Criston.”

But it was the truth. Criston Cole had murdered father’s best friend and gotten away with it!

Why couldn’t she just speak the truth like all the adults do?

Why did she have to get into trouble for pointing out something everyone knew?

----

In the end, lessons with Helaena had ended forever because Aemma refused to apologize.

The king had to be involved, the matter had been too public to be handled discreetly and mother was still abed because of the birth.

“Aemma, sweetling, I need you to tell me who told you Ser Criston killed Ser Joffrey?” Viserys asked his only granddaughter in the privacy of his antechamber. “Your father says he has not said anything about the matter, and Ser Harrold assures me you asked him why Ser Criston remains in the Kingsguard after what happened.”

She likes the model her grandfather has made of Valyria, she only hated that she wasn’t allowed to play with it like the painted table in Dragonstone during history lessons.

Today she thinks it’s ugly, all white pumice stone. Building shaped in the stone her father and Harwin use for callouses that give them trouble, or Teora and mother use to remove the hair from under their arms and on their legs.

It’s a gross image she can never get out of her head.

“Aegon. He told me that Ser Criston would smash my head like he smashed Ser Joffrey’s head at mother’s wedding if I did not do my courtesies to his mother.” Aemma could lie to others, but never to her parents, her grandparents and Teora. “I thought he was lying ,but then I overheard mother and father talking about how father is unsettled by Ser Criston’s presence here.”

She could lie to Jace and Luke, but never a grown up, but her grandfather does not seem to hear the part where she admits to eavesdropping. Just heard the part where she says Aegon told her.

“Where did I go wrong with that boy?” the king asked himself.

She would love to say by having him, but she knew this would have her be in more trouble.

Bite your tongue, little dragon, bite it until it bleeds and then bite it some more, this her grandmother had taught her after Aemma told great-uncle Vaemond he would lose his head before he took the Driftwood Throne from Jace.

If only she had not ignored that lesson today.

“This was a matter for you to learn when you were older, you are too young to understand these things, child, but it does not excuse your disrespect to the Queen’s Sworn Shield. Do you understand, Aemma?” King Viserys was nice and gentle with her, liked her more than he likes mother’s half-siblings. Much more understanding and never hitting her with a rod on her hand like Helaena says grandfather hits Aegon.

Aemma nods with a sniffle, “I understand, lord grandfather.”

Yes, it was rude and mean, but why should she be made to apologize for pointing out a truth?

“You will apologize to Ser Criston and accept whatever punishment your mother and father decree, we will not have you behave this way. You are not Princess of Dragonstone nor Queen yet; you must do as you are told and mind your manners.” The old king crouched as he held her by the shoulders, making sure she was listening to him.

“Yes, grandfather, I won’t do it again.” She repeats, but Aemma doesn’t know if she will mean it after this is over.

----

“What will we do with her?” Laenor asked his wife as Aemma cried quietly facing the corner of their shared solar.

Aemma’s punishment had yet to be decided.

Her being put in a corner was just the preamble of it until they could decide how to make it look like they have punished her severely without doing so.

Neither Rhaenyra nor Laenor physically disciplined their children ---Laenor had too many bad memories of his father hitting him when he discovered his only living son like boys--- and Aemma rarely caused trouble.

Usually a scold would do, but this time people were watching and the Queen’s Party demanded the girl be punished severely. Some , like cousin Borros, even went as far as suggesting they hit her for her insolence.

Everyone seems to forget little Aem is just a girl of ten who already learned her lesson when she was so rudely told she would never have lessons with Helaena again.

“We could send her to your mother. She is at the age she should serve as a cupbearer.” Rhaenyra suggested.

“Please, Rhae, that’s not a punishment, that’s a reward.” Laenor scoffed.

His mother adored Aemma for obvious reasons, and while she did raise him and his sister to be somewhat good people, Laenor knows his parents will encourage her Velaryon Boldness just as they did with him and Laena.

“It will do her good to be outside of Court. Besides, certain ladies believe I am not setting a good example for her and have been very vocal about it.” His wife and friend admitted looking at their crying child.

She was a good mother, emulating hers and his because those were the two examples of motherhood she had, and their four children were growing up to be good sort of children.

If you asked him, they were doing a fine job.

Sure, the three boys with skin as white as cream were not his, but what did it have to matter when he loved them as if they were?

“I suppose you are right; court is not a good place to raise children.” He conceded, Prince Aegon is a clear example of that and he would be damned if he let his children become like that misbegotten brat. “We will send her to my mother as soon as her things are packed and have her publicly apologize to Ser Criston before supper this evening.”

“Gods, of all the people to offend, she had to offend him.” Rhae shook her head already dreading the spectacle they must endure.

#asoiaf fanfic #house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen #laenor velaryon #aemma velaryon #asoiaf au #someone will remember us fic #asoiaf #oc fanfiction #ocappreciationtag #fyeahhotdocs

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