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sl-ut · 23 days

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a prince’s desire

so sorry if this sucks lol I just got really high and wrote this in like 2 hours lolol

pairing: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!pregnant!reader x daemon targaryen

description: after being reunited with her lover, rhaenyra takes her back to dragonstone to join her family and requests that daemon take her as a second wife. now, over a year after the wedding, rhaenyra wants nothing more than to see her wife pregnant, and daemon is more than happy to oblige.

warnings: SMUT, pregnancy, reader gets pretty depressed while she's preggo, mentions of masturbation, angst, slight canon divergence, alcohol consumption, mentions of (consensual) adultery turned polyamory, mentions of death (adult and children :((( ), polygamy, swearing, all other canon warnings (incest (i try my hardest to not lay this one on thick bc ew), violence, sexism, etc)

words: 5K

date posted: 27/03/24

previous installments: a princess's order a lady's demand

After his third marriage, Daemon Targaryen had absolutely no intentions of taking another wife. His history with married life had not necessarily been a good one; Rhea Royce had been nothing but a royal pain in his ass; He’d been happy with Laena, though her life came to an end far too soon; He did love Rhaenyra, though ambition and pride often came between them. Mistresses, sure–Daemon was a rather insatiable man, and Rhaenyra had been almost consistently pregnant during their early years of marriage, but he’d never even once considered that he might have to stand through yet another wedding ceremony, especially one that had been arranged and encouraged by his still living wife and future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

He hadn’t been at all surprised when Rhaenyra confessed to him that she had once loved her childhood friend, nor that she did not think that she would ever truly be able to move past the conflict between them or love another quite the same. Of course, she loved Daemon, and even Laenor and Harwin to some degree, but none would ever stand up to her very first love that she’d allowed to slip through her fingers like running water. He was equally unsurprised to find that she’d not returned to their rooms on their first night back in King’s Landing, nor that she would return in the early hours of the morning with a familiar glow that he’d only seen on her after their own late night activities, especially since he’d caught wind earlier in the evening that Lady Y/n Y/l/n had returned to the capitol a widow.

There were things that he had expected from this relationship; The two would fuck, of course, to make up for lost time, they would spend the majority of their days strolling through the gardens as they had done when they were girls, and Y/n would perhaps even return to Dragonstone with them as her mistress. Daemon could not exactly blame his wife for her affections, Lady Y/n was undeniably beautiful, and he would certainly take her to bed if he were ever given the chance. She could remarry, of course, she was still young and she’d already proven herself to be fertile, even if the children had not survived infancy. Any man would be a fool to turn her away, which is exactly why Daemon found himself standing before her on the black-sand shores of Dragonstone, a chalice between them and blood dripping from either of their lips. Rhaenyra had watched on with glee, rushing forward the moment that the ceremony had been complete to engulf her new wife in a tight embrace, sealing their own union with a firm kiss.

Daemon had not been included in the wedding night activities, though he had been invited to watch, which he did so from the balcony of their chambers in order to give them their own space. Rhaenyra’s body had been glowing in the candle light, curves and smooth, milky skin on display for him and their new wife to admire as they both had time and time again in the past. Daemon could not tear his gaze away from their new wife’s figure, no matter how hard he tried. He blamed it on the novelty of having a new wife, especially one that he was not even able to touch on their wedding night, and he might have reacted the same way if he were to see any woman naked for the first time. He stroked himself on the balcony, low grunts leaving his lips as her moans reached his ears, eyes tracing over her breasts, the pudge of her stomach, the curve of her spine, and–oh… he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a woman’s core glisten like that before, nor had he ever heard such a prominent squelch as the Targaryen princess dipped her fingers inside. He’d always known she was a beautiful lady, but now, oh now he was able to understand to some degree why Rhaenyra was so strongly under her spell.

Just over a year had passed, and Daemon had still yet to enjoy his newest wife to the extent that he would have liked. He did enjoy getting to know her personally, finding her much more amusing than he had expected, and they often found themselves sitting together in the evenings while Rhaenyra was busy with her royal duties. They had kissed each other on several occasions, and she had once allowed him to kneel beneath her skirts one evening after a tad too much wine, but nothing further had developed in their physical relationship.

She had fit into their family easier than any of them could have expected. She was good with the children, taking them all under her wing as if they were her own, though her relationship with both Rhaenyra and Daemons older children was a bit strained in the beginning. Children were a bit of a sore topic for her; She rarely spoke of her own late children, but both Daemon and Rhaenyra could easily tell how broken she was over their deaths. She and Rhaenyra had bonded even more after Rhaenyra had lost her own daughter in labour, all three parties agreeing that Rhaenyra would not have any more children.

That did not change the fact that both Daemon and Rhaenyra could tell that Y/n longed to be a mother once more. She honoured her own boys on their name days, and on the anniversaries of their deaths, but none of Rhaenyra’s children saw her as a mother, nor did she expect them to. They both noticed the way she had this longing stare in her eyes each time that one of the younger children called for their mother, or as Jacaerys and Lucerys slowly grew into young men, as her own children would not be much younger than they are now had they survived their sickness. It was just after the one year anniversary of Daemon and Y/n’s wedding that Rhaenyra proposed to him that they offer Y/n the chance to have another child, as many as she was willing to carry, but of course it would ultimately be her decision; Neither of them were very fussed either way, they both already had a small militia of children of their own, but they would be happy to welcome more into the world, especially if it meant that she would be tied to the Targaryen bloodline through more than marriage.

They waited a while longer to bring this to her, but Rhaenyra had been subtly encouraging her to spend more time with Daemon, and even suggested that they might begin sharing a bed with one another from time to time, whether it be on their own or with Rhaenyra present. She assured her that he was in fact attracted to her, pointing out how she is the one that he stares so longingly at when he watches them together. It was not that Y/n had been opposed to this, she was equally as attracted to Daemon as he was to her, but she had not been with a man since her late husband, and she had not expected to ever take another man to bed again now that she and Rhaenyra were officially together.

The conversation was finally brought to her a month after she and Daemon spent their first night together. They had been intimate, but she had still not allowed him to be inside of her, instead opting to pleasure him with her mouth, hands, and breasts. Rhaenyra whispered in her ear during supper one evening, suggesting that they invite their husband to join them that night, which she excitedly agreed to, completely unaware of what sort of proposition they would offer her, and she was especially surprised at how quickly she consented to their idea.

Rhaenyra had knelt behind her that night, both straddling their husband’s hips as the blonde gripped her wife’s waist to aid her movements, guiding her with every bounce of her long cock and whispering praises into her ear between kisses on her neck. Daemon had been uncharacteristically happy to sit back against the headboard and watch as his wives moved in unison over him, grunting as the tight squeeze of her velvet walls around him. He could hardly pull himself away from her lips, eagerly swallowing every one of her sweet moans as he emptied himself inside of her, sighing as she slumped back against Rhaenyra as she reached her own peak.

They had continued this for months until the maester finally confirmed that Y/n was with child, her skin glowing in delight at the thought of having a child to raise with her husband and wife. By the fifth month of her pregnancy, her stomach had swelled enough to show through her heavy gowns, and her hormones had taken full effect of her everyday life.

If it weren’t bad enough that she was constantly fatigued, or that her feet and back ached, or that her breasts were swollen and tender to the mere brush of her gown against her sensitive nipples, she had also grown to be absolutely insatiable. She found that her thighs were constantly slick with her arousal, and that she was able to bring herself to orgasm in the simplest ways, even by just sitting on certain pieces of furniture. Daemon and Rhaenyra could no longer enjoy bedding her on the same night quite as regularly as before, all because of how regularly she was mewling for them; Daemon had even jokingly suggested that they encourage her maids to pleasure her throughout the day so that they could keep up with her, only to be met with Rhaenyra’s palm slamming into the back of his head. It even came to the point where Rhaenyra felt the need to consult the maester about how regularly all three of them were being intimate together, who advised that, as her pregnancy developed, physical intimacy may result in causing her pain.

Instead, Rhaenyra encouraged her to participate in some “self-care” routines, as she had called them, telling her that pregnancy could cause her to think poorly of herself in many ways, so she thought it best that she take long, hot baths under the candlelight, drink honeyed wine and have her maids soak her in scented oils before taking the initiative to pleasure herself as much as she desired. Daemon had not been so keen on this idea, considering that he was constantly finding her with her hands between her thighs and not allowing him to cut in until she had finished, meaning that she was incredibly sensitive and could not take quite as much as she used to be able to before she began this routine. Even Rhaenyra was beginning to regret it, easily noticing the way that her maids now stared at her longingly, likely having seen and heard her in the throes of self-pleasure more times than they had with her husband and wife involved.

When Rhaenyra brought up her annoyances with Daemon, he had been quick to point fingers, claiming that it was entirely her fault that Y/n had not been seeking them out as much. They both came to the conclusion that they needed to get her out of this habit as quickly as she had gotten into it.

“My love,” Rhaenyra smiled sweetly as she entered her chambers, finding her settled in the bathtub with rose petals floating in the water around her. The water rippled around her rounded belly and breasts as they poked out into the warm air. Rhaenyra thought that she had never looked so beautiful in her life, with the exception of their wedding day. “How do you feel? The maester told me you had a bout of sickness after supper.”

The woman opened her eyes, smiling sleepily at her wife as she knelt at her side, one hand dipping in to feel the temperature of the water, “‘M fine, Nyra. I do not think that mutton agrees with our babe.”

The Targaryen woman laughed, “I’m sorry, my love, I know how you enjoy mutton so. I will instruct the cooks to avoid it until the babe arrives then.”

“It’s alright,” Y/n stroked a hand over her belly, “I would give anything to keep her happy.”

“Her?” Rhaenyra asked, settling her hand on the bump as well, “You expect a girl?”

“I do,” Y/n beamed, “I will be happy either way, but I have a feeling. I know how you long for a daughter, as well.”

Rhaenyra flushed, “You are too kind to me my love. I will be happy with our child regardless of gender, so long as they are a part of the one I love the most.”

Y/n giggled, “Do not let our husband hear you speaking like that.”

“He knows his place,” Rhaenyra chuckled, fingers wandering up to brush against the tender flesh of her breast, smirking to herself at the moan that fell from her wife’s lips at the smallest touch.

Rhaenyra turned her head, finding her maids looking bashful in the corner of the room. They had been witness to Y/n’s pleasure before, but never at the hand of one of her spouses.

“Out,” She commanded, “I will finish my wife’s bath on my own.”

They all hesitated for a moment before nodding, curtsying to both women before rushing out.

“Nyra,” Y/n scolded, “I was about to begin my “self-care”.”

“I can care for you, my heart.” The silver-haired woman cooed as she lowered her hand below the surface of the water, taking little care for the sleeve of her gown as her fingertips found the slick button between her thighs.

“It was your idea, Rhaenyra.” Her voice sounded firmer than before, and her once sleepy eyes had grown hard and accusing.

“A stupid one, I must admit,” She sighed, rubbing small circles into her clit, “I miss how insatiable you once were, how you begged for me to touch you, how you begged for our husband’s cock.”

A flash of sadness appeared on her face as sprung to her waterline, “You were tired of me, you do not want me.”

Rhaenyra stopped her movements, “What?”

A soft sob left her lips, “You asked me to take care of myself. I thought it might have been because you and Daemon were busy, but then I came to your rooms one night and–”

She didn’t need to finish for Rhaenyra to understand. She and Daemon had found it difficult to keep up with their wife’s libido, but once she had begun taking care of herself, they still had their own desires and spent many nights together. Rhaenyra felt stupid for not seeing how this would feel to their wife, let alone now that her emotions were heightened. She had not considered herself unattractive until Rhaenyra asked if she mentioned that self pleasure was beneficial for helping her bodily insecurities, only to find that she and Daemon were continuing to fuck without her on the regular.

Y/n pushed her hand away, sitting up and pulling her knees as close to her chest as her stomach would allow, “Leave me.”

“My love–”

“Please,” Her voice cracked, “Send my handmaidens in, I want to go to bed.”

“Y/n, please let me–”

“Go!” She shrieked, tears now falling down her cheeks readily as she pushed herself out of the water abruptly, “Get out!”

The door burst open, her handmaidens appearing in the room with worried expressions at the sound of their lady’s screaming. They rushed forward, helping her step out of the tub and wrapping her in her favourite silk robe.

Rhaenyra watched as she stumbled away, ignoring the water dripping from her as she crawled onto the bed, the most heart-wrenching sobs leaving her lips. The Crown Princess did not want to leave, longing to go after her and make her understand, but the guilt that began to force itself up her throat was too much to bear. Without another word, she pushed through the doorway and into the corridor, rushing to find Daemon.

Y/n did not leave her chambers for three days. She had breakfast, tea, and dinner in her rooms with no company except for her handmaidens. She refused to allow Rhaenyra or Daemon in to see her any time that they had come to visit, even when they each tried to assert their rank over her handmaidens. She was now almost seven months into her pregnancy, and she was continuously wondering to herself how she had let herself be talked into another child. She wept day and night, countless apologies leaving her lips to her late children, begging for their forgiveness and cursing Rhaenyra and Daemon for bringing her walls down so much that she had allowed herself to be in the position to potentially lose yet another child.

On the fourth day, Rhaenrya had decided that enough was enough, and used the secret passageway into her wife’s room. When she found her, she felt her heart clench in her throat, finding her still in nothing but the silk robe that she’d left her in four days earlier, curled in a ball on her favourite sofa and staring blankly out the window. How had she allowed herself to hurt the one person she loved above all else again after vowing to protect her heart with her entire being?

“My love,” Rhaenyra called out, closing the hidden door behind her. She frowned when she was met with complete silence, “My love, can you hear me?”

“What is it, Your Grace?”

Rhaenyra cringed, having only heard Y/n speak to her so formally when she was truly angry with her. “The maester told me you have not slept or eaten in two days. It is not good for the child.”

Y/n scoffed, “The babe.”

“It is not good for you, either, my love.”

Rhaenyra knelt in front of her, hands cupping her cheeks and grimacing at how cold she felt. Rhaenyra had gone to Daemon that night, her pale cheeks flushed red and wet from her tears as she paced for hours, wondering how they would be able to make things right with her–how had she let this happen? How could she make her feel unloved by the two people who loved her more than anything?

“Please look at me,” She whispered, head ducking to meet her hollow gaze. “I’m not sure how I can make you feel how deeply angry I am with myself. I am so, so sorry, my love.”

Y/n sniffled, but did not respond.

“May I explain myself?” Rhaenyra waited for her weak nod before she continued, “I did not mean to make you feel unwanted, by any means. You are sweet, and good, and beautiful, and I could never imagine a world where I would not want you. Daemon and I–we cannot excuse ourselves, but we can explain. We were concerned for you, for how often we were bedding you. The maester told us that we could hurt you, which is why I suggested what I did. I did not mean to imply that we did not want you. In fact, we wanted you so deeply that we turned to each other for the first time in so long because we thought you were more comfortable with taking care of yourself.”

Y/n shook her head, “I only did it because that’s what I thought you wanted.”

“I could never not want you, my beautiful wife.” Rhaenyra pressed a kiss to her clammy cheek.

“I must admit,” Y/n laughed bitterly, “I began to believe after some time that I had become a concubine for you both.”

“I do not think it is custom to love one’s concubine, my sweet.” Rhaenyra chuckled, then turned sombre when she took note of her expression, “My love, else bothers you?”

“I do not want to have another child,” Y/n whispered, “I feel almost as if I am betraying my boys. I will love this child with all of my heart, and nothing makes me more happy than to be tied to you both through blood, but I will not have another.”

Rhaenyra sighed, “I am sorry if you have felt pressured by us.”

“I haven’t,” She shook her head, “But I have done some thinking over the past two days. I have been happy here, and I do want this child, but I’m not sure that I can handle another. This child is a sibling, but to have two, it feels like I am replacing them, and to me they are completely irreplaceable.”

Rhaenyra kissed her head, “You will not have to. I will speak to Daemon, and the maester. We will make sure that this is your last pregnancy.”

“You don’t think that Daemon will be upset with me? He won’t want any more children?”

“If he is, then perhaps we would need to rethink how many people we want in this marriage, don’t you think?”

This made Y/n giggle, and it was like music to Rhaenyra’s ears. She finally leaned into her, wrapping her arms around Rhaenyra’s middle and nuzzling into her neck. Rhaenyra gladly held her, running her fingers through her hair affectionately as she began to notice her breathing grow heavier.

“You must be tired, my sweet,” Rhaenyra turned her head to look at her, “Why don’t you have a bath while I go find you some supper, then you can rest.”

“Will you stay with me while I sleep?” She murmured.

Rhaenyra kissed her lips softly, “Of course I will.”

When Y/n woke up, Rhaenyra was still at her side, her long fingers stroking Y/n’s swollen belly over her thin nightgown.

“Good morning, my love,” She greeted with a small smile.

“Evening, you mean,” Y/n had not even noticed that Daemon had occupied the space behind her in the bed until he spoke up, his own hand reaching around to lay on top of Rhaenyra’s on her belly.

Y/n leaned back into him, sighing at the warmth being emitted from his firm chest, “How long was I sleeping?”

“Almost a day,” He kissed her temple to soothe her as she cried out in surprise, “But you needed it.”

“It’s true,” Rhaenyra affirmed, “You were awake for two days straight. I’ll call your ladies, you must be starving.”

“I am,” Y/n trailed a finger up her arm, “But not for food.”

Rhaenyra shook her head as Daemon chuckled at their wife, “My love, you are very weak right now–”

“Neither of you have touched me in almost two months,” She whined, “Please.”

The two Targaryens shared a glance over her shoulder, Daemon shrugging in response to Rhaenyra’s concerned look.

“Alright,” She finally conceded, “But you must lie there, let us take care of you.”

The woman eagerly nodded, excited whimpers falling from her lips from the slightest drag of Daemon’s lips against her jugular, his fingers pulling the strap of her nightgown down over her shoulder to expose one of her tender breasts. Rhaenyra was quick to pull her into a kiss, tongue forcing itself past her wife’s lips and swallowing every sound she made, her nimble fingers twisting her perky nipple gently.

Everything moved in a blur for Y/n over the next few moments, somehow finding herself now on her back, knees bent as her nightgown was rucked up to settle over her swollen belly, Rhaenyra wasting little time in dragging her tongue torturously through her folds, which had already been dripping with her sweet nectar from the moment that she had woken up. Her cheeks felt warm, embarrassed at how sensitive and wet she’d been before either of them even touched her and at how quickly she was able to feel herself at her peak.

At her side, Daemon was needy for her attention. He tucked two fingers under her chin, quickly turning her head to capture her lips in a warm and messy kiss. Her own eager fingers quickly found the laces of his breeches, tugging at them until they were just loose enough to slide her hand inside and take hold of his rapidly hardening member, their sighs of pleasure being lost in one another’s mouths as she slowly pumped him until he was completely hard, whining in protest as he pushed her touch away.

“Patience, sweet one,” He tsked at her, instead turning his attention to suckling at her breasts, tugging her other strap down to release both of her heaving tits to his mercy.

The wave crashed over her before she could comprehend it, eyes rolling back as neither of them made any move to slow or stop their ministrations as they each licked and sucked at her most sensitive parts until she was trembling with aftershocks.

“Do you think she is ready for me?” Daemon peered down at Rhaenyra, who had continued to lick at her clit softly.

She grinned up at him, “More than she’s ever been.”

He chuckled, reaching his hand down to feel her wetness for himself with a wicked glint in his eyes, “Perhaps we should deprive our needy little wife more often if it means she will always be this responsive.”

Rhaenyra frowned, “You are bold to assume that either of us will be able to resist for so long ever again, husband. I’m certain that I can’t.”

“Perhaps I merely need to be reminded, I may not have my wits about me.”

Within seconds, his clothes had been completely removed and was was dragging her by the ankles until her bum was hanging off the edge of the mattress and he was pressed tightly between her legs. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra had helped her slide her shift off over her head, leaving her completely bare to her husband and wife.

Her back arched off of the bed as Daemon notched the head of his member against her entrance, easily slipping inside with a drawn out moan, eyes closed as he relished in the feeling of her silky walls throbbing around him.

“See how he desires you?” Rhaenyra whispered to her, “You make him weak, he belongs to you. We belong to you.”

She nodded, watching in awe as Rhaenyra’s slender neck was engulfed by their husband’s fingers, his meaty fist forcing her to meet his hard kiss as his spare hand slid beneath Y/n’s hip and flipped her onto her side, barely missing a beat as he threw her top leg over his shoulder and sped up his thrusts.

Rhaenyra grinned into the kiss, reaching up to slide her middle and index fingers into her wife’s mouth, slowly thrusting them in and out until they were dripping with her saliva. Carefully, she moved them down and began circling them around her untouched hole, feeling the snug ring of muscles tighten and release under her touch. The sloppy juices of her release had dripped down and provided an extra lubricant as one of her long fingers dipped inside, stilling for a few moments to allow her to adjust to the intrusion before she pressed the second in as well. Her movements were slow, not wanting to force the tightness of her ass and further than she already was, especially with the force of Daemon’s thrusts into sweet cunt.

Mere moments passed before her second release began bursting out of her core and splashing against Daemon’s stomach, the warmth of her juices bringing him to his own climax. She allowed him to keep forcing himself into her abused hole before she was pressing her foot flat into his shoulder to push him away.

“Look at her,” Rhaenyra murmured to him, smirking down at her wife’s trembling body, “Look at how needy she is for us. We belong to her, but she is ours alone.”

Daemons slowly allowed his cock to slide out of her, falling down to poke at her asshole as Rhaenyra pulled her fingers out. The future queen slid from the mattress, disappearing out of Y/n’s sight as Daemon huddled overtop of her, pressing warm kisses across her neck and chest. He pulled back as Rhaenyra reappeared next to her, wiping her hands clean with a wet cloth before she made quick work of wiping the pregnant woman’s sensitive cunt clean as Daemon readjusted his breeches as she moved across the room to sit by the burning fireplace.

Rhaenyra helped her wife move back up to lay against her pillows, tucking her in beneath the soft sheets. She crawled in next to her, pressing her lips to her forehead and chuckling when Rhaenyra felt her tugging at her skirts.

“I am alright, my heart,” She pushed her hands away, “You should rest. We will call for your supper.”

Y/n nodded, a touch disappointed that she hadn’t been able to taste her wife’s delicious cunt, but her sadness faded as she felt her eyes fluttering shut, lulling her into a deep sleep as she huddled closer to Rhaenyra’s chest.

#reader insert #x reader #imagines #house of the dragon spoilers #house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd rhaenyra #rhaenyra is a gay icon #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon x rhaenyra #daemon targeryan #daemon x reader

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thebadboyfanclub · 11 months

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This Is What You Deserve (Daemon x Reader)

Look man you don't choose when the smut will come to you, it just does. This was requested by anon and @ladystrongofharrenhall which I feel the need to apologise cause it like barely is what you requested, if you feel like you don’t like it please let me know and we can figure out something else for me to write for you.

“The dowager lady of Harrenhall, (y/n) Strong with her son and heir Arryan Strong”

The man introduced the lady dressed in all black that stood before the iron throne with a toddler holding her hand that was dressed in deep blue, a spitting image of his father, soft curls fell directly on his face and eyes that had stolen the color right out of the deep sea.

The lady bowed before the king that had invited her to court after the incident that had occurred in Harrenhall, within the night she had lost her husband and good father, both of them gave their lives to save her and her son, now she was in kings landing for the first time since her wedding.

“My king, it is very thoughtful of you to invite me to your court”

“Nonsense, your husband was one of the most trusted men within the gold cloaks and his father was a good friend of mine, last time I saw you you were dressed in all white”

“A lot has changed since then I am afraid”

“Indeed, I grief for the loss you have suffered, I summoned you to offer you a place in my court, under my protection, your born family has been an ally since the beginning, your son will be my cupbearer and will receive the same education as every noble boy and you can live within the castle as the queens' companion”

“Your honor me, your grace, it gladdens my heart that you thought of us amongst the countless matters that demand the kings' attention”

(Y/n) had learned from a very young age that a lady was to act a certain way, she had just lost the earth from underneath her feet, left with a son in her arms and a scandal on her back that she had to shield him from, she could feel every pair of eyes on her back, all of them like crows that waited for a sign of weakness, she would not give them that satisfaction, not today, not ever.

“The servants will lead you to your chamber, I believe your travel is quite long”

“Indeed, thank you, my king”

“My king”

Sweet Arryans voice was heard as he bowed in unison with his mother, a boy of 4 years of age, he was (y/n)s sun and moon, anything and everything she did she did it to make sure his future is secured and his present time is as happy as it could be amongst the chaos.

“My boy”

“Mother!”

Little Arryan ran to his mother and hugged her as tightly as his little arms could although he could not completely wrap them around (y/n)s hips since this was the height that he was.

(Y/n) scooped up her son to check for any injuries or some type of harm, (y/n) had attempted to stay calm and calculated in front of the court, however, imagine her surprise when she left her little boy with Baela and Rhaena to play together and when she came back Baela told her that their father Daemon had taken Arryan up on Caraxes.

“You looked tiny from up there”

“I did, didn’t I? Let’s go inside now”

“You are welcome, I am sure that was a moment the child will never forget”

(Y/n) was fuming, Daemon had approached her a few morrows ago to offer his condolences, being a widower himself he could indenting the struggle and pressure she was under, at the time she faintly smiled and curtsied to thank him.

Now (y/n)s eyes threw a dagger and her lips were a thin line, how dare he so arrogantly demand a thank you for putting her child in danger? Arryan wasn't a Targaryen, nor was he a kin to Daemon, the possibility of Caraxes to harm the child was huge.

“Baela, take Arryan inside, I shall be with you in a moment”

Her voice grew cold, and the surroundings were resembling of a cloud closing in and overshadowing the sun, like a warning of a strong that gathered around Daemon's head who seemed clueless of the warning signs that he is daughters picked up so easily that got them almost running away from themselves

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who gave you the authority to take my son up on that beast with you?”

“You should feel flattered, he is one of the few people that get to say that they have gone up on a dragon”

“I know that your family likes to frown down upon us from your mighty dragons but listen to me well, my son is the future lord of Harrenhall and the carries my born name of Featherdall, we were the biggest army Aegon the conqueror had on his side when he took over the seven kingdoms, so the next time you even think of coming around me and my son with your high and mighty attitude I would advise you to think how well would it go for you if you angered the house that put you up on that throne, got it?”

Daemon was stunned, he just stared at the lady that stood before him with her breath heavy and audible enough for everyone to feel her fury, she wasn’t a dragon but Daemon swore he could see fire in her hues, no one had dared to speak to the rogue prince this way, still there she was, commanding him and keeping her head up high, not an ounce of doubt or fear in sight.

“Yes, my lady”

“That’s what I thought”

“Alright my love, let me tuck you in”

“Momma, can I go up to the dragon again?”

“I am not sure sweetling, the prince is a busy man”

“But he said he will find time whenever I want”

“Did you like the dragon that much?”

“Uh-huh, you said Papa is up in the sky, I wanted for him to see me better”

(Y/n) was speechless, tears welling up in her eyes at the doting explanation her son had given her, she could detect the joy the little boy had experienced that day, she had not seen him this happy since Harwin was alive.

“Go to bed now, I will ask Prince Daemon on the morrow”

“Thank you, momma, goodnight”

“Goodnight my love”

Regret took over her body and soul like poison, she lost composure and talked back to a royal, she did not even take a minute to think of how did Arryan end up on the dragon, (y/n) had switched to defense mode the moment she saw the humongous animal land and did not care of anything else besides that her child could have been harmed.

Daemon could not find sleep, he tossed and turned for hours but his mind was occupied with playing (y/n)s speech over again instead of leaving him to rest, she was fuming however there was something in the way she looked at him, at the trembling tone of her voice that Daemon could empathize with… grief.

It was almost like the Gods had orchestrated it, leaving them restless and wandering in the gardens with the encounter that had a sour taste in their mouths.

Daemon was the one that noticed her figure sitting down on the bench, a silk cape covering her as her hair was down instead of a tight undo like it was in the morning, he chose to remain silent as he approached slowly and sat next to her, (y/n) did not turn to look at the prince, something told her exactly whom it was.

“I am sorry, I should have not talked to you that way, it was entirely inappropriate”

“You were defending your child, I should have asked permission to take him with me. I understand why you lost your temper”

“Sometimes I dream of putting him in a bubble, to keep him from… harm”

Her voice cracked once more, at that little word so many emotions were hidden, love, fear, anger, confusion, Daemon looked at her side profile while the moonlight caressed her cheeks, the difference of expression between the lady he met in daylight was tremendous, she had lived every day in agony but painted a smile for her son, now he could see the true cracks.

“Why did you come back to kings Landing? Harrenhal might have been better?”

“The king summoned us, Harwin and I had never presented our son to the court, now I had to make sure he was established as the future lord of the house strong”

“Did you love him? Harwin”

“Deeply, he treated me with kindness and respect”

“I don’t know how much respect did he show to your wedlock, especially with all the whispers that surrounded his name”

“Harwin was a wonderful man, I lost three children before we had Arryan, my father told him that he would understand if Harwin wished to leave our marriage, still he stood by me and loved me”

“Is that what love is to you? A man sticking at your side while he has other children”

“I will not let you taint my dead husbands' name, I have already apologized why are you trying to get me riled up again?”

“I’m not”

(Y/n) scoffed at Daemon's protest and got up so she can get some distance from him, her back was now facing him and Daemon realized he was pressing down on a wound that was still tender, it was not his place to question their marriage since he has two on his back.

“I just, you are a young lady you certainly deserve more than the bare minimum?”

“Bare minimum? Are you even aware of what most women have to put up with when it comes to their husbands? Beatings, embarrassment, constant pregnancies, bastards, public belittling, Harwin treated me with care, he was sweet and offered me much more than any woman could ever wish for”

“He fucked Rhaenyra”

The harsh slap against Daemon's cheek was heard loudly around the garden, even (y/n) was taken back by her action, she did not understand why he kept pressuring her, like a knife that he had stabbed her with and now he kept twisting it around, Harwin was nowhere near perfect but there was a level of understanding between them, he kept her away from the dramatics and carefree enough, why was Daemon kept nitpicking at her?

Daemon's eyes grew wide, it stung but it did not hurt him, was most shocking, they both gawked at one another waiting for someone to do or say something, maybe it was (y/n)s sudden rush of emotion that compelled him to do the same or just him being compulsive, whatever it was that took over it was strong enough to push her against the nearest wall and plant the most passionate kiss (y/n) had ever experienced, at first she froze still the heat that radiated from his hands as they roamed her body and the strength his kiss held sweetened the moment and she closed her eyes, in a way one would say she surrendered.

“This is what you deserve”

Daemon growled as the kisses went down from her lips to the nape of her neck, Harwin was a sweet lover, his touch was soft, and (y/n) was taken care of, however (y/n) could see that it lacked in passion, he did not yearn for her, it was just another way to show her that he loved her.

“We could get caught”

“Not if you are quiet”

That would have been a piece of wonderful advice had he not made it so difficult by thrusting intensely, she whimpered from pleasure while her nails dug deep into his skin and drew blood, she even bit her lip to the point of bleeding to prevent herself from letting the whole keep know how much she was enjoying this, she had never felt what it was like to be craved, wanted, needed even, Harwin loved her still his body did not weaken at the sight of her nakedness nor did his hues darkened during their sacred bedding.

Daemon's eyes were as dark as the deep waters of the ocean, his grip on her waist was ironlike, and his body collided with hers while she hoisted up her leg to his waist for more access and comfortability, the match was resembling the concept of throwing fire to gasoline.

“Please Daemon”

“You sound so pretty when you beg”

Both of them were out of breath but kept pushing, their bodies acted like they knew each other for years, that this was a normal day for them, they instinctively were conscious of how the other liked to be touched, kissed, gazed upon, it was addicting, it was (y/n)s first time of feeling like the queen of the world and Daemons first time that he wanted to over-perform, to fill every need and tend to her every desire.

“Hush”

He shushed her when a yield escaped her lips as she reached her end, he kissed her once more as she moaned in his mouth, his pace slowed and both of their bodies relaxed when they rode the pleasure at the very last wave of it.

“Do you now understand what I meant when I said that you were getting the bare minimum?”

Daemon whispered in her ear before he left a kiss on her cheek, her face glowing and wet from droplets.

“Yes”

“You are burning up”

(Y/n) was sweating profusely, although Daemon wanted to take a good look at her, to remember the moment that a faint smile decorated her lips as she grew tired but her body was relaxed as it was used to the very bit of its powers, Daemon softly blew some air at the side of her neck to cool her, though all it did was compel her body to grow goosebumps and shake.

“Stop, it tickles, you are no better either, you are a sweaty mess”

“The sweat of a champion, anyone that would even glance at you would see how content you are”

“And you are not? You are still inside of me”

“I must admit, it is like a nice warm hug”

(Y/n) pushed him off at the cheeky comparison making him giggle, she fixed her dress to hide most of the damage while Daemon pulled his trousers up and buttoned up the shirt with the few buttons that were left since (y/n) had ripped it open.

“We must go”

“I will collect Arryan on the morrow after I break my fast”

“And who told you you could do that?”

“No one, I assumed I get privileges when you were holding on to me for dear life whilst I-“

“Alright alright, I will see you on the morrow”

Requests are open!

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ellastone-olsen · 9 days

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Could I request something Rhaenyra x Stark!reader smut with them being feral codependent soulmates? I love that trope. They would totally be unhinged and in love wives together plus the fire and ice parallels 😭 Like after Laenor “dies”, Rhaenyra’s goes looking for a new spouse and runs into Stark!reader and it’s just love/obsession at first sight?

My queen is cruel | Rhaenyra Targaryen

★Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem!Stark!reader

Summary: your family comes from Winterfell to the capital at the invitation of the Targaryen family. Princess Rhaenyra announced that she would choose a new spouse. Your brother was a contender from the House of Stark, but it seems to the princess that another contender from the rulers of the north is more interesting.

★Warnings: NSFW 18+, soulmates dynamic, mentions of blood and alcohol, innocent reader, virginity loss, oral, fingering

★Word count: 3.1k

★AN: omg my first House of the Dragon fic, I hope I translated some titles and names correctly. Thanks for the request, it took me so long to write this, but I love Rhaenyra so much 💕

Rhaenys's bitter, heartbreaking cry is heard in the silence of the room. The woman looks at the burnt body that just a few minutes ago was her son. “Who allowed this?! Why wasn’t anyone around?!” Corlys embraces his wife in rage and grief. That day, sadness became the main companion of the grieving parents.

No one knows that on the shore, the one who is now considered dead is running towards the boat. Laenor Velaryon sails away to disappear forever from this life in which he was imprisoned. Rhaenyra gave him a chance at happiness and Laenor will not forget this.

Rhaenyra Targaryen is officially recognized as a widow. It is expected that rumors about the death of the princess's husband began to spread like a plague, from servants to other servants, and those to their families, from there the plague was transmitted to all seven kingdoms. Some believed in the official story, others, like the grieving mother, blamed the Targaryen family for everything, they said that the princess ordered the murder, that she was tired of her husband. But for Rhaenyra it was enough to know that this was absurdity and slander.

“So what are you going to do next?” Daemon approached unnoticed. Rhaenyra didn’t look at him, her gaze was directed far out to sea. "I think I'm looking for a new spouse." Damon thought the hint was crystal clear. He thought that she still wanted him, wanted to finish what they started that night all those years ago. “Rhaenyra...” He was interrupted, “No uncle, leave it alone. Kiss me and let me go. If you do not...” A ringing silence hung between them. The phrase did not need to be continued; he already understood it.

King's Landing was filled with lords, princes and princesses from all over Westeros. The royal family invited all the noble houses, announcing that the heir to the iron throne would thus choose a new life partner.

“I don’t understand why you took me with you.” Your carriage was approaching to the King's Landing. Your parents were, as always, calm and cool, as befits the Starks, the rulers of the north. Your younger brother looked around the windows excitedly, clearly excited about his first trip outside of Winterfell. “Your mother and I think that you also need to see the capital.” Your father, as always, spoke directly and to the point. You smiled bitterly. “Only we’re here to try to marry Rob to this pompous princess.” You didn’t hide your bias towards this whole thing, which was more like an auction. “Y/N just try to say something like that about the princess in public and you will disgrace the entire House of Starks.”

For the rest of the trip you rode in silence, only occasionally fiddling with the hilt of the sword hidden in a sheath under your heavy black coat. Perhaps you had a little curiosity about the princess. What does the one who will take the iron throne look like, against whom there was so much outrage just because she was a woman. You thought that she must be strong and stubborn just like her ancestors. The same as the previously lived Visenya about whom you once read.

The carriage stopped.

“Do I have to wear this? How will I take my sword with me?” Your mother stood in the chambers that had kindly been allocated to you and watched as a maid helped you lace up a black dress with antique long sleeves. “You don't need the sword today, honey. This is a royal ball and you are not a knight in service." You looked in the mirror, and even though dresses weren't something you wore often, it didn't look bad at all for your taste. Still, the velvet in tandem with the large fur coat that you took from Winterfell looked harmonious.

“But what if something goes wrong and I’m left without a weapon?” You insisted. After so many years of training, the sword became an extension of you, and going out without it was akin to death. "The Royal Guard will protect us all." Your mother tried to be gentle and calm your worries. The woman came up behind you and put her hands on your shoulders. “For just one evening, be a princess and not a rude warrior. For me." You covered her hands. "Okay, just for you."

All arriving guests entered the huge hall in turn, after which they were seated at long tables, which were bursting with an abundance of dishes kindly offered by the royal family. “The Starks of Winterfell,” the man shouted and your family entered the hall. You followed your parents straight to the table in the center, at which the Targaryen couple was already sitting with the king and that famous Princess Rhaenyra at their head. Finally, you were close enough that you could see a woman with dazzling white hair and sharp purple eyes. Your breath caught somewhere in the depths and you couldn’t look away. It seems at this moment the ice and skepticism inside you broke, burst into a thousand pieces. You had to lower your head according to the rules of etiquette, but you couldn’t tear yourself away from contemplation. And when she finally looked at you, when your eyes met, you realized that you had problems. “Your Grace, this is our son Rob and eldest daughter Y/N.” Your father, as the head of the family, introduced his children and added, “I hope that Rob can claim the place of your husband Princess Rhaenyra.”

At these words, you remembered why you were here and a little jealousy pricked somewhere in your chest. You were almost jealous of your brother. But who are you to be jealous, because you just met. This is all becoming too strange, but so tempting. You sat down and the evening began.

Wines of different varieties continually filled the glasses of rich gentlemen, everyone laughed, joked and discussed who the heiress would choose as her husband. The Lannisters were sitting next to you and you could hear snatches of greasy jokes about how their eldest son could have Rhaenyra in all poses. Anger boiled inside you, how could this bastard say such things about this woman. “And they also say that her sons are bastards, and she is a whore.” The loud laughter of the Lannisters infuriated you even more. “Then your house is no better for having sworn allegiance to a whore.” You thought you said it quietly, but they apparently heard you.

“I didn’t hear what the pup from Winterfell was barking just now?” Everyone who was at your table fell silent and the whole room also paid attention to this. “I said what I meant.” The man was already deeply drunk and clearly in the mood for a fight. He stood up and you stood up next, you were the same height. “If you are so brave, then say out loud what you think of the princess.” Rhaenyra's purple eyes watched your quarrel carefully, it would be a lie to say that she did not look at you all evening, knowing that all the men in this room would be denied. She definitely liked your spark and wanted to see what happened next.

“I said that her sons are bastards, and she is a whore.” The man said the last word slowly, syllable by syllable, everyone present was in suspense. King Viserys took out his favorite blade. "I'll cut out your filthy tongue." As soon as he finished the phrase, a knife, prudently hidden under a fur coat, appeared in your hand and pinned Lannister’s palm to the table. He tried to get it. “There are a lot of vital veins in this part of the arm; if you try to pull it out, you will bleed to death.” The white cloaks immediately drew their swords and stood ready. Rhaenyra's entire being was hypnotized in delight by your actions and words, at that moment she chose her spouse. The entire Lannister family stood up and was ready to tear you apart.

"Get them out." For the first time that evening, Rhaenyra's voice broke the silence of the event. The bastard's face lit up with a smile. “My princess, thank you...” But before he could finish speaking, the guards twisted his hands, pulling the knife out of his palm, causing the man to let out a bitter scream. The entire Lannister family was disgracedly eliminated from the feast; there was silence for several more minutes, only whispers were heard from different sides.

"What are you doing." Your father pulled you by the arm, urging you to sit down, and glared at you with eyes full of rage. “Your mother asked you not to take weapons with you.” “She asked not to take the sword, dear father.” Rhaenyra stood up. “Today, to our great regret, unpleasant and unacceptable events occurred for the royal court.” She paused, her gaze returning to you and a smile gracing her lips. “But let’s not let these events overshadow our holiday, let’s raise our glasses and have a feast.” The crowd cheered and raised their glasses as they praised Princess Rhaenyra's wisdom and resilience. The celebration continued until late at night, you drank several glasses of wine after the incident and by the end you were decently drunk.

All evening you kept looking at Rhaenyra, your head was filled with thoughts about how beautiful and wise she is, about how wrong you were, how you regret that you didn’t want to go to the capital. But then these euphoric thoughts were darkened by the fact of her imminent marriage to one of the men of these noble houses and perhaps even to your brother.

You headed to your chambers, every now and then passing by local servants. Your legs dragged you heavily, your mind only thought about taking a warm bath and washing away inappropriate thoughts about the heiress. The heavy door opened with a slight creak, letting you into the semi-darkness of the room. You thought that you asked the servants to extinguish all the candles, but for some reason they were burning. Your gaze caught on an unfamiliar figure standing with his back to you, and the knife that had recently been in the Lannister’s bastard was again in your hand, waiting to defend yourself from intruders.

"You're a little warrior aren't you?" A velvety voice broke the silence and the stranger turned to face you. You immediately lowered the knife. “Your Grace, forgive me, I didn’t know it was you.” You immediately bent your knee in front of her. You were absolutely at a loss and the whole situation was a little confusing, why was the princess, the heir to the throne, waiting for you in your chambers in the middle of the night? “No need for formalities, please stand up.”

She walked through your chambers looking at some of your personal belongings until she found the sword. “Oh, this is your main weapon, as I understand it, you don’t to swing a knife every time of course ...” she bent down to take a closer look at the sparkling silver blade. “Such a beautiful thing, to match the owner.” Her compliment made your already red cheeks flush. “Did you want to talk about what happened, Your Grace?” you desperately wanted to change the topic.

“Did your mother ever tell you the legend of soulmates?” You were dumbfounded by her question. “Your Grace, I don’t quite understand...” She continued to walk around the room. “Don’t they really tell such stories in the north?” Her tone sounded fakely upset. “They say I know one.” “Then tell me too.”

You didn’t understand anything, Rhaenyra Targaryen came to you at night to listen to fairy tales for children? Perhaps something was put in the wine and now you were hallucinating, but it seemed like everything looked real. The woman lit the fireplace and, unbecoming for a future queen, sat down on the soft fur in front of the fire. She looked up at you, inviting you to sit next to her, you obeyed. The crackling of logs, the heat of the fire and the soft floral perfume of Rhaenyra lulled to sleep.

“My mother... told me when I was a child that there was a belief...” you cleaned the throat. “That every person has their own soulmate, but not everyone is able to find it, it’s like a person who was created by the seven gods just for you.” Rhaenyra began to unravel her tight braid; her head began to hurt unpleasantly from her hairstyle. You watched out of the corner of your eye as her snow-white strands gradually fell onto her shoulders. “And how do you understand who exactly your person is?” She encouraged you to continue. “I don’t remember exactly, but they said that when you see him or her, you will immediately understand, just the first glance or the first meeting and…boom.” "Boom?" She asked again, not quite understanding your strange wording. "Yes." You were looking at the burning logs when Rhaenyra's hand covered yours. She has already unbraided her hair. “Do you want to brush them?” Something strange was clearly happening. But who are you to refuse, you nodded and took the wooden comb brought from Winterfell from the nightstand. Hands carefully took strands of silver hair and combed them, as if they would break from the wrong movement.

“Do you believe in this legends?” You thought for a second. “I’m not sure, or rather I didn’t believe it before, but now these fairy tales don’t seem so stupid to me.” You put comb down, combing all hair perfectly. “I don’t understand why these questions are asked, Your Grace.” Your head was a complete mess due to the mixture of alcohol and adrenaline caused by the woman next to you. “Please call me Rhaenyra.” She turned to face you. “You understand everything, little warrior, don’t lie to me.” The woman moved closer and closer until she placed one hand on your shoulder. "Your Grace...Rhaenira." She leaned in so close that her lips were almost touching yours. "I want you." You looked into bright purple eyes, which shone yellow in the firelight. “Tell me the wolf of Winterfell, do you want me?” Her perfume smelled so delicious, her soft skin, white as her hair, that the dress did not hide, begged to be touched, “I...yes please, I want you.”

Rhaenyra's lips touched yours, sharing the sweetness of the recently drunk wine. One of the woman's hands grabbed the collar of your velvet dress and began to pull it down your shoulders to free your soft breasts. She carefully laid you on your back, on the soft fur, holding the back of your head. Her lips moved to her neck, then to her shoulder and then wrapped around her pink nipple. The action caused you to place your hand on her head, stroking her silver hair. The princess's hands lifted the skirt of the dress to the waist and stroked the skin of your soft thighs. "Cute little thing." She giggled and touched your lips again. The kiss was untidy, but full of tenderness and desire. Rhaenyra relieved you of underwear, her fingers slipped inside without a barrier, you were completely wet, just for her, but then she remembered. “Is this your first time?” She stopped any action, waiting in horror for an answer. "Yes, my grace." Rhaenyra buried her nose in the crook of your neck and began to kiss you, whispering, “I’m sorry, I should have asked earlier.” Your hand rested on hers that was still between your legs. “Please continue, I want this more than anything.”

And she continued, gently pounding and curling her fingers to hit that sensitive spot inside that made you see stars and whine like a pup. "Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, oh please my grace." Your hand touched the sensitive bud for additional stimulation. “Oh fuck, fuck...I'm gonna...” “Cum for me, cum for your queen.” Her movements became faster and clearer until you came, squeezing around her long fingers, biting your hand so as not to scream from the new sensations that she was giving you. She pulled out and showed you her hand, which sparkled in the firelight from your release, and then licked every last drop, causing your eyes to darken.

When you came to your senses, you stood up, only to strip completely and push Rhaenyra towards the bed, urging you to sit on it. "Please let me return the favor." You knelt in front of her, lifting the skirt of her dress up to expose her stockinged legs. Your lips kissed every centimeter of skin, no one worshiped it like you. When your mouth reaches her pussy, you notice that her arousal has left a wet mark on the bed linen. The tongue draws a line along the entire length, collecting her arousal, and the woman moans, lowering her hand to stroke your cheek. “My little savior, tell me, would you have killed him if I had not intervened?” You kiss her palm. "Yes my grace." And you hug her sensitive bud with your lips, simultaneously pushing three fingers inside, immediately picking up a fast pace. "Oh Gods!" She moans and screams without being embarrassed to be heard, the way you stretch her drives the woman crazy. “Fuck, that’s it!” and “Yeah right there, that’s my good girl.” You fuck her, trying to please your queen as best as possible and feel how she clench around your fingers. “Fuck fuck Y/N!” She cums, for a long time, and you fuck her through orgasm until she whines from overstimulation, asking her to stop.

You move onto the bed and lie on top of her again, kissing her. “I didn’t believe in soulmates until I saw you.” She hugs you, covering your naked body. You lie there, again inhaling the aroma of her perfume and not believing in the reality of what happened. “I would like to believe that it’s true,” she replies and you think.

“Have you already chosen someone to be your spouse?” You say this quietly, in a whisper. It was at this moment that you remembered why your family came here in the first place and how you may have acted meanly towards your brother. She laughs and you don't understand. "Yes, I chose you."

You lift your head sharply, looking into those purple eyes to see if she's deceiving you. “But...what if people are against it, what will you do?”

She thought about it, she knew that there would be dissatisfied people. “Then I will personally give Syrax the command to burn to the ground anyone who questions my choice.”

#house of the dragon #rhaenyra is my queen #rhaenyra targaryen #queen rhaenyra #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #hotd rhaenyra

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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 3 months

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“A Damsel's Debt” A Dark!Loki x Reader Oneshot

One unexpected evening, the Prince of Asgard saves your life. Asgardian tradition dictates that a rescued damsel must pledge her body to her savior from sunset to sunset in gratitude, to be his to serve and obey in tribute for her spared life.

Pairing: Dark!Dom!Loki x F!Sub!Reader Genre: DubCon Smut Word Count: 3.8k CONTENT WARNINGS (18+ ONLY): Reader is attacked & threatened with assault, DubCon, love slave trope, shackles and chains, some knife play, Lusty Loki gets kind of creepy in this one, uneven power dynamics/classism, humiliation, degradation, being bathed, virginity kink/loss, breeding kink for a sec because apparently that's my thing since I got married , this is NOT a love story

“Blessed Norns, protect me, and remind me to never again take a job after sunset!”

The Lower Ring was foggy that night. Even the squares, still dense with night-goers, were limited in visibility. It was a dangerous night for a lone woman to be in the wrong part of Asgard, which, of course, most of the Lower Ring was. Still, you trudged along, attempting to stay within eyesight of at least three different people at a time as you passed, though that was becoming more difficult the further away from the center you went.

While the palace of the Allfather and the Royal Family stood as the shining gilded centerpiece of Asgard, the bustling city below was divided into three rings, each walled off from the other with a few guarded archways to keep the riff raff from intermingling with the merchants or clerics up above.

The riff raff like you, for example.

Granted, you weren’t so poor as to be in constant need. In fact, your business had a small but shining reputation throughout the boroughs. Several months ago, you’d even been summoned to the palace by the King himself to deliver a bag of letters to the military training camp outside the city limits. You’d had the rare opportunity to lay eyes on the beautiful Queen, and the dashing Princes, both studly and in their physical prime. It was an honor you knew you’d carry with you for a long time.

Also, it wasn’t as if your purpose out in the ominous evening was nefarious. You were a courier, a courier of anything at all (as long as no one asked about it). Once in a while, your cargo was questionable, but those packages usually came with the biggest tips. Those tips fed your four little siblings and your incapacitated widowed mother.

Tonight, however, your cargo was innocent: a bag of fruit to be delivered to the home of a sick old man. In spite of the benign purpose of your journey through the winding alleys of Lower Asgard, you felt like you were being followed. It was a feeling that stilled your heart as you quickened your pace.

Soon, your fears began to materialize in the physical plane. You began to see two large shadows moving independently following you from only meters away. Oh Norns, please don't let it be murderers!

Sometimes, you went on a mission dressed as a man. It was safer. Tonight, you chose to forgo the disguise, instead wearing your usual brown dress and black cape, hood up and over your head and pulled low over your brow. You were regretting it the more you realized that you were being targeted.

You called out, holding the bag you carried as if it were a bludgeon. “Whoever you are, leave me alone! I have no money! Only fruit for a dying old man!”

An animal’s growl answered you from a nearby alley as he and two other men began circling you like starving scavengers. “We do not want your money, maid.”

“You know what we want!” hissed another.

The three shadows closed in on you before you could attempt to dash away. You felt a violent pull on your shoulder as the messenger bag was ripped at the strap and thrown over the shoulder of the biggest of the brigands.

Screaming, you tried to duck under their legs, but again, you were slower than their reflexes. You were caught at the shoulders and lifted off of your feet by the tallest of the thieves, easily over seven feet in height and 400lbs. He could shatter you with one well-placed hit, and you knew it.

There was no one around to help, as far as you knew. You were done for.

Weeping and begging for your honor and your life to be spared, the robber holding you carried you quickly into the alley, followed by his companions, where each one took a wrist and pinned you against the wall. Each angrily stomped on your foot, wrenching another painful holler from you as bolts of lightning shot up your legs. They pulled your feet apart, splitting your legs apart by force under your skirt.

Oh no, Freyja, please save me…

You closed your eyes, and though you had no talent for magic, you tried to will yourself to safety somehow.

Instead, you willed a savior into existence.

You could feel one of the three brigands being pulled away from you. Another responded to the anonymous attack by throwing you aside by the arm, sending you hurdling to the floor, where you curled up into a ball defensively as the third pulled a knife and leaned down, pointing it at your ear so you wouldn’t move to escape.

It was too dark to make out who your hero was, only that he possessed green magic. A mage? A cleric? No, not a cleric. The monasteries were in the Upper Ring near the palace.

The lone stranger was able to use his defensive magic to stun his first attacker, throwing him against the wall. Meanwhile, you could feel the assassin’s dagger still at your head, the tip beginning to push down against your flesh.

Punches were thrown, kicks were delivered, and within minutes, three large bodies were piled unconsciously in the corner of the alleyway. You were still trembling in a ball on the ground until you saw black boots slowly saunter up next to your head. Knees bent underneath green pants.

A curious Prince’s gaze met your eyes as he examined you.

“Oh my, what have we here? A silly girl who knew no better than to walk around unescorted after nightfall?” said Loki, the junior Prince, the seidr-caster. He was the slick god known for his love of power, gold, and sex with only the most handsome bodies and faces he could collect. You were suddenly aware of his heaving muscles, stressed after the exercise of dispatching your attackers, showing off his superior strength.

“My Pr…my Prince,” you stuttered, still shaking like a snake’s tail, hot tears nearly blinding you to the point where you could barely make out Loki beyond his most angular features.

You felt a cool thumb caress your cheek. “Now, now, fretting like a babe won’t do. Let’s get you back to the palace and clean you up before we begin.”

We begin?

Loki helped you to your feet, circling you once to look for signs of incapacitation (thankfully, it felt as if there were none to you). You kept your head down and knees bent in respect for both of your castes. Technically, you weren’t even allowed to make eye contact unless so bidden.

He must have been patrolling the Lower Ring (though did Princes follow guard duty?), for he had a horse. “Can you mount on your own?” he asked, his voice almost inaudible, yet still holding so much power.

You were undeniably sore, but otherwise not injured. “Yes, my Lord.” You demonstrated by awkwardly climbing into the enormous black horse’s saddle.

“Good, yes, very good,” Loki said with pleasure, swiftly mounting in front of you to carry you back to the palace, leaving behind the fruit, the brigands, and any chance of returning home that night.

Loki brought you directly to his chambers and locked the door, only opening it briefly for a broad, muscular servant to be admitted. The servant was nowhere near as handsome as the Prince, but he was fair and well-formed. His teeth sparkled. He was a perfect specimen, making you wonder if perhaps he was a part of the palace harem.

To your shock, Loki had immediately placed you in the center of his parlor, colored in dark greens, grays, and golds, on a small stool so that you were elevated about a foot higher than Loki’s head.

“Take off your dress, girl,” he demanded.

Your eyes widened. “But…Prince? I…what? I’m sorry?” you stuttered, unsure of what to do, of what he meant. Did he mean to complete what the brigands had failed?

He chuckled as he made his way to a large reclining chair, plush and decadent. He sat back and crossed his legs at the knee, tapping his fingers impatiently on the armrest. “Are you so simple, child, as to not be familiar with the royal tradition of the Damsel’s Debt?”

You looked down, ashamed. “Not simple, my Prince. I’ve only seen the inside of the palace once.”

“Yes, and I recall that day quite well myself,” Loki responded. “How…amusing that you find yourself here only weeks later.” His tone mocked you with a hint of darkness, of something more sinister underneath his Princely skin. “I shall explain while you obey me. Undress. Now.”

He was, after all, the Prince. Denying his whim would be death. You unsnapped your cloak and let it tumble to the floor beneath you. Loki nodded his modest approval. While you continued to disrobe, he rewarded you with an explanation. “The Damsel’s Debt is an eons-old ceremony of sorts. If a Royal rescues a creature who pleases him, they are beholden to their savior’s will from sunset to sunset.”

Your jaw dropped; your skin ran cold. “I am in your debt most certainly, my Lord,” you agreed with hesitation.

“Indeed, you are,” he affirmed. “And you are all mine tonight, as my rightful reward for risking my royal neck to save your worthless one.”

The insult stung, but then again, Loki’s demeanor made it almost sound like a term of endearment. The more you spent in his presence, the darker he became. Truly, Thor was the Prince of Light, while this insatiable brother ruled the shadows and eclipses. Loki indulged in the temptations of the night quite often, and it made him a hungry, impatient being.

“So, I am your slave,” you summarized, finally untying your bodice strings and letting your dress peel off of your body, leaving you in only a corset and shift. He held up a hand as you made a maneuver to remove the stay. Standing up, Loki reached into his back pocket and extracted a knife.

“You are my slut, and I like to do this part,” he insisted, bringing the blade up to your cleavage, letting it linger as the cool tip dragged ever so lightly across your breast. “You belong to me until sunset tomorrow, to bless or burden as I please.”

Loki tucked the blade under the lacing at the bottom of the corset, and in one graceful flick, sliced the entire thing open, ripping it off your chest and throwing it aside, leaving only the see-through shift.

“If you don’t fight me, if you do as I command, I will bless you. If you refuse me, I will burden you.”

Loki stood back to take a deeper look at you. “A virgin, I see. I was hoping for as much.”

You shivered, feeling vulnerable under his intense blue gaze. “How can you tell?”

He looked at you, eyebrow raised, before letting out a hearty chortle at your ignorance. “Your posture betrays your treasure. You’re folded up like you hide a precious secret between your legs. Well, maid, it is time to pay your tax.”

He ran a finger up and down your arm. “But worry not, for as I said, if you allow me to exercise myself on you, you shall be rich for the rest of your days.”

You had no choice. Yet, were there an escape, would you take it? Riches! Not only riches, but your curiosity would remain unsatisfied. Yes, you’d never known the intimate touches of another, but it didn’t keep you from imagining the sensations for yourself. Who better than to surrender your maidenhead to the very Prince of Asgard? Would it not be a badge of honor in and of itself to say that Loki Odinson was the first to claim you from the inside?

“Alas, you need to bathe,” he said. “After all, you're still a peasant. I cannot have my sheets dirtied by a serf’s smell.”

Loki took you, as well as the handsome servant, into his bathing room, as large as the front parlor. It was illuminated in green flame candles, with a large tub built into the floor in the center. The tub was filled with steaming water and piles of soap bubbles (it was a strange sight for you, as you’d never seen a bath with such foam before).

The servant stripped as Loki quickly tore the shift off of you, and immersed himself into the bath. “Go in with him” Loki commanded you, indicating the tub with a finger. “Let him clean you.”

As you slowly waded in, Loki stood over the tub. He resembled a giant now from the skewed angle you saw him.

“Begin.”

The servant had clear experience bathing others, for his nimble, skilled hands made steadfast work. They scrubbed the dirt caked on your skin, and raked slippery, scented oils through your hair until you felt lightheaded.

“Harder, and massage her tits with pumice,” demanded the Prince. “I want her skin as soft as goose down.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

The Prince’s appetite was triggered when the servant began massaging your belly with soap. “I should make you eat his cock while I impale your ass on mine, but let’s not get to the entree before we’ve even tasted the appetizer,” Loki mused, the idea itself beginning to make him hard.

To your surprise, Loki did not take your body in there. He only studied the servant as the pads of his fingers left no inch of you untouched, unwashed. The Prince’s blue eyes pierced you like the tip of his blade. He licked his lips as you squirmed every time the careless bather tickled you. The involuntary giggling made Loki shift in his seat.

After you were bathed and dried, Loki turned to give the handsome servant another order. “Get the shackles, the gold ones. They’ll flatter her coloring more than the platinum.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

He casually grabbed a soaked tendril of hair and snapped his finger, instantly drying every inch of you, leaving not a single sud to cover your private parts.

Loki circled you again. “Yes, yes…” he thought to himself, as if plotting your fate without your consent. “I can’t watch to stretch your unopened cunt so wide. Norns help me, I’ll probably rip you clear in half if I cannot control myself.”

He leaned down to your ear, flicking the lobe tantalizingly with his tongue before saying, “And your body is making it very hard…” he paused, “...for me to control myself.”

The servant returned with a large wooden box. Loki wiggled his fingers as if preparing to play a piano before gently opening the lid and extracting a large mass of tangled gold chains and cuffs. He turned to you and held them up in front of your face. “Yes, splendid. Now, girl, go bend over that table. Magnus, you may leave us.”

He indicated a small side table over by a black fainting sofa. You walked over slowly, leaning over the tiny tabletop and sticking your buttock out. You squinted, expecting a slap on either one, but instead, you felt two cool hands pull out your wrists and lay heavy metallic bracelets connected by a chain over them. He twisted his fingers, locking them.

Then, walking behind you, he gently took your hair and brushed it to the side, giving him ample space to bring the neck cuff over your head. He leaned into your back as he reached over your shoulders, firmly clasping the collar around your throat. It was tight, but lined with a fine fur inside that made them a little easier to wear.

Each side of the neck collar had a chain. Loki took one in each hand and suddenly pulled back, yanking your head straight up. You bucked like a horse as he pulled on your reigns too hard. Bringing both chains to one fist, he took his free hand, placing his fingers gently over your lips to quiet you as you began to moan.

“I was going to gag you, but that little mouth is too pretty to stifle, or to stuff with anything but my shaft. Waste not, my plaything, waste not…”

He took your chains and pulled you to a standing position, where he led you like a dog on a leash over to the bedroom. Once at the bed, he shoved you onto the mattress and made quick work of you, tying your chain to each of the headboard posts before raising your wrists over your head and tying those off as well.

“Now, my little woman,” he muttered, his voice low and dominating, “Be ready to see stars.”

Impatient and not wanting to dangle you in front of himself for too long, Loki snapped his fingers, dissolving his clothes. As you expected, when his dick sprang out for you to see, you whimpered at the size, thinking how he very well could have been truthful about splitting your belly in half.

Taking himself in hand, Loki took full control of you as he slowly pushed his cock past your entrance and up inside you. The pain was less than you expected, for you’d begun to drip with wet arousal as Loki played with you. You did gasp at the brief, sharp pinch you felt, but it quickly dulled away as your pleasure hormones intoxicated you to anything other than how it felt to be fucked.

Your breasts bounced with every pound from your master’s hips. When he noticed, Loki grabbed each one in a hand, squeezing them so hard it made tears come to your eyes.“These are so big, oh, a pity your station is so low, you could be a wet nurse for my mother’s ladies’ babes, or Thor’s…or mine…oh!”

Loki was monologuing more to himself than you as he pounded into you harder, alternating between squeezing your breasts in his palms and reaching between your lips to twist your clit between his fingers until you bucked against him. “Peasant women always have the best bodies to breed. So strong and sturdy…”

His thrusts became faster and more frantic as he approached his fall. “You were broken by a future King tonight, little Miss, now thank me.”

“Oh my Prince, thank you for--”

“--FUCKING you! Thank me for fucking some experience into you! SO that when you go back to your taverns and hay barns for a rolling, you can tell those meager boys that a god has already painted your cunt with his seed. That you were only pristine and pure for ME! That my fat cock turned you into a desperate, needy whore!”

“Prince, my Lord, tha-ah-AH!”

He rolled his hips and slid up further inside before almost pulling out entirely. Alas, he slipped back inside you with enough verve to send sparks before your eyes.

“Submit to me…submit…worship me…drink in my might and shout his name that marks you!”

You felt him pull your head up by the collar, and the act of force brought you to your edge. “MY PRINCE!”

“My name, damn you!” He grunted in quick frustration, stilling his hip as you teetered on the brink of orgasm for too, too long. “Say my name!” he ordered, near shouting.

“Aaaaaahhhhh Lokkiiiiii---”

You came as he rewarded your scream with a heavy thrust. Keeping himself in you up to the hilt, Loki felt your canal pulse and throb against his dick as your hips quivered. You allowed a long, loud, high-pitched moan to roll from your lungs and proclaim your shameful pleasure to the room. Hearing your cries coaxed Loki’s seed from him, and with four painfully strong bucks, he filled you until his cum spilled onto the sheets.

Your master rode the waves of pleasure until he was spent, after which he stood up and observed you for a moment, splayed out before him, a ruined woman.

You were grinning like a drunk, lolling your head from side to side as the sex hormones flooded your senses. Loki snickered. “Pathetic, in the most delightful way.”

He crawled into bed beside you. “Alas, I’m exhausted, and we still have daylight to look to complete the repayment of your debt to me. I could parade you naked through my father’s courtroom. I could force you under my breakfast table and have you drink from my cock while anyone can watch. I could keep you tied to my bed like a prisoner, and interrogate you with my hands and tongue until you give. I could do them all to you. Perhaps I will.”

You were surprised when he turned out the light, seriously indicating that he wished to go to sleep.

“My chains, Sire!”

Loki rolled over and admired you, still shackled and bound loosely to the bed. “Oh, what lovely tableau lies next to me! Here, you may have your wrists and arms back," he quickly used his magic to make your hand shackles dissipate. "As for the collar, it stays on. After all, I never said I would undo you.”

It was too late. You were undone.

You were still asleep at sunrise, but Loki was rudely jolted awake by a knock on his front door, beyond the parlor. Getting up and wrapping a green satin robe about his naked body, he sped to the door, careful not to wake you. You would need your energy for breakfast, after all. It was worth it to allow you another few hours of genuine, luxurious sleep in his bedsheets.

Tonight, a peasant girl slept better than all the princesses in the Realm, he thought, taking pride in his sexual prowess and ability to bring a maiden to climax.

Upon opening the door, Loki was greeted by three large, familiar brigands, all standing at attention, their hands cupped in front of them politely.

“We haven’t gotten our fee yet, Highness,” said the leader, the one who’d first approached you. “For the set up with her.” He pointed over Loki’s shoulder in the general direction of the bedroom.

"And we want extra. It hurts when you hit us!" said one of the others.

Loki growled impatiently. “Visit the treasury on the way out, and I distinctly said NEVER to come here!”

“Oh, sorry, Your Highness,” the leader said, hanging his head.

“Next time I’ll dock it from your fees, bloody imbeciles!” the Prince scowled before angrily shutting the door in their faces,

Loki walked back toward the bed, but stopped in the doorway to the bedroom, just to look at you from afar and admire how you looked, even chained (especially chained!). It was truly an annoyance that he had to sneak and lurk about with spies and disguises in the Lower Ring after setting eyes on you, the gorgeous courier from weeks ago, a forbidden trifle he could not openly sink his teeth into. Hiring thugs to make you in need of Loki’s rescue was surely an idea from the fairytale books, but it was a tried and true way of getting what he wanted.

And Prince Loki always got what he wanted.

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itsgameofthronesimagines · 2 years

Note

Could you write about Harwin strong being married to Rhaenyra's sister and they are in Drifmark and is their son who attacked Aemond to protect his little brother so when they are asking about what happens they stand up for him and at the end is the reader who stops Alicent from attacking her son?

(Gif not mine but oh, be still my beating heart)

Title: Strong Bonds

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairing: Harwin Strong x Female!Targaryen Reader

Word Count: 7,610

Warnings: Grief, incest, blood, violence, childbirth, etc.

A/N: FINALLY A HARWIN STRONG REQUEST! For context, Y/n will be a year younger than Rhaenyra, and speaking of which, Rhaenyra will still be married to Laenor and their sons are all legitimate with mixed skin, silver hair, and purple eyes.

(I do not consent to my works being reposted/copied)

"Are you sure it's safe for you to be traveling at this extent?"

Y/n peered up from absentmindedly playing with her sleeping son's dark hair, her own silver locks falling over her eyes as she does so. The carriage rocks as it slowly made its way down a dirt road outside, swaying the Targaryen princess and her family in a calming moment of their chaotic lives. The son whose head rested in her lap, Osmund, stirred when the carriage hit a bump in the road but otherwise kept on dreaming. Y/n returned to petting his hair to keep him that way.

Her husband, Harwin Strong, closely watches her from across the carriage, their youngest son, Baelor, also slept but preferred his father's strong arms over his mother's small lap. No one could blame the five-year-old child since Princess Y/n's lap had shrunk over the months due to her ever-growing stomach, now barely giving ten-year-old Osmund room to sleep in peace.

She raises a sharp eyebrow at her husband, "Would you rather have me fly Qyraxes to Driftmark?"

"Gods, woman, no of course not," Harwin shakes his head, but couldn't help the small grin he bore, "You act like I want to be a widower. What I meant to say was that we didn't have to leave if it would be safer for you."

"This is my cousin's funeral, my love," Y/n spoke sadly, staring out the window while thinking of Laena, "Everyone is going to be there and we, alongside the rest of my father's family, are expected to be there. Besides... I have not seen or heard from Rhaenyra since she left for Dragonstone. I need to see her again."

"Your sister could easily fly back to King's Landing to see you."

A scowl forms on the princess' beautiful face, "Not when there are leeches always lurking about in the Red Keep."

She doesn't speak plainly, but the message was clear. Y/n always prided herself in acting similar to her uncle, Daemon, over her father, Viserys. Much like Daemon, Y/n always saw Otto Hightower as a leech, sucking the blood from the King's back. His daughter is no different. Queen Alicent is a thorn in Y/n's side. Like repeating history, the two women exchange poisoned words with each other, much like how Otto and Daemon once did. It brought Y/n comfort to learn that Lord Otto was dismissed and sent back to Oldtown, with her good father, Lord Lyonel, taking his place as the new Hand of the King, but the Queen still remained. Y/n may not have been friends with Alicent like Rhaenyra once was, but their personalities clashed and therefore formed a rivalry that matched the feud between Alicent and Rhaenyra.

Alicent's most recent jab was one spoken under her breath, but for the entire Small Council to hear. She had made a comment that only true Targaryens have silver hair, and although she never spoke plainly, everyone knew she was singling out Y/n and Harwin's black-haired children. Lord Lyonel Strong looked appalled and disgusted in defense of his son, and Viserys wanted to come to his youngest daughter's defense, but Y/n had always been able to hold her own. Her sharp tongue shuts the accusation down quickly when she pointed out that Alicent's sons and daughter must not be true Targaryens then since they're half Hightower and were just lucky enough to bear silver hair.

Y/n didn't like King's Landing any more than Rhaenyra because of obvious reasons, but unlike Rhaenyra, the younger sister didn't really have a choice in leaving when both she and her husband were part of her father's court. As much as Y/n would love to raise her children alongside her sister in Dragonstone, Rhaenyra had been named the princess of said keep and therefore she had every right to live there. Y/n, being the younger daughter of Viserys and Aemma, had no such claim and unfortunately had no rights apart from those she earned when marrying her now husband.

Not to say she was complaining, however, since she loved Harwin with a burning passion and was happy to bear his sons and heirs of Harrenhal. Y/n had never been happier, and made peace with the fact that she would never have claims to anything like Rhaenyra did as long as she wasn't Viserys' heir. Y/n was content in just being a Targaryen princess, a dragon rider, a wife, and most proudly a mother. Nothing more.

Harwin relents after a fashion of heavy, grieving silence, adjusting his younger boy's head to rest more comfortably on his chest, "Did the maesters say you'll be safe to travel?"

"... No," she flashed a shy grin as if she had been caught stealing sweets, "But when has that ever stopped me?"

Harwin huffs out a small, exhausted laugh, a fond tone in his voice, "Have you noticed how much I've aged since I married the trickster that you are?"

"I've never tricked you into anything," Y/n tilts her head and smiles fondly back at him, "If anything, you're the one who's been tricking me. Only you could persuade me from causing a little chaos."

"Then I should have tried making my case back at King's Landing before we even packed for Driftmark."

"I'm pregnant, my love, not dying," Y/n decides to change the subject upon looking out the window and seeing Driftmark's rooftops in the distance, "I hope Daemon makes an appearance. He tends to act more of a stranger than usual when grieving."

~~~~~~~~~

Daemon is not there to greet his family when they arrive, but Rhaenyra is, along with her husband, Laenor, and their children, Jacaerys and Lucerys.

The royal family and their court all spill out of their line of carriages, King Viserys being the first to greet his oldest daughter with a hug and a kiss before greeting Laenor with his condolences. Alicent and her children dutifully say their grievances, but remain stiff during the whole exchange. Harwin emerges from his carriage, helping his sons out and then his heavily pregnant wife. Y/n's feet barely touched the ground before Rhaenyra embraced her.

"You look stunning," the older sister comments while holding Y/n's face in her hands, "Have the maesters determined the gender of the child?"

"They think it's a girl," Y/n beamed, glancing over at her husband, "And I think he is far more excited than I."

"Marvelous. You must tell me what names you have planned out over tea," Rhaenyra links her arm with Y/n as they began to walk.

"How is Joffrey?"

"Restless, I'm afraid. I left him at home with the wet nurse so that I may gain some sleep out of all of this. You know, if you're truly having a daughter, perhaps we might get to wed our children after all."

"Wouldn't that be lovely? We would get to spend our elder years together, watching our children and grandchildren rule all of the strong houses of the Seven Kingdoms. And let's not forget the dragons they would all ride."

The beautiful vision fades when the Lord and Lady of Driftmark finally come out to greet their guests. Rhaena and Baela are with them and are momentarily distracted from their grief in exchange for fawning over Y/n's rounded belly. Y/n gladly answered their questions if it meant they could briefly forget about their mother's passing. She also secretly enjoyed the girls' company, excited with the idea of possibly having her own girl soon. Jace and Luke trail behind them, but try to act as though they were not interested. Y/n included her nephews in the conversation, wanting them to bond with Laena's daughters. They were family after all, and family shouldn't feel like strangers to one another.

The funeral itself is brought down to the cliffsides where Laena's coffin is to be thrown into the sea. Vaemond Velaryon said a wonderful eulogy about his family's house and finally, the heavy coffin was thrown from the cliffs' edge, sinking to the very bottom of the deep. No one ever said a word until they walked back up to the keep in order to help themselves to wine and food. Plenty of people took this time to give their condolences to the family of the dead, and Corlys and Rhaenys bravely took in their guests despite mourning for the loss of their child. Laenor mysteriously vanishes, but no one says a word, not even when Corlys angrily sent Ser Qarl Correy to fetch him. Everyone was tight-lipped, the tension filling the air with the threat to break. Who were meant to be family members barely knew what to do with each other.

Speaking of, Y/n finally spotted Daemon lingering on the outskirts of the growing crowd and briefly left the children with Harwin and Rhaenyra so that she may give her condolences, "Uncle. My sincerest apologies for you and your daughters."

Daemon accepts the kiss on his cheek but keeps his hands folded in front of him, leaning against the stone balcony overlooking the sea. His eyes travel over his niece's face before traveling down to her swollen belly, smiling slightly as he spoke in Valyrian, "Not as sorry as I am for you to make such a harrowing journey in your predicament. My own wife was dying from childbirth before she took matters into her own hands. One could only wonder if the difficult labor was the consequence of our family traveling so often."

"You can't blame yourself for what's happened," Y/n rests a hand on her uncle's shoulder, reverting to her mother tongue, "Women die of childbirth every day, our mothers were no exception. Laena was strong and determined to die a dragonrider's death, which she succeeded."

Daemon briefly looks down and then looks off to the side. Y/n follows his gaze and spots her father across the yard, eyeing the two of them before turning away and speaking with Corlys Velaryon. Lyonel Strong is standing beside the King, with young Baelor weaving between his two grandfathers, unbothered. Y/n looks back at her uncle and whispers in his ear in the common tongue, "Speak with him. He misses you."

She pulls away and gives Daemon his space, carefully hobbling over to her usual social circles. Harwin has a chair waiting for her as their friends and family are gathered around it. Harwin holds Y/n's hand to steady her as she sits, gratefully taking a drink from a servant girl. Osmund approached his mother once she was settled and she immediately grabs his hand with an encouraging smile.

"Why don't you go and see to your cousins, hm?" Y/n gently squeezed her son's smaller hand, her thumb tracing shapes in his skin, "They've lost their mother. They could use a kind word."

Osmund looked as though he was ready to pout and whine until he glanced up at his father. One stern look from Harwin and the little lord sighs and nods obediently, leaning over and kissing his mother's cheek before walking away to find Rhaena and Baela.

Rhaenyra watches her nephew walk off, a cup of wine in her hands, "Is he ill-tempered?"

"Not usually. It's been a long journey to Driftmark and he was sad he couldn't fly here. It's also the first time he's ever experienced loss. I don't think he knows how to properly react yet," Y/n absently rubs her stomach, playfully smiling up at her husband, "He does get his might from his father though."

"As one could expect from the son of Ser Breakbones," Rhaenyra chimes in with amusement as she now watches her sister's movements, "So for names, have you decided on any?"

"A few," Harwin answered from his stance behind his wife's chair, "If the maesters were mistaken and it is a boy, we want to name him Viserys," Rhaenyra smiles as he continued, "If it's a girl... we're still deciding on just one."

"We've been going back and forth," Y/n sighs, exhausted by the memory alone, "Alysanne, Alyssa, Nymeria, Visenya and... and Aemma."

Rhaenyra pauses mid-sip, slowly pulling the goblet away from her lips when she found she couldn't swallow, eyes blinking rapidly as she wordlessly gripped Y/n's shoulder. Neither sister said a word, but they understood each other all the same. Rhaenyra pardons herself, deciding she needed fresh air away from the crowds. Once she caught sight of Daemon leaving the gathering, she makes up her mind and sends her sons to bed before she, too, disappeared from the public eye.

Y/n watched her sister leave with her uncle and chose to ignore it, smiling and acknowledging the King when he slowly made his way to her after bidding the Queen goodnight.

"My child," Viserys took his daughter's hand and kissed it, "I'm retiring for the night. Do try and get some rest before the return journey."

"Yes, Father. If it is my king's wish."

Viserys smiles and nods to Harwin before exiting. Eventually, Princess Rhaenys walks up to the couple after consoling her granddaughters, and Harwin offers her a seat beside Y/n. Rhaenys accepts and leans close to her distant cousin while overlooking the crowd.

"I had hoped for your baby to be born by the time this gathering happened," the elder woman admits, "I had hoped new life would've outshined the loss of an older one."

"Laena was still young," Y/n held onto Rhaenys' arm, "And strong-willed. I would rather have people remember her life today instead of celebrating the birth of my child. Laena deserves that. I'm so... I'm so sorry, Princess Rhaenys."

Rhaenys only nods, unable to allow herself tears in a public setting, keeping her eyes fixed on Y/n's hand on her arm for a focus point, "No parent should outlive their child."

"And yet, we all wish for our mothers to be with us for the rest of our lives," Y/n looks off, heart-clenching, "I wish my mother got to grow old. I wish she got to meet her grandchildren and die fat and happy... But I wouldn't wish that for myself if it meant your granddaughters got to have their mother back. I wouldn't wish for Rhaena and Baela to go through the same loss I went through when I was their age. I wouldn't wish that for my sons or my nephews."

Rhaenys stands, feeling the emotions threatening to spill from her eyes and she couldn't bear to cause a scene. She squeezes Y/n's shoulder, nodding in thanks when the words couldn't come out, and then she left. A few hours pass and then both Harwin and Y/n round up their boys and bring them to their beds. Once their children are asleep, the parents turn in for the night as well, hearts heavy and exhausted.

Harwin had been quiet during most of the interactions at the gathering, but his thoughts were loud in his actions. While helping his wife undress, he couldn't help but kiss her bare shoulder and let his hands linger around her stomach, storms brewing in his eyes, "Years ago, I couldn't understand why your father was so... broken after the loss of your mother and brother. But now... as your husband and father to our boys... I can't even fathom what I would do if that were you in your mother's place."

Y/n quietly hushes Harwin as she turned to face him, letting her fingers graze over his beard, "It happens to women all the time, my love. It cannot be helped. You can't fight your way out of that. My mother used to say that a woman's battlefield is the birthing bed, and unfortunately, it's not a battle you can fight for me."

Harwin nods despite the look of defeat in his eyes. He had always been a man of action, able to protect those he loves with his might. However, Ser Breakbones always felt helpless whenever his wife goes through pregnancy. He felt useless and the only thing he could do was continue to be a husband and father, but not a soldier. Up until now, his family didn't need him to be a soldier.

The two of them go to bed, held in each others' arms as the moon moves slowly overhead and commanding the unforgivable waves to crash against the rocky cliffs outside the keep. It was soothing to listen to as sleep overtook the tired pair, more soothing than the sounds of King's Landing at night. It was easy to drift into dreams when a beautiful place such as Driftmark was so peaceful and quiet.

That is until a frantic knock is heard pounding on their bedroom door hours later, rudely awakening Harwin and Y/n from their slumber. Harwin crawls out of bed and walks to the door, "Who is it?"

"Harrold Westerling, Ser Harwin."

Y/n sits up in bed, alarmed as both she and Harwin exchange a worried expression. Harwin helps her stand up and throw a dark red robe over her nightgown before they beckon the Commander of the Kingsguard inside. The old man throws the heavy door open, straightening his posture and bowing in Y/n's presence as she addressed him.

"Ser Harrold, what seems to be the matter?"

"Forgive me for the late hour, Princess," Harrold appeared out of breath and possibly even horrified, further worrying the Strongs, "But there has been an accident and your sons are waiting for you in the Great Hall."

Neither of them questions it, both parents racing out of the room with Ser Harrold closely following them. They weave through the hallways of the dark keep, barely seeing a soul awake until they burst into the doors leading into the Great Hall.

Most of the souls that were once sleeping under the roof of the keep were all gathered in this one room, the lights of torches and the blazing fireplaces dancing over everyone's grave faces. Y/n first spots silver hair and finds Rhaenyra and Daemon, standing together off to the side and holding onto Osmund and Baelor. Both Y/n and Harwin run to their sons and gather the boys in their arms, worry filling their voices as they question why both of them had blood on their little faces.

"Ozzy, what happened? Are you alright?"

"Are you hurt? Let me see it, son."

"Why is your nose bleeding?"

"Tell us what happened, Bae."

Poor little Baelor was crying too hard to get a word out, clinging onto his mother's skirts like a lifeline even as his father was kneeling beside him and examining the bloodied and bruised knuckles on his tiny left hand. Osmund looked angry and defiant, a cut cracked over the bridge of his nose and bleeding along with his flaring nostrils as his mother's hands trail over his injured face. Finally looking around at the rest of the crowd, Y/n noticed Viserys and Alicent on the other side of the room, the Queen kneeling beside the maester as he tended to Young Aemond, the prince sitting beside the fireplace with half of his face stitched up. Rhaena and Baela were also present and bleeding from their faces, hugging either side of their Grandmother Rhaenys' waist and Corlys stands protectively in front of them. A few faces were missing from this picture, such as Laenor and his sons, but Rhaenyra doesn't acknowledge this as she stands close to her sister and answers her questions.

"The children were fighting each other. A knife was drawn--"

"Your son took my son's eye!" Alicent proclaimed hysterically, unshed tears in her manic eyes as she stood up and stepped toward the center of the room.

Y/n's eyes widen and looked down at her oldest child, "Ozzy?"

"Aemond stole and claimed Vhagar," Osmund explained, "He said horrible things about Aunt Laena when we all confronted him."

"She attacked me!" Aemond snarled as he pointed at Baela, thus starting a chain of children arguing over each other.

"He attacked Baela!"

"You insulted our mother!"

"He broke Ozzy's nose!"

"He stole my dragon!"

"He could've killed me!"

"It should be my son telling the tale!" Alicent roared.

"He was only defending himself!"

"He could've killed Baelor!"

"I didn't do anything!"

"Silence!" Viserys demanded, slamming his cane down against the cobblestone floor, "I am your king and I will have the truth of what happened! Who drew the blade?!"

"It was mine," Osmund admits, hanging his head when all eyes turned to him, "I drew it when I thought Aemond was going to kill Bae."

"He wouldn't stop hitting me," Baelor whimpered into his mother's swollen belly, thus shattering Y/n's heart and angering Harwin's as he stood, placing himself between the royal family and his own with a stern glare.

"Let me see the knife."

Ser Harrold brought the weapon forward as evidence but wasn't stupid enough to just hand it over to Harwin. Ser Breakbones noticed the knife and nodded, looking back at Princess Y/n, "It's the one I gave him."

"But Osmund didn't cut Aemond!" Baela yelled to her cousin's defense, "It was--"

Her voice dies once she noticed something in Osmund's eyes and Rhaena elbowed her. Y/n caught this exchange and gently pinched her older boy's chin, forcing him to look up at her.

"Osmund Strong. Did you or did you not attack Prince Aemond with a knife?"

Osmund's throat bobbed nervously, eyes trying to focus on anything other than his mother's gaze. Y/n found this bizarre, considering that he had been honest with her until now. Then, realization began to dawn on the princess as she slowly looked down onto a different child, not Osmund. All eyes follow her gaze until they all land on Little Baelor. Y/n's other hand ran through her baby boy's hair.

"Bae... was it you?"

Baelor continued to sob, shaking from head to toe, "Aemond grabbed a rock! He was gonna hurt Ozzy!"

"I lost the knife," Osmund finally admitted, trying to keep everyone's attention away from his little brother, "And I got pushed to the ground, but it wasn't Baelor's fault! He took the knife to protect me!"

Alicent scowled in disgust, "And so you cut Aemond's face--"

"Your son was hitting my baby boy!" Y/n screamed back, beyond all of the Queen's slander.

"Seven Hells, Your Grace, he's only five years old!" Harwin came to his family's defense.

"And yet he's capable of spilling my son's blood!"

"Is this what you condone, my Queen?" Y/n's voice drops, a clear tone of challenge, "To have your son, a prince, attack little girls when they defend their mother's name?"

"Your sons attacked mine!"

"To defend their cousins," Y/n reminds her and the rest of those in the room, "Surely you wouldn't raise your son to believe he could do whatever he wanted just because he's royalty. Surely, the good Queen herself wouldn't teach her children to mistreat women or smash a little boy's head in with a rock."

Alicent is momentarily struck by the mockery, quickly recovering with a small scoff, her top lip twitching, "Are you questioning how I parent my children, Princess?"

"I am not questioning your parenting, Your Grace. I'm denying its existence."

Daemon grins proudly at his niece as the room is filled with gasps of dismay, clearly being the only one amused by Y/n's retort. Alicent's face crumbled as though someone had just smacked her in the face. With the tension straining, Harwin stood closer to his wife and children, his arm hovering over Y/n's back as Viserys clicked his cane upon the floor.

"Enough, Y/n. Trading insults won't change what happened. Aemond, tell me the truth, boy," the King slowly limps over to the bloodied prince, "Did you hit Lady Baela?"

Aemond looked as though he had been caught red-handed, pale, and stubborn. Slowly, he grits out his answer, "Yes. After she hit me."

"Liar!"

"Silence!" Viserys roared before glaring back down at his son, "Aemond, did you grab a rock?"

"To defend myself!"

"I was already on the ground, you idiot!" Osmund snapped, spitting out blood and saliva.

"Osmund!" Y/n reprimands her son, tightly holding his shoulder as Harwin reverts his gaze onto the boy.

"Hold your tongue, son."

"But no one was attacking him by then! We were all on the ground!"

"It's true!"

"Silence!" Viserys slammed his cane again.

"This was clearly just an act of self-defense, Your Grace," Y/n bravely continued her defense of her children, against her father's order.

"All of this... over an insult," Alicent huffs out a breath of disbelief with her eyes rimmed with tears, "My son has lost an eye."

Viserys, distressed, tired, and angry, nearly threw his arms around like a child having a tantrum, "This interminable infighting must cease! All of you! We are family! Now make your apologies and show goodwill to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it!"

The whole room froze, shocked with disbelief. Alicent appeared appalled as her husband slowly limped past her towards the door. Y/n witnessed something snap within the Hightower woman as she spoke, "That is insufficient."

Viserys slowly turns around to face her as the Queen continued, "Aemond has been damaged, permanently, my King. 'Good will' cannot make him whole."

"I know, Alicent, but I cannot restore his eye."

"No, because it's been taken."

"What would you have me do?"

"There is a debt to be paid," the sentence alone sent a chill down Y/n's back, eyes dancing between her father and stepmother. Viserys stared at his wife in disbelief as the Queen strongly proclaimed, "I shall have one of her son's eyes in return."

Murmurs and gasps of horror filled the room; Harwin and Y/n's grip on their sons tighten protectively. Viserys tried to calm Alicent, wanting to defuse the situation, "My dear wife--"

"He is your son, Viserys," Alicent cried, the tears finally spilling, "Your blood."

"Do not allow your temper to guide your judgment."

Silence fell again and Viserys thought it was over. He turns to leave just as his wife spoke again, her tear-stained face straightening up as her eyes turn to another man in the room, "If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston... bring me the eye of Baelor Strong."

Criston Cole's eyes scan the room as Baelor begins to step back away from the crowd and from his parents, distraught and terrified as he spoke in his small, innocent voice, "Mother!"

"Alicent..." Viserys warned.

"He can choose which eye to keep. A privilege he did not grant my son!" Alicent snapped back while glaring down at the offending family.

"You will do no such thing." Y/n sternly stated, willing her voice not to shake in fear, but to be as powerful as the Queen's own demand.

"Stay your hand!" Viserys snaps to Ser Criston, to which Alicent pushes back.

"No, you are sworn to me!"

Ser Criston feels the eyes of Ser Harrold on him and finds his words, avoiding Alicent's gaze, "As your protector, my Queen."

Alicent reared back in betrayal, barely flinching as Viserys stepped up to her in challenge, "Alicent. This matter... is finished. Do you understand?"

She scans his face, unable to form a reply as he spins around and tries to meet the gaze of everyone else in the room, "And let it be known! No more fighting shall be done within the blood of my own family."

Y/n relaxed, her voice dropping its firm hold as she gently addressed the King, "Thank you, Father."

Both she and Harwin turn back to their sons, the father beckoning the boys to follow him as he tried leading his family away. The boys go to follow Harwin, still shaking in fear, while Y/n takes her time to follow, her hand gingerly caressing her stomach.

Viserys takes one more look at Alicent before turning back towards the door. He doesn't feel alarmed at the sound of her feet quickly following him, but it's not until he felt the empty space of his Valyrian dagger at his belt did his heart suddenly sink to his stomach.

Ser Harrold is the first to react, stepping towards the King, "Your Grace-!"

"Alicent!" Viserys spins back around, watching his wife's auburn hair disappear into the crowd with his dagger in hand.

Harrold sprints forward, shouting commands to his guards without turning back, "Stay with the King!"

"Hold your approach!" Criston Cole demands against his commander's wishes.

Others began to scream and shout a warning to others, pulling away and giving Alicent a wide berth with her newly acquired weapon. Y/n felt the hairs on the back of her neck before she heard the shouts of the Kingsguard along with her father's voice shouting Alicent's name. Spinning around, Y/n is met with a vengeful queen, Alicent screaming as she brought the raised dagger down on the princess.

Harwin spun around as the chaos began to rise, eyes widening as he immediately takes a large step forward, "Y/n, LOOK OUT!"

Y/n's arm rises and she's able to catch the arm Alicent held the blade in, trying to push the other woman away but they had both taken hold of each other's arms, pushing and pulling against each other, grunting under the weight of the force.

Harwin jolts forward in order to interfere, heart racing in fear and rage. Lord Lyonel steps in front of his son, however, forcing Harwin back just as the blade came down and Y/n had caught it, "No, son! Do not incriminate yourself!"

"Y/n!" Harwin yelled, struggling against his father. He was definitely strong enough to push Lyonel away, easily, hadn't two Kingsguard stepped forward and held onto Ser Breakbones.

It was pure chaos. Kingsguard held swords out to those who dared try to come to Y/n's aid, conflicted with their duties but wanting to protect their Queen if it meant letting her pursue the princess. Ser Harrold was easily just as conflicted, not knowing who he should order his men to protect as he tried pushing through the crowd. He makes it to the two women, but with his mind not yet made up, he instead circles them and pushes lords, ladies, and other soldiers back if they tried to step forward.

Harrold sees someone rushing forward and holds his arm out to them, "Do not, Ser Criston!"

"Alicent!" Viserys roared, but couldn't move much as he stumbled with his cane.

Baelor screams in terror as everyone who formed a circle around his mother and Alicent pushed him back as they grant the women space. Harrold tried yelling over the chaos as others also screamed in fear and protest, all trying to outscream the other.

"Do not, Ser Criston!"

Criston Cole, fierce and determined, tries getting into the circle, perhaps wanting to perform his duty and protect his queen. He pushes people away to get to Alicent and Y/n, but Daemon suddenly steps forward and is able to stop the knight in his tracks, keeping him in place as the two men glared at one another until two other Kingsguard took Criston by the arms.

"Alicent!"

"No!" Harwin shouts, desperately struggling against his bonds and giving the Kingsguard a workout in restraining him.

Rhaenys keeps her granddaughters behind her while she made a grab for Osmund and Baelor, pulling the boys to her body while Corlys shields them all behind him. Rhaenyra is left open and tries to make it to her sister, but Ser Harrold grabs her gently and keeps her back while simultaneously trying to get a hold of his men, "Stay your hand, Cole!"

Rhaenyra struggles against Ser Harrold's hold on her, shouting over at the Queen, "You've gone too far, Alicent!"

"I?" Alicent questions in distress, still fighting for control against Y/n while speaking between the two sisters, distraught and unhinged, "What have I done but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law! While you and your sister flout all to do as you please!"

"Alicent, let her go!" Viserys demanded from outside the circle.

"Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?" Alicent's tears continued to fall down her face as her eyes search Y/n's while she screamed, "It's trampled under your pretty foot again!"

"Release the blade, Alicent," Rhaenyra demanded.

Alicent desperately tried to breathe, panting under Y/n's strength and her own despair, "And now you take my son's eye, and to even that, you feel entitled."

"Exhausting, wasn't it?" Y/n grunts, a jolt of pain running through her as she desperately tried to keep the point of the blade from her own eye, the flames of the fireplace dancing over the steel and her eyes, "Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness."

Her voice lowers, glare dead set on Alicent's face, "But now they see you as you are."

Alicent pushes all her body weight and any strength she had left into pulling her arm out of Y/n's hold, grunting in rage as she freed the blade and made a swipe at the princess. Shock settles the room, Alicent stepping away to observe her handiwork, only for her eyes to immediately widen once she finally settled on what she had done.

Y/n had taken several steps away, the pain not entirely making itself aware until she heard gasps from all around. Corlys had caught her by the shoulders to steady the princess, noticing the way she was unconsciously clutching her arm. Both of them look down at the offending arm, noticing the blood soaking through Y/n's dress sleeve and spilling through her fingers. The blood droplets splatter onto the floor as Viserys stands beside Alicent, watching in horror as his little girl bleeds because of a wound his own wife inflicted. In her shock, Alicent's grip on the dagger loosens and the blade clatters to the floor, paying no mind to it as all she could do was stare at the cut in Y/n's arm.

Harwin had paused in terror before finally realizing that Y/n was still standing and breathing, the blade now out of danger. Shock draining from him, he pushes the Kingsguard off of him, the two soldiers too stunned to react and let go of him. Harwin pushes past his father and rushes to his wife, gathering her up in his arms and holding onto her wrist so that Corlys could properly inspect the wound from the other side of her. Y/n doesn't speak or react to her husband's hold on her, too stunned to do anything but stand and stare, leaning into Harwin for support. Both Osmund and Baelor break away from Rhaenys and run to their parents, holding onto their mother for dear life. With Criston Cole backing off, Daemon slowly walks forward until he is at Harwin's side, his hand on one of Osmund's shoulders. Rhaenyra pushes Ser Harrold away from her and also joins the Strong family along with Daemon and Corlys, the princess stepping in front of her sister and inspecting Y/n's face and then her wound. Watching as the blood continued to flow, Rhaenyra's posture slowly straightened, the rage of a dragon and a protective older sister taking hold. Unable to calm her anger, Rhaenyra breathes harshly through her nose and spun back around, glaring daggers at Alicent.

"You dare attack my sister!"

The room felt cold, despite the fire blazing hot beside the opposing families. Alicent couldn't bear to look Rhaenyra in the eye, so the princess moves her gaze onto her father, "Your Grace, I beg of you to open your eyes. Your wife just attacked one of your daughters born of our mother and of true Valyrian blood. She meant to bring harm to the princess and her unborn child."

Viserys eyes move to watch Y/n and her family tend to her, sadness and longing evident on his face as Rhaenyra bravely continued, "I am your heir, Your Grace," Viserys looks back to his eldest child, "But should anything happen to me, Y/n would take my place. Therefore, this attack on my sister is a treasonous act against the crown and your bloodline! If you are the honorable king that holds those who commit treason accountable... then no exception can be made for anyone of any station if you value your family and inspiring your loyal subjects."

Y/n slowly begins to come back to her senses, feeling the warm blood run down her arm and another warm liquid run down her legs. She pales as she tried focusing on the sound of Viserys' voice, trying not to panic, "It was a foolish action, Rhaenyra. But even you, as a mother, understand what it's like to protect your children. Alicent was only trying to avenge hers."

"By what? Killing my sister?" Rhaenyra's voice broke, eyes slowly starting to mist, "Carving out the child she carries?" Viserys flinched at that, "What happened to Prince Aemond's eye was a tragic accident. But this... this was intentional. Queen Alicent intended on spilling blood."

Rhaenyra hears a small cry of a kitten behind her, but upon spinning back around, she only saw Y/n clutching her stomach and slowly bending over, soft cries escaping her lips, and the men surrounding her bent down to the princess in confusion. Rhaenyra's eyes widen when she noticed a clear puddle beneath Y/n's skirts slowly pooling against the cobblestone to mix with the blood. Rhaenyra rushes towards her sister, forgetting Viserys and Alicent.

"Y/n?" Harwin's stomach dropped as the wheels began to turn in his head, eyes widening in realization.

"Mother? What's wrong?" Osmund asked innocently, holding onto his little brother.

"She's started her labors," Rhaenyra explains while letting her sister grip her arms tightly, "I wouldn't be surprised if the harrowing events of tonight spurred this on."

Daemon stood back from the group aiding Y/n, keeping a hand on his sword and an eye on anyone who may take this opportunity to pursue his family in a time of vulnerability. He stands guard while Rhaenyra and Harwin frantically help Y/n stand straight again, holding onto both of her arms. They wordlessly follow Corlys as he leads them out of the room and down the hall, back to Y/n and Harwin's chambers. Rhaenys thought it best to take Rhaena and Baela to Jacaerys and Lucerys' quarters where they were no doubt still sleeping through all of this. The older princess beckons the Strong boys to follow so that she might keep an eye on all of the children, unconsciously -or perhaps not- leaving the royal children out. When neither of Y/n and Harwin's sons moves, Daemon takes them both by the shoulder and directs them to follow Rhaenys, the Rogue Prince becoming a protective shadow for the children as Rhaenys whisks them away.

Corlys opens the doors to Harwin and Y/n's chamber and the Targaryen princess is brought inside, the Sea Snake calling for the maester along with the midwives who had traveled with the royal company. Rhaenyra and Harwin help Y/n get comfortable as another wave of pain takes over, the hair near her face beginning to stick to her skin as she tried taking deep breaths, exhaling shakily.

"I will stay with her, Ser Harwin," Rhaenyra vowed while dabbing a cool cloth over her sister's forehead, "You may go."

"I'm staying here," Harwin states confidently.

Y/n quickly grabs his hand through a contraction, squeezing hard as she pushes out words, "No no no, you need to go stay with the boys. We can't trust anyone with our sons for as long as we stay here."

"Y/n--"

"Alicent just threatened to pluck out Baelor's eye and attacked me," Harwin tried not to look, but clearly there was still blood seeping out of the cut on Y/n's arm. Y/n appeared to ignore this, trying to catch her breath, "I don't want my sons left alone for even a second until we leave. Harwin, please, go protect the boys. There's nothing you can do for me now."

Dutifully, he nods, standing over his wife and lingering a kiss on the top of her head before slowly backing away and leaving the room, practically forcing himself not to turn back as he goes hunting down his children.

A maester arrives and first looks into fixing the cut on Y/n's arm while the midwives attend to prepping for the baby, hurrying around the room in search of fresh clean towels and Milk of the Poppy. As promised, Rhaenyra stayed by her sister's side during the whole process, letting Y/n squeeze her hand as hard as she liked, whispering soft words of encouragement, and dabbing her face with a cool cloth.

For obvious reasons, Y/n didn't get any sleep that night, but neither could anyone else in the keep. Everyone was restless, even those unaware of Y/n's labors. After the events of the night, everyone was high-strung and uneasy, and some were downright afraid. Alicent returned to her chambers, never wanting to see a soul until morning. Viserys went to bed, but lay awake at night, guilt and remorse running through his veins. The royal children retired to their respective rooms, but they all stayed awake and Aemond even sat at the window, watching Vhagar in the distance with a smirk.

Daemon, Harwin, and Rhaenys continued to stay and entertain the children, tending to their bleeding faces and trying to make them forget their worries. Jace and Luke, none the wiser for what had happened, gladly entertained the idea of everyone staying up and having fun in their rooms, putting a smile on everyone's faces as they ran around and played. Daemon even found himself teaching all the children small bits of High Valyrian, boys and girls alike sitting down all around him with Baelor and a book in his lap. Baela sat next to her father, her head on his shoulder, trying to rest her eyes after everything that had happened to her today, the only one too exhausted to repeat her father's Valyrian phrases unlike the rest of the children.

Rhaenys sat and quietly listened to these lessons with a cup of wine in hand, while Harwin stood at the door, sometimes pacing, sometimes entertaining the children with stories. But not once, the entire night, did he leave his post at the door, his hand always on his hilt.

The moon had not yet disappeared but the sky was starting to brighten into beautiful colors over the ocean when the door opens and Harwin held onto his sword a little tighter. Everyone looks up with bated breath as Rhaenyra walks in, standing tall and regal as if she had not been awake all night.

"Mother!" Luke gasped excitedly while standing up and running to the princess.

She practically beams as he tightly hugged her waist, her eyes darting up to Harwin with delight, "Y/n's delivered a girl, and they're both going to be fine."

The whole room relaxes with relief, the last of the tension finally leaving the air and leaving them all understandably exhausted. Harwin's whole stiff posture relaxes as one of his hands rises to rub his face. Rhaenyra silently laughs, joy still evident on her expression, "The maester asks for only you to go and see her. Your sons can visit their mother once she's rested."

Harwin nods and swiftly leaves the room, while Rhaenyra turns to the rest of the family, "The royal family leaves Driftmark today, but with your permission, Princess Rhaenys, I think it would be wise if the rest of us stayed a little longer for Y/n and everyone else to get some much-needed rest."

Rhaenys agrees just as Laenor pops into the room, disheveled and groggy. He looks at everyone's expression with a puzzled look, finally turning to Rhaenyra, "What have I missed?"

Harwin makes it back to his chambers in record speed, trying not to appear hasty but also anxious to see his wife and their new daughter. Entering the room, a few of the midwives were cleaning up and leaving, the maester long since gone. Y/n was asleep in their bed, flushed with her silver-blonde hair curling around her head due to sweat, but a small bundle was nestled beside her, and it was squirming. Harwin stepped closer to the bed, making note of Y/n's arm now wrapped in bandages before inspecting the bundle of blankets, his smile softening by what he found.

The infant was small, her little cleaned face the only thing peeking out of the blankets aside from her tiny fingers slowly curling around the fabric as she slept. Like her brothers, she sported small fuzzy tufts of dark hair and even darker eyelashes. The baby girl's lips were slightly open, letting out soft hums as she dreamed. Harwin's heart had never fallen in love faster than it did at this very moment, his finger lightly caressing her cheek and amazed by the softness of her skin.

"My love."

Harwin's eyes drift over to his once slumbering wife, noticing her eyes have opened and she was tiredly smiling up at him. Overcome by relief and happiness, Harwin laughs under his breath before leaning over and kissing Y/n on the lips, taking her breath away. Eventually, he pulled away, his thumb running over her cheekbone.

"Amazing as always, my dear," he whispers, unable to resist kissing her forehead, "How are you?"

Y/n slowly blinks, humming, "Exhausted."

"You can rest. I say you've more than earned it."

Her eyes peek open again, "The boys?"

"Safe and sound. They are in good hands. Rhaenyra will bring them to you once you've healed," his hand grazes over her bandaged arm, "What did the maester say about this?"

"It was Valyrian steel. So the cut was clean. A scar will remain, I'm afraid."

"I will take a new scar over your death any day," Harwin kissed his wife's forehead again before carefully lifting the small bundle into his arms, attempting not to wake the baby. His smile widens once he's positioned her properly and naturally begins to rock, "Well, she's finally here. Have you thought about the names we picked?"

"I did... but none of them seem right now that I've met her."

"Well, do you have another one in mind?"

Y/n thought long and hard, fingers drumming against the feather pillow. She thought about tonight's events, how it had all started with Vhagar being stolen and Laena's memory insulted. To have those two things happen along with the attack in the Great Hall, it felt as though people had tainted the memory of a young and fierce woman who was taken from this world too soon.

"Laena," Y/n strongly announced, "I like to believe she was here with us this past night. I like to believe she protected us and she deserves to be honored now that I've delivered my daughter in her family's home."

Harwin stared down at their daughter, playing with the name on his lips as he watched her sleep, "Laena Strong. I like it."

~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Osmund was named after King Aegon I Targaryen’s Hand, Osmund Strong, who was assigned the Hand of the King after Orys Baratheon’s death. Baelor was named to reference Baelor the Blessed/Beloved, but it’s obviously not him since the original Baelor won’t be born until after the Dance of Dragons. Laena is obviously named after Vhagar’s true rider, aside from Visenya. I would have named Y/n’s daughter after Visenya, but spoiler alert, Daemon and Rhaenyra eventually have a daughter already named that. She’s probably the baby in Rhaenyra’s belly in Episode 8.

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the-daily-dreamer · 11 months

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Hi, why do you hate Rhaenyra and why did you choose teem green? I'm not mean I'm just curious and want to read some different opinion :^

Hi!

I really appreciate you coming to ask my opinion kindly.

The short answer to your question is that I dislike Rhaenyra because I’ve found that she is quite entitled and that entitlement leads to her behaving irresponsibly and selfishly, to the detriment of others. And, I’m team green because generally despise/dislike almost everyone on team black (Daemon, Rhaenyra, Viserys, the Strong boys, etc.), and I empathize a lot with Alicent and her children and the abuse and neglect they’ve faced at the hands of Viserys and to a lesser extent Rhaenyra and her kids.

That’s the short answer; however, if you want the long, detailed answer then keep reading.

Disliking Rhaenyra

Throughout the season, Rhaenyra makes so many decisions for her own selfishness that have disastrous consequences for others. While her motivations are never explicitly stated, it becomes quite clear that Rhaenyra sees herself as exceptional and that any choices she make will not/should not affect her because she is the heir and because her father will bail her out.

She sneaks out with Daemon because she wants to and is ready to sleep with him in a compromising setting where she could be caught, and when consequences come, she tells half truths, deflects, and gets Alicent’s father fired leaving Alicent completely alone in court.

She coerces Criston, a person in a lower position to her who’s livelihood depends on her, to have sex and doesn’t take his “no” (twice!) for an answer. This leads to Criston being ready to commit suicide from his guilt.

She has three obvious bastards which put those children’s lives in danger and puts her own claim at risk. The question of their parentage could lead to a succession crisis when she ascends or after her death when Jace ascends. And that bastard issue also leads to a succession crisis for Driftmark and the murder of Vaemond Velaryon.

She never holds her children accountable for their mutilation of Aemond, and even takes it’s further by trying to have him tortured for information on who said the boys are bastards. Something she knows is a fact. She is literally ready to torture a young boy to cover up a lie she tells, but finds it unbelievable that her son, who gouged out another child’s eye, should be punished.

She doesn’t take any initiative to establish herself in court and gain the favor of Lords and Ladies who may have issue with her ascension (just look at how Rhaenyra is with the Lannisters vs Alicent in court settings). And this leads to a deep dislike of her from certain houses.

Despite Laenor reaffirming his devotion to her and “their” sons. She convinces him to fake his death and run away so that she can marry Daemon who was literally JUST widowed.

She runs off to dragonstone to be with Daemon. This is at a crucial time where she could be taking over more responsibilities as a ruler from her father, gaining the trust of the smallfolk and small council in her abilities to rule as well as learning on the job before taking over. However, she doesn’t want to do the work and leaves the ruling up to Alicent and Otto, a crucial and foolish mistake. Who leaves the ruling to people you perceive as a threat to your claim? And then complains that they are ruling when you haven’t?

And most of all, her perceived exceptionalism leads her to think that she is the exception to the male primogeniture rules. She is not against the sexist system, she’s only against the sexist system affecting her and her alone. She has no intentions of changing the laws to absolute primogeniture, and even passes over Baela as a candidate for driftmark, instead insisting she could rule as queen if she marries Jace.

Overall, Rhaenyra’s actions are all selfishly motivated and come from a place of her own perceived exceptionalism. And when consequences arise she runs to her father to bail her out (including when he’s literally on his death bed rotting away and she hasn’t seen him in years), or she lies and hurts others. Her actions and motivations are just not ones I can support.

I acknowledge she’s at a disadvantage. But she doesn’t put in the effort to counteract it, instead doing whatever she wants and expecting things to work out. I just don’t find that compelling.

Team Green

My reasons for liking and supporting team green are much more concise. I just don’t like the people on team black. And I do like the (most) of the people on team green.

I sympathize with Alicent most of all. She’s a child bride who was maritally raped and neglected by her pedophilic husband. I sympathize with the green kids because they’ve been neglected by their father and even mutilated and nobody cared.

And also, I sympathize with them politically to an extent. I recognize Viserys said Rhaenyra is heir. But the laws haven’t changed so they do have a basis for their claim. And while Rhaenyra is heir, Alicent is the one who has been ruling for years in Viserys’s stead. The Targ-Hightowers are the ones who have been in charge for most of the season. They have gained the support of the people and Alicent dedicates most of her decisions to their well-being.

I just struggle to not support team green when they’ve been the most victimized group and they are the ones who have put in the work when Rhaenyra and co haven’t.

So yeah. Those are my quickly explained reasons. I hope they are sufficient enough to explain my side, but I’ll be happy to answer any other questions you may have.

#house of the dragon #game of thrones #team green #anti targ stans #anti team black #anti rhaenyra #anti rhaenyra targaryen #anti daemon targaryen #alicent hightower #aemond targaryen #pro team green #pro alicent hightower #anti viserys i targaryen #anti viserys

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arcielee · 7 months

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At last, when all of the world is asleep

Summary: A Dornish princess is the siren call to break the vows of the Kingsguard. Paring: Ser Erryk Cargyll x Dornish!Reader Word Count: 2015 Warnings: AFAB reader, plotting sexual situations, alcohol consumption, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, finger licking good. Author’s Note: Thank you to my beloved beta reader @sylasthegrim 💜 I appreciate you and your edits, always. Banner by @saradika Title comes from Hozier's lyrics De Selby Part 1 (are we surprised by this?) and the plot comes from this ask: "I want a beautiful princess to corrupt and completely ruin him and make him break his oath." Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @snowprincesa1

The shudder was gratifying, trilling your spine with how his beard tickled the column of your neck, his lips both soft and warm, and the welcomed contrast of his teeth to taste. Your fingers grabbed to pull him closer to the cradle of your hips, burying your face in the nap of his neck and your mouth suckling on his pulsepoint with enough pressure to bruise; you felt him shiver, his voice strangled, husky, when he called out your name.

To that, you pulled back, abrupt, catching his gaze and your hand coming up to wag a finger. “Good ser,” you tsked, your lips curling upwards, “do not forget who I am.”

His eyes were glassy, the blue-gray storm that was slowly being swallowed by black. “Forgive me, princess,” he was quick to correct, watching for your response.

You gave another smirk, your arms reaching to wrap around his neck to pull him back into your embrace, his welcomed musk of blade oil against the perspiration of his skin. “Gentle ser,” you almost purred before capturing his mouth again.

He was not Valyrian, not the dragon you sought, but the knight was handsome still. And besides, you were sorely out of practice after the imposed propriety of Northern Westerosi customs and the role of a grieving widow.

When your father had first mentioned the prospect of marrying into the Velaryon House, the Valyrian blood called to you, a curiosity if your babes would be born with silver heads or the crystalline hues of amethysts eyes, and you were quick to accept the proposal. You packed away your dresses and left Sunspear, boarding the ship to travel the Narrow Sea and bring you to your betrothed.

The marriage had been disappointingly short-lived; your husband was everything you had imagined, handsome, tall, his silver hair knotted back and his clever purple eyes bright, watching you every movement with care, with desire. The consummation had a passion that carried over until dawn, but only after he was gone did your cycle follow to show it did not bear fruit.

“Do not fret, princess,” Princess Rhaenys offered comfort, “you will have plenty of try-agains when they return.”

But she had spoken too soon and you received word that his life was claimed in the Stepstones, though the real tragedy that followed came from the widow garb you were now expected to don. The seamstresses were quick to fit you with the heavy, itchy fabric that covered your skin and robbed you of what little sunlight spilled through to the gray island that you were caged in a figurative sense.

While your family by marriage grieved the life lost, you mourned your freedom, you mourned the sun you had left behind in Dorne, of the air on your skin that would show in your garments that were now packed away.

Hope came as a raven, sent by the king and queen of the Seven Realms, extending their sympathies and offering the opportunity to leave the gray slab of land in the middle of Blackwater Bay, with an invitation to the capital so that you could serve Princess Helaena as company. You accepted with the same breath as you finished the words out loud, your claimant that your father’s intention wished you to be an envoy for Dorne, when really your sights were set on a Targaryen prince, your Valyrian bloodlust.

King’s Landing was bright, bustling with life; you were escorted from the docks inside to the Red Keep where you would meet with the royal family, astutely aware how every set of eyes followed your steps; you gave a wistful sigh, certain of the attention if you could be rid of the widow gowns.

Gratefully, the queen was considerate of the temperature change in comparison to Driftmark, and the seamstress was sent to recede the fabric in your neckline and sleeves. It still was far from the comfort of your own dresses, but considerably better after half a year of bereavement. It was a taste of freedom, and you dared to add subtle touches of make up, nothing exorbitant, just a touch of tinted beeswax to gloss your lips, a smear of kohl to frame your eyes.

Dorne was a nation that always embraced its sexuality, a sharp contrast to the pious King’s Landing that was laden with symbols of the Seven. You were determined to remarry–two Targaryen princes unwed, two possible dragons to claim–but to catch a dragon, you had to lay an enticing trap, but you wondered if you were rusty with the enforced bereavement having you feeling like a maiden once again.

So your attention turned to the piety of the Kingsguard that shadowed royalty’s every step. There were those whose gazes lingered well outside what would be deemed appropriate, the blatant, heady lust that enveloped the color of their irises and the bold reds that tainted their features–to which you scoffed.

A challenge was what you craved, and then you spotted him; his copper tones in duo, though the twins could be distinguished by how they held themselves, as well the fact that Ser Arryk served as Prince Aegon’s shadow.

Your eyes trained to the other, Ser Erryk Cargyll, the flutter of your lashes when he looked in your direction, the demure dip of your face to coyly cover a smile meant for him to see.

He did not fracture with your attention, but you–Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken–would not be dissuaded. It was a tantalizing game, something you swore to be playing solo until you spotted it; the tension held in his features by the shackles of his oath, a tick in his jaw or the flit of his smoky blue eyes in your proximity.

You chose a night to drink, indulging in the imported Dornish wines, a singsong request to be escorted to your rooms that the queen was happy to oblige.

“Ser Erryk, would you please help the princess to her quarters?”

And now you were at the edge of your bed like you were seated on the throne, watching the Kingsguard that was kneeled so prettily between your thighs spread. He is beautiful, you mused, looking over the warm tones that touched his features, clashing with the copper coloring of his hair.

He looked up at you, now bare from the waist up, his eyes wide, watchful, waiting for your command, your very breath of direction so that he may obey you; he was an incitant sight, from the cobalt ash coloring of his eyes, wet and wanting, to the flush of pink on his kiss-swollen lips.

“Please,” his voice was thick.

You could not help your smile, and asked with your slow drawl. “Please, what?”

“Please, princess,” he began again, his head tilted further to show the length of his neck, and how it bobbed when he swallowed. “Allow me to taste you.”

You indulged him, enjoying the vibration of his groan with his intimate kiss between your thighs made your own skin ripple with gooseflesh, along with the soft tickle of his beard. But he was a man starved, lapping without purpose until your fingers combed through his hair and pulled him back to meet with your smokey gaze.

Ser Erryk watched rapt as you lifted your hand, holding two fingers up; you could see the lustful pools of black claiming the coloring of his eyes, the bloom of rust of his beard around his mouth, the glisten of your arousal that shone on him.

You brought your fingers to press to his bottom of his mouth and he obediently wrapped his lips around; you giggled from his eagerness, from the tickle of his tongue on the pads of your fingers. The spittle broke and added to the rust when you pulled back, his eyes following as your pressed between your folds, watching you bring pleasure to yourself, showing him just how you needed to be touched.

A pitiful whimper spilled from the Kingsguard before you allowed him to feast again, and he returned with vigor, with purpose. Your wanton moans echoed against the cobblestone. “Princess,” he breathed against your wet cunt, “you must stay quiet.”

This was impossible to do; your time as a widow left you touch starved and your body was trembling, overly sensitive to his every deliberate touch–how he flourished with the bit of direction shown, and now, oh the gods, the pleasure curled something beautiful at the base of your spine, something sparking with familiarity from what felt like a lifetime ago.

Then you felt the pressure of his fingers, the careful add of one and the another, and they pushed within you, searching until you saw colors dancing in front of your eyes; Ser Erryk was pleased, focused, pulling you towards the precipice and it washed over you; your skin rose, your nipples pebbled, the cry-out from your lips and clenching response as your pleasure rippled over you with a vengeance, with its reclaim.

You laid there for a moment, the blood rising to your skin, your chest rising and falling with your breaths, a drunk smile on your lips.

The knight was now fully bare and was careful to move on top of you, the pale alabaster of his skin and its marking from his service was so warm to the touch. His palms were large, calloused and gentle to peel off your chemise over your head, the tickle of his kisses that worshiped every bit of your skin now showed, glowing with the attention from his mouth.

“Ser Erryk,” you gasped as he shifted between your thighs, “please.”

He obeyed, flushed, fumbling, his hand dipping between to trail your silken folds, to map your entrance and reached to line himself. He showed consideration with the slow motion of his hips, another gasp from your lips as he filled and stretched your velvet walls; Ser Erryk moved as if you were glass and you wrapped your leg around his slender waist, pulling him flush against you, wishing to be shattered beneath him.

It was all the encouragement needed and he rutted against you, his hot mouth biting into the nap of your neck to muffle his guttural groans. Your mewls were lilted with laughter, the crest of pleasure that rolled over with each of his thrusts; your hand dipped between to tip you over the edge once again.

The knight could not withstand the sinful clench and he pulled back, a desperate clutch to allow the pearly ropes of his spend against your stomach, his staggered breath as he watched your own fingers coax through your completion. There was a heady look between the two of you before he pushed back to rest on his heels, and you pressed to your elbows, bringing your fingers to your lips and cleaning them, your eyes never leaving his.

Ser Erryk blushed, pulling away and allowing you to admire his form, the lewd, intrusive thought, the sword in his hand and the sword between, as he moved towards your washbin and returned with a damp cloth; your eyes never left what swayed between his thighs with his each step. He was bashful, handing you the cloth while avoiding your direct gaze as you cleaned yourself, starting to dress himself.

You pushed from the bed, unabashed with your bare skin, sultry steps towards him to assist him with donning his armor plates to his lithe figure beneath his gambeson. When you finished, you could see his hesitation perched on his tongue and cannot help but toy further with the knight.

“Good ser,” you tone low to match your steps, and your weight shifted to accentuate your every curve, “can I trust you to always escort me to my quarters when needed?”

His jaw steeled beneath the reds of his beard at your implication, his tick returning as the shackles tightened again. It was a pregnant pause before his eyes met with yours, and you half-expected to see the beautiful blues, but were pleased to see his darkened gaze.

“Whatever you wish of me,” and his low timbre thrilled you. “Princess.”

arcielee's masterlist

#ser erryk x you #ser erryk x reader #ser erryk cargyll #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd smutty smut

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just-aake · 7 months

Text

Boundless Devotion - Part IV

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: MedievalAU. Natasha is the eldest princess of the Romanov Kingdom. As the time of her coronation approaches, she is suddenly forced to make a decision – either find herself a partner or her parents will choose one for her.

Warnings: slight fluff, slight angst

Words: 4898

A few days have passed since the night of the ball, and you find yourself back at the castle, this time for your usual meeting with Queen Melina.

Beyond her role as the kingdom's ruler, the queen has always had a keen interest in the sciences — a passion you also shared since you were young.

As a result, you frequently visit the castle to engage in discussions and assist with her latest discoveries and experiments.

However, recently, your focus has shifted toward some of her previous contributions, especially the ones during the war between the Romanov and Stark kingdoms.

You shuffle in your chair again as you attempt to analyze the information on the parchment before you.

Normally, it wouldn’t take this long, but you can’t seem to concentrate. Your mind is too distracted trying to find the right moment to ask her your questions.

The sounds of scribbling in the library stop, causing you to look up.

You find that Queen Melina has paused in her writing and set her quill down, looking at you knowingly.

“Let’s take a break,” she offers.

The two of you decide to move closer to the fireplace for your conversation, and you hand her a cup of tea before sitting on one of the chairs beside her.

Queen Melina nods her head at you as she takes a sip, indicating for you to speak.

You lean forward in your seat, eager to discuss your recent findings from your readings.

“In one of the books you gave me, there was a mention of something called the Black Widow operations. I tried to find more information, but there weren't any further details about it anywhere.”

“That’s because it was a secret operation created by your father and me during the war. Only a select few are aware of its existence and purpose,” she explains.

Your shoulders slump at the revelation.

If this operation was a kingdom secret, it's likely you won't be able to uncover any more details about it.

Melina observes your crestfallen expression carefully before making a decision.

“Do you know about the black widow spider?” she asks you.

You look at her in surprise, realizing that she intends to continue discussing this restricted subject with you.

When you shake your head, she continues, “They're named after the tendency of the female species to consume the male after mating.”

Setting her cup down on the table, she turns her attention to you.

“Your father has always found that concept intriguing — the betrayal of a loved one.”

Of course he would.

You can't help but roll your eyes, hardly surprised at your father's cruel fascination with such an idea.

The queen proceeds with her explanation.

“The Black Widow operations were based on this idea. At the time, I had recently developed a serum that relaxes a person's mind and their compulsions. Combined with your father’s conditioning methods, we were able to develop a new way of gaining information from our enemies.”

“By controlling them,” you interject, already suspecting the true nature of the operations.

She nods in acknowledgment, confirming your suspicion.

“Once activated by a handler, the affected subjects would unknowingly search for the information that we needed and relay it to us without ever realizing what they were doing.”

“So these subjects were unaware of what happened to them?”

Your hands clench involuntarily at the unsettling thought of being controlled without knowing to eventually betray your loved ones.

“This was during the time of war,” the queen reminds you. “The Stark Kingdom had made significant advances in their weaponry, and we needed something to help shift the balance. Your father ensured that the process wiped away all memory of the conditioning.”

Her gaze becomes solemn as she gazes into the crackling fire.

“Initially, that was the sole purpose of these operations — to gather intelligence. But as the war dragged on, Dreykov grew restless.”

She continues with a sigh, “So, he expanded the operations beyond controlling just the subjects' thoughts, but also their actions. He believed that this would be the key to victory in the war.”

“But you didn’t agree,” you say as more of an observation than a question.

Melina nods, her expression tinged with regret.

“Dreykov and I had shared similar ideals and aspirations for many years. We would have done anything to win the war for a better future for the kingdom.”

“What changed?” you ask, curious about the turning point in their history.

Her gaze softens, a faint smile on her lips as she reminisces.

“Well, everything appears different when you are about to start a family.”

Realization dawns on you as you remember.

Natasha was born near the end of the war.

Melina lets out a sad exhale as she continues.

“I could sense that the Starks, too, were growing weary of the war. They already had a son and were expecting another child soon,” she adds, her voice laced with understanding. “And for a moment, I believe your father also understood what I meant…when he had you.”

Your expression turns doubtful at her words, but the queen doesn’t notice as she finishes.

“So, a peace treaty was made between the two kingdoms, stopping the war. Everything was supposed to be okay.”

“But it wasn’t.”

You can continue this part of history. Everybody knows of the tragedies that followed immediately after the war's end.

“My mother was killed in a fire by enemies seeking revenge on my father. And soon after, the captain of the Stark kingdom murdered King Howard, Queen Maria, and their newborn daughter, leaving the surviving son, Prince Tony, to assume the throne.”

You furrow your brows at an unnerving thought.

"The captain…he was a part of the operations, wasn't he?" you inquire, piecing together the connections.

“I don’t know,” the queen admits with a heavy sigh. "Your father was still grieving when I confronted him about it, but he denied any involvement."

She shakes her head at the memory.

“Nevertheless, I closed the Red Room and put an end to the Black Widow operations, and any further research on them has been sealed and restricted ever since.”

You look down at your hands sadly at the information.

“So, there was no method developed to undo the conditioning on those affected,” you conclude.

Melina gives you a sympathetic look and places a reassuring hand on your shoulder for comfort.

You let out a disappointed sigh. That means you’re back to where you originally started in your research.

A silence follows for a moment before the queen decides to speak, her tone more lighthearted to contrast the somber atmosphere.

“I’m glad to see you and Natasha are close again.”

When you look at her in surprise at the shift in conversation, she raises her eyebrow at you, teasingly adding.

“Well, closer. I heard about your little display the other night.”

You flush under her gaze as you hide your face behind your hand, still embarrassed at the memory.

The two of you were swaying slowly to the soft music in an isolated corner of the dance floor, within perfect view of the other nobles in the ballroom.

“I have an idea,” Natasha says with a smirk.

You are about to question her when Natasha suddenly tilts her head and leans in, her face covering yours from the watchful eyes of the other nobles.

You close your mouth in surprise, your next words lost as your eyes widen.

From everyone else’s perspective, it appeared as though the princess just leaned in to kiss you.

In reality, Natasha’s lips hover just above yours.

A breath’s distance separated the two of you. If you move even a little, your lips will touch hers. You feel your heart beat faster at the thought.

Before you can react any further, Natasha pulls away, her eyes shining with amusement as she teases you.

“That expression on your face is really cute.”

Internally groaning at the memory, you feel your face grow even warmer in embarrassment.

After Natasha's bold move, there is no denying what the other nobles believe is your current relationship with the princess.

The point becomes even more evident when Kate's excited exclamation at the sight of the two of you supposedly kissing draws the attention of everyone in the room.

Melina lets out an amused chuckle at your reaction.

“I’ve always known you two would be a good match.”

You lower your hands from your face and tilt your head, puzzled by her comment.

What did she mean by ‘a good match’?

Just as you're about to ask her for clarification, a knock at the library doors interrupts you.

Natasha steps into the room, her gaze shifting between you and her mother.

“Are you finished with Y/n?” she asks.

Melina waves her hand in dismissal.

“Go ahead, I remember what it was like to be young and in love.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and extends her hand to you, nodding towards the exit.

"Let's hurry before she starts sharing her old love stories."

As you're leaving, Melina calls out to you both, “Y/n, please join us for dinner tonight. And Natasha, don’t be late again.”

You nod in acknowledgment as Natasha groans and pulls you out through the doors.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha strolls beside you along the stone paths that lead to the castle’s garden.

Besides the gardeners, other castle staff barely go through this area, leaving the both of you isolated from prying eyes or ears.

After checking that nobody else was around, she turns to you with a question that she’s been wondering about since the night of the ball.

“So my plan was to pretend until after my coronation. What exactly is your plan?”

You raise your brow teasingly at her.

“What, you don’t want to be in this fake relationship with me forever?”

Natasha huffs in disbelief, shoving your shoulder with hers lightly.

“I’d marry you myself if it means you don’t have to be with that jerk.”

And she was serious. You were her closest friend and an important person in her life. She would do anything to make sure you were safe and happy.

You smile softly at her, shaking your head in refusal.

“I just need time to look for someone else suitable enough to replace Lord Rumlow.”

“Better than me?” Natasha teases.

You chuckle, rolling your eyes exasperatedly as you walk ahead of her.

Reaching the garden’s entrance, you stop and turn around to face her with a serious expression.

“Alright, we should get our story straight.”

Natasha gives you an amused look.

“What do you mean?”

“We need to come up with how we became a couple,” you explain.

Natasha crosses her arms and tilts her head in thought before shrugging.

“There’s not much to come up with,” she reasons. “It’s a typical story. A princess and her childhood friend. One day, the friend realizes her feelings for the princess, confesses, and then they decide to be together.”

You raise your brows playfully at her words, barely concealing your grin.

“Somebody’s confident.”

In response, Natasha gracefully plucks a red rose from a nearby bush, a teasing smirk on her lips, as she leans in close and offers it to you.

“You’re the one who said I could get anybody in this kingdom to fall for me.”

You accept the flower with an amused laugh, gently pushing her away.

“Well, I’m not just anybody,” you tell her as you brush past her into the garden.

Natasha watches you go with a soft smile before following after you.

“Alright then, let’s say that I was the one who fell first and confessed to you,” she offers, catching up to you. “We don’t need to reveal anything more than necessary.”

You nod in agreement, stopping and turning back around to face her again.

“Then what about how we act around each other?”

Natasha’s brows furrow in confusion.

“What’s wrong with how we usually act?”

You wave your hand, gesturing vaguely in the air.

“I’m talking about other things, you know, like affectionate touches or….” your voice trails off as you think of the other things couples typically do.

“Kissing?” Natasha finishes for you with an amused smirk.

“I have never seen your face turn that red before,” she says with a light chuckle at the memory of the other night. “I’m not sure how long we’d be able to pull this off if you are constantly blushing at my actions.”

Your expression turns into a pout at her teasing.

“You just caught me by surprise. Anybody would be flustered in my position.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Natasha replies, confident in her ability to maintain composure since she is used to the many flirtations from the other nobles and was unfazed by all of their attempts before.

“You don’t think I can make you flustered too?” you ask as you place your hands innocently atop her shoulders.

Natasha tilts her head and squints suspiciously at you, unconvinced.

“You can try,” she says skeptically.

A sly grin appears on your lips at the challenge.

Without hesitation, your hands glide down from her shoulders and rest against her front, just above her chest. You move in close, your bodies not quite touching but enough for her to feel your warmth.

Natasha’s eyes widen slightly in surprise but she doesn’t step away, unwilling to back down.

Your face leans in slowly until your lips hover a breath away from hers, mimicking what she did the other night. But then your voice drops to a low whisper against her lips.

“Are you sure about that?”

Natasha locks her gaze onto yours, and for a moment, the world around her fades until her only focus is you. Her words seem caught in her throat as she feels her heart quicken slightly.

Your head shifts to the side, breathing gently against her neck before moving your lips up next to her ear.

“Gotcha,” you murmur.

You pull back swiftly and step away, removing your touch from her body and innocently clasping your hands behind you. Your eyes sparkle with triumph as you tilt your head teasingly.

“Looks like the princess can blush after all.”

Natasha blinks, momentarily caught off guard as she raises a hand to rub at her warm cheeks in surprise, feeling a faint blush spreading. She coughs lightly, regaining her composure.

“Not bad,” she admits absently.

Your smile widens in victory as you reach for her hand, intertwining your fingers.

“We don’t actually have to kiss.” Waving your clasped hands, you tell her. “Touches like this should be good enough for the public.”

You pull her towards the castle.

“Come on, Natasha, we wouldn’t want to be late.”

Natasha hums distractedly in acknowledgment, but her focus remains on your clasped hands as she wonders to herself.

Why was her heart still racing?

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

On the way to the dining hall, you noticed that Natasha was oddly quiet, but when you glanced back at her, she offered you her usual smile.

As you enter, you see Queen Melina and Yelena are already seated at their respective positions at the table. King Alexei is away on a short trip to the neighboring kingdom, so his seat at the other end is empty.

An additional chair which you assume is yours has been placed next to the other empty one beside the queen.

Natasha goes to pull out the chair next to her usual seat for you, but Melina stops her.

“Natasha, move over for Y/n. We have much to discuss.”

Yelena begins to laugh at her mother’s blatant display of favoritism, but she masks it with fake coughs when the queen shoots her a disapproving look.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha complies with her mother’s request, pulling out her usual chair for you instead. As she pushes you in, she leans down to whisper, “I told you, she likes you more.”

Melina looks between her two daughters and remarks sarcastically, “Oh, I’m sorry, did you or Yelena suddenly develop an interest in my experiments?”

Yelena hastily shakes her head, diverting her attention to petting Fanny beside her.

You tilt your head at Natasha in confusion as she settles in the seat next to you.

“I thought you liked to hear about her experiments.”

Over the years, you’ve frequently talked with Natasha about your sessions with the queen, and she always seems genuinely interested in what you say.

Melina arches a brow at Natasha. “The last time I tried to discuss my findings with you, you brushed me off and told me that you would simply read about them in your next lessons.”

Natasha shrugs indifferently as she replies, “It’s more interesting when Y/n explains it.”

Melina gasps in offense at her daughter’s words.

Yelena’s expression shifts into a teasing smirk as she gestures between her sister and you.

“What she means is she just enjoys listening to Y/n talk.”

Natasha discreetly kicks Yelena under the table in reprimand.

“Ow,” Yelena shoots a glare at her before turning to her dog.

“Fanny, bite,” she commands.

The dog playfully bounds under the table toward Natasha, only to stop abruptly at the sight of a treat in your hand.

You toss the treat to Fanny and pat her head as she happily settles down beside you.

Yelena gasps in mock betrayal at her dog.

As the dinner meals are brought out and set down on the table, Melina turns her attention to you.

“So, Y/n, what are your plans for tomorrow?”

“I’m heading into town for some errands,” you reply.

“Oh, will Natasha be joining you as well?”

You pause, a bit surprised by her question. You definitely were not expecting to have Natasha join you on your trip tomorrow.

“I am?” Natasha asks for you.

“Well, since you two don’t have to hide your relationship anymore, this would be a great opportunity for you to have a date,” Melina suggests.

“That’s…right,” you say, looking at Natasha nervously, realizing the implication. “We can go on dates in public now.”

Melina narrows her eyes disapprovingly at her daughter.

“Unless you are too busy training to take Y/n on a proper date, Natasha?” she asks accusingly.

Before Natasha can respond, the doors of the dining room burst open, drawing everyone’s attention.

King Alexei enters joyfully and makes his way to his chair while greeting everyone.

“Sorry I’m late, my family—ah and Y/n, nice to see you again—I have an exciting new story to tell you about my journey!”

Melina gives him a questioning look at his presence.

“We weren’t expecting you back until tomorrow,” she remarks.

King Alexei waves his hand nonchalantly.

“The guards wanted to get back sooner after the attack on the road.”

A plate is set down in front of him before he continues.

“That’s the story I wanted to share with you all. There I was, surrounded by twenty mercenaries, all pointing their weapons at me.”

“Wait, you were ambushed?” Natasha interrupts with concern.

He grins and nods, his eyes glinting with excitement.

“Aye, it was exhilarating. I haven’t felt this energized since my days in the war. You know, this reminds me of the time when I had to fight with one arm and leg broken.”

Yelena waves her hand dismissively, commenting, “We’ve heard that story many times already. Can we get back to the ambush?”

“Yelena!” Melina chastises.

“What? Obviously, it turned out okay if he’s here now,” she defends herself.

The queen rubs her head in exhaustion at her family before standing up.

“I’m sorry, Y/n, you’ll have to excuse me. Apparently, I need to speak with my husband and the captain in private.”

With that, she drags King Alexei out of the dining room, leaving the three of you to finish up your meals.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“You didn’t have to come with me.”

Your voice breaks the silence in the carriage, pulling Natasha from her thoughts. She turns to you, sitting beside her in the carriage.

Registering your words, she scoffs in disbelief.

“After what happened to my father, you’re lucky I didn’t just have you stay the night at the castle.”

Your head tilts in thought at the idea.

“It has been a while since we’ve had a sleepover at the castle.”

Natasha shrugs before commenting, “I’m not opposed to the idea.”

Her smile takes on a teasing expression.

“Though it may be inappropriate now that we’re technically a couple. Imagine the rumors that would spread if someone saw that you spent the night in my room.”

Your face flushes a light shade of red at her words, and Natasha’s smile widens at the sight. She’s growing fond of being the cause of such blushes on your face. It was quickly becoming her new favorite expression from you.

You shoot her a playful glare, already knowing she was teasing you on purpose.

“Or I could just stay in one of the guest rooms.”

“But that’s no fun,” Natasha sighs in mock disappointment.

The conversation drifts off into a peaceful silence for a moment before Natasha recalls her mother’s earlier comment.

“You know, I can come with you tomorrow into town if you’d like,” Natasha suggests hopefully. She misses spending time with you like the way the two of you used to do.

You shake your head in refusal, replying with an understanding tone, “You don’t have to, Natasha. I know you have other things you need to do.”

Frowning at your words, Natasha rests her hand atop yours before responding sincerely, “I’ll always have time for you.”

She leans against your shoulder, bumping it lightly.

“Besides, my mother's right. This will give us a chance to show our ‘relationship’ to the public.”

You let out a laugh in disbelief.

“So we’re going to have a date because of your mother’s suggestion?”

Natasha gives you a pointed look.

“We wouldn’t want her to become suspicious. We have to make it seem like we’ve been together in secret for a while already.”

Your expression turns contemplative and you let out a worried sigh at the reminder.

“Then maybe we should practice things like kisses on the cheeks or the hands too so that we’ll look more comfortable with each other if it ever comes up,” you wonder out loud.

Natasha feels her heart quicken slightly at your words, but then she regains her composure, clearing her throat and shaking away that strange feeling in her chest.

“Do you want to try?” she finds herself asking without thinking.

Natasha watches as you ponder in thought before nodding at her with a determined expression. Facing forward with your cheek towards her, you close your eyes tightly in anticipation.

“Okay, go ahead,” you say.

Natasha holds in a laugh at your adorable expression as you wait for her to kiss you on the cheek. She can’t help but tease you as she leans in.

“Why are you so tense?”

You open your eyes and turn to her defensively.

“I’m not—“

Both of your eyes widen in surprise when Natasha’s lips brush softly against the corner of your mouth.

The two of you remain in that position for a moment, too shocked to move.

Eventually, Natasha is the one who pulls away first, her eyes locked onto yours. It feels just like that moment in the garden where everything around her disappears, her heart racing like before.

When you lightly bite your lips where she had touched yours, Natasha finds herself drawn to you at the movement, unconsciously leaning in again.

“We have arrived, Your Highness,” the coachman calls out as the carriage slows to a stop.

That brings Natasha back to reality as she pulls herself back in surprise. She looks away from you, clearing her throat lightly to find her voice before responding to him.

“Okay, thank you.”

When she turns back to you, she finds your head slightly ducked and looking away, a definite blush on your cheeks.

The carriage door is opened by your night gatekeeper who helps you out of the carriage. Natasha follows you soon after, rubbing her neck nervously.

“Y/n, about that kiss…,” Natasha trails off, seemingly at a loss for words.

You chuckle lightly at the sight of the usually confident princess reacting so shyly, so you decide to make sure she knows that everything is still okay between the two of you, despite the accidental touch.

Raising your hand to cup her face, you lean up and give her a soft kiss against her cheek.

When you pull away, Natasha gives you a confused look.

“There, now we’re even,” you tell her in reassurance.

“Well, that display certainly confirms the rumors I’ve been hearing,” a sudden voice interrupts.

Both you and Natasha turn towards the source and see your father descending the stairs toward the two of you.

Natasha gives him a polite nod and smiles in greeting.

Despite being close friends with you for years, this is probably the first time that she has met your father personally outside of formal events.

“Good evening, Lord Dreykov.”

“Princess Natasha,” he greets, giving her a curt nod.

“I see you’ve brought my daughter home from her frivolous activities,” he continues with a condescending tone, his harsh words aimed at you.

Natasha’s smile fades at his tone and the insulting comment towards you. She turns to give you a questioning look but finds your head ducked toward the ground, avoiding her gaze.

Returning her attention to your father, Natasha remarks coldly.

“I don’t believe we’ve ever had a proper conversation with each other.”

“No, the last time I saw you, you were still a child,” Lord Dreykov states, examining her critically, his eyes scrutinizing her. “Some in the kingdom might even argue that you're still a child now, hardly ready to rule.”

Natasha smirks confidently in understanding, her posture straightening at the challenge. She’s no stranger to facing older nobles who are wary about her capabilities of taking the throne.

“I assure you that I am fully prepared to follow in my mother's footsteps. Though, I am open to insights from those who believe they know better.“

He scoffs at her words.

“My suggestion would be to not tread the same path as your mother.”

“Do you disagree with the decisions she made for the kingdom?" Natasha questions.

Lord Dreykov waves his hand dismissively as he admits, “Queen Melina possesses a brilliant mind, especially when it comes to her scientific discoveries and experiments.”

His voice shifts into a tone of disdain.

“However, her choices as the ruler of our kingdom — let’s just say, not everyone views her decision to accept a peace treaty when victory was within reach as a wise choice.”

“And yet both kingdoms have been at peace with each other for over two decades,” Natasha points out, her voice unwavering.

“If that is what you believe, then allow me to offer another piece of advice, Your Highness,” he says, feigning politeness.

“Peace is often just a thin veil, concealing the demons lurking underneath. You can never predict when a friend one day may suddenly become your enemy the next.”

His tone remained neutral, but Natasha sensed a subtle warning in his words. She is about to argue when she feels your hand grab hers.

Natasha looks over to you and finds your face now pale, just like that moment back at the ball when you were speaking with Lord Rumlow.

Glancing down, she notices your hand trembling slightly as you hold hers, but you quickly cover your clasp hands with your other hand, stopping the shaking.

Concern fills Natasha’s eyes as she studies your face.

She has never seen you in this kind of state before, so unsure and frightened.

Her eyes narrow as she glances suspiciously at Lord Dreykov, but another tug of her hand redirects her attention back to you.

You look at her with pleading eyes, whispering to her.

“Natasha, just go home.”

Lord Dreykov lifts his head at her, haughtily.

“Indeed, it is growing dark soon. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to the princess on her way home, now would we?”

Natasha clenches her teeth at the sight of his smug expression, unable to hide her new disdain for the noble.

“Natasha, please.”

At your words, Natasha dispels her tense posture before turning to you with a gentle expression.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/n,” she promises, bringing your slightly trembling hands to her lips in a light kiss.

She shoots Lord Dreykov a suspicious glance before retreating into the carriage.

Once the carriage disappears from view, you let out a breath of relief before turning to your father with a sigh.

His hand emerges from behind him, and you involuntarily flinch at the sight of his raised hand, closing your eyes to brace yourself.

When you feel him pat your head, you cautiously open your eyes and see him smiling coldly at you, his eyes glinting with a sinister look.

“I was disappointed when you told me you were no longer close to the princess, but this…making her fall for you,” he scoffs, mockingly. “Maybe you are not as useless as I thought.”

As he leaves, his words weigh heavy on your heart, leaving you filled with worry. You’re no longer sure if you made the right decision with this plan anymore.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Series Masterlist : Boundless Devotion

a/n: Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @lightwhoranoutoflight, @taliiiaasteria, @romanoffprentiss, @canvascoloredin, @silentwolfsstuff, @blacklightsposts, @arcturusseer, @presser24, @dvrkhcld, @jujuu23, @screechcat, @vivs46

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff

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artiststarme · 1 year

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Don't Call Me Stupid

Can I make you cry four times in one day @pyrohonk? I hope you guys like it and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

Now with a Part 2!

~*~*~*~

Steve was used to being the dumb one. He was the kid in class that would ask stupid questions that the other kids and sometimes even the teacher would laugh at. He never quite understood what teachers were saying in class or what the words written on the board were supposed to mean with their squiggly letters that jumped around. Eventually he learned not to raise his hand at all. Better to be confused than embarrassed, right?

Nancy, when they were dating, would always call him an idiot. He brushed it off at the time but looking back, it made him wonder. If he was a little bit smarter, a little more astute, would things have gone differently? Would Nancy have sought comfort in him instead of running off to Jonathan? Would he have noticed Barb’s disappearance from his yard that started all of this in the first place? He had to wonder but even that wouldn’t change anything.

His stupidity was also a highlight point for his parents to focus on. He once was the popular jock, an airhead but one that was popular and good at sports. Now, he was just a deadbeat that barely graduated high school and certainly couldn’t get into college. He was a loser working at a dead-end job that was going nowhere in life. Ah, what pride he brought to his parents now. He could only grieve the life he used to lead every time he saw his parents staring at him in disdain. At least he had the Party… right?

It was a well known fact throughout the Party that Steve was a little slow. His brain worked at a different pace than the rest of them, a concept woefully apparent to everyone. His brain was focused on the music underlying the Russian code and the Black Widows underneath the floorboards. He was the last to connect the dots and truly only helped the Party by taking hits to the head. They only kept him around to take the hits after all.

Even Robin, his best friend in the world, his platonic soulmate with a capital P, called him a dingus on a near hourly basis. Sure, it was affectionate now but it started as a derogatory term to poke fun at his intelligence, or lack thereof. He was a fool in her eyes, affectionate or not. Even still, he was just the dumbass that slept around with half of Hawkins, a sassy soundboard for her to bounce lesbian crushes off of.

He was used to being called stupid but it still hurt every time.

So in the first fight he and Eddie have as a couple, it really hits a sore spot when Eddie hisses, “what are you, stupid?”

All of the fight drained out of Steve in an instant leaving a broken, empty shell in its place. His anger melted away to reveal the hurt hidden underneath. “You should go.”

“What? No, we’re talking this through,” Eddie shook his head, giving him a look of confusion.

“I probably won’t understand anyways since I’m so stupid. So you should go, save your breath. Whatever you think is probably right anyways.” With that, Steve walks up the stairs to his bedroom and locks the door behind him. He pulls his old Walkman over his ears and lets the sad tones of Queen’s All Dead, All Dead wash over him.

He was sick of being treated like trash by everyone he talked to. Everyone that was supposed to love him; his parents, Nancy, Robin, Eddie, the kids. They all thought he was a dumbass. He’d tried so hard to be better, to be smarter, to be more useful to everyone else. But in his quest, he lost everything that he once was. He lost his charisma, he lost his old friends, and his hobbies to become this loser who still no one liked.

So, he ignored his boyfriend’s knocks on his door, turned up his tunes, and planned his move away from Hawkins. If he wasn’t appreciated here, maybe he would be anywhere else.

Permanent Tag List: @doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog @newtstabber @i-less-than-three-you @carlyv @pyrohonk @straight4joekeery @trippypancakes @conversesweetheart @estrellami-1 @suddenlyinlove @yikes-a-bee @swimmingbirdrunningrock @perseus-notjackson @anaibis @merricatty @maya-custodios-dionach @grtwdsmwhr @manda-panda-monium @lumoschild @goodolefashionedloverboi @mentallyundone @awkwardgravity1 @anzelsilver @jestyzesty @gregre369

#stranger things #steddie #fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #dustin henderson #eleven hopper

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blues824 · 1 year

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Here With Me - Lilia Vanrouge x Reader

YOU SIMPS WON. FOR THAT REASON THIS HAS SOME MAJOR ANGST

@roxanavanrouge2400 gave me an idea that I took inspiration from. Thanks, bestie!

The song is Here With Me, by d4vd.

Lilia Vanrouge

He was a very old fae with a lot of history behind him, but what a lot of people don’t know is that he had a spouse. You were his beloved Y/N, and you both first met when you were placed under his command. You quickly rose through the ranks and became his lieutenant. Unfortunately, along the way, you both made too many enemies and one of them got to you.

Now, you were but a distant memory to Lilia.The spouse of Vanrouge was no more, and Mr. Vanrouge was a widower. Not even Malleus remembers what you look like, which was a sad reality. Silver never got a chance to see his would-be-adoptive parent.

Even though it has been centuries, he still remembers the sound of your voice and the feeling of your hands in his. He may not remember your face clearly as your image has been weathered after so many years, he will always remember your wedding day.

It was a joyous occasion for all who attended, and it was the majority of the Briar Valley. That wasn’t uncommon, though, since Lilia was a very decorated general and you were his lieutenant. The two of you were “as thick as thieves, but as strong as heroes”, as per the words of the Queen.

Lilia sighed a heavy, melancholy sigh as he laid in his bedchambers in the Diasomnia dormitory. He looked at his desk where a framed picture stayed, and it was a photo of the portrait of the two of you on the aforementioned day. More memories started flooding into his head.

For example, your wedding attire. It was black, as per the custom of the Briar Valley, and you looked ravishing. In fact, as the bat fae saw you walking down the aisle, one of the many thoughts that went into his head was that he couldn’t wait until you both were in the privacy of your new home, if you know what I mean.

He quickly snapped out of it, seeing that it was very late at night and that he had some early classes the next day. The ex-general liked to keep a sharp sleep routine on school days so that he could lead his ‘sons’ by example. Plus, he needed to be energized if he was going to carry out his duty as Malleus’s guardian.

But once he entered the sweet abyss we call ‘sleep’, he was met by you. You looked happy to see him, and he was definitely very happy to see you. However, he knew that it wasn’t real. It never would be. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t indulge himself this one time, so he ran into your arms.

At that moment, he knew he would never want to wake up as long as you were there, and he wanted to be selfish and actually go through with it. However, there were people who depended on him and it just made him sadder to see you. You could sense it, and pulled away to hold his face.

“What are you doing here, darling?” He asked.

“You called for me.” Oh, your voice was exactly how he remembered it. “But I do have to leave soon.”

“Please don’t! I’m not ready to let you go…” He exclaimed desperately.

“Alright, my love. I will give you one last dance. Be wise in choosing,” you gave him a wink as you led him to a few records. Some of them were classics, and some were more modern songs. Each of them were about keeping someone close to you because you love them so much.

He selected a modern one that he enjoyed, and he took the record out of the sleeve and put it into the gramophone. The song started playing, and Lilia made his way to you and bowed down while extending his hand to you… just like he had on your wedding day.

You placed your hand in his, causing him to pull you into his chest. He was in his more mature form, so he was taller than usual. He looked around a bit as the music started, and he recognized your surroundings; it was your wedding venue. It was exactly the same, save for you being alone.

Then the lyrics started up:

Watch the sun rise along the coast

As we’re both getting old

I can’t describe what I’m feeling

He wasn’t even paying attention to the words. He was just happy to be back in your arms once again. He missed the feeling so much, and he hadn’t realized it until now. Upon looking again, you both were back in your wedding attire, and you looked just as dazzling as you did then.

And all I know is we’re going home

So please don’t let me go, oh

Don’t let me go, oh-oh-oh

You both had started swaying side-to-side, getting used to the melody of the very sad song. You knew exactly why he chose this one to dance to, but you knew that you couldn’t stay. No magic was strong enough to bring you back, and your soul needed rest.

And if it’s right

I don’t care how long it takes

As long as I’m with you

I’ve got a smile on my face

Lilia gently let you go and spun you around, only to bring you back into him. He did indeed have a smile on his face, but it wasn’t the happy one that you remember seeing at your wedding. No, it was a smile that was trying to hide pain so that he could savor his last few moments with you.

Save your tears, it’ll be okay

All I know is you’re here with me

Oh, oh, oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh

The feeling of his dearly departed spouse wiping the flowing tears away was one that brought him both comfort and anguish. He closed his eyes, trying to memorize the way your touch upon his face felt. For a former soldier, your hands were gentle and kind, and he let out a huff of laughter at the thought.

Watch the sunrise as we're getting old, oh-oh

I can't describe, whoa-oh

That’s when he noticed that your surroundings were changing once again. It wasn’t a different scene, it was that everything was fading away in sparks. His grip on you tightened, fearful of the prospect of you fading away as well.

“I wish I could live through every memory again

Just one more time before we float off in the wind”

He whispered the lyrics so that only you would hear, not that it mattered anyway since you two were the only ones there. The entirety of the background faded away, and the trail of your wedding outfit was breaking off piece-by-piece into butterflies. You seemed to be going at a much slower rate than everything else, so Lilia knew that time was running out.

And all the time we spent

Waiting for the light to take us in

Have been the greatest moments of my life

Both of you leaned in so that your foreheads were touching. Tears streamed down both of your faces in a beautiful but sorrowful way. You didn’t want to leave, but you knew that you had to so that he could move on.

The butterflies were nearing your waist, but you were still moving back and forth as your husband led you in the small dance. It was very out of character to hear the sniffles and sobs coming from him, and it only broke your heart even more.

I don't care how long it takes

As long as I'm with you, I've got a smile on my face

Save your tears, it'll be okay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay-ay-ay-ay

Now, the two of you were aware that faes were not immortal. You would meet Lilia again once he has passed over. However, that wouldn’t be for a very long while. As much as he would love to continue dancing with you in the afterlife, he had 3 boys to look after.

What was left of you was your shoulders up. Your beloved took a long look at you, hoping to preserve you in his memory until his last breath. But, he could tell that this would be like any dream: he would forget just a few moments after he woke up. You quickly pulled him into a long and deep kiss, hoping to convey each word you wanted to say through that act of affection.

Yeah, if with me

Oh, oh, oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh

I can't describe, oh, oh

In just a few moments, he was left kissing air. What was left of you was a single black butterfly, which resembled the type of fae you were. It flapped its wings a little as it was perched on the bridge of his nose. It was your final goodbye.

“Old man!” Silver shouted.

Lilia quickly sat up in his bed, disoriented until he spotted his dear son. He let out a shaky sigh of relief before quickly wiping the stray tear from his eyes. The memory of his dream quickly came flooding back into his mind, and he quickly went to write it down so that he would never forget, all-the-while Silver was confused as to what his father was doing.

#twst #twst x reader #twst x reader angst #disney twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #lilia x reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia #twst lilia #twst lilia vanrouge #twst lilia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #diasomnia #diasomnia x reader

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witchofhimring · 7 months

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Queen you shall be

This series is being edited. I feel Alys came off as one dimensionally evil and the reader as a pretty flat character. So this will be heavily edited.

Queen you shall be, until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all you hold dear

Pairings:

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Part 2: Until there comes another

Warnings: angst, cheating, mentions of stillbirth/miscarriages, death

Y/n Targaryen had once been a very beautiful woman. When Aemond Targaryen rescued her from the Prince of Dragonstone's clutches they wrote ballads about her beauty. But the Queen, who was nearing her fortieth birthday, was no longer such a sight. Her hair was going grey from stress, her body weighed down by numerous failed pregnancies that had either ended in a miscarriages or stillbirths. Only Princess Daenerys remained living in the pile of deceased offspring Aemond Targaryen had brought into they world. Your heart ached worse than your failing body as you watched your husband entertaining the Lady of Harrenhal. Aemond Targaryen had never even spared other women a look. That was one of the many reasons you had grown to love him. You always pitied the ladies who's husbands forsook their beds in favour of another's. Now you could count yourself amongst their number.

It had all started with a renewal of war. Viserys Targaryen, last remaining son of the Black Queen made another bid for the throne. Aemond Targaryen took to Vhaegar once more and waged war for the first time since The Dance. As regent you ruled with his absence. When the King came back you breathed a sigh of relief. But he had changed. His face looked gaunt and his eyes held a hardness you had not seen since the last war. And the Lady of Harrenhal who descended from the dragon with him. He had introduced her as his friend, but you weren't stupid. She could hardly be "just a friend" when there was that conniving little smirk on her face. You politely greeted her, but no more. You were still Queen and she was just as mistress.

It was now two years and they still danced together. Aemond had stopped visiting your bed. His days were spent with the young, beautiful and likely fertile Lady Alys. "Have they no shame." Lady Johanna Lannister was sitting beside you, showcasing the fury you hid. Johanna, widow of Jason Lannister, had dealt with her fair share of mistresses. You placed a hand on hers. Alys was not worth it. So you sat there in your splendor observing the court, ignoring the pain stabbing your heart.

The song ended and Aemond kissed the lady's hand. Some eyes went you. But if they were hoping for a reaction they would be severally disappointed. Aemond walked up the steps hand in hand. Johanna Lannister made a hissing noise behind you. "Your Majesty." Alys curtsied in front of you. As of late the woman had become more brazen. She no longer made any attempts to pretend to avoid you. In fact she was always there, breathing down your neck. Alys opened her red-stained mouth to say something else when your only surviving child Princess Daenerys entered. Following her was Dowager Queen Alicent. You and you mother-in-law were not overly close and were at odds in many things. But when it came to Alys Rivers turned Strong the Dowager Queen was completely on your side. Her lips pursed and Alicent looked the other way. You noticed that Alys Strong looked disappointed. Almost laughing, you greeted your daughter.

It was one of those rare nights Aemond joined you in bed. Already in bed, you sat up and placed the book beside you. You did him goodnight, took some tea, and laid down to sleep. Any other woman might have made a remark on their absent husband finally coming to see her. But Alys Strong was hardly worth it. You were the descendant of Kings, the Queen and mother to the heir. She was nothing. But there was still an ache. You hid it deep down in your soul where no one could find. Laying there for sleep to take you, there was a sudden feeling of unease. Aemond had not gotten into bed as of yet. In fact, you could feel is gaze upon you. "Y/n, may we speak?" Surprised, you pulled the sheets off of you. After putting on a blue robe you stood before your husband. Once you two had loved each other very much. In those early days before the war he had been your love, a soulmate. Now there was this worn out King, a innocents of youth long gone. Perhaps you looked the same, body misshaped by years of child-carrying, hair grey in places. You were no longer the beautiful lady, he not the gallant Prince. That was not all you noticed. There was a nervous quality to his appearance. The look of one being the bearer of ill news. "Is Daenerys well?" Your thoughts first went to your little girl, aged only fifteen years a month past. The only true light in your life. "No. No it is not her, thank the Gods." He let out a sigh that you held in. The star of the Seven, a pendant around your neck, burned. You felt as if the ceiling might cave in. Aemond was about to tear your world apart, you just knew it. The tension in the air made it hard to breath. "I wish for a divorce." A thunderclap in its intensity. The room fell silent, only the shadows moved. At first you did not process it. "Divorce" was hardly a word one use. Less the the kingdoms anointed ruler. "I beg your pardon." You voice was slow, teetering on the edge of anger. Aemond looked nervous. "We have tried for many years Y/n. But I must have a son to succeed me. I know this must be painful-" No. You would not let Aemond try to come up with some excuse for this. You were a proud woman, no less than the Kings before you, and those of your nature did not give way. "So you think Alys Strong will?" He was a dear caught in front of the crossbow. His eyes twitched and his sword arm fidgeted. "I never said it would be her I marry." He said. Your eyes flashed dangerously. Did he take you for some silly fool? At fifteen you had acted as regent for your father. During the dance you held Kings Landing while Daemon's dragon flew bellow. It was you who lead armies against the north when they rose up once more for Viserys Targaryen, son of Rhaenyra, during the last revolt. When he was the little second son you were your fathers heir. Competent as any man. "Get out, Aemond Targaryen. And you and your mistress will have no such peace, so you think on that. Now out." He obeyed the command.

You had hoped he would give it up. But half a year later and here you were. A trial was to be held determining if your marriage, which had stood for twenty years, was valid. You stood in front of your husband. He was glad in black with the iron crown upon his head. Aegon the Conqueror could not have been as intimidating. No one could meet his eye. No one except you. They had told you to come in humbly, to dress in mute colours. But your pride and fury at being ignored for years swayed you. After all this time being the supplicant wife was not the path you would tread. Your dress was a deep green with gold dragon sewn into it. You coronet sat upon your head. If they wanted to take it from you it would be over your cold, dead body.

Of course they made the obvious attacks, your age, lack of fertility. In silence you had stood here as they hurled slanders at your names, shamed in front of the court. And then they turned to you. Some sympathetic, others malicious. Although Alys had the good sense not to attend some of her ladies did. These young girls giggled at your old age. But women are worth more than their looks. You were proof of that. They gasped. The Queen did not stay in her place, but walked forward. Proud and straight as on her coronation day. She walked up the stairs, the guards not stopping her. Soon she was face to face in front of the King. "Tell me, husband, when did I incur such displeasure in you. You have sought council from me, had me bear your children and had me fight your wars and still I am to be cast off for a mistress. Have I not done all that I could to be a faithful companion to you? A faithfulness, might I add, you have not extended to me. Is this how justice is to be conducted in the land? Must every woman now lay awake at night and fear she shall be cast off from some new dalliance? Well, I will not. If you want to try and annul a marriage made and sworn before the Seven you may." You turned your back on the King and descended the stairs. There were murmurings in the crown. You turned. "I call upon the Seven to witness that I am a true and faithful wife. And so it shall be forever. A court held by a King has no say in these matters. Only a court held by the High Septon himself will I attend. Until then I shall depart from this farce." With that you turned. Your ladies followed and the herald called your name. Along the pathway you walked, your heart pounding in your chest. You might now be leading armies into the north but your heart remained the same. You walked towards the balcony when a group blocked your path. Alys Strong seemed to be coming to find out the verdict. "I trust the verdict has been read out." She held all the confidence of a young woman, sure of her beauty and good fortune. Gods know you did once. But now older, you understood the world did not operate in such a way. Things age, die, and fortune fades. "How dare you! She is the Queen." Johanna Lannister looked like to turn into a lion. You held a hand up. "Everyone, leave us." You ordered. Your ladies protested for fear of you. But nevertheless the obeyed. Alys's ladies paused, until you reminded them you were still Queen. Then it was just the two of you.

"You are old. No longer capable of giving him sons." A sly look came upon her face. Cooly, you observed her. "You are confident you will give him sons. Your age and beauty assure you of this." "Well, every man is in need of a fertile wife, and beauty is preferred." Her gaze drifted over your own, no longer youthful. "So was I. The most beautiful woman in the seven Kingdoms. I gave with to Daenerys and thought myself fortunate too. The tiniest moment of unease passed through her. "I come from good stock. Your mother never gave your fathers sons. Only you." You laughed. This little girl had no idea. "And do you know why. When he could have passed it off to a male relative?" Alys was silent. "I ruled my fathers land, defended it from those who wished to take it. And when I became Queen I did the same. I have lead armies and put down greater women than you. Do you see them out there?" You gestured to the window. Both of you peered out. A large gathering was outside. Although inside, you could still hear the cheers. And they were all for you. "I am Queen of Westeros and nothing you do will change that. Looks are fleeting and fortune is fickle. So guard yourself Alys, because I will bring a war if that is what you seek." An you left her there, pale and shaking. You on the other hand opened the doors. A roar of cheers greeted you, their Queen. The daylight warmed your aching heart. And it hurt to let go of your long dead love. But you were nothing if not a warrior.

Their cheers broke the early morning.

"Gods save the Queen!"

Note:

I just want to clarify that Alys personality is in no way based off Anne Boleyn in case anyone asks, however her story is. The reader, however, was inspired by Catherine of Aragon. This will be in four parts.

#alys rivers #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond x alys #aemond targaryen x alys rivers #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader angst #aemond angst #aemond x reader angst

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arlana-likes-to-write · 20 days

Text

Lightning Bug - Chapter 29

Masterlist

Warning: small injury, mention of past abuse and self-doubt, more family fluff.

Word count: 3.8k

It seemed second nature for you to sit back and watch. You weren’t trying to be rude but liked understanding how everyone fit in a group. Then, you could see where you fit into it. Yelena hung on every word Alexei said, no matter how ridiculous. She would tease him and poke fun, but it was a side of Yelena you never saw, and she was surprised that it existed. Deep down, she was a little girl looking for her father’s love; you could relate. Now, with Melina, she was more hesitant to accept the older woman’s affection. You wondered what happened between the two to hurt their relationship. With the blonde here, Natasha was more willing to join in on family time. It felt like she was holding them both at arm’s length away. Similar to how you were when you first arrived at the tower, you were so scared to be hurt by those who promised they cared. You, Yelena, and Natasha weren’t as different as you thought. Kate and Wanda acted as the buffers. If a conversation took a wrong turn or Alexei made a joke that struck a nerve, they would pivot the conversation or touch their girlfriend to soothe the. You needed to figure out where you fit here.

“You are doing it again,” Yelena said, pushing a hot chocolate into your hands. Wanda was making them, and it was Yelena’s job to hand them out. You sipped the sugary drink instead of acknowledging her statement. “Why do you analyze everything like a game of chess?” You looked at her. She wasn’t being mean, just curious. You frowned, whipping your lip with a napkin.

“I don’t know,” your eyebrows scrunched together as you thought. Vision taught you that chess was always about being two to three steps ahead of your opponent. It was better to be ahead than trying to catch up. Every time you picked up a piece, your move was final; there were no do-overs. All the pieces flowed together, and a player couldn’t win without every piece. The pawn was just as important as the Queen or Rook. “I guess I like to see how everyone fits together; then I can find my spot.” Yelena smiled.

“I think you would make a good Avenger.”

“Me?” You questioned. “I don’t think I have what it takes to be an Avenger.” The blonde shrugged, leaning back on the wall. Her eyes were trained on the card game between Natasha, Alexei, and Kate.

“I thought the same thing when Natasha asked if I wanted to join the team. Sometimes, I still wonder if I’m good enough for it,” you watched her expression darken, but she shook it off. “We all have those questioning thoughts. Maybe that makes us good at what we do.” Natasha raised her hands in the air to celebrate her victory. “Come on. You are joining the next game.” You had little choice as you were pulled towards the table as the next game began.

“Ready?” Melina asked. You shook out your legs and stretched your arms. You nodded and heard the sound of the machine starting up. The older Black Widow wanted to test your reflexes, so you stood in the center of two machines hooked up to a switch that Melina held. They would shoot clay disks at you. All you had to do was doge them and use your powers to destroy them.

Back at the tower, when you trained with Maria, she helped you fall in love with using your powers again. Now, training with Melina made your stomach twist with anxiety. You wanted to perform well, impress her, and show her what you were capable of. So you pushed down the feeling and felt your powers dance at your fingertips.

The first two were easy; the clay pieces fell to the ground before they got to you. You heard the machines rave-up, and the disk started to come faster. Sweat began to drip down your back as you trained under the Russian sun. It was getting harder to stay on your feet as your legs turned to jello.

You dove to the ground, the disk skimming over your head. With the last bit of energy, you sent a stream of lightning and hit your target. The clay pieces fell to the ground. Rolling onto your back, you let out a heavy sigh. Your heart was beating so fast, you could hear it in your ears. You thought Maria’s training was brutal; you were pretty sure Melina was trying to kill you. “Better,” she said. “We’ll take a small break and go again.” You gave her a weak thumbs up and heard Yelena approach you.

“Get up,” she grunted as she pulled you up into a sitting position. Your body mainly was dead weight. “You need to give your lungs more room to expand and slowly drink this.” She handed you a water bottle.

“I think,” you slowly sipped on the water. “I think your mother’s trying to kill me.” Yelena laughed, looking at Melina, who was speaking with Wanda. They were too far away to hear what they were talking about.

“Putting you through this is her way of showing that she cares,” your mouth dropped in shock. You were mentally preparing for your funeral. “She wants to make sure you can protect yourself. You are her first vnucka.” You smiled.

“When are you and Kate going to add to the family?” The blonde’s cheeks burned bright red. You laughed, and she pushed you on the shoulder. There was no fight in your body, so you fell back to the ground. “Jerk,” you called out. Slowly, you sat up and stood up. You shook your legs out and jumped on your toes. Instead of anxiety filling your stomach, something else replaced it. You felt off. Jumping on your feet again, your ankle rolled, but you caught it before anything happened.

“All set?” Melina asked. You gave her a thumbs-up instead of answering and tossed the water bottle out of your way. The machines began to spin, and you let out a shaky breath.

You should have said no, called it off, and tried again later in the day. But you were stubborn, and you wanted to prove to yourself that you could do it. The first sets went well. You dogged the clay plates and destroyed them before they hit the ground. Until you plant your foot and your ankle gave out. Your body crumbled to the ground.

All of your life, you knew pain—the pain you inflicted on yourself. The bruises and scars your father left on you would stay with you forever. The pain during HYDRA was blinding. So when a pulsing pain erupted in your ankle, you knew something was wrong. Especially when your body crumbled in on itself and you fell to the ground. You faintly heard Yelena call out your name and rush to your side.

“What happened? Are you okay?” You nodded, stretching your legs out in front of you. Your right ankle felt throbbing. Melina joined you, kneeling next to you.

“My ankle gave out,” you admitted. “I don’t think I can continue your little course.” You joked, but Melina frowned.

“Do you want me to look at it?” Her hands went towards your foot, and you jerked your leg away. That was a mistake, and the pain traveled up your leg. You gripped the blades of grass between your fingers to stop yourself from crying out.

“No,” your voice shook. “No, I’m fine. Can you help me get back to my room?” You asked, looking at the blonde. She offered her hand, and you took it. You were pulled to your feet, and Yelena picked you up onto her back. You yelped and put your arms around her neck. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you into the house,” she adjusted her grip underneath your legs and began to walk. “Mama is right; you need to eat more.” You rolled your eyes and got used to the feeling of her carrying you like this. It was nice, and you rested your head on her shoulder.

“This is kind of nice,” you mumbled. “I may need more rides like this.” You moved from her laughter.

“Don’t make a habit of getting hurt,” Surprisingly, the house was empty when Yelena walked in, and she went towards the room you were using. She gently set you down, and you limped over to the bed. You felt her eyes watching you. “I’m going to have to tell Natasha.” You groaned but understood. “Don’t try to move it a lot and we’ll be right back.” You nodded as the blonde left.

You sat against the bed’s headboard and carefully removed your sock and shoe. The swelling was already starting, and a nice bruise was forming. You tried to move the joint but had to cover your mouth to stop the cry from slipping past your lips. This could have been better. Injuries meant punishments. You had to fix this quickly. With shaky hands, your fingers traced the bruise. A small surge passed your fingertips and hit the affected area. You jumped, surprised by the sudden display of power, but the pain wasn’t bad when your leg jerked. It was manageable. Curiously, you touched the bruised skin and concentrated your energy on that area. You only stopped when your ankle was back to the expected size, and the bruise was gone. You rolled your ankle without pain as if the injury had never happened. For one final test, you stood up and jumped up and down. Nothing. You slumped back on your bed. That was new. Your door opened, and Natasha came in looking frantic. “Hi,” you said.

“Hi?” Natasha asked. Yelena said you got hurt, and all I get is a hi.” You shrugged.

“I’m fine,” she gave you a pointed look. “I am. Look!” You circled around until Natasha forced you to stop and sit back down. She put your ankle in her lap.

“Yelena and Melina said you could barely pressure it,” you bite your lip. I know you wouldn’t fake an injury to get out of training, so what happened?” Natasha was safe. She was caring, protective, and loving. She wasn’t like your father or those HYDRA goons who hurt you for being hurt.

“I think I sprained my ankle,” you told her. She looked at you to continue. You sighed. “But I’m fine now because I healed it.” She slowly looked up, blinking a few times at you. You saw her brain trying to make sense of what you said.

“You did what?” You pulled your leg off her lap and began to put your sock and shoe back on.

“I was touching my ankle when I accidentally shocked myself, but it helped the pain, so I kept doing it until the swelling went down,” you tied your shoe and rolled your ankle again. “See! All good!” You expected to see that she was proud or happy on Natasha’s face, but she looked worried. “What’s wrong? This is so cool! I wish I knew how to do this when I was younger; it would have saved me a few extra bruises.” Gently, she took your hand.

“It is very cool,” you said, sensing a but. Why were you sensing a but? “But Melina said you flinched when she tried to help you.” Ah, there it was. “Do you want to talk about that?” You shrugged, flipping her hand over to trace the lines on her palm. “Come on, molniyenosnyy zhuk (lightning bug), I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going through your head.”

“Not much to tell,” you said. “Injuries of any kind were frowned upon at HYDRA, and with my-” you stopped yourself. “With Johnathan. It wasn’t good enough if I couldn’t perform at my best, and I was punished.” Natasha tapped on your knee, and you looked at her.

“Can I give you a hug?” You nodded, and she wrapped her arms around you. Your head rested on her chest. “When I was in the Red Room,” she spoke softly and ran her fingers through your hair. “I dislocated my shoulder during a mission. I completed it, but I wasn’t perfect. I went three days without food, and they doubled my training.” You pulled back to look at her. “No one will ever hurt you because you got hurt. Injuries are common in this line of work,” you nodded and leaned against her.

“I’m sorry the world was so cruel to you,” you felt her lips brush against the top of your head.

“I’m sorry too,” she whispered. “But the world can’t hurt you anymore.”

Natasha found Wanda in the living room, drinking tea and reading a book. “Hey, how is she?” She closed the book. “What’s wrong? Does she need to go to the hospital?” Natasha shook her head.

“Can we talk in our room? It’s important.” Wanda placed her book on the table and took her girlfriend’s hand as Natasha led them to the room they used when they visited. It had personal details that Melina had kept up - pictures on the walls and extra clothes in the closet. Natasha sat on the bed. “She said she sprained her ankle, but it was fine when I checked on it. No bruising or swelling,” The witch nodded slowly, waiting for the Black Widow to continue. “She said she healed it. That she used her powers until the swelling went down.” Wanda’s eyes went wide. Natasha thought they were going to fall out of her head.

“That is—” she paused, seemingly at a loss for words. It’s different, but we shouldn’t panic,” she sat down next to the Black Widow. This could be happening because she is getting stronger.” Now Natasha was on her feet.

“You are the one that came to me when her powers changed during training. Her powers are preparing her for something, which could be what Vision warned you about.”

“What did Vision say?” Natasha turned around to see Yelena. The blonde had her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised in question. A part of Natasha wanted to lie to her sister because the more people that knew, the more real it would feel. On the other hand, Yelena could help them. With a sigh, Natasha grabbed her sister’s hand, pulled her into the room, and closed the door. “Can you not do that?” Yelena deadpanned and sat next to Wanda on their bed.

“What we tell you can’t leave this room,” Yelena slowly nodded and looked between the couple.

“Should I be worried? Do we have another Thanos coming?” She smiled. Natasha was grateful for the joke to try breaking the tension but couldn’t bring it in her to laugh. So Wanda began to tell Yelena everything they knew, which was a little. Natasha watched the smile on her sister’s face fall. Once the witch was done, Yelena stood up suddenly. Her hands tangled within her blonde hair. “That glorified toaster oven let her touch the fucking infinity stone,” the redhead snorted at the name-calling towards the android but covered it with a cough from the flare she received from her girlfriend.

“We know it was a bad choice,” Wanda ran her hands through her hair and rested them on her neck. “We can’t change the pass.”

“I can complain about it,” Yelena mumbled.

“What can we do,” Wanda ignored Yelena’s comment and continued, “is figure out how to keep her safe moving forward.” The blonde rested her hand on her chin.

“She’s the safest with us,” she said. “As long as we keep her in the tower or one of us goes with her, nothing can touch her.” That was true, but Natasha hated the idea of limiting your choices over something they had no idea was coming. It wasn’t enjoyable. “Have you thought about telling her the truth?”

“What is there to tell her?” Natasha questioned. “Oh, remember when you touched the mind stone, well, we think something is coming after you, and we think your powers are preparing you for it. But,” the redhead flipped on her back on the bed. “We have no idea if any of this is true. Sounds like a great fucking idea.” She felt a slap on her thigh from her sister.

“Don’t be a dick. I’m trying to help here,” Wanda raised her hands to stop the fight between the sisters.

“Once we get back to the tower, we will find some answers and tell her everything.” The sisters nodded in agreement. Natasha hated this, this feeling of uncertainty that swirled in her stomach. For right now, her daughter was safe.

“Good,” Kate said, touching your stomach and lower back. “Remember to engage your core and lower your shoulders.” You nodded. When she removed her hands from your body, you took a steady breath and fired the arrow. It hit the target, not the bullseye you aimed at, but at least you hit something. “That was a great shot! Get ready to do it again.” You shot two more arrows at the target, focusing on grouping them. “Not bad. A few more training sessions, and you’ll be better than me,” you laughed as you walked over to the target to retrieve the arrows. “You know,” Kate pulled out an arrow. “America was pretty jealous when she found out we were coming to see you,” you smiled, pitting your lip. “She was going to come, but Stephen needed her.” You nodded, getting in your stance.

But you couldn’t focus because Kate was looking at you, waiting to see your reaction. “Why are you looking at me like that?” You knotted the arrow and aimed it at the target.

“You and America almost kissed in Macey’s changing room, right?” You completely missed the target at her blunt question but nodded. “But you didn’t. Are you okay with that?” You aimed your second arrow and, this time, hit the target.

“I think I wanted to kiss her, but that scares me,” you said. You aimed the last arrow, but Kate put her hand on your shoulder. You dropped your stance and sat on the ground. Kate sat next to you.

“Why does that scare you?” You moved your hand through the grass instead of answering her. “Come on, bud,” she hit your shoulder against hers. “You can tell me.” You pulled the grass out and let the blades go in the wind.

“America would be my first kiss, first partner, first everything, and that scares me,” you admitted. You shook your head, pulled your knees to your chest, and rested your chin on top of them. “I don’t want to hurt her or get hurt. I don’t know what I’m doing.” Kate sighed, and you looked at her.

“I don’t think any of us know what we are doing when it comes to liking someone,” Yelena said something similar to you about being an Avenger. “We just have to trust ourselves and the person we give our heart to. Sometimes, it works in our favor, and sometimes, it doesn’t.”

“How many times have you gotten your heart broken before finding Yelena?” Kate smiled, laughing with a shake of her head.

“Too many to count, but you learn much about yourself when someone breaks your heart. But between you and me, I don’t think you have to worry about America breaking your heart.” You chuckled and shook your head. Standing up, you picked up the bow and retook your stance. Kate was right. America wouldn’t break your heart. You had very personal experience with dating but you’ve read a lot. The way authors described love and having a crush, you saw it in how America looked at you. However, you were scared of breaking her heart.

Melina brushed your hair as you read over your math and science homework. If you had a question or didn’t understand something, you would raise the book to her, and she would help you through it. “You are brilliant.”

“Do you think so?” You questioned. She hummed in agreement.

“I do, and I’m no lair,” she said. Do you know what you want to do when you are older?” The question stumped you. It was something you never thought about, and you could never give yourself hope that you could achieve something.

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “Never thought I’d reach the age to decide on a career.” You felt her hand stutter in your hair.

“Whatever you decide, I know you’ll do great things.”

“I found it!” Alexei proclaimed suddenly with a cassette tape in hand. He pushed it into a radio they heard, and soon, American Pie started to play. The super soldier danced towards Yelena.

“Do not touch me,” she warned. “Or I will chop off your hands.” But that did not deter the man; he pulled her up and danced around the living room. Her hardened expression began to soften, and her laughter danced off the walls. Kate quickly stood up and pulled Wanda to the makeshift dance floor. Your eyes locked onto Natasha’s, and a smirk formed on her face. ‘No,’ you mouthed. That made the Black Widow more determined; she closed the distance and pulled you out of her mother’s lap.

Your instinct was to pull your arm out of Natasha’s hold on you and run, but you allowed her to try to move you to the music. “I forgot I’m raising a moody teenager,” you pouted. Natasha spun you, and somehow, Wanda had her hands on your arms.

“Teenage angst, right, sweetheart.” You recognized that she spoke Sokovian, but you weren’t sure what she called you. You asked her to speak her native language around you more so you could try to learn it. “Isn’t that what they are calling it?” You rolled your eyes.

“I don’t have teenage angst.” It was Wanda’s turn to spin you, and Kate took the witch’s place.

“Then dance with your family!” The archer laughed. You huffed but began to dance. The feeling of embarrassment washed away, and you laughed with everyone. The dancing continued even when American Pie ended, and the next song started. You saw Melina still sitting in the same spot, with a fond smile as she observed the scene. With a smile, you skipped over to her.

“No.” You ignored her, grabbed her hand, and pulled her to her feet, bringing her to the dance floor in a similar fashion to Natasha.

“Come on, babushka (grandma), dance with your family,” Melina glared at you, but when Alexei came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, she melted against him and swayed to the music.

Family. This was your family. Oh, how lucky you were.

taglist: @aestruvx, @toouncreativeforausername, @modedddd, @julilamoment, @mythixmagic, @yourmamacom, @vicmc624, @cherlenovix, @liliesandrosies, @whitewidowsbite, @clintsbigtoe, @blackbirdv98 @arualdcg@yoyo-w @natbelovasblog, @johnnyhulu, @blackwidow-3, @theenglishswiftie, @faith-olsen

#lightning bug #wandanat x you #wandanat x daughter!reader #wandanat x reader #wandanat #natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff

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moonshynecybin · 14 days

Note

So I am rewatching Argentina 2018 just for giggles, also because you posted about it recently.

And. Wow. Yeah. All the bad omen sirens flashing right from the comical start delay. Committing grid crimes as if the world and officials cant see.

Commentators going - Marc is gonna be angry, marc needs to be careful (when Marc hadn't even started his black widow strut), marc just needs to be patient. Immediately followed by Marc shoving Aleix off. Getting penalized and having to give back a position. But he was in the middle of creating havoc among 5 riders and dint know which position he had to give back. Like. Imagine. Having to apologise for slaying someone but you slayed so bad you don't know which one you need to apologise to. I don't know if I am embarrassed for Marc or the riders. Marc with the kill bill siren in his head just bullying his way up.

The commentators just alternating between "marc needs to calm down" & "this is bloody carnage". It's so funny because the commentators are actually rooting for Marc, "Marc just needs to be careful and keep the pace, he can easily get 5 if he keeps it clean". Marc just hitting fastest lap times at p13.

"these are just sitting ducks in from of Marc"

"marc moving past them as if they were standing still"

Marc just bearing down the grid like the spectre of riders worst grid nightmares. Vale just minding his biz, having himself a race. Here comes a raging scrappy ant.

I unfortunately stayed on to watch the end, witnessed Uccio shooing away Marc, broke my heart a bit

Argentina was just a no good, sad, bad day for Marc.

Was it Marc's fault, yes. Does every rider have such a day, yes. Is it an excuse, no.

But it reminds me of when Enea caused that incident and Marc was the only one who said, it happened, it's fine, he will learn from it. The grace to understand. But maybe he is harsher when it's himself impacted.

Has anyone committed race crimes against Marc? Cant quite recall how he reacts. Has he called anyone a danger to the sport or something equally harsh? Or has he always been the messiest queen on the grid.

people commit on track crimes against marc and he turns into jimmy buffet. hes suddenly chilled out on a beach in a loose linen shirt with his perfectly smooth legs tanning in the sun he is CHILL. brewski in HAND ugly sunglasses ON. like i think marc is ACUTELYYY aware that he would be a hypocrite to go after people for on track crimes so he defaults HARD to the "this is racing" doctrine. it protects him to be this way! a political stance. like for instance jorge martin ends marc's last race with honda by doing extremely stupid shit and he SWAPS HELMETS WITH HIM right after. like he knowssss how he is on track, he doesnt pretend. and also i think thats just kind of how he's built! able to understand that on-track is on-track and thats that.... which is kind of crazy, because he has so much empathy for when people commit on track crimes against him (he KNOWS he would do the same) but not when they get mad at him for doing track crimes unto THEM. i think its a mix of self protection and also just being very very crazy <3

#wait this was about argentina. ummm. most marc race of all time. the full experience. many other sexy posts about it exist #motogp #asks #callie speaks

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neil-gaiman · 1 year

Note

Dear Mr. Gaiman, I'm writing an essay about mythological concepts being embodied in mostly fantasy novels, like "Iron Widow" by Xiran Jay Zhao and His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman. I'm also including yours, "Neverwhere", the "Ocean at the End of the Lane", and "Stardust". When talking about the Lilim, I could say that their name derives from Lilith, but I'm unsure, and if that's not where you got it, I'd hate to put untrue information. So, if it's one of those things where you can tell me that, it'd be really nice to have that, but I know you don't like directing how people perceive your novels, so if it falls under that, I'd understand. Thanks for your help, if you see this and choose to tell me.

Lilim is an old word, used mostly to denote the children of Lilith. In Stardust we learn that,

The three old women were the Lilim—the witch-queen—all alone in the woods.

The three women in the mirror were also the Lilim: but whether they were the successors to the old women, or their shadow-selves, or whether only the peasant cottage in the woods was real, or if, somewhere, the Lilim lived in a black hall, with a fountain in the shape of a mermaid playing in the courtyard of stars, none knew for certain, and none but the Lilim could say.

But the relationship between the Lilim and Lilith is never explained.

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sollsmith · 2 months

Text

Fire in the Flesh

Chapter Six

Daemon Targaryen x Original Female Character

Words: 2.7K

Warnings: mentions of abuse/injury

Summary:

After five years at war in the Stepstones and the death of his first wife, Daemon Targaryen returns to court embroiling himself, and his niece and heir to the throne Rhaenyra, in chaos and scandal. Daemon’s actions cause Viserys to give him the one thing he has always wanted. A Valyrian bride. Just not the one he had in mind.

Marra had been slowly spiralling for days, but it finally came to a head as the day progressed. She could tell Daella, that he asked about her father, that she confirmed it and then he left. Daella would understand. Letting her future husband know of the cruelty her father inflicted on her was surely the right thing to do. Daemon could stop it. However, once the prince had left and she had returned the book, the words Talya had said days before echoed in her head; “May the Gods look after her. His widowing was no mistake or accident. The Queen and I pray for Lady Daella every day.”

Marra had quickly learned the politics and workings of the court over the last half moon. Marra had been weaving herself into court, threading together whispers and rumours quicker than anyone had before. She had fed some of this information to Daella, mostly aimless gossip. The main source of her information was Talya. They had met in the kitchen, six days after they arrived, when Marra had come to ask if they had something other than pork for dinner. While Daella sat at pretty lunch tables and attended dress fittings, Marra spent her time either preparing for her return, or in Talya’s company.

At first everyone had kept tight lipped on the Prince. She was told he was rarely in the Keep, most of his time spent in brothels on the street of silk or in exile. Eventually when she met Talya, the lips were loosened and what Marra saw as truths began to unfold. She told Daella some of them, she thought Talya’s account of his known preference for women with silver hair and purple eyes was deemed appropriate, after Daella had convinced herself the Prince would not meet with her she was not pretty enough.

They both woke early, taking a carriage to the dragon pit to view the final preparations being made. A platform has been raised, several rows of seats laid out, and multiple florists were hard at work arranging beautiful displays of red, white and black flowers. Daella had to pull her away from a nervous young apprentice who was clearly on the first day of the job.

Once they had finished, they returned to the Keep for a late breakfast with the Princess. Daella taking at least one of her meals with Rhaenrya had become commonplace over the last week, where they would provide each other with gossip and reassurance that their marriages will be fruitful and happy, despite both their doubts.

Breakfast had been consumed, and they soon were walking around a buzzing throne room, also in the mist of preparations. Tables and chairs had been set on two sides from the room, spanning one end to another, the middle remaining empty for the night of festivities that were to take place. The head table had been placed just below the throne. Enough seats for the King, the Queen, the Princess, the Hand, Alios, Maelor, Daella and Daemon. Marra had nervously paced around while Daella inquired about where Marra would be sat, wanting her close to her; “You could place her at the end here? Just below me, on this side?”

“Are you well?” Daella had asked, linking her arm with Marras, they were on their way to meet with the seamstress who was fitting her ceremonial robes. “You have been awfully quiet.”

“Well, yes.” Marra smiles. “Just nervous for you, that’s all.”

“Don’t be. I will be fine.” Daella smiled, placing her other hand over Marra's arm and giving it a squeeze.

“You’ve come around? I thought you were going to throw yourself into the ocean when you came back from the small council meeting the other morning.” Daella had been inconsolable after the meeting, returning to her chambers in tears before Marra fixed her up and sent her off to tea with Rhaenyra.

“This time tomorrow I will be a married woman. There is nothing I can do. Daemon may have been sharp and rude, and it was a shock, that is true. Rhaenyra told me herself, he was being cruel to get a rise out of Viserys, not because he meant it-”

“And you believe that? Marra finally snaps, Daella casualness and airiness about her impending marriage beginning to grate on her. Daella stops walking, unlinking their arms.

“Yes, I do.” Daella stared at Marra, a slight hurt stained on her face. Marra had been nothing but assuring and supportive, the sudden change of stance the day before the wedding shocking Daella slightly, especially when she herself was finally somewhat at peace.

“You believe the girl that your betrothed was fraternising with not even two moons ago? His niece? The reason you're in this very situation?” Marra whispers.

“They’re Targaryens, Marra. Family relations are expected, if not encouraged most of the time. Why do you think they seeked me out after all these years? The Princess is young, like us, in want of rebellion before a life of servitude to her kingdom as Queen, and the Prince is rumoured to have a particular appetite. I’ve heard the rumours myself, you told me them, but all that is done now.”

“How do you know that?”

“Rhaenyra-”

“Rhaenyra has every reason to lie to you. What is to say she and the Prince are not still coupling behind your back.”

“Then let them!” Daella yelled, before lowering her voice again, “I do not care. If it makes them both happy and I’m left be, I can live the rest of my days in peaceful bliss, secure and in protection of the crown. Away from my father.”

“And if they want to marry someday? What of you then?” Marra seethed. How could her friend be so naive and blind?

“They would have to rid themselves of me and Sir Laenor. We are both aware of Laenors nature, but Rhaenyra loves him deeply. She would not cause any harm to him.” Daella said softly. She and Rhaenyra had spent countless hours in each other's company, and she knew it to be true. While they were due to be husband and wife, Laenor was firstly Rhaenyra's friend.

“While you may have every faith in the Princess’ nature, I suggest you rethink your future good husbands.”

“Daemon has committed crimes in war, Marra. I challenge you to find me a man that hasn’t.” Daella sighs. She wishes now she had never brought up Daemon’s time in the Stepstones, offended that Marra would now throw the once legitimate worries about his nature back in her face.

“Do you know what happened to his previous wife?”

“A hawking accident. She fell from her horse.” Daella started confused, shaking her head softly.

“Really? And how does one’s head cave in during a simple fall from a horse? Hmm?” Daella swears she sees a smirk lightly graze Marra’s face for a split second.

“That’s a very serious allegation, Marra.”

“Believe me, it’s not an allegation.”

“Where did you hear such things?” All animation had gone from Daella's voice and face. She was blank, unable to read.

“Talya. One of the Queen's ladies. The Queen herself told her. The Prince wanted to marry the Princess, he’s campaigned for the King to annul the marriage for years. When he didn’t get what he wanted he removed the problem himself.”

“You hear one piece of gossip from a serving girl and that’s it? You know the full story? The Prince wasn’t even on the mainland when she died, Marra, you sound insane.”

“He has a dragon, Daella.” Marra laughs in her face. Daella just blankly looks her back in the eyes, searching for her old friend. The one that would squash any worry she had, not amplify them. Typically Daella was in Marra’s shoes, mindlessly panicking about something she had no control over, while Marra talked her down. The role reversal had made Daella’s stomach turn. She reaches forward and places her hands in Marra’s, softly stroking them.

“Look. I understand you are worried about me. Especially with whatever gossip and scandal you have heard. But it is just scandal and gossip, yes? Daemon may be cold and cruel with his words, and violent at war. I cannot judge him based on the words of others.”

“How can you be so naive? You do not know him. He has no interest in you-”

“Neither do you, you’ve never even seen the man, let alone spoken to him-”

“I have, he came to your chambers after the small council meeting.” Marra spitted out before she could think. Daella's eyes widened, hands loosening their grip on Marra’s.

“What?”

“I had gone to get firewood, when I came back he was in your rooms, let himself in.”

“You did not think to tell me this? Is that what we are doing now Marra? Keeping secrets? For someone who has spent the last half moon complaining about the secrecy of this court, have you let it position you this quickly?” Daella felt the pang of guilt as the words left her mouth. Maybe if she had told Marra about that night in Mellos room, would she be more understanding of her position. If she just told her that she is positive that she saw a glimmer of kindness in his eyes. But she had made the accusation now, and there was no going back.

“No, he asked me not to tell you.” Marra’s voice was gentler now, more anxious than angry.

“Not to tell me? So you will keep your word to a man you're clearly not very fond of, but will not accept those of your friend?”

“We did not speak, he asked where you were, I told him, he left. That was all.”

“And now you expect me to believe that? Just a moment ago you told me he did not want me. Now he was seeking me out in my rooms?”

“I do not know, maybe he was the only one there to prematurely remove his next obstacle on his path to his niece?” Marra was panicking, firing words that she knew would hurt. Maybe the only way to get Daella to wake up was to hurt her.

“So now not only does he have no interest in me, he also wants me dead?” Daella laughs, almost cackling at the contradiction.

“He’s not above it. I dumped all the wine so we wil-”

“Wine?” Daella laughs out. “You think he is capable of the violence of caving his someone's head in, yet would use poison to get rid of me?” Daella lets go of Marra’s hands. “I know you are scared, perhaps my worries mixed with whatever gossip you have picked up has caused whatever this is. But I will hear no more of it.”

“You cannot marry him.”

“I do not have a choice, Marra! I’m not some lowly maid. I’m betrothed to a second son, the brother of a King. Choice is not something I am entitled to.”

“Well do not come to this lowly maid when he leaves you as your father does.” Marra regrets it as she leaves her lips. She watches as Daella slowly inhales then exhales. She does not speak. She just turns and walks forward. Unsure what to do, Marra moves with her.

“No.” She says and she swings back around to face her. Marra for the first time in two years, cannot read her face.

“But I know all your measurements?”

“I can manage. It’s only a robe.” Daella turns again, feet taking her as quickly as they could down the empty corridor.

She knocks on the dark wooden door. She can hear a muffled voice, asking her to wait, footsteps tittering closer before it is pulled open with a squealing creek, revealing Elinda’s tall frame. Elinda was an older woman from the Stormlands, the main seamstress to the Crown. Daella had spent many hours with Elinda over the last half moon, being poked and prodded with her sewing needs and squeezed to death by her corsets. Despite the slight discomfort she put her in, she was kind, and delighted in Daella's love for fabrics and colours.

“Daella, my dear. Could you wait a moment? I have-”

“Let her in.” Daella's eyes brighten at the sound of his voice, trying to get a glimpse of him over Elinda's shoulder. She had not expected him to be here. Logically he would have every reason, he also needed his clothes fitted, but it was not something she could imagine. The rogue prince standing on a pedestal while women held fabrics and pins up to his body.

“Are you sure, my prince?” Elinda turns back to ask him.

“Let her in.” Daemon says again. Elinda quickly steps to the side, making room for Daella to enter. Daella steps forward, reaching forwards to grab Elinda’s forearm, giving it a welcoming squeeze.

“Hello.” She whispers, turning to venture further into the room. Daemon is sitting on the small divan that dresses the room. The first thing she notices is that he is barefoot, a row of mens boots lying to his left. His white tunic is loose and untied from trying on various surcoats. She can see part of his bare chest, hard, burn marks and scars licking at the edges. Her cheeks blush at the sight of him. It was slightly indecent to see a man that was not your husband in this state. His eyes watch hers as she takes him in, smirk dancing on his face.

“My Prince.” She greets him, smiling softly, averting her eyes to the ceremonial robes that hung on a dressing rack. They were black, floor length with red stained along the bottom, shoulders and sleeves. She moves closer to the rack, drawn to the glimmering gold embroidery that adored the belt and lapels of the robes. Her hand reached to feel the fabric.

“Do you like them?” Daemon hums, watching as her fingers run along the belt.

“Gevie.” Daella says letting the fabric slip from her hand, turning to look at Elinda who had now shuffled back into the room. “You have done a beautiful job Elinda, on such late notice too.”

“Oh sweetling, I did not make these. They were sent from Dragonstone at the request of the Prince. I’m old, but not that old.” Elinda laughs. Daella looks to Daemon who is now raising to his feet. She realises this is the first time she has ever stood next to him, she had always been seated before. Has he always been this large?

Daemon stops behind her, so close she can feel the heat radiating from his chest. He reaches his arm around her, hand caressing the fabric of the robes they hang limp in front of them. She twists her head back to look at him, neck straining upwards to get a look at his face.

“Would you like to try it on?” He asks, tilting his head to look down at her. She nods and he reaches for the smaller robe, lifting it off the rack. “Elinda?”

“Yes.” Elinda smiles, grabbing the robe from him, pulling at the belt to undo it. “Daella, remove your overcoat, and we'll get this fitted on you.”

Daella pulls at the buttons of her coat, unlooping them one by one, before shrugging it off her shoulders. Underneath she is wearing a powder blue silk gown. It was simple and thin, Daella knew she would be trying on clothing, so she decided to wear a dress that was easy to slip on and off. Daemon has moved back to his seat, watching her. His eyes traced her thighs, hip before moving to her chest. She wore a gold necklace, and from the chain dangled large amethyst stone that sat perfectly in the space between her breasts.

His view is disrupted when Elinda moves behind Daella, instructing her to insert her arms into the sleeves. She does so, allowing the soft fabric to envelope her. They smelled of ash and iron. Elinda moved around her fussing with the belt until it was sitting perfectly against her body.

“There we go!” Elinda fusses once she has it right. “What do we think?”

Daella is not sure if she is asking her or Daemon. Daemon stands once again, grabbing a embroidered headdress of the table to the right of him that Daella had missed. He lifts it onto her head, fixing it there, rough fingers gently moving her hair into place, out of her face.

“Gevie.” He whispers.

Authors Note:

Another chapter to make up for my nearly two week absence! Cannot promise this will always be the case but I do what I can! I do hope the time jumping around is not to confusing.

Next up: Daemon and Daella get wedded and bedded ;)

For the masterlist to this series and all my other fics click here!

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