#rhaenyra targaryen x valyrian reader

[howyouloveyourdragon]

yandere rhaenyra x sorceress fem reader (light yandere not really dark preferably) headcanons or another format if you like. -reader can possibly have kids w/ her (which might help when rhaenyra is with laenor is you make her a sorceress from descended from old Valeryia so has the targaryen look & later she can be the one to get pregnant if wanted) -she could also be a dragon rider at one point -viscerys may even love her no matter what the hightowers say because she has magic from old valaryia (might give her more influence than the hightowers do) -meaning rhaenyra could stay in the keep. - laenor stays or you make them get with daemon (or they get together privately if you want to keep laena alive cause the reader can save her)

- reader even be able to save jeoffry I'm going to stop with my ideas as they may go on and on, sorry this was so long I got carried away (I or someone else, or you if you want may be able to turn this into a full on story one day)! Some side platonic yandere shorts could be made from this

hey lovie! so happy to receive this request it was very fun to write :) <3 i would be happy to write more detail in a fic but unfortunately i couldn't go too in depth on this current post but if i do write one up i will tag you :)

pronouns: she/her warnings: both sfw and nsfw sections

SFW

now as a blueprint i'm going to go through a little thought process of reader & rhaenyra

i went down the route of reader keeping majority to Valyrian lore

and i think in this case Rhaenyra would be more of an obsessing yandere

lets say that reader is a descendant of Valyrian blood, perhaps her family escaped The Doom because they foresaw it, perhaps later aligning with Aegon I as he conquered Westeros so long as he kept their family a secret and so he ensured both their safety and their stay under his rule

however things sour after he has passed and they flee

they become a mere rumour and legend which King Viserys ends up telling to his children with fervent delight, dreaming of the day they might return

Rhaenyra drinks this up not only because it is intriguing but also because the beautiful artwork he shows to her look magnificent, fire encircling them and blood locking their promises

she will have pretended as a little girl to be one of these sorcerers, twirling with her mother in patterns befitting ceremonies and copying their olden styles

however as she gets older she pretends to forget the mysterious sorcerers and instead focuses on maintaining her title as heir, demanding the same respect she is sure her ancestors' dear allies must have

and yet one night, when she is tending to her courtly duties, she hears the most humorous little rumour

that there is a witch among the grounds, they whisper

and then it is brought up at a council meeting and her blood heats, a gasp drawing from her mouth in match with the Queen's

they both share a glance, recalling the games they had played as children before the pattering of feet

they expect to see a fearful lamb pleading for sanctuary but instead they find you

beautiful, regal you

Rhaenyra thinks you look more a Queen than either of them and she stands in respect, shocking the court

the men around you gape but you simply smirk in approval "Your grace," You greet, only holding contact with her as you curtsy only so slightly

Alicent coughs and stands also, determined to maintain composure

you explain that you have been orphaned and bring forth the written promise of Aegon I to care for your little family

Alicent requests proof with a concerned stiff expression and you gladly provide

with the flick of your wrist you summon a dragonglass candle from the skirt of your dress and stare deep into the spot in which a wick should be placed

in a flash it alights and broadens before your eyes

gasps enrapture but again you snap your sights on Rhaenyra and only Rhaenyra

she gives the barest of nod "we...hope you enjoy the comforts of court." she merely says and instructs her own personal guard to escort you to the guest chambers closest to her own

she can't get the image of your self-assured expression out of her mind

you are utterly bewitching with your snowy hair and tussled skirts

her sights linger on the ankle that peaks through as you hike up your said skirts

Alicent clears her throat and gives a pointed stare but it takes all of Rhaenyra's self control to settle herself back in her chair but everyone at the table share wary glances

she doesn't see you again until late the next day, requesting your presence for dinner and conveniently forgetting that her husband will be off for a hunt with his...dear friend

excitement shoots through her in powered waves

however she is disappointed to learn that her father too has requested your presence and her family have decided upon a collective dinner so that they may all meet the curious sorceress

Viserys is instantly engaging conversation with you the moment you sit down and before that, greets you in a warm embrace

he is a curious man who knows you too must carry the stories of your ancestors and he is eager to learn

for most of the evening Rhaenyra watches in curiosity, watching how your hair sways and your angelic features resemble her most ardent dreams

she has to restrain herself, grip tightening on her fork

it's that night that she makes her intentions clear to you and she's relieved to see your acceptance

Rhaenyra Targaryen is not one to hide her emotions nor her desires

your relationship is turned into a powerful storm of heat and danger, Otto's eyes narrowing everytime you enter a room

he proclaims you as a most unholy being and one to be banished which Viserys does not take kindly too

instead he is sent far away and Alicent is brought to the highest frustration as you attend almost every family outing or event with Rhaenyra proud at your side in the space her husband used to occupy

if anyone even slightly threatens or questions your presence at court she will be quick to scold and imprison them

going so far as to threaten their head

it's late in your coupling that you whisper sweet words in her ears, describing the imagery of her father's crown atop her head and a child born of you both

she knows all of your family's hidden secrets by now and while she and Laenor have not been graced with an heir by the Gods, you offer both a dream and solution

instead of accepting your offer of fertility in regards to her husband, she tucks back your hair and caresses your face

her lips dip down on yours and then breathes into your ear three sweet word "I want yours," she slips her kisses down your neck and presses your palm to her soft stomach

once the babe is born it doesn't matter whose dominant genes he inherits because with a gentle stroke of his hair it can turn as pale as winter snow

some may still question the child's true parentage considering the early birth and supposed consummation's circumstances do not quite align

but it matters not for your future Queen is determined to instil the confidence of a monarch

where Rhaenyra's tendencies come in I think she could become very smothering and clingy, sticking to you every possible moment that she is able

i could see this being a big relief for both Viserys and Laenor

Viserys' line will be continued and his daughter is happy, he wants to preserve this happiness, if you did request to return to your original home or to wander elsewhere i could see him suddenly developing a 'very important' project that he needs your assistance with

i think Laenor would also attempt to keep you close with his wife

i think i could picture Rhaenyra tricking you into a traditional Valyrian wedding or at least attempting to without explaining the possible repercussions of this

she's impulsive and devoted to you, nothing is out of her sphere of protection

her presence engulfs you with sweet words and soft promises

in this au i could imagine a much happier Rhaenyra in all aspects but it also means giving her the daughter she has always wished for

even more, she adores the fact that you are beside her while whichever one of you births the beautiful darlings with hair so regal and beauty gifted from you

NSFW

she's all too eager to pleasure you

you are the most magnificent beautiful and powerful being she has ever witnessed and she want to show you in every lewd and respectable way she can imagine

her most ardent desire however is the promise you whisper against her soft thighs, speaking of golden crowns and forsaking your duties in favour of delighting your Queen

her favourite though is when you sink your fingers between her lower lips and glide your tongue along her slick

the way your nails tickle her thighs and slide up to pebble her nipples and playing with those sensitive buds

she likes to let go with you

it's freeing to be finally enact upon the fantasies of her teenhood

she says often and plays with the words of you bewitching her, it sends a delightful shiver down her spine

tags: @gracielikegrapes

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@wrendermedone @hopelesswritergall @blackdreamspeaks @its-actually-minicika @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly

#rhaenyra targaryen x fem!reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader headcanons #rhaenyra targaryen headcanons #rhaenyra targaryen x sorceress!reader #rhaenyra targaryen x valyrian reader #rhaenyra targaryen imagine #request #requests #ask #asks #sorceress reader #sorceress reader x rhaenyra

[patheticdarling]

Consequences

Summary: Reader has been kidnapped by the Greens as payback for the murder of Ser Criston Cole. Now, Aemond, alongside the rest of the Blacks must plot to get her back.

Finale of the Traitors Series

Part I, Part II, Part III Here

Warnings: war acts/cussing/blood/sexual assault (implied & talks of r*pe)/kidnapping/crying/torture & injuries/incest/infertility/moon tea (iykyk)/arranged marriage/mentions of breastfeeding/VERY DARK & ANGSTY

Word Count: 6695 (it's a finale, it has to be long!)

*NOT MY GIF*

Aemond awoke that morning to find his bedside empty, which was not unusual per se. He was quite used to you waking up earlier to go nurse the twins. Though as he dressed for the day, he half-expected you to return, so that you would accompany him to breakfast like normal.

However, the urgent knocking at the door, pulled him from his thoughts, "Enter," he answered as he finished dressing.

"My Prince," the guard bowed quickly, "Her Grace has called an emergency council meeting and requests that you make haste to the Great Hall."

Aemond nodded, "Has my wife been notified as well?"

"I beg your pardon, my Prince, but I cannot be sure," the guard explained, "But Her Majesty sent the Queensguard to gather all members of the royal family."

Aemond gave him another nod before the two made their way to Dragonstone's Great Hall. All the Lords and Ladies stood around the Painted Table, muttering amongst themselves. Aemond tried to push past the uneasiness he felt when the room fell silent upon his entry.

"Your Grace," Aemond bowed to your mother, "Apologies for not accompanying the Princess, I was not sure where-"

"Aemond," her voice a bit hoarse, "Something has happened."

The prince felt his stomach sink further, "Where is Y/N?" he asked with the silent hope that you'd walk in at that very moment.

"There was a message delivered earlier this morning," your mother's shaky voice explained. Maester Gerardys held a piece of parchment, the green Targaryen seal broken, as he began reading it over the table.

"To the False Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and all of the traitorous members of her Black Council. The Bastard Princess Y/N must answer for her crimes against the Crown. Including the murder of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Criston Cole. The Princess will be tried and if found guilty, executed on the morrow. Signed, on behalf of His Grace, King Aegon, Second of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm," the Maester concluded.

Aemond's jaw tensed and his fists balled. Anger seemed to be steaming off of him, like a dragon exuding smoke.

"What is to be done about this?" Luke spoke up.

Jace nearly scoffed at your younger brother's question, "They have our sister. I do not care what means they wish to justify, we will reign fire upon them and-"

"Jacaerys," your mother's tone stern.

Your older brother's jaw tensed, "My apologies, Your Grace. That was out of turn."

Eyes fell to Aemond, one of his hands already gripping the handle of his sword on his hip. His breathing seemed strangely even as he kept his gaze focused on the glowing King's Landing carved into the Painted Table.

"What do we believe to be the best course of action?" your mother addressed her advisors.

Before anyone could move to speak, Aemond turned to leave the Great Hall. That was before various members of the Queensguard took a step into his path.

"I will only say this once, out of my way," the first thing that had left his lips since learning of your kidnapping. All of the knights looked to their Queen for further instruction. Aemond's own head turned slightly.

"Where are you going, Aemond?" she asked.

Your husband turned around slowly, "I'm going to kill our brother."

An almost hushed gasp left the mouths of the Black council, "Aemond, you must know that is foolish," she began to argue, "You'd be slaughtered. And what good will that do Y/N?"

"I do not plan to act alone," his eye fell to your brothers, "The young princes will help me to escort her safely from the city."

Your mother moved to protest, already shaking her head adamantly, "No, they will n-"

"Yes, we will," Jace had already stepped up, joining Aemond's side as Luke trailed behind.

"Jace, Luke, this is far too dangerous," she argued, "You could be killed. All of you. I will not risk my children if I do not have to. Let me send Ser Erryk and the rest-"

"With all due respect, Your Grace, she is our sister," Jace argued.

"It has to be us," Luke finished.

Your mother closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh, "Fine. I grant you leave. Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys, your sole mission is to stealthly and safely extract the Princess Y/N from the Red Keep. Prince Aemond," she turned to address your husband, his face remained hard, "You are aware of your mission."

"Your Grace," the three young men bowed. The Queensguard stepped aside, allowing your brothers and husband to pass. Jace and Luke taking off to the Dragonmont first after exchanging their goodbyes with your mother.

"Aemond," she stopped your husband, "If you do this, may the Gods have mercy on your soul."

"While I appreciate the sentiment, it is not my soul you should pray for, Your Grace."

But even the mercy of both the old Gods and the new, would not be enough to save Aegon from his younger brother's wrath. Not after Aemond found out what Aegon had been doing.

"Now I can see why Aemond is so taken with you, sweet niece," Aegon snickered as he laced his britches back up, "Most women's bodies never look the same after having a baby."

You lay facing away from him, curled into yourself. The blood ran down your legs, staining the once-pale linen sheets as you let the tears fall across your cheeks.

Aegon knocked back another cup of wine as he finished dressing. He came around to your side of the bed, "Maybe if you're lucky, I'll put another baby in your belly. Wouldn't that be fitting? Bastards for a bastard," he pushed your messed hair from your face as you stared blankly ahead, "Ugh, you know you're dreadfully boring. I liked you better when I was fucking you."

"He's going to kill you," your voice cracked, raw from your screams.

Aegon rushed back over to you, tugging your head back by the nape of your neck, "What did you say?"

"He's going to kill you," you hissed, "Aemond," the letcher tried hard to hide the fear in his eyes, "You think that chair keeps you safe? After he finds out what you've done, there won't be a place in all Seven Kingdoms you can hide from my husband."

"You've never known when to keep your bitch mouth shut," he threw you back onto the bed, "My brother can try to kill me all he likes. It won't undo what's already done, will it?" Aegon cackled drunkenly, "Have the maids change the sheets. I want them fresh for when I return after supper."

And with that, he left you. In a ball of pain, tears, fear, anger, and blood. Locked away. And Aegon was right. Even if Aemond or your mother's council managed to save you, it wouldn't change what Aegon had done to you.

You couldn't be sure how much time had passed when you heard a soft knock on the door, "Y/N?" a soothing voice called for you.

You turned, sitting up from your fetal position on the bed, "Helaena, come in," you sniffled as you pulled on your nearby robe.

She gave you a pitiful smile, a tray of various articles in her hands, "These will help." Helaena made her way over to you, taking a small basin of warm water and a cloth, "May I?"

You nodded as she carefully wiped over the cuts that littered your bruised face and body. She was even more gentle when she wiped the blood from the inside of your calf, offering you the rag before she got higher up.

"Thank you," you muttered as you wiped the remaining dried blood away, wincing slightly.

Helaena extended two warm mugs to you, trading them for the red-stained cloth, "One is milk of the poppy to ease the pain and the other is moon tea to..." her voice trailed off as she rang out the bloodied rag instead.

You drank them both down quickly, handing her back the emptied cups, "I know what it is for. Thank you, Helaena." She set them both down and moved the tray off the bed.

"I am sorry," she spoke as softly as usual, "I hope you know that you do not deserve this, Y/N-"

"And neither do you," you finished.

Helaena avoided your eyes, "He is my husband and their King."

"But not your king?" she stayed silent, "Helaena, it is me, good sister. You may speak freely. You know I'd never betray your trust."

"He is a monster," her voice trembling as she spoke, "Mother said it was my duty to provide him with heirs. I've always wanted children. I tried. But the Gods will not allow it. And I cannot blame them. Why would they allow me to bring a child into this?"

"Oh, Helaena," you took her hands in yours, "I am truly sorry. I know you never desired to be married to Aegon. Had this all been right, you should have married Jacaerys. You might have even been happy. Surely happier than you are now."

"Do you miss your family, Y/N?"

A shaky breath left you, "Very much. I miss my mother and my brothers. I miss my step-sisters. My grandmother. Even Daemon," you laughed a bit before the sobs caught in your throat, "I miss my children. My sweet babies. I know they would love to meet their Aunt Helaena."

She smiled sweetly through her tears, "And Aemond?"

You nodded, sniffling as your own tears fell, "Yes. I miss Aemond. I miss them all. So very much."

Before the two of you could properly find comfort in one another's vulnerability, the chamber doors swung open. The Dowager Queen entered along with Ser Otto Hightower and Ser Arryk Cargyll.

Queen Alicent confused as to why her own daughter was with you, "My Queen," they all bowed to Helaena, "What are you doing with the prisoner?"

"Y/N should not be our prisoner. She is my sister. She is Aemond's wife, the mother of his children-"

"She murdered the Lord Commander, Your Grace," The Hand cut in, "And as for your younger brother, he will be dealt with when the time comes. Now, come along, my Queen. The accused must ready themselves for their trial on the morrow."

Helaena looked to you, apology and pity on her face, "It's alright, Your Grace. Thank you for your help."

"Good night, Princess," she curtsied, "The sapphire will shatter the ruby." It was never unusual for Helaena to give such cryptic messages and yet, you still only understood them once it was too late.

"Ser Arryk, escort Queen Helaena back to her chambers," the Dowager Queen instructed, "I need a moment alone with the Princess Y/N."

Ser Arryk heeded Alicent's commands and led Helaena from the room. Ser Otto exchanged a glance with his daughter before following the young Queen and knight. The door shut behind him as Alicent lingered about the room.

"I remember the last time the two of us were in this room, Princess," she spoke.

You refused to look at her, staring out of the windows at Blackwater Bay, "As do I, Your Grace," your hands falling to your stomach, remembering the sweet feeling of when it swelled with you and Aemond's babies.

"I have heard little about what became of my grandchild. I pray they are alive and well."

You tried to bite back the tears at the mention of your children, "Grandchildren," you corrected her, "Twins. A boy and a girl. Both healthy. And silver-haired, I know you tend to worry about things like that, Your Grace."

Alicent let out a small laugh, or possibly a scoff, "Even though we are the ones who carry and bore them, children do seem to have a habit of inheriting their father's features. What are their names?"

"Viserys and Visenya. For my Grandsire and baby sister. They were born on Dragonstone mere days after both their passings."

"Such a sweet sentiment. I hope to meet them someday," she muttered, "Princess, last time we were in this room, I offered you a deal, do you remember?"

This time you outright scoffed, "How could I forget? My life and the lives of my unborn children in exchange for bending the knee to Aegon and betraying my own mother."

"I would not have put it that way. But it does not matter now. Aegon is King and you are here just the same."

"What is your point, Alicent? Unless you merely came to gloat about how you've managed to tear apart our entire family."

"Tomorrow, your life seems to be up for forfeit yet again. So, I come to you with another proposition," your brow raised as she spoke, "The Hand thinks it wise to annul your marriage to Aemond, as he is a traitor to the Crown-"

"As am I, if you've forgotten," you interrupted, "I do not think you will find another lord who would take my hand. And my lack of virtue will definitely not aid in that."

"It is not a lord that we intend and I can assure you that your lack of virtue will not be considered a fault," she answered, your brow furrowed with her pause, "King Aegon."

You wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it and yet you felt your heart sink at her unwavering demeanor, "You're madder than even I wished to believe."

The Queen Mother cleared her throat, "The King is in need of heirs. You have proven to be fertile enough to provide him with them. You said it yourself, healthy babes with silver hair. And that is exactly what His Grace requires."

You were in utter disbelief, "What of Helaena? You'd have me displace your own daughter."

"It is in keeping with Targaryen customs, is it not? Aegon the Conqueror took both his sisters to wife. Why should my son be any different than his namesake?"

"Your son is no conqueror," you spat, "You and that council of leeches have tried time and time again to break Aemond and me apart. What makes you think this time will be any different?"

"Because this time your life is forfeit, Princess. As is the rest of your family's," she explained, "If you are executed tomorrow, war is inevitable. Hundreds will die, if not thousands. Including your children and Aemond."

"You'd kill your own son and grandchildren? All for a wastrel who never wanted to sit the Iron Throne in the first place."

"I only do what I believe to be in the best interest of the Realm, Princess. Perhaps you could learn a thing or two about that, especially if you are to serve as Queen."

"You are not only mad but completely foolish if you think forcing me to marry Aegon will do anything good for the Realm. My mother, my husband, they'd never let it stand."

"As I told you once before, Rhaenyra will not attack the Capital with her daughter in it. Especially not if her only daughter serves as Queen Consort and if the Gods are good, not if she's carrying the future heir to the throne."

"Do you truly believe the Gods to be as foolish as yourself? You think they would allow me to bear that degenerate's children? Do you truly think I would allow myself to do so?"

"Aegon is our King," she refuted, "His Grace is to be spoken of with reverence. Carrying his children would be a blessing to not only you but House Targaryen and the whole of the Realm."

"You have always known what he is and you toil in his service anyway," the Dowager Queen stood tense at your words, both of your gazes shifting to the blood-stained sheets, "And even as a new mother, I can understand only acting in what you believe to be in the best interest of your children. But does that truly mean turning a blind eye?" you spat, slowly approaching her as she stood ridged, "There are a few things I wish for you to understand, Your Grace. I want you to understand that I will never marry Aegon. Understand that he has never been half-worthy of the throne he sits," mere inches kept you from her face as you lowered your tone, "And I want you to understand this most of all, that it was you who put him there. It is you, Alicent Hightower, who will be to blame when the entire Realm burns for it."

She fought the tears you watched brim in her eyes before swallowing thickly, "Have it your way, Princess. I have tried to be more than fair. May the Father and the rest of the Seven show you just mercy on the morrow. The maids will be in soon to change your sheets. I'd hate for you to sleep in such a mess."

And with that, the Queen Mother left you. Your hands shook and before you knew it, you were tearing the messed bed sheets apart yourself, broken sobs clawing out of your already raw throat. Your chest heaved as you stared at the tattered bed before your knees fell weak and you collapsed to the carpet-covered stone. What was to become of you now?

You weren't sure how you managed to soothe yourself enough to find sleep. The Dowager Queen had commanded that you be bathed and the room rectified for His Grace. And now you were just as you were earlier that day. This time, nobody to help you clean yourself after as you lacked the strength to do it yourself.

"Sleep in it," Aegon had drunkenly mocked as he redressed, "It'll remind you how lucky you'll be to carry my heirs, Princess. Or should I say, my Queen?"

Your body snapped awake when you heard one of your chamber doors creak open as the dim light from the hall illuminated the room. Your body was ridged as you prepared yourself for the struggle yet again. You felt the bed indent behind you, it was odd for Aegon to go about it this way but you thought it best to stay as quiet as possible.

Suddenly a large hand came over your mouth and you did not hesitate to kick, flail, scream, or scratch your attacker. Your tangled hair obscured your eyesight as you fought blindly.

"Get off me!" you cried, "Stop it! Please, no!"

"Shhh, ñuha jorrāelagon, it is me," your body ceased at the familiar tones. A soft touch pushed the hair from your eyes and a sharp gasp left your lips as you were met with the sight of an eyepatch and a soft lilac eye. My love.

"A-Aemond," your voice trembled. Your hands moved to hold his face, tracing the sharp features, "Is that truly you? This is not a dream. A figment of my imagination, perhaps."

He met your hand on his face, "No, my dear wife. I am here. I came here for you."

You should have felt relief at his words but all you could manage was shame. You pulled yourself from Aemond, retreating into your designated fetal position.

"Y/N? What is it?" he reached out for you once again.

"No," you stopped him, "P-Please, do not touch me. I can barely stand you looking at me."

Aemond's brow furrowed before finally taking in your disheveled state. Your hair tangled and damp with tears and sweat. There were gashes all throughout your nightgown. Cuts and bruises decorated your body. And finally, the blood. The blood that stained everything. Your nightgown, the sheets, your legs. He had seen enough of Aegon's previous serving girls, other lowly girls from around the castle, even Helaena. There was no saving Aegon now.

"Y/N, did he-" Aemond could barely bring himself to say the words, "Did Aegon do this?"

You answered first with a sob, "I begged him to stop, Aemond. You must believe me, I did not want-"

"Shhh," he moved to hold you before pulling himself back as you flinched again. His heart breaking, "Of course, I believe you, my love. And I'm sor-"

"Please do not say you are sorry," you cut him off, "That is the last thing I want to hear. Just please promise me it won't happen again. I-I can't go through that- I won't."

"Y/N," Aemond merely placed his hand near you, careful of his movements, "I swear by the Old Gods and the New, he will never lay his hand on you again." Or anyone ever again, once Aemond was through with him.

A wave of relief washed over you as you finally managed to let your hand intertwine with Aemond's. That familiar sense of security enveloping you once again.

"I hope I can assume you have a plan to get us out of this rat's nest of a Capital?"

Aemond nodded, pulling a cloak from behind me, "Put this on. Your brothers are waiting for us."

"My brothers?" you questioned, a tug at your heart at their bravery and dedication to you.

You finished tying the cloak around you before taking Aemond's hand as he led you through the secret passageways that ran through the Red Keep. Finally coming out of the back of the castle onto one of the beaches that surrounded it. Jace and Luke standing beside their own dragons as well as Vhagar and Seasmoke. How they managed to sneak four nearly-adult dragons into King's Landing was a mystery to you.

"Sister! Y/N!" they both turned, running to you, arms open.

Aemond stepped in front of them as you stood ridged, "Slowly, boys." Both of them exchanged concerning looks.

Jace's fist curled around the hilt of his sword at the realization of why Aemond had stopped them, "He did this?"

Aemond gave a quick nod as you looked away shamefully, "And he will be dealt with accordingly."

"I'm coming with you," Jace stated, "Luke, you and Y/N fly back to Dragonstone. Mother will be expecting you."

"Go where? Jace, what are you talking about?" you questioned.

Aemond turned to you, taking your hands gently again, "You are safe and that's all that matters. Now, I need you to mount Seasmoke and fly home."

"I will. Once you do the same with Vhagar and Jace with Vermax."

"I cannot come with you this time, ñuha jorrāelagon." My love.

Tears brimmed in your eyes as you came to understand what was happening. Aemond could not let what Aegon did stand. The threat you had made to the drunken usurper had come to fruition.

"Gaomā daor emagon naejot gaomagon bisa, Aemond. Kosti jikagon lenton. Kosti sagon lēda īlva riñar. Kostilus, ñuha jorrāelagon," you pleaded with your husband. You do not have to do this, Aemond. We can go home. We can be with our children. Please, my love.

"Nyke daor shijetra ñuha lēkia syt bisa. Ziry gaomas daor gūrogon ziry. Ziry ōdrikagon ao," Aemond slowly and gently took your face in his hands, "Aegon must face the consequences of his actions. I must kill him." I cannot forgive my brother for this. He does not deserve it. He hurt you.

"Aemond, if you do this, they'll-"

"Kill me," he finished, "I know."

"And you are just accepting of that? You are just accepting that you are abandoning me? Abandoning our children? Our family?!" your voice cracked as it rose.

Your husband let out a trembling sigh, "I am your sworn protector. That means I swore to rid the world of those who would bring you harm. I do not intend to abandon you, my sweet wife. My priorities were to get you out safely but to also ensure that my brother faces the dire consequences of his actions."

Arguing was pointless, Aemond's mind was made up. But that did not mean you could not try, "As my sworn protector, you made an oath to always be by my side. And our children's. And while I know your mind is set. I just ask that you promise me that you will try," his brow quirked at your request, "That you will try your best to return to me. To return to our babies. Promise me that you will try not to die, Aemond."

He took your hands in his, bringing them softly to his lips, "I promise, my love. For you and our children, I will try."

You wanted nothing more than for Aemond to wrap you so tightly in his embrace and never let you go. But another part of you could hardly deal with his hands intertwined with yours. And Aemond knew this, which is why he pushed no further.

"I love you, Aemond."

"And I love you, Y/N."

"Y/N! Aemond!" you turned to see Jace pointing up at the Red Keep, Aegon's knights marching about, looking for you.

"You must go," Aemond pulled you over to Seasmoke, aiding you as you mounted his back, "Tell our children I love them."

"You will tell them yourself," you stated. Aemond gave you a soft smirk before kissing your hands once again. Jace waved him back to the tunnel before the two of them disappeared into its darkness.

The commotion from the castle stirred the dragons, "Sagon gīda, Seasmoke," you cooed at your dragon. You turned to your younger brother as he finished mounting Arrax, both of you signaling your readiness. Be calm, Seasmoke.

"Down there!" you heard a voice call from one of the cliffs. A small army of guards rushed down to the beach.

"Go, Luke!" you called to him, the panic in his eyes growing as he took flight, "Sōvegon!" Seasmoke took to the air just before the guards were able to circle you. Fly.

The beaches of Dragonstone had never looked more welcoming as they came into view. The usually burnt smell emitting from the Dragonmont was enough to make most gag but right now, it filled your nose like the scent of fresh lavender oil.

"Y/N," Luke approached you wearily as you dismounted from Seasmoke, "A-Are you alright?"

You nodded as the tears brimmed in your eyes at the relief of being home and safe, "Thank you, little brother. I owe you my life."

"You're my big sister," he smiled softly, "And I know you would have done the same for me. Would you like to take my arm? I can escort us to Mother."

That heaviness in your chest dwindled a bit at your brother's sweet gesture as you wrapped your arm in his, "Thank you, Luke."

His eyes fell sad at the bruises that littered your arm, "I can fetch Grand Maester Gerardys afterward if you'd like."

You said nothing but nodded as you continued up the steps and through the halls of the castle. You arrived at the Great Hall, entering the relatively empty room. Only most of your immediate family seemed to be present.

"Prince Lucerys Velaryon and Princess Y/N Velaryon!" Ser Erryk announced quickly, a slight smile on his face at the announcement of your return.

Your mother turned quickly, an alleviated smile spreading across her face as she rushed to you, "Y/N!" she wrapped her arms around you. As much as you hated the idea of being touched by a man, nothing could have eased you more than your mother's warm and protective embrace.

"Mother," your hands clinging to her dress as you both sobbed into one another.

She caressed your hair, tucking it behind your ears, "Oh, my sweet girl. My beautiful princess," she cried as she caught sight of your cut lips and bruised neck, "I am so sorry this happened. And I promise you, they will pay for what they have done."

"Aemond and Jace are making sure of that," you muttered.

"Jace?" she questioned before her eyes moved to a guilt-ridden Luke, "Your brother went with Aemond?"

Luke nodded hesitantly, "Please do not be angry, Your Grace. Jace only did what he thought was right-"

"He deliberately disobeyed me!"

"You said it yourself they must pay for what they've done! Aegon hurt Y/N! He rap-"

"Lucerys!" you cut him off, preventing him from revealing what Aegon had actually done to hurt you, "That is enough."

Your mother's ridged at her assumption of what Luke would have said had you not stepped in, "Y/N, what did they do to you?"

You refused to answer, instead staring her down with your tearful gaze and heavy breaths. This gave her more time to take in your extensive injuries.

"Luke, find Grand Maester Gerardys," her eyes never leaving yours as she delved out instructions, "The rest of you, leave us. We will reconvene later."

"At once, Your Grace," various agreeing statements came from everyone as they exited Dragonstone's Great Hall.

Your mother's breath trembled as she took your hands again, "You do not have to speak if you do not wish. I am only going to ask you this once so we may proceed forward with the same knowledge of what happened to you there." She swallowed thickly as the tears fell down both of your eyes, "Did Aegon rape you?"

And the answer to that very question is what led your husband and elder brother to find themselves creeping through a hidden doorway into Aegon's chambers.

"The guards are busy looking for her," Jace whispered over to Aemond, "We should have plenty of time."

"Mmm," Aemond grunted in return. Aegon was passed out, an empty wine goblet looking as if it had fallen onto his floor. Knowing that Aegon could sleep so soundly after defiling you made Aemond's blood boil. The rage coursed through him as he snatched his older brother from his sleep.

"Huh?!" Aegon grumbled, "Aemond?"

"Hello, big brother," Aemond practically growled. Aegon moved to yell before Aemond clamped his hand over his mouth, "If you so much as make a sound, I will cut off your cock and shove it down your throat before your guards even have time to make it through the doors. Am I clear?"

Aegon huffed before nodding his head, "I see you brought along our Strong nephew. It is so good to see you, Jace. Been a long time, too long really."

Jace finished barring the door, "Uncle. I would not be too happy to see me if I were you."

"And to what do I owe this little surprise visit, Brother?" Aemond only glared at his brother, "Oh, it is not me you wish to see, is it? The Princess Y/N-"

Aemond's hand came across his elder brother's face before taking him by the collar of his shirt, "You dare speak her name? After what you did, you dare-"

"It was only a bit of fun!" Aegon giggled, the wine still having a very obvious effect on him, "You have really got to learn to share, little brother. Keeping a woman like Y/N all to yourself? Well, it's just not fair to the rest of us."

Another blow to Aegon's now bloodied face, "I have never known you to be a wise man, Aegon. But only a fool would do what you did and expect to live long afterward. A debt is owed."

"You do know you will die for this," Aegon muttered.

"You're older, it is only right that you are first," Aemond answered as he pulled his dagger from his belt.

Back on Dragonstone, most of your outward problems had been remedied. The Grand Maester had ensured you that the bruises would fade soon, he had also sewn your bigger cuts and put a soothing poultice over the smaller ones. Your mother and he both instructed the kitchen servants to bring you milk of the poppy when you wished to sleep.

And now you were to finally be reunited with your babies, "They've missed you. I can tell," your mother explained as she escorted you to the nursery.

"It's been less than three nights without them and I still felt as if I would burst into flames," you explained.

Small laughs were exchanged between the two of you, "Your Grace, Princess," one of the maids greeted you, "The babes are in their cradles. Though their next feeding is soon, I can return whenever it pleases you."

"That will not be necessary," you answered, "I will continue feeding them myself as I did before."

"Y/N, you are still recovering," your mother tried to intervene, "I'm sure, she would not mind-"

"As I said before, I will feed my babies."

The wet nurse turned to your mother who gave a curt nod, "As you wish, Princess. Your Grace," she curtsied before leaving the nursery.

You had walked over to the cradles. Your two sweet babies cooing and wriggling about. A smile spread across your face as you took each of them in one arm.

You winced a bit at the added pressure to your bruises, "Careful," your mother moved to take your son, "Here, let me-"

"I'm fine, Mother," you snapped, turning away, "I'm sorry," you sighed, "I know you only mean well. I just need to take care of them. On my own, please."

"I know, my love," she sighed as she pushed your hair from your face, "When you and Jace were born, I hardly let anyone near the two of you. Your father was the exception, most of the time anyway."

"Which father?" she shot you a discerning look, "I am a grown woman, Mother. Not a child. Besides, it is just us. We may speak the truth as we both know it."

Your mother sighed, "Both," she chuckled slightly, "Laenor, Harwin. They both wanted to be involved, a rarity in men nowadays, let alone almost twenty years ago. But I could hardly bear not having you in my arms. I had to protect you. So many people knew the best way to hurt me was to hurt one of you. I could not let that happen. You two were all I had before the rest of your brothers."

You swayed with your own babies, "I love you, Mother. And I can only hope to be half the mother you are."

"You are already better, sweet girl," she caressed your face, "These two have no idea how lucky they are to have you for a mother."

Gazing down at your silver-haired babies brought your mind back to the man they had inherited it from. And your chest grew heavy at the possibility that you might never see him or your twin brother again.

"But they need their father," your voice strained, "I was lucky enough to have Harwin and Laenor for as long as I did. Even Daemon. I cannot imagine if my babies were to never experience that."

Your mother moved to speak, "Y/N-"

"He has to come back," you cried softly, "I cannot do this without him. I just-"

"Your Grace!" the wet nurse had burst through the doors, "Princess, I-I apologize for the intrusion but-"

"The Princes have returned!" Ser Erryk followed into the nursery, his chest heaving as he spoke.

"The Princes?" Ser Erryk nodded at your mother's question, "Gather everyone in the Great Hall as fast as you can," she turned back to you, "We must go."

You nodded, giving each of your babes a hastened kiss on the head before handing them over to the wet nurse, "I shall return."

Your mother and you hurried to the Great Hall. The various members of her council stood by anxiously. You scanned the room and your heart nearly skipped a beat at the sight of your husband and brother. You ran over to them, embracing Jace first.

"I'm so happy you are alright, big brother," you sighed.

Your brother gave you a soft smirk, "It is so good to have you home, Sister, where you belong."

"Aemond," you finally turned to your husband, taking his chiseled face into your shaky hands, "You kept your promise."

His hands fell over yours, "Of course, I did. What would I do without you and our beautiful babies?"

Gazing at your husband allowed you to finally take in his tattered sight. His hair was frizzed, blood smeared on the leather of his clothes, and yet he seemed to be unharmed.

"What happened?" you asked, "Is he-" your voice caught in your throat at the mere thought of Aegon.

Aemond nodded at you before turning to your mother, "Our usurper brother is dead. I imagine the Greens will be on Dragonstone's shores in mere hours."

"Their cause is lost. Are they truly so opposed to my ascension?" your mother asked.

"Alicent Hightower gave the king three sons, Your Grace," the Sea Snake answered, "And not once did your father waiver on you being his appointed heir. She and Ser Otto are far too scorned to give up now."

"Lord Corlys is right," Daemon stepped in, "Aegon's death is merely a further justification of their Rhaenyra the Cruel narrative. We must prepare for war, Your Grace."

Aemond's hand clutched yours as all eyes fell on your mother. Her jaw clenched as she looked around the room, fighting the tears as she looked at you and your siblings.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, "Let us prepare then."

The plan was set. Everyone knew their duties, their missions, and goals. But now they were no longer hypotheticals, they were happening. In real time.

You walked into your children's nursery, standing over their cradles as they slept soundly. Their frail chests rising and falling with their small breaths. The shuffling of armor pulling you from them.

Aemond stalked into the room, his hair tied back and his armor fastened against him. He joined your side at their cribs.

"It seems we spend more time saying goodbye to them than anything else," he spoke softly.

A slight chuckle left your lips, "It's just not fair."

"No it isn't," Aemond agreed.

"My mother was telling me about how protective she was over Jace and me when we were born. She said so many people knew the best way to hurt her was to hurt one of us," you stroked the soft silver fuzz on your twins' heads, "I usually don't like to admit when she's right," you both chuckled, "Our greatest weaknesses."

You felt Aemond's hand take yours, "And our greatest strengths."

You sighed, smiling up at your husband. His usual stoic exterior was soft as he smiled back, "Avy jorrāelan, Dārilaros Aemond." I love you, Prince Aemond.

Aemond kissed you softly, longingly, all his love pouring through. You pulled back, resting your foreheads together, "Avy jorrāelan, Dārilaros Y/N." I love you, Princess Y/N.

The bells of Dragonstone rang and you could hear the clamoring happening just outside. Neither of you wanted to move, neither of you wanted to accept the reality you were living.

One of the wet nurses entered, "Prince Aemond, Princess Y/N," she curtsied, "I've come to escort the children to the keep safe."

You both nodded, each of you taking a swaddle into your arms, careful to mind the armor you wore, "Goodbye, my sweetlings," you kissed their heads, tears staining the cloths they were bundled in, "I love you."

Both of your hearts sank as you handed the babies over to the young girl. No pain could ever compare to the idea of something happening to you or Aemond, something that would prevent you from watching your precious children grow. No pain except for someone hurting them instead.

"No one is ever going to harm them," it was as if Aemond read your mind, "We will see them soon."

You had just finished mounting your dragons. Your hand curled around the hilt of your sword, "Let us ensure it."

You exchanged small smirks with your husband before commanding your dragons to take flight. Ships, men, fires, dragons. Dragonstone had turned from a piece of Targaryen history to a Targaryen war zone. And now it was your turn to fight for everything you held most dear.

"Dracarys!"

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #prince aemond #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #house targaryen #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen angst #angst #y/n #fem reader #dance of the dragons #high valyrian #rhaenyra targaryen #aemond x velaryon reader #lucerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon #helaena targaryen #alicent hightower #otto hightower #daemon targeryan #aegon ii targaryen

[chromiumagellanic06]

The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen x Female [Targaryen] OC

"Do they call you Silver Knight for the hair?" but when she shook her head, Daemon added, "I do not pry, Naera. I simply wish—"

"To know me," she finished his words this while, frowning, and added, "but I do not wish the same."

In which, Princess Naera Targaryen, after returning from her time in Essos, is forced to grapple with her arranged marriage to her uncle, and strange visions encircling a Breaker of Chains, some 200 years in the future.

DISCLAIMER: This fic includes incest/targcest, uncle-niece incest, smut, domestic abuse, brutality, violence, blood, some breeding kink, etc.

All image credits go to their respective owners. All rights for the published content for the characters goes to GRRM and company. (Naera Targaryen, the OC is a fan-creation.)

Chapter 01: A Summons

Chapter 02: Civility

Chapter 03: Melisandre

Chapter 04: Kepus

Chapter 05: Khaleesi

Chapter 06: Wisestone

Chapter 07: Daemon

Chapter 08: Three Answers

Chapter 09: A List

Chapter 10: A Wedding

Chapter 11: A Feast

Chapter 12: Perfection

Chapter 13: Brilliant

Chapter 14: Solar

Chapter 15: Dreamer

Chapter 16: From my blood

Chapter 17: Lord of Light

Chapter 18: A Lack of Understanding

Chapter 19: Second Sons

Chapter 20: Letters

Chapter 21: Rhaenyra

Chapter 22: Green

Chapter 23: Visenya

Chapter 24: Confession

Chapter 25: Love

Chapter 26: Returns

Chapter 27: Dragon

Chapter 28: Loss

Chapter 29: Complete

#daemon targeryan #original female character #house targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon x oc #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #team black #house martell #dance of dragons #melisandre of asshai #melisandre #daemon x y/n #high valyrian #old valyria #asoiaf #hotd fanfic #hotd #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #dance of the dragons #smut #dragon #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #hotd daemon #helaena the dreamer #rhaenyra targaryen #queen rhaenyra

[blueberrypancakesworld]

~ Recognition ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

warning : fluff , emotional , angst

next chapter , masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The darkness with the non-glowing stars gave way the closer they came to King's Landing. The moon was setting and the sun was slowly creeping over the city in its earliest hours. It was an incredible sight when the Mormont first woke up. At first she was slightly confused as to where she was, but when she heard the light snoring of Rhaenyra and the growling of Syrax, she remembered the hours before. A smile snuck onto her lips and she looked down at Rhaenyra. ,,Wake up my pretty queen" she whispered softly and instantly a ,,I'm awake all right" went out dreamily and sleepily from the blonde Targaryen. Y/n giggled up as she murmured a ,, Good morning " and gave a kiss to the blonde head of hair. Rhaenyra stretched and cursed her aching muscle due to the restricted position. ,,Why are you giggling? Don't your bones hurt?" the younger asked as she took the reins again and Syrax seemed almost relieved. ,,If you ever fight in a war or a battle, you will know a shoulder as a better pillow," said the Mormont and Rhaenyra nodded appreciatively. ,,Was I a comfortable pillow?" she asked cheekily and the two laughed together. Wordlessly, Y/n laid her head on the princess' shoulder and simply enjoyed being with her again. ,,I'm glad to have you with me," Rhaenyra said, taking in the brief nod. Syrax flew over the city and the older human woman was amazed again. Even though it was only her second flight, it was still breathtaking.

Above all, she seemed to be able to practically reach for the city, so close they flew over the church with its high tower. Rhaenyra tightened her grip slightly as Syrax set down the net, which was taken away by servants, before the dragoness herself landed. ,,Don't worry, they will bring your things to your room. It's near me," Rhaenyra said casually as they stepped down from Syrax. ,,Thank you," Y/n murmured as she gently stroked Syrax's neck and heard the purring underneath. A dragon guardian and his apparent teacher and translator came over to them. Rhaenyra said something to them in High Valyrian and the two suddenly bowed slightly. ,,If you want to say hello, just call Rytsas," the blonde whispered to the older one. ,,R-Rytsas" said the Mormont with a slight hesitation and the men seemed to show at least a hint of joy. ,,Come, I still have to show you around," Rhaenyra said suddenly, pulling the older woman arm in arm beside her. ,,For your second time in High Valyrian, that wasn't bad at all," she commented when she noticed the brooding expression on the older woman's face. ,,I have no comparison except the language of the first humans. But it's just as old if not older than High Valyrian, and even that I can't do perfectly," she explained, and Rhaenyra seemed to understand. But before the blonde could say anything, a familiar face met them. ,,Princess, your father is looking for you and...Lady Mormont I see you are well from the flight" came from Criston Cole who was standing in front of them in an armor of the royal guard. ,,Sir Criston Cole, I am glad to see you again. I see you have been elevated to the position of guard to the princess, congratulations," Y/n said, looking at the shining armor. A proud smile flitted on his lips. ,,Yes, my princess Rhaenyra chose it personally and ordered me to be her guard," he explained and Rhaenyra nodded affirmatively, she herself seemed mighty proud of herself. ,,Say, if the princess allows it, what do you think about another fight to see who is stronger?" asked the younger one, thinking about the undecided tournament cap. ,,Only if you don't tear him" Rhaenyra commented and Y/n chuckled while Criston looked rather indignant.

Before silence fell and the three headed towards the council. Nervousness overcame her as she realized that she would see the Council of Seven. Another new step in her role as leader of the house. To her distress, Rhaenyra broke away from her companion, a small price to pay to keep her secret. They both knew that. The doors opened, and the table with the stone slots appeared. But there were only Viserys, Otto Hightower and his daughter Alicent. But Y/n would not complain, "That's something," she thought. ,,Rhaenyra, you are back," Viserys said happily as Rhaenyra went to her father and stood next to hers, as did Alicent. ,,The flight was very pleasant, Father, and Bear Island is really nothing like our lands," Rhaenyra said, and Y/n smiled happily. ,, Lady Mormont, it pleases us all to see you again. Your name day was only recently and it is truly a joy that with your now official title as Lady, the House of Mormont will continue," Viserys said and a proud smile appeared on his face. ,,You have honored me, my king. But I can already assure you that a handful of ravens from the surrounding Northlands and houses have arrived with suitors for my hand. It may be only a matter of time," she said, hiding her fear and anger behind a confident smile.

But at the same moment she saw the slightly surprised look on Rhaenyra's and Alicent's faces as they seemed almost shocked by Mormont's words. ,,You are truly a beautiful woman Lady Y/n, if I may say so, no wonder the ravens came so quickly" the king commented and received a ,,Thank you my king" and a bow. ,,If you don't mind me asking, Lady Mormont, do you have a closer choice?" asked Otto Hightower, his gaze going down as if he were searching for something on her, before returning to her eyes. ,,House Manderly, as the richest house in the North, pleased me greatly with the offer to marry the Lord's cousin. He is the Commander of the Guard and it would bring only advantages. House Manderly would be surpassed in trade and ships only by House Velaryon," added Mormont, seeing the king's pleased nod and the deliberate nod of the hand that locked his thoughts behind a cold gaze. ,,However, House Manderly are trading partners with House Velaryon, if you want to know more, just ask them," Viserys assured and received a grateful nod. ,,Then I hope a marriage or betrothal will take place soon and House Mormont will get good allies," Viserys said before declaring the meeting over. Otto stayed with the king while the three ladies went out where they met Cristion. He gave the three a nod before slowly walking behind them and watching over them. ,,Y/n you didn't say anything about it have you seen him yet is he good looking?" asked Alicent as the three strolled through the corridors. The older one swallowed briefly and pretended to look to the left at a tapestry. But her eyes flitted over Rhaenyra who seemed to be lost in deep thought and uncertainty. The bear pecked at both of them before she laughed falsely and said, ,,I'll tell you everything, but in a nicer setting. Is there a garden somewhere?". Alicent explained what was in the green area and Rhaenyra smiled faintly.

The three women went to the garden with the old white were-wood tree that looked sadly at them. As if he had looked inside her and seen the future that was to come. The three sat down under the red-leafed tree and enjoyed the sun and the birds chirping for a moment. ,,I could not tell anything half a year ago. I was not yet of age half a year ago. Now, barely three days later, I have already received a handful of applications from the north," she began, holding the hands of both women. ,,The lower houses in my position are too greedy, they want all my land, the ice bay where Bear Island is located. They think I am stupid just because I am still young and...a woman. They probably disrespect me because I'm alone, my uncle hasn't shown up for half a year after a dispute," she admitted, and saw how Alicent had a sad expression in her dark eyes. Rhaenyra, on the other hand, seemed to drift even more into her reflections. Don't worry, it won't break us, Y/n thought, squeezing the princess' hand lightly before continuing. ,,Well, the offer that would be best for my house, which I must continue, is House Manderly. They are rich and require only a few small but very heavy favors from me," she said, falling silent. Talking too much was never a good thing she thought and for a fraction of a second she felt herself being watched. ,,But it will probably take a while. I'll probably only really get into it when I return," she waved it off and felt the pressure of Rhaenyra increasing. ,,Then I will never let you go as your princess and friend," the blonde said and the other two had to smile.

While Alicent found this slightly amusing, a simple joke showed the Mormont's smile bitter. ,,Yes, that would be nice" she answered and the three were silent again as they listened to the sounds of the garden. ,,It may have something romantic about it. He's young, handsome and a member of a guard, and money can buy a lot of nice things," Alicent said, seeming for a moment like a little girl full of dreams and hopes. ,,Or he will take everything away from you," said the princess snappishly, not seeming to find the idea attractive. ,,You're both right, he may have money and my prestige would increase massively. But he is almost three times my age, a man of forty-eight. He may be a fighter but I have to think of my house. My house must survive and if no other suitor comes I will have no choice but to marry him. But with this they would give me the power that I have had to fight for so many times". After these words it became quiet and the other two seemed to understand for the first time in what kind of situation the Mormont was. ,,Everything will be all right, we have each other" said Alicent empathically and the three moved even closer together. The three daughters of noble houses stayed together for a while until Rhaenyra and Y/n decided to go to bed earlier because of the long flight. Alicent also seemed to have something to do, at least she said that her father wanted to talk to her. She's nervous Y/n thought as she looked after the brown haired girl, but dropped it. She had too many thoughts to worry about Alicent's worries as well.

The princess and the Mormont leader walked silently out of the garden arm in arm. Y/n, however, seemed to sense the princess' agitation. She knew they probably should have told Rhaenyra earlier. But the princess' quick arrival was too fast and they wanted to postpone the talks until King's Landing. It is again all too much and too little time, thought the Mormont and was glad when the two disappeared in the room of the older. As soon as the door closed behind them with a creaking wood, Rhaenyra's upset voice sounded in the room. ,,Why didn't you tell me about this?" she asked, distancing herself. She saw the hurt and the break in her trust in the younger one. She knew what Rhaenyra had gone through and was still going through. To complain to her now would not help at all, the older one knew that. Instead she answered calmly and with understanding, ,,I read your letter after the marriage offers. I hardly had time to prepare myself for all this. It was a difficult time for me in the last half year". ,,For me also my father seems to ignore me. He is leaving me and Alicent I don't know, everything has changed," Rhaenyra said, still upset, crossing her arms and looking into the fire in the fireplace. Y/n walked over to her love but did not touch the younger one. She did not want to widen the rift that had formed. I don't want to lose her she thought and looked into the flames instead. ,,You know, everything started to break after I got back to Bear Island. My uncle was acting like a king, making himself too comfortable at the top of the house. I-I almost bandaged him my last blood I almost...Rhaenyra I almost killed him after he-" the elder broke off again. She felt the memories of that day come flooding back. Her heart contracted painfully as she thought of the accusation he had told her. How hurt and weak she was then.

And yet she could not tell Rhaenyra the truth about her mother. It would have been too much. ,,I'm sorry...I could have guessed," she heard Rhaenyra whisper, resting her head on the older woman's shoulder. But the Mormont only shook her head, ,,No, it's all right...it's just too much at once. Believe me when I tell you that I hate it. I hate this duty I have. I hate being a woman knowing that I'm there for the continuity of my home. I...I don't want this man is not what I want and what my heart wants. This man is not you Rhaenyra and this realization hurts. Just like-exactly like when I thought for a moment about ending it. Just everything and jumping down into the cold water knowing that I could just give it up" she admitted her one suicidal thought and her eyes closed as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. But this time Rhaenyra said nothing, the dragoness herself cried silent tears over the loss of her mother and her loneliness. And while the fire gave them warmth, they both realized that even without words they felt the support they gave each other. Their love was what held them together. Their love was something that the two had to learn to recognize and perceive. Because the future was cruel and their duties they had exhausting and deadly. But every kiss, every touch and every little look gave them the certainty even if everything around them would burn and break. They had their love which gave them support. Rhaenyra gently and without haste pulled the older to the big bed which was equipped with soft blankets.

When they both sat down on it, the wood creaked slightly but still seemed to welcome them. They lay opposite each other and the individual blankets nestled over their tired and exhausted bodies. ,,You can stay until the merchants run out of money," she heard Rhaenyra's joking voice and she smiled. ,,Or the crown gets tired of me," the older one replied. However, she fell silent when Rhaenyra's fingers rested on her partner's cheek. ,,Don't say that you have just arrived. All these duties will reach me as well. But you know, let's stop worrying about it, my heart beats too loudly for you to think," Rhaenyra admitted and moved a little closer. Mormont's hands also found their way to Rhaenyra and played with the fair hair of the princess. ,,I missed you so much, my dragon," Rhaenyra heard the older one say, and her fingers moved down to her lips. The fire made the shadows of the two dance lightly, as if they were waiting for something. As if they didn't dare to cross the last line for fear of what was to come. Softly Y/n kissed Rhaenyra's fingers and her grip slowly tightened around her hair. She saw the princess' expectant look, as if Rhaenyra was also waiting for something very specific. Slowly they came closer and closer and she could smell the scent of her lover. It seemed that they had never been so close before.

She saw how the violet eyes looked at her lips and nervously looked up at her eyes. ,,Rhaenyra" whispered the older one and was about to bend down to kiss the younger one when there was a knock at the door. Both of them jumped up before they looked at each other and hurried out of bed. ,,Just a moment!" Y/n shouted before they both straightened their clothes and hair slightly. When she opened the door, however, only Criston was there. ,,Ser Criston, what can I do for you?" the Mormont asked, glancing behind her at Rhaenyra. But the knight shook his head softly, ,,No Lady Y/n you don't, I'm just here to escort the princess to her chambers. The king has ordered that everyone get enough sleep because of the long journey," he explained and the princess sighed softly. As Criston moved away from the door, the princess gave Mormont one last look. But this look was mirrored by the fire in the fireplace, and then the Mormont saw what neither of them had dared to see. What they had both felt. That addictive feeling. It was lust. The desire to feel each other one after the other. ,,Good night princess" said the older one before she closed the door and seemed to exhale. Rhaenyra she thought and her fingers ran over her lips where Rhaenyra had touched them before. But what she became aware of was this feeling between her thighs that demanded. It was almost overwhelming how much she longed for Rhaenyra. Next time I will kiss her and more she thought to herself as she looked at the fire and saw the princess in her mind's eye. But she knew that it might take until their next time together.

The shadow of the night, the darkness and only the fire seemed to accept her love. But it was worth it to her. As long as she could see Rhaenyra and know that the princess was there, every moment would be bearable. She turned away from the fire and went through her room, which was much larger than hers on Bear Island. Beside the big four-poster bed there was the big fireplace, a chest of drawers and storage space for her weapons and other things. Behind another door was the smaller bathing area where a metal tub stood just waiting to be used. In addition, a bowl with water and a mirror that allowed her to look at herself completely. ,,This is nice," Mormont muttered and closed the door behind her. Only when she saw the moon outside her window did she realize how exhausted she actually was. Yawning, she took off her clothes and grabbed her nightgown from the dresser which lay over her body. She pulled the curtain in front of her window and the dark velvet red covered the moon. Only when she lay down in the bed did she realize how much softer it was compared to her actual bed. She sighed with relief and was about to turn to sleep when she noticed a book on her small nightstand. Astonished, she took it in her hand and read the title. The language of the dragons High Valyrian. Curious, she opened the book and a small piece of paper fell out. She took it in her hand and reached for the candle that stood beside her bed. She recognized the princess's delicate, featherless handwriting.

A smile crept onto her lips as she became aware of Rhaenyra's sweet gesture. She turned a page and found a few writings of a master of the citadel next to the preface. Quickly skimming over them, she found herself on the first pages of the ancient yet beautiful High Valyrian. The first words were simple words from everyday life. Before there was an extra chapter for dragons, which seemed to be commands for dragon riders communicating with their dragons. Y/n knew that each Targaryen was given an egg at birth and as soon as the dragon was hatched and the Targaryen was old enough to form a bond with the dragon. Something similar existed for the Mormonts. Each child from the immediate main family got a bear. And I was the last she thought bitterly, knowing that her uncle's bear had long since died. It was a loving male brown bear. But her uncle had treated him badly, he was a fool in his younger years. And so there was only one bear left, Alyssa, which belonged to her and was assigned to the main family. Where might my uncle be? she asked herself, but immediately dismissed the thought and continued to memorize the simple words. She wanted to show and impress Rhaenyra that she wanted to learn High Valyrian. Besides, it was always an advantage to know a language that not everyone could speak. An advantage on many levels. So it was also with the old language of the first people. This was still spoken by the people from the north so also by her. But in the new cities and houses outside hardly to no more. It seemed that the old language and High Valyrian both had something in common. Where she estimated that Viserys was powerful of the first language but Rhaenyra it would be interesannt to test this.

A smirk crept on her lips before she concentrated on the words again and tried to learn the basics for tomorrow and the next days. She passed the time and when the fire in the cammin was already almost gone out so the bear decided to let it be for today. Putting the book on the nightstand and blowing out the candle, she pulled the blanket to herself before she fell into a peaceful and restful sleep. Only with the ringing of the bells in King's Landing seemed to awaken not only the population but also the royal family and their guests. But by the time the breakfast appeared in her room, the young Momront was already awake and had her eyes fixed back on the pages of the High Valyrian. On her dark green and black clothes hung the bear brooch that she still assumed was from Rhaneyra. She had completely forgotten to ask the princess about it. Lady Mormont, the princess is asking for you after you have had breakfast," she heard the maid say, and she answered with a silent nod, not wanting to raise her eyes from the book. Only when she had finished the page, she decided to close the book again and eat the food. Which even if she did not want to admit it was much better than the food on her island. But this was not the reason why she ate the breakfast, it was because she wanted to see Rhaenyra again. When she had finished breakfast, she was about to leave the room when she saw her sword flashing in the light of the sun. But it was the security she felt when she left her room without her sword.

Her path led her to Rhaenyra's room. ,,Good morning Lady Mormont," Ser Criston said as he opened the door for her. Barely noticing him, she scurried into the room and found Rhaenyra sitting on her couch. ,,Y/n, there you are at last," came the delighted voice of the Princess, who stood up and embraced the elder. ,,Avy jorrāelan" ( I love you ) said the Mormont resolutely and saw the surprised but curious look of the younger one. ,,Udrizi Valyrio ȳdrā?" ( Do you speak Valyrian ? ) asked Rhaenyra and the Mormont understood only the word Valyrian. ,,Ehm...Kirimvose" ( Thank you ) the older one answered and raised an eyebrow as Rhaenyra giggled. ,,I didn't think you'd look at the book so quickly," she said, looking proud. I want to be able to understand it. ,,It's such a beautiful language and well, it would be a little secret between us something that no one can take away from us" she admitted and saw the interested look of Rhaenyra. ,,Another secret is always good" whispered Rhaenyra as she passed her bear and their hands touched. ,,Are you coming?" she asked as Rhaenyra waited at the door for the Mormont. ,,Where are we going?" asked Y/n as the two walked through the corridors and the area looked slightly familiar. ,,Well, I'm a cupbearer at the council and you're just accompanying me," she said as if it were nothing. Nervousness and slight uncertainty gripped the Mormont as she realized she would see some of the most powerful men. Of course, a conversation would be out of the question, but the issues at a council meeting were too important. The two women rounded another corner before the small staircase leading to the council chamber appeared.

One last time she adjusted her clothes and the bear brooch before the two entered. She caught sight of the king and the other council members, all of whom seemed awestruck. But she did not comment, instead she answered like Rhaenyra, ,,Good morning my lords". Wordlessly, the two went to the goblets and the carafes with the wine. While Rhaenyra put down the goblets, Y/n took the wine carafe with slightly shaky hands. She saw the encouraging look on Rhaenyra's face as she tried to tell her that she could do it. Gripping the decanter tighter, she walked around the table and poured some for everyone. She also poured something for Ser Otto Hightower. But to her surprise, he held out his goblet and whispered, ,,Thank you Lady Mormont. Which she answered with a quick, ,, Gladly, Ser Hightower". She was just standing next to Rhaenyra again when the door flew open and one of the dragon guardians rushed in. But from his look, everyone seemed to know that something was wrong. Viserys left something of the other in High Valyrian. And Y/n only understood that it had something to do with a dragon egg. The other words were too fast and she didn't know them. But the name she clearly understood was Daemon. I see him again, she thought, gripping the wine carafe tighter. It was not until Lord Beesbury read the letter in which Daemon reported that according to the old Targaryen tradition he had taken a second wife. And something told her that it had something to do with the woman in white clothes.

A hint of jealousy was brewing in her, but she ignored it. However, it was only when Rhaneyra asked what she thought was about the owner of the egg that the Mormont knew something terrible must have happened. The darkening look of Visery and the almost tearful look of Rhaneyra spoke volumes. The king decided to go himself after hearing that it was the egg with dreamfire meant for his deceased son. However, Ser Otto countered and went himself, something that made her doubt. The Secondborne Highness is a good and even better orator and politician, she knew, but she was sure he had never held a sword in his life. ,,Y/n" she heard her name whispered by Rhaenyra who made a subtle gesture to leave. With a last glance at the king, she and the princess disappeared from the room. But the realization hit her already as the two went back to their rooms. Before Rhaenyra said anything, she realized that she should have carried her sword with her. Because what Daemon had done would have consequences. The gods will never have mercy on me, she thought bitterly, but she still felt hope for Daemon. ,,Get your sword and then come to the courtyard...we'll get the egg back ourselves" she heard Rhaenyra say before the blonde disappeared into her own room. ,,Yes, my princess," she called after her before entering her own room and closing the door behind her. ,,Will you have solved my mystery?" she murmured as she reached for Longclaw and stuck Daemon's dagger at her side before looking out at the sky. She knew she was about to take off again with Rhaenyra and meet her second love, from whom she had been separated for even longer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#x reader #fluff #rhaenyra x reader #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #king viserys #alicent hightower #otto hightower #female x reader #female x female #fem reader #syrax #house mormont #house targaryen #hotd #criston cole #ser criston #dragon egg #baelon targaryen #high valyrian #reading #emotions #light angst #love and hugs

[aelenavelaryon]

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen Reader

Summary: Daemon finally finds love

Aella Targaryen was nothing like the rest of her family. She couldn't be. Many would often said she was a sweet girl whose only mistake was to have Valyrian blood cursing through her veins. House Targaryen had been on the Iron Throne for over a hundred years, she could remember the throne, it was rather beautiful she would admit. But, House Targaryen was a cursed lineage. Aella thought it was because they were all related. Brothers married sisters, uncles married nieces, cousins married cousins.

When Aella was brought to court she was nothing but a babe. Only one perhaps two moons old. Daughter of Saera Targaryen and her brother Rhaegar Targaryen. Rhaegar and Saera had both been wild and untamable. The two ran away after Saera escaped Old Town and they were never seen again until now. Aella Targaryen was born in the year 105. Rhaegar brought his daughter to court, to present among the realm. Saera had died in her birthing chamber. Viserys, who had lost his wife a nearly two years prior welcomed them both. Aella grew up beside Alicent’s children and Rhaenyra's children.

Aella although growing up with her cousins she preferred to be alone, sitting in the gardens or her room and reading a history book. Her father wondered where she had gotten all of that, she was not like her mother or him. But, there were things he did like singing, poems and song writing much like his daughter. Aella had the basic training, in case she had to protect herself but the young girl no matter the circumstances could never and would never bring herself to hurt anyone. It wasn't in her blood no matter how much her father tried. But Rhaegar would protect his daughter no matter the cost. She rode Meraxes, queen Rhaenys dragon, the princess died that day but her dragon lived.

As the years passed, Aella Targaryen grew into a beautiful maiden. "The Realm's Angel" or "The Realm's Desire" surpassing her cousin Rhaenyra in beauty and everything else. Aella had reached her ten and five name day and was yet to be unmarried. Her father was the reason for that, although he was no king he saw that no one was fit to marry his only child. No one would ever be good enough. Alicent thought it would be a good idea to marry her to Aegon or Aemond if she wished. Rhaenyra thought she would be a great match for Jacaerys or Lucerys. Rhaegar Targaryen refused, once again. But, a few moons later he passed from a swollen belly, leaving his only child at the mercy of her family.

Aella didn't know who to choose as her family had given her the choice to marry who she wanted between the four boys. She was dutiful, whoever her uncle had chosen she would have married but she did not want to disappoint anyone by choosing wrong. The council knew that Aella marrying either of her nephews was a tragedy waiting to happen, so the young girl offered a marriage between another house but Rhaenyra, Alicent and the king denied her. Daemon who had recently lost his wife asked her to marry him, to unite themselves and protect each other. Aella was young, only fifteen summers old what did she know about love. She knew more about duty than love.

So, to stop any family issues or more drama she agreed and secretly married Daemon, consummating their marriage, now it could not be broken. The news reached King's Landing the morning after, creating chaos in the court. The king was fragile in health so he did nothing, besides they were married and they had consummated there was no breaking anything. Rhaenyra stayed in King's Landing, while Daemon, his wife and two daughters remained in Dragonstone. Nearly a year after their wedding Baelon Targaryen and Rhaegar Targaryen were born. Strong boys. On their second named day, their sisters Rhaella and Visenya had been born. When the boys were five, their sisters three Aemma and Viserys were born.

Baela and Rhaena quickly accepted Aella as she had this motherly warmth the girls loved and she had glady taken the role as their mother, not that she would try to replace the girls mother but she did her best to love and care for them as she did for her own children. Aella with Daemon's approval let the girls ride their dragons to Driftmark to visit their grandparents. Rhaenys and Corlys were grateful that the young girl allowed them to visit their mother's family as much and as often as they could. The six children had been kept a secret through out the years. Aella was near her one and twenty name day. As a result, the king had invited her and her family to celebrate as a family.

Her arrival had been expected, Aegon was now married to Helaena and had two children, twins. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Aemond was unmarried but as far as she knew he was bethroted to a Baratheon girl. Jacaerys was to marry soon but his mother and father were looking for a suitable match. When she arrived, Daemon and the girls were waiting as her and the children had sailed there due to the young kids. Rhaenys and Corlys who were there watched their granddaughters run to their new mother. They saw the love the two girls had for her. King Viserys recovered and went back to being the peaceful king he was. He waited with his family as he watched Daemon help his wife.

She had turned into a beautiful woman, everyone could agree. She seemed happy with Daemon. And she was, he treated her good and with respect. "My king, my queen" she  greeted with a nod. "Princess Rhaenyra, Laenor" she said with a smile. She greeted everyone. "Now, may we present our children?" she asked and everyone turned to her. They were surprised. The king nodded and Daemon signaled the maids to bring them. "Baelon and Rhaegar, our oldest. Visenya and Rhaella out second oldest. Viserys and Aemma our youngest" Daemon introduced as the four oldest made their bows to the king and queen. The youngest were only one.

"May I?" the king asked as he took Aemma, she had her eyes. Rhaenys took Viserys. "Baelon looks like our father, and Rhaegar looks like Aemon" Rhaenys nodded in agreement. Everyone cooed over the Aella'a children and all she did was smile. During the feast for her nameday, Daemon and his wife could see the tension between Alicent and Rhaenyra. "I would like to propose an alliance between our families" Aella began. She had spoken with Corlys and Rhaenys, and of course her husband. "A bethrotal between Jacaerys and Baela. And Rhaena with prince Lucerys" she said with a smile. Rhaenyra smiled. "I think that is a great idea" Daemon held her hand and nodded. "In addition, if Aegon and Helaena agree Jaehaera could marry Baelon and Vinseya Jaehaerys" the table was quiet but Alicent smiled. "I think that is magnificent idea" the king nodded in agreement. "Our house will be united" she smiled happy with the outcome.

Aella Targaryen was a woman many remembered, she had given her family peace but that peace nearly broke when Otto Hightower deemed her dangerous, sending for someone to kill the princess. The princess perished on top of her dragon as a scorpion hit the beast right in the neck, killing it instantly. She received the same fate as queen Rhaenys. The lady didn't survive the fall. Daemon Targaryen never remarried but once he found out who killed her, the Hightowers, more importantly Otto, he was killed soon after. Alicent was pardoned as she didn't know anything. Rhaenyra was crown queen and the princess match's were honored as Baela married Jacaerys, Rhaena Lucerys, and once older Baelon and Visenya married Aegon's children.

The Sweet Summer Child died but her memory remained throughout the years. Aella Targaryen iii married her brother Rhaegar, giving him the heirs he needed. House Targaryen didn't end with Daenerys Targaryen, it went on. It prospered. From Aella Targaryen the first, came the prince that was promised and the realm lived in peace.

#daemon targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #game of thrones x reader #house of the dragon x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #harwin strong x reader #alicent hightower x reader #daemon targaryen #daenerys targaryen #daenerys stormborn #rhaegar targaryen

[avtrbee]

in the beginning

✢summary: in a final attempt to salvage the rift between your families, you suggest a marriage pact between you and and alicent’s second son

✢tags: aemond x targaryen!reader, reader is rhaenyra and laenor second born child

✢tw: kinda possessive (?) aemond, i specifically mention that reader has one purple eye and the other brown and white hair- other than that its all ambiguous, targcest 😭

✢a/n: gods this man has a chokehold on me fr, and the gif isnt mine

You have never seen your mother so angry. After the disastrous family dinner, Rhaenyra Targaryen all but shoved her children inside her solar. The Princess of Dragonstone walks around in circles with fire in her footsteps and a finger in her mouth to soothe her anxiety, no doubt recalling the events a few moments prior.

Daemon sat comfortably on the seat behind your mother, seemingly amused by the situation. His violet eyes seem to glow in delight as he watches his wife scold her children. You had looked at him for help, but he only looked back as if saying, you’ve woken the dragon.

“I had thought you better than this!” She stops her strides and snaps her neck to the children huddled together on an ottoman. You, Luke, and Jace sit as close as you can together- a pathetic attempt to comfort each other from your mother's wrath. It is what you’ve always done, it’s what Rhaenyra had always taught you to do; protect each other.

Luke was the first to speak. “But he called us St-“

“Those whispers had been used against you since the moment you were born. I was wrong to hope you’d get used to it,” came your mother’s cold reply. An echo of the dinner fills the room. You all seemingly recall Aemond’s words, and all the whispers said before his- Strong bastards.

You feel Luke shrink back to his seat.

From the floor, you dared to gaze up at your mother. It was a mistake. As soon as you looked up, her violet eyes caught yours and the fire in her burned greatly.

“You were always the best of them,” Rhaenyra regards you with a furious gaze and a disappointed tone. “I had expected better from you. But for you to strike Alicent’s eldest son-"

“He called them bastards!” You argue, anger seeping through your pores and out to the air of your mothers chamber. “Aegon deserved it.”

“Them,” Rhaenyra repeats. “Them, not you. I had thought you knew better than to meddle in business you are not part of, Y/N.”

In truth, Rhaenyra is relieved that out of all her children with Laenor you are the one no one would dare question your legitimacy. Rhaenrya’s only daughter did not inherit the dark Baratheon hair of their grandmother (or the hair of a Strong, as the traitorous whispers insist), but the Valyrian features House Targaryen and House Velaryon are so famous for- silver as hair and an amethyst for an eye. It was a pity you are her second born and not her first.

Like Luke, you feel yourself curl back in your seat. “I’m sorry, mother.”

“Do you know what you have done?” Rhaenyra’s voice calls out as you cowardly stare at the floor, refusing to meet her gaze. You feel Luke’s hand sneak to hold yours in an attempt to comfort you. “In any other fight, I would have defended you tooth and nail, but this is a fight that you had started.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, unable to say anything else. In truth, it all began with Aemond, the roasted pig, and Luke’s unstifled giggles. Aemond got angry, but words were only words. You had punched Aegon first, and it became the catalyst of the fragile truce. You were not blind nor stupid, you have felt the tension between your mother and the Queen Regent. It had been made worse with Aemond’s bullying and the loss of his eye. And now you.

You knew how important the dinner was until you ruined it. Foolish, foolish, girl.

If there were to be a war in House Targaryen, history would blame Princess Y/N Velaryon and her temper. The fall of Valyria’s last surviving houses was caused by your hands, and a glance at Rhaenyra’s pregnant belly makes the guilt inside you grow. You have done nothing but cause her stress, especially when she is pregnant with your youngest sibling.

“Y/N is your grandmother reborn,” Viserys whispered as he first held you, back when you were still a babe. Rhaenyra watched as her father caressed her daughter’s cheek in wonder at her mismatched eyes.

Perhaps Alyssa Targaryen is why Viserys had favored Y/N out of all his grandchildren, and perhaps she is the reason why Daemon defends her.

“She was protecting her brothers,” came his voice behind Rhaenyra. Or perhaps he is hungry for another war.

“But it’s true,” argued Jace. “It is no use denying it when it is so obvious.” Rhaenyra regards her son with pity in her eyes, the fire of her anger fading regret. “It doesn’t matter anyway, for the fathers that supposedly sired us are both dead.”

“No,” argued Rhaenyra, finally striding over to all three of her oldest children. Her hands extend to touch you and Jace’s cheeks as Luke sandwiches between you. The Princess of Dragonstone kneels in front of her children and regards them slowly. “Your claim to the throne is not given by any man. You have a claim to the throne because I am its heir. ”

You and your siblings nod in unison.

Jace, your oldest brother, attempts to set an example. “We shall apologize to the Queen and her children for the trouble we’ve caused,” he proposes. You wonder what the realm will be like when he becomes King. “Luke will apologize to Aemond first-” Jace emphasizes his last words, fully expecting Luke’s reaction. “And Y/N shall apologize to Aegon.”

Rhaenyra regards Jace with a proud look. “What a great King you will be, sweet boy. But Alicent won’t accept this. Not after Aemond’s eye.” Beside you, Luke cringes no doubt recalling the past. “Not after one of her sons is harmed again,” Rhaenyra continues and it is your turn to try not to cower at your mothers words.

Rhaenyra stares at her eldest children, waiting for the ferocious anger within to lull and fade to a steady fire. Finally, she takes pity on the three young princes and princess whose gaze remains firmly on their laps.

“Look at me,” she commanded and all of you obey instantly. This action seems to let a small smile loose on her face as your three heads jut up to her command reminds her of a small litter of puppies eager for their mother. But you are not pups.

“My three-headed dragon,” she calls to you all affectionately, before kissing your foreheads one at a time. Is there anything she won’t do for you? “I will handle this. Go to your rooms. We depart for Dragonstone in a day’s turn.”

Luce and Jace stand from your shared seats immediately, eager to leave while Rhaenyra grants them her good spirits. But not you. You remain in your thoughts, the impending dread of the destruction of your House brought by your own foolishness is heavy in your head. You feel even worse as you have left your mother to clean up your messes once again.

“Sweetling?” Rhaenyra calls and you look up to her. She smiles as you gently, with all the love splattered in her face as she jerks her head to the doors of her chamber. It was as if she was never angry in the first place. “You may go.”

“Wed me to Aemond.” Your demand comes fast but quiet, tumbling out of your mouth before you had even thought of what you have said. You were grasping straws, desperate to mend your House in the only way you knew how.

From his seat, Daemon had his arms resting on his knees as his fists joined to cover his mouth in contemplation. He has an eyebrow raised in surprise, but his eyes were elsewhere possibly considering the match. You appeal to him first.

“It is a peaceful option, to end the rift between the two families in our House,” you argue. “And I am of age, and so is he.”

“It is a good match,” Daemon concedes, looking up at Rhaenyra. You follow his eyes and you meet your mother gazing at you with pity or sadness in her eyes- you could not tell.

“Do you know what that means, sweetling?” She asks, her hand coming to hold your nape. “You’d have to stay here, in Kings Landing. You’d have to leave Dragonstone. You’d have to leave me.”

“Aemond and I were friends once,” you reply, recalling fond memories you had in this Keep with your cousins. Aemond had always been a kind, soft-spoken boy and though he definitely changed as the years passed by, you were certain he was still the child you befriended deep inside.

Still, you cannot ignore the looks he had given you at the dinner. You had been seated between Aegon and Luke, far from the end of the table where Aemond was but you felt his stare all night as you ate your meal. The few times you dared to look at him, he had already been looking back with a predatory stare.

There is a hunger in his gaze, like a hunter seizing his prey for capture. You hated how he made you feel so small, for you are every bit of a dragon as he is, if not more.

“He will be kind,” you insist, not believing it yourself. “And I…” You struggle to find the right words. “I am of excellent Valyrian heritage. The Queen and Aemond won’t see this offer as an insult.”

“This mess was created by the Queen and I. And now our children are paying for it,” Rhaenyra kisses your forehead again- longer this time, like she wanted to pour out all of the love she had for her only daughter out through the kiss. “I don’t deserve you. I shall talk to Alicent once the sun rises.” Her hands cradle your face, her thumb stroking your face. “Avy jorrāelan.”

I love you.

“Avy jorrāelan,” you reply.

-

As if tradition, ladies and lords, palace maids, stable boys and aspiring knights have all gathered within the main courtyard every morning in hopes to catch Ser Criston Cole and Aemond Targaryen spar on dirt and rubble. Today, even more people are gathered as the two men have been sparing with live steel. You watch with them today, not being able to catch any proper sleep last night.

The clink-clang sounds of steel swords are heard across the yard, creating a rhythm for the hymn of violence Ser Criston and Aemond are so fond of. You sense the fight coming to its end as Aemond’s shield is smashed by Ser Criston’s morning star. At the loss of his defense, Aemond charges with his sword, clashing and slashing while Ser Criston narrowly dodges. Aemond is slower today, you notice and you are soon proven right when Ser Criston manages to put his palm on Aemond’s chest. With a thud, Ser Criston pushed Aemond to the ground, dangling his morning star in front of the prince’s face. Aemond watches the spiked ball swing once, twice, before declaring his defeat.

“I yield.”

Despite the prince’s defeat, his audience shower him with scattered applause. With the fight coming to an end, so did its audience with servants scurrying back to their duties and ladies heading back to the keep. Some fawning ladies and knights chose to stay to discuss their admiration among themselves.

“Do not be discouraged, my prince,” called Ser Criston as he held out a hand to the fallen prince.

Aemond took it begrudgingly. “I am not discouraged.”

“But you are distracted.” Ser Criston says, matter-of-factly with a raised eyebrow.

From where you stand, you see Aemond clench his jaw in annoyance. He averts his face from Ser Criston’s judging glance to your direction. You see the exact moment his eye light up in fascination and curiosity to your presence.

“Niece,” Aemond greets, dusting off the dirt from his breeches. He looks at you similar to how he stared at you all night at dinner. “Have you come to watch how true swordsmen fight?”

You force yourself to smile, ignoring the obvious slight to your brothers’ inferior skills. “My prince,” you greet, looking at his form. Aemond had become tall- unimaginably taller than he ever was as a child. He carries himself confidently, but your eyes are quick. You stare at his upper arm, and the growing dark stain on his shirt. “Come, my prince, you are wounded. Let me treat you.”

Aemond humors you a dry smile. “You have quick eyes, my princess.”

You watch as his tall figure walks towards you, his long legs making the distance between you seem shorter. You turn and walk with Aemond on your heels following your every step. You have no doubt that his mouth is curled in that sly smirk, wondering what business did the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen have to do with him.

You could feel his curiosity grow as you led him to your solar. He sits comfortably on a chair while you stand, receiving the kit that your servant handed you. You quietly thank her and ask her to shut the door.

“I must say,” Aemond starts, looking around your solar in fascination. He relaxes on your chair like it is his solar he is in, not yours. “I am in confusion as to what I may have done to earn Princess Y/N Velaryon’s special attention.”

You ignore him, heading straight for the bowl of warm water placed beside him before dipping a rag in it. “You must remove your shirt for me to clean the wound,” you say.

Aemond holds your gaze for a moment before following your orders immediately. He shrugs off his tunic without looking away. With his shirt gone, you are greeted by the sight of his pale chest. You immediately take note of his broad shoulders, his arms, and the thin layer of sweat from his previous fight. Aemond is lean, but his physique was hardened by muscles gained from his mastery of the sword. You avert your eyes and try to not let it bother you.

It does, and he notices and responds with a smug smirk.

His arm, finally clear of any clothes, you dab your rag around the wound gently. “I have noticed that there has been a division between your family and mine,” you begin slowly, eyes darting to his face to gauge his reaction. “A division that you have suffered the consequences of the most.”

Aemond gives nothing away from his face but a calm and cool look. If he is in pain from the hot water and his wound, you cannot even tell. You wonder if he is stone cold silent from all the painful memories his brother and your brothers- and by extension you had caused.

No, you remind yourself. Aemond is not with his sister then one would have better chances finding him in your company than his brothers. However, you have always been torn apart by the family, always stuck in the middle as they fight in which you respond by turning a blind eye. You are complicit in his terrible childhood and the loss of his eye.

Still, you have always been polite and kind to Aemond. A bare minimum that he had cherished greatly after the lack of affection found in his family, to the point where your mother suspected Aemond harboring a childhood crush on you after he shyly gave you a red rose from the gardens before promptly running away.

Of course, every semblance of his affection died with the loss of his eye.

“You are angry, I understand that,” you continue, dabbing his wound gently still. “But I was wondering if you would find it within yourself to look past-”

“Look past?” His voice is sharp, but his face remains still. His eye, however, gives his anger away- a blazing violet that echoes the same dragon-like anger your mother had last night. “You ask me to forget that your brother stole my eye out of the goodness of my heart?”

“No,” you reply immediately. “You were both innocent children, but Lucerys should not have come out of that without consequences.”

Aemond tilts his head and leans closer to you. His violet eye searches your face challengingly. “And what do you offer?”

“Me.” Your voice rings out in your chamber as Aemond fails to reply with a sly retort. For the first time, a soft look of disbelief crosses his face. You reach to grasp his hand with your free palm, your mouth ready to list your reasons but before you could even touch him, Aemond had already grabbed your palm and pulled you to him.

“You?” He asked, a darkness filling his eyes. You do not know if he’s giddy or if he is mocking you. His grip on your hands are tight and you feel a tremble wash over you. “If you are to be my wife, you would be mine,” he reminds you.

Aemond’s tone is gentle but his intentions are anything but. You cannot help but swallow in nervousness, and Aemond’s eye follows your throat as the lump travels down. There is a danger lurking underneath your uncle, and he looks at you like he has won a game you did not even know you were playing.

“Yes, I would.” You agree. You try to shift your head to escape his gaze, but his hands capture your cheeks before you could even move. His fingers squish your face gently but with an unheard threat of harm if you dare to move again.

“Mine,” he whispers in awe at you, like he could not believe the possibility. “And what do your brothers think of that?”

“They-” you struggle to speak as his fingers squeeze your face. “They do not know.”

This news brings Aemond a small smile. This is the first time you have ever seen Aemond close to joy after the loss of his eye. “I could do anything to you if you were my wife. You would share my chambers, and my bed. You will bear my children. They surely would not like that, would they?” Aemond looks across the room as if fantasizing the displeasure on your brothers’ face or you growing his seed inside you- you do not know.

You feel his hands crawl to your face, cradling it almost lovingly. “And if I use you for my revenge?” Aemond whispers. “Would you offer me an eye for your brother’s debt, my lady?”

He does not wait for an answer when he continues. “Have you ever seen me without my eyepatch, my lady?”

It takes you a second to recover. You blink at him, wondering if you heard him right. You wring your hands nervously, unsure to where Aemond was getting at. “I can’t say I have, my prince.”

In an instant, his hand leaves your face and snatches his eyepatch off like it was poison before throwing the piece of leather on the ground in disgust. “And now?”

Aemond abruptly stands from his chair, and you are left to scramble away. It was like he was challenging you with the sight of his eyes. You take a step back as Aemond steps forward, leaning down on you to make sure you have a good look at the long jagged line that runs across his left side, and the sapphire that replaced his eye.

You struggle to keep your eyes on Aemond’s bare face as his sudden closeness makes you realize that he still is shirtless. If you tilt your head down, you would be met by his pale chest and if he moves any closer your nose would soon touch it.

“Would you still offer yourself to me, little lady?” Aemond asks. “Even with my sapphire eye?”

A sudden boldness overcomes you. “Are you trying to scare me, my prince?” You tiptoed to his height, leaning in as close as you dared, until your nose had brushed his. You look at him unfalteringly meeting the gaze of his eye and jewel.

“If I am to be your wife, my Valyrian eye is yours by right,” you jerk your head to the right, gesturing to your purple eye. Aemond looks unfazed at your bold declaration, choosing to remain still and stare at you but you see him steal a glance at the right side of your face.

Finally, you take a step back, removing yourself from his personal space and head to the kit your made gave you to get a slave. You turn to face Aemond again, only to find him seated back in the chair.

“My mother is with yours now,” you tell him, scooping a generous amount of salve on your fingers before spreading it across his wound. “No doubt trying to convince her of the possibility of our union. I just wanted to let you hear it from my lips first.”

As if on cue a knock echoes throughout your solar before a maid from Queen Alicent’s staff pops her head in your rooms. She curtsies before she says, “My lady, my prince, the Queen and the Princess have summoned you to the Queen’s solar.”

Before you could respond, Aemond was already walking out the door, eyepatch already back on his head. His arms move to wear his tunic back on. “Let’s go.”

This time, it is Aemond who leads the way as you follow.

-

“Prince Aemond and Princess Y/N, your Grace,” announced the maid as you and Aemond entered.

This is not the first time you have entered Alicent’s solar. The space is often filled with her attendants, as Helaena and her children and Aemond are often inside. Today it is only the Queen Alicent and your mother occupying the solar.

They sit in front of the fireplace to warm them in this cool morning, and a jug of wine on the side.

The Queen and the princess sport wide smiles and a faint blush on their cheeks from drinking.

The ambiance of the room is joyous. Rhaenyra’s head is thrown back from laughter as Alicent’s head is bowed down trying to stifle her giggles. You have never seen your mother look so carefree before, not with your father, nor with Daemon. Thus it baffles you further to see the Queen and the Princess of Dragonstone so comfortable with each other.

Almost hidden behind their thick gowns, you spot their hands interlocked. You turn to the side to meet Aemond’s equally curious stare.

“Oh!” Alicent spots you first. “There you are.”

Rhaenyra turns in your direction at Alicent’s voice. Your mother stands and walks to you, wrapping her hand on the side of your head as she kisses your temple. “Sweet girl,” she coos at you quietly.

“Viserys drones on and on about how she mirrors Alyssa, but she is Laenor through and through,” comments Alicent as her eyes roam your figure up and down. Beside her, Aemond has taken your mother’s seat beside the Queen.

Rhaenyra chuckles warmly. “If you ask me, I find that she is an echo of you, your Grace. Kind, dutiful, beautiful…” She trails off and shakes her head before gesturing to Aemond. “Your son echoes you the most though.”

Alicent looks at Aemond with a fond smile. It is obvious whose child the Queen favors. Out of all the Queen’s children, none have grown to look like her, except perhaps Aemond. He seems like an eerie mirror of his mother’s father with Valyrian coloring, but his eyes and smile are all Alicent’s. “Ah, yes,” she muses. “But his temperament mirrors you, Rhaenyra.”

A foreign look of regret slips on your mother's face like a mask. “Gods help this realm if I were born a man,” your mother whispers. “The things I would have done.”

Alicent and Rhaenyra share a sad knowing look. There is a longing in your mother’s words a deep, old, painful tone. The Queen looks at your mother almost regrettably but filled with affection all the same. The moment feels intimate to both of them, perhaps recalling their childhood when they held each other close to their hearts.

Never have you seen your mother look so vulnerable to anyone, much more in front of the Queen she resents. A quick glance at Aemond shows that this side of Alicent is new to him too.

The moment is quickly broken by Alicent. She clasps her hands together on her lap. “I assume that both of you know the matter of why I have summoned you here?”

You nod at your Queen while Aemond confirms dutifully, “Yes, mother.”

Alicent turns in her seat to regard her son. “I admit I have already consented to the match, but it is your opinion that I value the most. What say you, Aemond?”

Aemond takes a deep breath, his single eye sliding over to look at your mother behind you and finally at you. You know his act of pondering is false. You knew his answer as soon as you felt his gaze at the dinner table, and confirmed it at the glint of his eye when you had offered yourself. You wonder if he is repeating your offer in his head, the promise of your whole being, and your eye if he wishes it.

“I shall do my duty,” came Aemond’s response with a passive face.

Alicent smiles at her son proudly. “Congratulations, Aemond. You will be a fine husband, I know it.” She turns her head to you, “And to you, Y/N. This union is welcome and the realm shall rejoice when it is announced.”

Aemond is before you in an instant, holding out his hand for yours in which you had no choice but to give it. To your surprise, your betrothed merely raises it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “My lady.”

The touch of his lips on your hand jolts you awake and makes your heart skip a beat- from fear or from romance you do not know. A nervous smile spreads itself on your face nonetheless. “My prince.”

“Come,” your mother says, heading for the door. “We must tell Daemon and your brothers of this news.”

The mention of your brothers makes Aemond look more sly as he stares at you to leave. You curtsy to the Queen and now to your betrothed before following Rhaenyra.

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent’s voice rings out.

You see your mother hitch a breath before turning swiftly. “Yes, my Queen?”

“Stay,” Alicent asks, and suddenly it was like the two of them were alone in the room once more. Both Alicent and Rhaenyra were dead to the world when they looked at each other so fondly. There is heavy tension in the air, but different from the fraying truce of last night’s dinner. No one is on guard or cautious. It strangely feels like home. It is healing. “Even for a couple of weeks. The matter is resolved, there is no reason for you to return to Dragonstone so promptly.”

A genuine smile spread on Rhaenyra’s face and she had never looked so happy. “I’d like that.”

A smile tries to spread on Alicent’s face, but she turns around before it grows fully. “You are dismissed.”

-

alicent and rhaenyra: hahaha our children remind us of each other what if they get married

i firmly believe that is rhaenyra was born a boy or if westeros is lgbt friendly, she would have chosen alicent as her wife in a heartbeat.

did you enjoy this fic? check out my masterlist

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x reader #hotd imagine #hotd #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen angst #house of the dragon x reader

[darlingofvalyria]

❝Dragons do not seek permission, niece of mine. Dragons take.❞

[ Betrayal clouds your judgement, for when Jacaerys' indiscretion takes the form of a child, your anger lands in the palm of the Rogue Prince. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 3,412 ] | Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen Niece!Reader, Jacaerys Velaryon x Manipulative Aunt!Reader | this set in an au inside of in hightower green. | this is able to be read as a oneshot.

contains— canon divergence to the second power - an au of an au - targcest, use of 'bastard', infidelity, profanity, revenge, violence, pureblood Valyrian bullshit - thinking about death as a revenge but no suicide/suicidal ideation- angst, smut - two wrongs apparently make a right - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - nsfw: rough sex, biting, degradation, breeding kink, smidge dacryphilia, creampie - no kinslayers, no kings, no betas.

a/n— special thanks to @ahristata and @hiraethrhapsody for kicking my pursuit of this thread!! i woke up (almost literally) to this line of inquiry, & though writing for daemon is difficult, i had a way, way too much fun with this one m'fraid. Ihad so much fun I started laughing at the absurdity. + comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

You can't breathe.

You stand there, your daughters by your sides, no more than five or so name days, dutiful as ever, the princess of the realm— the heir's wife, blindsided. Betrayed. Lied to. And you can't show them your grief, your anger, your shock— you smile, not betrayed, not realised, stupid.

Your act of stupidity protects you, for you can just tell that others, sharp-eyed as they are owning of sharper tongues, calculate the similarities between your husband and the child he is cooing at, at the arms of the Warden of the North's sister.

His bastard fucking sister.

You can't blink away as the facts, the threads, make a beautiful web in front of you. The conclusion is unmistakable. Jacaerys' consistent travels to the North, despite the campaigning for his mother's seat had not required the frequent stretches of long travels. How Aemond had remarked that the bastard is doing twice as much work in doing so, "as he should," Aemond murmurs darkly. "He casts a disgusting shadow on the Iron Throne, 'tis the least he can do."

The insistent of personally greeting the delegates from the North, you thinking it is just his wondrously formed friendship with the Lord Stark, had you dressing up and bringing your girls with him. So that your daughters can meet their father's fucking friend, one that occupied his time when he could have been at home, tending to his duties, his heirs.

And the woman who follows after the Wolf, the bastard Snow, his beloved sister. Dyanna had told you beforehand, as Lord Stark adores his only sibling. Their parenthood is unmistakable, dark hair and sharp chins. A Northern Beauty.

And then you stop, as there is a babe in her arms, no more than two name days at least.

And you see Jacaerys in his gaze.

His beautiful, warm brown eyes in the child in her arms, and as he stands there, your Prince of the Realm, too close for comfort, too close for platonic friendship, a familiarity one cannot deny— and that fucking, sweet-edged, tender smile on his face...

The same one he wore when you had given birth to his daughters. Soiled sheets, bloodied babes— it didn't matter. He held them to his arms with the very same smile, thanking you for birthing his babes.

A gut punch, a sharp inhale, an anger that coils and burns and roars.

Your bastard of a husband had fucked another bastard, and made himself a bastard little fucking family.

Life can ever be so cruel as it is humorous.

Daemon could have laughed at the prediction you found yourself in.

He sits to the left of his wife, the Queen who— in enough of itself, the evidence of the turmoil the court is about to get under, amusingly is talking quick with her Lord Hand; Corlys and Rhaenyra had not stopped pointedly looking at her heir, words too fast but unmistakable what the topic is if their gestures, the knot between their eyebrows, and unmistakable sighs and determined noises.

He, on the other hand, is pointedly staring at you.

You, who tries so hard to piece together an armour of stupidity, an air of nonchalance. As if there is no anger in your visage at your husband's attention completely stolen by Wolf's little sister and her son... who looked completely like him. Dark colouring, the First Men blood thick in his nose, his hair, at the curled edges of his baby-cheeked giggles.

When standing so close, faces to each other, there can be no doubt a mirror.

Or the lovesick smile on the mother's face, watching the Prince of the Realm interact with her son.

Together, the trio of them don't hint as much as a bead of Targaryen blood. One is able to pretend they are nothing more than a small... brown haired family.

Daemon presses his lips, trying desperately not to laugh so loudly.

He admired the boy, truly. Rhaenyra loved each child from her bosom with equal fervor, and Daemon was prepared take him as purely one of his own... but after he broke the betrothal with his daughter (though Baela could give lesser of a shit, though mildly dissatisfied as she was to become Queen, and the girl held her duties between canines) to marry a Hightower cunt... he had distanced himself from the boy.

Daemon viewed it as a sign of weakness, for he knew you. You were just like your mother, prodding into softened parts of his family— that green whore with his brother, young as she had been, his good sister Aemma had not been cold in their memories before she had found herself weightily pregnant with new heirs, and then Jacaerys, new to womanly spells, new to cunt, and you had him making vows in the ways of the dragonlords.

Though he can surmise that much of your mother's movements had not entirely been her own... Daemon knew that calculative look you got in your eye. Blink and it's gone, but your gaze sharpens, your mouth curls in a winning, prideful little smirk.

You were Otto Hightower's granddaughter alright, and you had wanted the Heir's Heir.

But now, it seems like, once a vow broken, it didn't really matter if it was a betrothal or a marriage to Jacaerys.

It brings a sick pull of satisfaction in him, that tugs him to look at you. Every time.

You laugh, tither, still evermore the gem of the feast— a feast you organised with the Lord Hand for your husband's absolutely exceptional diplomatic achievements in the North, truly, Daemon is laughing in the sidelines as the jests and songs make themselves — but Daemon is overtly familiar with dragons. And anger. And you simply stink of it. The way your eye twitches, the occasional grind of your jaw to how your fingers dig crescent moons into your palm. He catches blood in one blink then smeared, then gone, in another.

Your hold onto your armour— the Darling of the Realm, curated so painfully by a young, sly girl moving about the cesspit they call a crown's court — is breaking in pieces and tatters at each hour the feast went on.

It snarls. Like a dragon locked in the pits, tugging at reins, wishing to burn cities.

Maybe you aren't just another Hightower cunt after all.

Not purely at least, he thinks in distaste, staring at the dark green of your gown.

It is a childish tantrum, more than anything, for what is your Hightower green will do now? A bastard has been made, worse, a son. And though Jacaerys himself has muddied blood, he is still a Targaryen. His mother is Queen, prepared to make him an Heir to the Iron Throne as he had been legitimised as Laenor's son. A Velaryon. He bears the name, the crest, and the support of its house.

What is stopping him from marrying the Snow Bastard, legitimising the boy as his own, surpassing your own daughters?

Targaryens marry siblings, they also marry multiple wives.

It is a thought that he can see it dancing in your head— raw, enticing rage and bloodlust that tightens his breeches.

It is an interesting thing.

The green is disgusting, but Daemon can appreciate a young, fertile, Valyrian beauty.

Something your mother had ingeniously provided you and your siblings with, reining in her muddied blood to produce unmistakable Valyrian children. And as a smart little tart, you understood what to do with it.

When Daemon first met you, you were just one of the Hightower spawns that his brother had made to further his line. His brother's daughters—apart from Rhaenyra — were quiet things as babes and children. Odd the two of you were, but not really hostile. When you were introduced to him, your fat babe of a twin brother was teary-eyed and clinging to you, a quiet child with round eyes, staring at him inquisitively, as if challenging.

Then and there, Daemon disliked you so.

Even as you grew, the little of what he could see as he paid no mind of Viserys' other children, you grew up a fine royal, a princess of every word and sung note. Mentions of your progressive fight for the small folk, your charitable heart, your sweet nature that even his brother had made a note once or twice—

He thought it had been Otto Hightower who put you up to such machinations. Wouldn't be below him.

The night you bedded Jacaerys Velaryon, he was pleasantly surprised to find out it had been you all along.

And now here you are, betrayed as you had betrayed his daughter, delicious in your righteous anger and ripe (two babes before the year ended, Jace is an inglorious fool) for the taking. And youthful still. Smooth, soft skin, pretty lips and bright-eyed.

All your scheming, going as far as throwing your grandsire to Oldtown, it is obvious no one has wrangled the clever, spoiled little brat out of you.

As he sips his wine, amused and pleasantly hungry, he muses he might do a job or two of being the strong arm to do so.

He snorts, eyes straying back to the little First Men family.

There it is again. The jest that keeps on giving.

It was pride, truly, that kept you for most of the feast. That kept your gritted teeth to yourself, ducking into corners whenever your anger burned at your eyelids, stubbornly brushing stray tears away.

All is not lost, you stubbornly thought. You just had to plot.

But when Jace had taken your daughters, your Daenera and Aemma, gently tugging them to his bastard whore and his actual bastard to meet— finding your eyes, at that very moment as Daenera's precious, pureblooded hand shyly took the hand of her bastard brother, a fool's tender fucking simpleton of a smile on your husband's face —

Something in your head had snapped. A clean break.

And your armour had fallen. Like limestone from a fortress. Caved in ruins at the pool of your feet. Dark, furious loathe unfurled in your chest. Unable to handle it anymore, you had taken your dress and got out of the feast, for you could feel the urge of unsheathing a sword and going on a bloodied massacre, crowns and titles be damned.

You may not have a dragon, but you have its bloodlust.

Just as you are rushing to your chambers, you stop and make a different turn, knowing that if your husband had caught wind of such an ugly expression on your face, he would try and find you, talk to you, and you don't have the patience to cater to him at the moment— you find what you know of is an empty chamber, reserved for guests at the Keep.

It is a simple room with all the usual accruements. Most of the fanfare, the sheets, are in storage.

You start with a candelabra.

Raise it high before you are violently smashing it against the dresser, shrieks and guttural screams out of your mouth as you tear through the room like a typhoon, cursing Jacaerys, the North, and bastards to the Seven Hells.

None will be the wiser, for you had built your network well. Your spiders will pivot guards and strangers from this area, ensuring you a reprieve where your anger and grief can unfurl and manifest.

So you lose yourself, a dragon untethered. You get so into your rage, quiet in your thoughts, that you don't hear an intruder entering until there is a low, amused laugh too close for comfort.

You whirl around, tear-stained and rage-filled, and though the Rogue Prince expects you to fall into stutters, your eyes slit and you grip— when had you picked up a tome? — the tome tighter to your chest, snarling, "Get out."

Instead of surprise, or even offense, Daemon laughs as if you are the most amusing thing to him all night. Jesters and whores alike.

"I shall not." He makes a noncommittal hum around the dark room. "I rather like it here. It seems this chamber holds a much better entertainment than anything beheld at the feast."

You let out a dark, incredulous laughter. "I have no time for your toying, uncle, get out!" You toss the tome with fervour, but he's a warrior and he anticipates your anger, sidestepping easily before he's back to casual prowling.

"I do not have time to play jester for your entertainment," you hiss, unable to stop the hateful tears from spilling, brushing them away harshly as you watch him watch you.

He raises an eyebrow. "I am not asking you to."

"Are you here then for my humiliation? Press a bitter wound while it's still bleeding, is that it? Is that what would make the glory of your night?"

He snorts. "What would make the glory of my night is a warm body and a tight cunt."

Your face scrunches. "You are disgusting."

He barks out a laugh. "Not as disgusting as your brother."

"Aegon is no longer—"

"— or as stupidly naive as your husband."

A sharp intake of breath before you're once more cracking in broken rage and ghastly pain.

"Of course you would notice, who would not, he looks so much like his fucking bastard."

"Watch yourself, girl," he barks. "You are still talking about the Queen's heir."

A beautiful guard dog, you think, you snort. You push past him, gasping into the crisp, cool air, holding onto the balcony for dear life.

"His already diluted blood makes this conversation entirely hilarious to me I'm afraid." You look down and wonder how fast you will fall. How messy would such a death be? How much care there is left in your wake? Will your husband even care, now that he has his heir? Borne out of true love no doubt, despite such bastardly blood— or is that what makes it thrilling for them?

Mangled bone, spread thin blood— if you die such a way, it should be pretty. You hope it haunts the Keep of so many before you.

But if you die now, you will be replaced so easily. So prettily.

And your daughters—who will care for them? Will Jacaerys even care, if his bastards soon no doubt fill your once home, your mother, your brothers— your daughters pushed aside to make way for fucking dogs.

There is no satisfaction in such a plan.

There are many others.

The Rogue Prince makes his presence known by standing close to your back, close enough that you can smell him, that his heat is your own, as he hums, peering below as you have.

"Have you been drinking, zaldrītsos little dragon?" he whispers, tangling his fingers through your hair, running a lone finger down your neck, up and down in a tantalising movement. You can't help it, it feels comforting, leaning close to it despite such a breathy huff out of your lips.

"Since when am I dragon, kepus uncle? Haven't you always likened us muddied blood, filthier than dragonseeds?"

"I see that I am wrong," he says, almost idle as if he isn't devouring you in his gaze. How you feel soft, pliant under one finger after weighted in wine and the ruins of your anger, how you're almost purring and sweet like this, your fire alive but consistent. "Aōha perzys burns jehikagrī. Nyke hae ziry. Your flames burn bright. I like it."

"Hm. You've had sons, don't you uncle?"

"I have," he replies, amused.

"And many a children." You reach for his chin, your thumb rubbing his bottom lip. He's old, sure, but men don't have the same bodily issues as women. You know he could reach your father's age and be able to produce five more brats.

But his shoulders are strong, spry only as a swordsman can be.

And he isn't like he's loyal to Nyra, turning fully to you with a hand caressing your side.

His hand comes for your neck, halting your movement as he tests a squeeze. There is only much hatred as there is lust. And his cock is winning over his mind, for when your free hand, watching him intently, reaches for the hardness straining against his breeches, giving it a stroke, his breath stutters into a groan whilst his hips push into your hand.

"Dragons do not seek permission, niece of mine," he hums darkly. "Dragons take, or do you have too much of your Hightower cunt of a mother that you—"

You curl your hand over his cock until his breath hitches.

"I want a son. Surely you'd rather want for your true blood to sit on the Iron Throne? Your wife would remain Queen, her and her heir none the wiser. Any son of mine would be King regardless." Your voice is barely above whisper, stroking him as your squirm in his hold, his breath heavy by each promise, each tale you spin so tall. "Wouldn't you like that better? I am a Targaryen, as are you. Our blood would be pure."

"I have pureblooded sons, riñītsos little girl."

"But will they be king? With my husband as your wife's heir?" When his hold softens on your throat, you push yourself forward, pressing yourself against him. "Wouldn't you want your family's legacy, your legacy, unsullied with prettier blood?

"I want a son, uncle," you whimper, thickened with need and desire, willing him to bend and fold because men like Daemon are easy, because a loving marriage is one thing, a man who holds his house as his pride in another fist is another. "I want your seed to take root in me."

And it isn't like you're asking him to betray his Queen.

Daemon is surprisingly a soft lover, prone in a way to worshipping you even as you had gotten impatient and tried to get your way. His punishments are quick and precise, a hit on your thigh, a tighter squeeze in your throat, a firm bite in your breast enough to draw blood. He's soft but by choice, almost as if he is amusing you in each caress while one hand is holding you by your hair, fucking you down into the sheets.

His words aren't better, spun in hisses and spits, mocking laughter and groans.

"Do you want my seed, you little whore?"

"What would your husband say now, his pretty wife mewling for another? Or would he even care?"

"Your tears are pretty, if you want my seed, I think you need to be sobbing, hm?"

When he finally spills inside of you with nothing less of a broken, guttural roar, hips chasing the high, meeting your sensitivity once, twice, again— you are shattered in pieces and contradictions, floating and wide awake, pleasured and in pain.

He slaps your face gently after he's cleaned himself up, tucked his flaccid cock back in his breeches as he comes to your eye line. "Come to me again when you want my seed, hm? I shall prioritise your wants for the good of the realm but I dare say—"

He cocks his head with a smirk, feeling stirrings at the sight of your fucked out state, his seed spilling from your pretty hole that he can't help himself as he chases it with a finger, forcefully pushing it back in while your body trembles and twitches.

"— you may be with child soon enough, niece. I shall congratulate you and my son with the happy news."

Your eyes flutter close at the echoes of his disappearing footsteps.

Nine moons later, through a hearty, blood-soaked birth that rocked the keep with your wails of pure pain— much more painful than when your girls had come into the world — a baby boy is born of pure Valyrian colouring.

A fat babe who cried murder in his first seconds of life, and it is Caraxes who snarls and screeches into the high noon sky.

"I shall name him Daemon," you say to your husband beside you as you beheld the babe with a wondrous smile and a full heart.

"After your brother and my father," Jace says, smiling. "That is wonderful, my wife. He does look much like them."

Your smile curls, a finger rubbing your babe's fat cheek. "He does. And he will be strong swordsman." Your lashes flutter to Jace, poisoned vowels in each word that he blinks, startled. "Just like his father."

TAGGED @inkareds @marihoneywk @caterina-caterina @ahristata @xxvelvetxxxx @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @bunbunbl0gs @yazzzmints @bellstwd @hiraethrhapsody @watercolorskyy @fulla02 @menaosama @cookielovesbook-akie

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[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Unbidden

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x f!reader x Aemond Targaryen Warnings: Cuckolding, voyeurism, smut. Word count: ~3k

Summary: Noticing his nephew's wife appears dissatisfied in her marriage, Daemon sets out to show them both that there is pleasure to be found within the marital bed...

Author's note: No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She has scarcely been able to take her eyes off of Daemon since he first arrived at the Red Keep. He possesses the classically handsome features bestowed upon those of Valyrian blood, carries himself with self assured confidence, and embodies an air of dangerous unpredictability which both frightens and excites her in equal measure. Though it is none of these qualities that keep her gaze fixated upon him.

Her interest is piqued by how utterly devoted he is to his wife. When she stood beside her husband, Aemond, in the Great Hall, as Vaemond Velaryon challenged the succession of Driftmark, her attention was focused solely on Daemon and Rhaenyra. He had been glued to her side, his gaze always seeking hers, and when Vaemond had dared to call her a whore and her children “bastards”, he had not hesitated in unsheathing his sword and slicing the man’s head in half. She wonders if her own husband would defend her so staunchly.

She is not blind to their starkly different situations; Daemon and Rhaenyra’s union is one of love, it is plain for all to see. Her and Aemond’s is one of political necessity. Although they have grown fond of each other over the last six months of their marriage, and he has never been unkind to her, she cannot help the jealousy that swirls, ugly and acrid, within her chest at the ease of which her husband’s half sister and his uncle interact with one another.

The two children they have together already, and the one that currently grows within the swell of Rhaenyra’s belly are proof enough of their passion for one another. However, the looks they exchange at the dinner table this evening are smoldering and filled with intent. Their fingers brush against each other as they pass dishes of food between them, and Daemon’s hand seems to find its way to her stomach, caressing her lovingly, unaware he is even doing it.

Her and Aemond’s intimacy is not so effortless, though it is not from a lack of trying on her part. He beds her frequently, and she greets his advances with enthusiasm, yet his stoicism renders him incapable of ever fully losing control. He is receptive to her pleas of “harder”, “faster”, but she is always left with the dissatisfaction of feeling he is holding something back, and outside of their shared bedchamber it is rare that he ever touches her. She has attempted to broach the subject with him before, framing it as a means for them to find greater satisfaction within their marital bed, but he always waves her away dismissively, clearly uncomfortable with the topic.

She can sense something dark and urgent bubbling beneath the surface of him, and longs to draw it out, to experience the full force of the fire of the dragon that runs through his veins, but she does not know how to entice it. 

It had appeared prominent in his seeing eye as Dark Sister had cleaved the Velaryon man’s skull in twain, a potent mixture of bloodlust and desire, as his pupil had dilated ever so slightly. It had sent a shiver up her spine, heat pooling between her thighs, causing her to squeeze them together to fend off the dull, throbbing ache.

She longs for that look to be cast upon her, for her to be the recipient of whatever wrath that follows, and now she is sure that it is Daemon that holds the key to coaxing the darker side of her husband out to play.

The dinner is a tense affair. Aemond sits beside her, so tightly wound she is sure the lightest of touches would cause him to shatter like glass. When he finally loses his cool, throwing barbed words towards his nephews, resulting in an exchange of blows, the evening draws to an abrupt close, with each of them being dismissed to their respective quarters. As they depart the dining hall, her husband and his uncle lock eyes, a smirk of amusement flashing briefly across Daemon’s features as Aemond’s nostrils flare in irritation.

She can feel the heat of his anger radiating from him as he strides through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast, scurrying alongside him in an attempt to match his pace. That look has returned and with it her desperate feeling of lust. If she doesn’t seize the opportunity now, then she is unsure of when it will present itself again.

Reaching out for her husband, she grasps his elbow, her fingers taut against the leather sleeve of his tunic. His steps falter and he turns to look at her quizzically, chest heaving with the laboured breaths of his barely concealed rage.

“What is it?” He snaps.

Instinctively, she shrinks back, second guessing her decision as she sees the way he glares down at her, lip curled into a snarl. Despite her fear, she reminds herself that this is the side of Aemond she had been seeking, and leans into him, placing her hands upon his chest.

“I want you,” she whispers, gazing up at him pleadingly.

“Not here,” he sighs, his expression softening, as he gently grasps her hands in his, moving them back to her sides.

Though she remains outwardly calm, in spite of her disappointment, internally she feels so frustrated she could scream. The look she craves is gone, he has rebuffed her advances and she knows that once more she is destined to an evening where he will treat her as though she is made of bone china.

“I believe you were told to return to your quarters.”

The intrusion of Daemon’s voice causes Aemond to take a quick step backwards, away from her, as she turns to look. He stands before them in the corridor, posture rigid and chin raised up ever so slightly, giving the impression that he is looking down his nose at them both.

“We are on our way,” Aemond responds icily, drawing himself to his full height and staring down his uncle.

The smallest of smiles tugs at the corners of Daemon’s mouth, clearly unphased by his nephew’s hostile demeanour. “I shall escort you both, to ensure there is no further delay.”

Before either one of them has the opportunity to protest, he steps forward, one hand reaching for Aemond’s shoulder, while he places the other at the small of her back. Aemond wrenches away, huffing irritably as he continues walking. She makes no such effort to struggle away from Daemon’s touch, his fingers feeling like a brand against her flesh through the fabric of her dress. 

The three of them walk in uncomfortable silence, the only sound is the echo of their footsteps against the flagstone floor. Her eyes widen in surprise when they reach her and Aemond’s shared chambers and, instead of bidding them goodnight, Daemon follows them inside, closing the doors behind them.

Aemond stares at him quizzically, eye narrowed. “What are you doing, Uncle? If you are here to reprimand me for what was said at dinner then–”

“I am here for your wife, actually,” he interrupts, turning his head towards her as his eyes move from her head to her feet and back up again.

She feels her skin grow hot under the intensity of his gaze, swallowing thickly as he regards her as a cat would a mouse.

“What do you want with my wife?” Aemond asks, his voice lowering in quiet threat.

It is the first time she has ever heard her husband speak of her so possessively and it makes her pulse race. She wants more of this, there is an intense thrill to having the attention of two Targaryen men placed solely upon her.

“Do not think I have not noticed,” Daemon says to her, ignoring Aemond as he continues to stare at her. “You have been ogling me all day. Why?”

Embarrassment prickles at her, and she lowers her gaze. Her voice is small and pitiful sounding to her ears as she answers. “Forgive me, My Prince. I did not mean to stare.”

“Look at me when you speak to me,” he commands, “and answer the question.”

She exhales shakily, lifting her eyes to meet his. His stare is piercing, his eyes darkened and predatory in the low lighting of her and Aemond’s apartments.

“I found myself…rather taken by how you engage with Princess Rhaenyra. You are quite affectionate with one another.”

Daemon’s brow furrows slightly as he cocks his head in curiosity. “Does your own husband not show you affection?”

A wave of sadness washes over her, causing her shoulders to sag at the reminder of the lack of intimacy between her and Aemond. She spares him a glance, noticing he has not moved from where he stands. His expression could be mistaken for neutral were it not for the fury that rages tempestuously within his seeing eye as he glares at his uncle.

Drawing in a deep breath, she looks back to Daemon, answering simply, honestly: “no.” Shame shrouds her, suffocating and dense, feeling the overwhelming urge to cry, her head dipping as she focuses on the spot where the hem of her skirts meets the stone floor. She cannot bear to look at either man, knowing she has spoken out of turn about her husband, not just in front of him, but to his uncle as well.

She gasps as Daemon steps forward, crowding her space, his finger crooking beneath her chin to lift her face up towards his. The touch of him makes her knees buckle slightly and she leans back against the table behind her for support, no longer trusting her legs to keep her upright. “What a brave little thing you are,” he whispers, an edge to his voice that twists her stomach into knots.

“I–I am sorry,” she stammers, eyes flitting nervously between her husband and his uncle. “I should not have–”

“There is nothing wrong with expressing your wants, your desires,” Daemon reassures her. “Perhaps my nephew just needs a little help in learning how best to please his wife?”

She squeals in surprise as he grasps the backs of her thighs, lifting her until she is seated upon the edge of the table she had been leaning against. Lips parted and eyes wide, she turns her head towards Aemond, and though his fists are clenched at his sides, his breathing accelerated in silent fury, he makes no move to stop what is happening. That look from earlier has returned, ravenous and half crazed, she interprets it as silent consent, wanting to do all she can to keep it fixed upon her.

“What of your wife? Will she not mind you…helping us?” She asks timidly, as Daemon’s hands make quick work of rucking her skirts up around her hips.

He chuckles drily in response, dragging her smallclothes down her legs, allowing them to dangle from a single ankle. “You and Aemond have much to learn, sweet girl. Fucking is a pleasure, and Rhaenyra does not mind how or with whom we seek it, as long as our loyalties do not falter.”

The very idea seems scandalous to her, yet wetness gathers between her legs all the same. Aemond has now taken up the seat beside the fireplace, watching them both intently, his stare unblinking and fiery. 

Daemon’s fingers travel up her legs, until they reach the insides of her thighs. His fingers are thicker than Aemond’s, his touch is calloused and rough, where Aemond’s is deft, yet hesitant. His fingertips dig into her soft flesh, hard enough to bruise as he pries her legs apart, a hum of approval rumbling in his throat at the arousal he finds glistening there.

“Does your husband make you this wet?” He asks with gentle curiosity.

She nods enthusiastically, looking over at Aemond and seeing a small, prideful smile ghost quickly across his lips before disappearing.

“Good,” Daemon tells her. “No problems there then.”

His fingertips swipe through her sodden folds, his middle finger quick to locate her pearl and circle it with precision. The movement makes her tense, a jolt of pleasure causing her hips to buck as she mewls helplessly.

“Does he touch you like this?”

“N–no…” she whimpers in response.

“Hmm,” Daemon glances over his shoulder, before looking back at her. “Well, ensure he does in future. I am sure he will; he is paying close attention.”

Looking back over at Aemond, she feels herself clench around nothing, her desire building with a steady, rhythmic ache as she sees the lacings of his trousers strain against his hardness. He is enjoying watching this, lips slightly parted and eye hooded. The sight of it rids her of the last of her inhibitions as Daemon moves his focus away from her bud and dares to push his two forefingers inside of her. She tilts her head back, gripping the edge of the table tightly as she feels her muscles stretch to accommodate him.

“You must be prepared, thoroughly, before you are fucked,” he murmurs against the shell of her ear.

Her mind is foggy, struggling to comprehend Daemon’s words as he presses the pads of his fingers upwards, dragging them against a spot inside of her that causes her toes to curl and moisture to trickle down onto the tabletop. Does he really mean to fuck her? Surely that would be a step too far? Yet she finds it difficult to care when he is pushing her towards the precipice of pleasure itself with simply his fingers. Her mind reels with the possibility of what it would feel like to be stretched out around his cock.

As his fingers pump faster, she moves her hips in tandem, chasing the urgently building pressure that is growing inside of her. He pulls them from her suddenly, causing her to whine in frustration at being robbed of her peak.

Daemon grins wolfishly as his hands move to unfasten his breeches. “I think we have learned enough in that regard, and are ready to move on.”

She averts her gaze as he frees himself, her eyes finding Aemond’s, another silent check in for consent. His throat bobs as he swallows, his knuckles almost white with the force of the grip he has on the armrests of where he sits, but he makes no move to stop what is happening.

Her hands grasp at Daemon’s shoulders as he sheathes himself inside of her, knocking the air from her lungs. Aemond and his uncle are similar in many respects, but this is a matter in which the pair of them could not be more different.

It is odd to her that, despite being between her thighs, he has not tried to kiss her. Whether it is a mark of respect for hers and Aemond’s marriage, or simply because he does not want to, she is unsure, but she is grateful for his abstinence. A kiss seems too intimate a gesture, there is nothing sweet about this.

Daemon sets a brutal pace, once she has had a moment to adjust, rocking into her with a force that causes the table legs to scrape loudly against the hard floor. He is so much more self assured than her husband, utterly unafraid to violate her, and it is freeing to be handled so roughly.

She moans wantonly as he moves a hand to wrap around her throat, applying gentle pressure at the sides. “Do not be afraid to be a little unrestrained,” Daemon grits out, a statement clearly not meant for her, even though his eyes bore into hers. “I have yet to bed a woman who does not enjoy it.”

He has the right of it. The hand around her throat, coupled with the almost violent manner in which he thrusts inside of her is dizzying and, as he slips a hand between them to stroke at her pearl once more, she knows she will not last long. It has never been this intense with Aemond before; a lack of experience, coupled with a fear of hurting her means he is always gentle, hesitant where he need not be. 

The grip on her throat tightens, the ministrations against her bud grow more insistent as she feels Daemon pulsate inside of her, his jaw clenching at the telltale sign that he is close. With a final, harsh thrust of his hips, she cries out in ecstasy as the warmth of his seed spills inside of her, triggering her own release as she tightens around him in rapid, successive pulses.

“Good girl,” he mutters quietly.

He is quick to pull out of her, as she leans back against her palms, pliant and breathless from the experience. She barely registers Daemon tucking himself away and slipping out of the chamber doors, as Aemond moves into view, standing before her.

Under ordinary circumstances, the wrathful insanity she sees reflected in his blue eye would frighten her, but tonight it has butterflies fluttering ceaselessly in her lower belly. His hand moves to the back of her head, gripping her hair tightly by the roots, tugging her head forcefully backwards. Her yelp of pain is stifled by him pressing his lips firmly against hers, his tongue licking against her own in a kiss that is more a desperate display of possession than a loving embrace.

“You are mine,” he breathes, letting go of her momentarily to tug at the lacings of his trousers.

“Yours,” she whispers back, satisfied excitement causing her pulse to thrum at the knowledge she has unleashed the side of Aemond she has always longed for.

Daemon’s spend has begun to dribble out of her, and as she watches the head of her husband’s cock push it forcefully back inside of her, she knows he will remind her every night from now on exactly which Targaryen Prince it is that she belongs to.

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[elaratyrell]

Daemon Targaryen x Fem! Reader x Jacaerys Velaryon {Lessons In Lovemaking}

*All images found on Pinterest*

Requested By: @thatsgayyouknow

Warnings: Threesome, double penetration, unprotected sex, piv sex, anal, vaginal and anal fingering, oral (fem receiving), face sitting, language, use of kepa, Jace's monster dick, Daemon is technically cheating on Rhaenyra, drinking... I think that's it... this is pure filth *Divider from Firefly Graphics*

Request/Synopsis: “Hi I was wondering if you could do something where Daemon is helping show Jace how to please his lover. If you could possibly fill it with has much smut as possible and maybe even do it where the reader takes both of them at the same time.”

A/N: Reader is described as having Valyrian ancestors but this won't affect their appearance as it was hundreds of years ago

*Not fully proof read*

You had been feeling eyes on you all evening.

You were slowly growing used to the feeling of being watched during banquets like this, what with being married to Prince Jacaerys for several moons now. Being the Princess of Dragonstone came with its share of benefits and disadvantages, it seemed.

But this time it felt different.

Amongst the stares of the various high lords and nobles of the kingdom trying to get a look at their new princess, there was one that felt like it was burning straight through you. It was a hungry, intense gaze.

One with lustful intentions.

And it wasn’t coming from your husband.

Your gaze travelled to where that piercing look was coming from, your eyes locking with a pair of lilac ones.

Your father in law, Daemon Targaryen, had his eyes locked on you ever since you'd sat down.

Occasionally, his gaze flickered over to his wife, Rhaenyra, murmuring an agreement to whatever she was saying or pressing a kiss to her palm, but otherwise it was entirely focused on you.

You were dressed in a deep red gown with black lace detailing. Half of your hair was twisted into a braid crown and pinned back, a tiara of gold and rubies adorning your head.

You were every bit a Targaryen princess.

The match with Jacaerys arose due to your family, along with having Valyrian ancestry, bending the knee for Rhaenyra and supporting her as heir after the death of her father. Fortunately, her younger half brother Aegon had declined to oppose her, and she was crowned. While your marriage to Jacaerys was indeed an arranged affair, you had managed to find love with the young prince, and he with you.

You were the very image of young love that had only bloomed since your nuptials.

There was only one slight crack in your relationship.

Intimacy.

You and Jacaerys were both young and inexperienced on your wedding night. You were thankful that he declined the bedding ceremony, the both of you basking in the warm glow of your private chambers all night.

But since then, moments such as that had been sparse between the two of you, and while Jace had been an attentive and loving husband, you found yourself yearning for more intimacy between the two of you. Any attempts at initiating such things had resulted in Jace telling you that it was late and you were both too tired, or that he didn't want to hurt you, bringing up memories of your discomfort on your wedding night.

It wasn't your fault he was incredibly well endowed.

You were sure that you could both navigate yourselves through the act of lovemaking without bringing you pain.

You just needed to explore that aspect of your relationship more.

And you had decided that tonight would be that night.

Perhaps it was because of the way you had been alone with your thoughts for most of the evening, perverse desires swimming in your mind, or the fact that Jace's touch, whether it was placing his hand over yours, or on your thigh in an innocent manner, a source of comfort...

Or perhaps it was the way Daemon's stare had made your thighs rub together and your skin flush with heat.

No matter the reason, your lips found Jace's the moment he closed your chamber doors behind him, and while initially taken aback by your rather bold action, he eagerly kissed back, his hands travelling to rest on your back while yours tangled in his hair. You smirked against his lips as you felt the lace of your dress loosen.

Once your dress was undone, pooling around your feet, you attempted to tug off Jace's clothes, but he lightly grabbed your wrists, his forehead resting against yours, your chests heaving and lips swollen.

"I... can't..."

"Why not?" You whispered, eyes locking with his. "Jace... I need you. I want you. I want to feel you. Feel loved by you."

"I don't want to hurt you-"

"You won't."

"How do you know that?"

"There are things that can be done to ensure that the act is not painful, but pleasurable. I have read about it-"

"Y/N!"

"Jace, you left me with no other choice," You suddenly snapped, chest heaving. "We have not been intimate since our wedding."

"I know... and believe me, my love, I have yearned to be close with you as well," Jace sighed, taking your hands in his. "But you know that we are not exactly well educated in the act of love making. Look at who we were surrounded with to teach us. Me, with my alcoholic uncle who viewed women as objects and you, with two married sisters who refused to speak on the subject-"

"It seems you could use some guidance in the matter."

You and Jace both turned to see Daemon leaning in the open doorway, arms folded and a slight smirk on his face. Jace stepped between his stepfather than you, an arm protectively outstretched to protect your dignity.

"You could have granted us the liberty of knocking to prepare us for your arrival," Jace spoke, his voice surprisingly stern, almost authoritative, as he addressed his stepfather. Usually his tone would be more respectful, but when you were involved, he didn't care who he was addressing.

"I was about to, but I found your conversation to be far too interesting," Daemon replied, taking a step forward.

"That's close enough," Jace said, his arm pushing you further behind him. Daemon tilted his head, taking another step towards his stepson.

"I merely wish to offer my... expertise, on your issue."

"We do not require such guidance from you."

Daemon smirked. "This doesn't just concern you, Jacaerys. What about you, byka mēre?" [little one]

The way those Valyrian words dripped from his tongue made a shudder run down your spine, your thighs squeezing together.

"She does not need you or your silver tongued words-" Jace began, but he was silence by Daemon raising a hand.

"I was not addressing you, Jacaerys," He said dismissively, curling a finger towards you to beckon you closer.

Jace's grip on your waist loosened as you pulled away from him, hesitantly stepping towards Daemon.

"There you are, byka mēre," His smirk was like a serpent's as he spoke in that honeyed tone. Gentle, but with an edge. Something lingered behind it, and it just took one look into his eyes, the way his pupils darkened when focused on her, to know why. "Tell me, what do you wish to know?"

"I..." You tried to speak, but your mouth was completely dry. You could practically feel yourself shrink in front of Daemon's imposing stare. His presence filled the room, and you couldn't help but find yourself in awe of him.

"Do not tell me you are suddenly feeling shy, little dove," Daemon murmured, reaching out to run his thumb over your lower lip. "You can tell me."

"I... well... I wish to know how to be... how to feel..."

"How to feel true pleasure?" He asked, eyes glittering like amethysts. She nodded, and he turned to address his stepson.

"Have you not been satisfying your beautiful bride, Jacaerys?" He raised an eyebrow.

"That is none of your concern."

"But your wife wishes it to be. Do you want me to help you, byka jorrāelagon?" [little love]

"Daemon-"

"I do," Your voice was nothing more than a hushed murmur, but both Daemon and Jace heard you, the latter shooting you a look of slight hurt.

"Do you hear that Jacaerys? She wants me to guide her."

"You will not touch her," Jace glared, fists clenched.

"That is not your choice to make," Daemon replied with a smirk. "Do you want me to touch you, little one?" He asked, earning a nod from you in response.

"I will not have this-"

"Do you wish for your wife to be happy, Jacaerys?" Daemon interrupted his stepson, raising an eyebrow.

"Well... well yes..."

"You want her to feel satisfied? To feel pleasure?"

"Of course-"

"And giving her such pleasure would make her happy, yes?"

Jace breathed out a sigh, his gaze fixed on the ground and his jaw clenched. "...Yes..." He spoke through gritted teeth.

"Then surely that means that whatever your wife wishes... you should grant her? Or in this instance... allow me to grant her?"

Jace's gaze snapped up to meet Daemon's. "Do you not have any loyalty to my mother? To your wife?"

"Of course I do, Jacaerys," Daemon replied smoothly. "But your pretty little wife here wishes for the guidance I have offered. Do not fret," His lip curled into a smile. "I will make sure it is not a regular occurrence."

Jace looked at you, meeting your gaze as you silently pleaded with him.

"Even if it goes against your wishes," Daemon added. "I'm sure it will only be a matter of time before your wife seeks me out. So, we can do this tonight... or whenever she finds me in private-"

"Fine!" Jace exclaimed, letting out a deep breath. "Very well."

You rushed over to him, cupping his face in your hands and pressing your lips to his. "Thank you, my love. Do not fret, I will make this up to you." You whispered, pressing another kiss, this time to his cheek, as he took your hands in his.

"If this is what you truly want, I will not stand in your way of happiness," He murmured, laying a kiss to the back of your hand.

"I love you."

"And I you, dearest." He mustered you a small smile, kissing your other hand before letting you go. You stepped back, giving him one last smile before turning to Daemon, who outstretched a hand towards you.

"Shall we, byka mēre?"

You nodded, taking his hand and allowing him to lead you over to the bed.

"If you feel overwhelmed, little one, you need only tell me. I will stop. I give you my word of that."

"I assure you, your grace, I will not require that."

"You need not call me that, byka jorrāelagon, " Daemon murmured, looking down at you. "You may call me kepa. Understood?"

"Yes," You replied. "Kepa." You quickly added.

"Jacaerys, you may either step outside or take a seat. I do not require you at this moment" Daemon said, glancing over to his nephew. "Actually, I think that you had better watch. You will need to stay to learn how a lady can be pleasured."

Jace slumped down in a chair by the fireplace, glaring at his stepfather's rather smug expression, his jaw clenched, no doubt to hold back any words he may regret. He did not wish to upset you, or deny you your wish, and Daemon had a larger influence, over both the kingdom and Rhaenyra that he could use to his advantage should Jacaerys change his mind.

He didn't want to push you away.

So he would bite his tongue, and hold himself back for tonight.

"Right now, little dove," Daemon's attention was now fully focused on you. "First, let's remove these undergarments. Let me see you."

His touch lit your skin on fire as his hands slid down your arms to settle on your waist before moving to your back. You let out a small gasp at the ripping sound as he tore the garment from you body, letting it fall to the floor, leaving you completely bare before him.

His lilac gaze darkened as he circled around you, like a predator around its prey.

Because that is what you were.

His prey for tonight.

And he was going to devour you.

"My, my, what a stunning little creature you are. I can see why my stepson is so enamoured with you..." He murmured, fingertips tracing the curve of your spine, sending an involuntary shiver at his touch. "Do not worry, little dove," He added, coming to stand in front of you, his hands moving to cup your face. "Kepa will take good care of you. Lay down on the bed for me, little one."

Complying with his orders, you settled yourself on the bed behind you, the silken sheets smooth against your bare skin.

"Sȳz riña,"[good girl] He praised, ridding himself of his tunic and undershirt to expose his toned torso to you. He was healthy, strong, with a warrior's body.

"You enjoy what you see, jorrāelagon mēre?"[dear one] He smirked slightly at your lustful gaze. Hesitantly, you nodded, making the smirk widen. "You need not shy away from me, dārilaros, my purpose tonight is to help you, to fulfil your wishes, understood?" [princess]

"Yes, kepa," You murmured, gazing up at him with those eyes of yours, wide like a does as he leaned forward to capture you lips in a hungry kiss, one that was full of desire and unbridled lust, one that consumed you. It did not contain the passion and tenderness of Jace's, but sent a jolt of excitement through you nonetheless.

Daemon nipped at your lower lip, a whimper slipping through as you parted your lips to allow his tongue to enter your mouth. He gently pushed you down so you were laying on your back, one hand bracing himself above you while the other moved to your breast, rolling a hardening nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He made sure to settle himself on one side of you so Jacaerys could get a full view of the way your body reacted to his touch, so he could see the way you arched into Daemon as his lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses in his wake, his hand still fondling your breast.

You tilted your head back against the pillows as his teeth grazed the sweet spot at the base of your throat, your breath hitching slightly. Daemon smirked against your neck, his lips latching onto the spot and sucking into the skin. His hand left your breast, tracing along the curve of your waist, your hips, your stomach, before settling to part your legs. Dipping between them, he glided a finger between your folds, gathering your arousal on his forefinger.

"So wet with desire for me already, byka mēre," He murmured, lifting his head from your neck where the skin had began to bloom with the irritation from his teeth. He lifted the finger to his lips, tasting you. "Heavenly. However did you restrain yourself Jacaerys? If I had your privilege I would feast on you every night, dārilaros."

"H-he said... he said he didn't want to hurt me..." You breathed out, chest heaving already from the attention Daemon had given you.

"That is because he doesn't know how to prepare you, dove," Daemon replied. "But do not worry, kepa will help you."

It didn't hurt when he inserted his first finger inside of you, or even the second, stretching your walls as his thumb lazily circled your clit.

"Be patient, byka mēre," He tutted as you desperately bucked your hips against his fingers, desperate for more friction. "We don't want this to be over quickly, do we? I have you all night, and I tend to take advantage of that."

The way he'd murmur those words only grew your desire for more. You wanted him inside of you, to feel him stretch you out and join you as one. But you also understood he was there to guide and teach you the ways of pleasure.

And you knew he was going to take his sweet time.

Your hands braced on his shoulders, nails digging crescent marks into his skin as he pushed a third finger inside.

"Does it hurt?"

"A... a little..." You whispered. "But please don't stop, kepa. Please... keep going."

"As you wish, dārilaros," He smirked, pumping his fingers in and out of you, his thumb still circling your sensitive bud.

It wasn't long until you came undone for the first time that night. The way Daemon's fingers curled against you and the way he'd press against your clit soon sending you over the edge.

Daemon lifted his fingers to your lips. "Open, little one," He husked, lilac eyes blown with lust as you sucked his fingers clean.

"Sȳz riña." [good girl]

His replaced his fingers with his lips, humming to himself as he tasted you on your lips. You wrapped your legs around his waist, rolling your hips against his.

"Wait did I say about patience?" He whispered against your ear, catching the lobe between his teeth. "It isn't me I'm preparing that sweet little cunt for, jorrāelagon mēre..." [dear one]

His whisper sent a shudder straight through you, head tilting to the side to focus on where Jace was sat by the fireplace, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, those usually warming brown eyes now black, chest heaving with heavy breaths as his bulge strained beneath his breeches.

You knew Jace was struggling to maintain his composure, that it was only a matter of time before he snapped.

You kept your gaze locked on him as Daemon kissed your neck, tongue gliding over the bruise he'd left earlier before focusing his attention on your breast, teeth catching your nipple and making your head tilt back in pleasure. Breathy moans filled the room as he paid the same attention to your other breast before leaving a line of kisses down your stomach, your hips, before his head settled between your legs, draping them over his shoulders.

He feasted on you like a man starved, groaning at your sweet taste while your fingers tangled in his silver tresses. Every time his tongue would press against your clit, or flick against your walls made you roll your hips against him, fingers tugging at his hair that only made him growl against your, the vibrations only tightening the coil twisting in the pit of your stomach.

Your thighs squeezing around his head only made him bury his tongue deeper inside of you, rolling onto his back so you were now straddling his head. His hands planted themselves on your waist, guiding your hips to roll down against him, nose brushing against your clit.

Daemon had a reputation for having a skilled silver tongue, and he certainly put it to good use, bringing you to the brink once again, eagerly lapping at your juices like it was the finest feast in the seven kingdoms.

You let out deep gasps of breaths as you moved yourself from Daemon, who sat up beside you, lips glistening with your arousal.

"I think you might be ready, don't you?" He asked, hooking his finger beneath your chin so your eyes locked with his. You nodded, Daemon smirking and brushing your hair from your eyes. "Alright, little one. Jacaerys." He called over to his stepson the way an owner would to a dog, but Jacaerys rose to his feet all the same, his brisk strides bringing himself to your side in an instant, his hand protectively resting on shoulder as he glared at his uncle.

"It seems she's ready for you." Daemon said, pouring himself a goblet of Dornish wine. "Be gentle, let her set the pace. Perhaps you should be on top, byka mēre," He suggested, that glint in his eyes making Jace narrow his in suspicion. "Don't tell me you are going to back away now, Jacaerys," Daemon continued. "It will upset your dear wife so."

"Of course I haven't," Jace replied, his voice stern and clear, but when he looked at you, his glare directed at his stepfather softened. "If she still wants this." He added, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head as you insisted your stance had not changed. "As you wish, my love," He murmured, standing from the bed to rid himself of his clothing.

Jacaerys leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours and pulling you into his arms so he could manoeuvre you both, him laying on his back and you straddling his waist, his hardened cock pressing against you. His hands found your waist as you positioned yourself above him, slowly lowering yourself onto him, your head tilted back and mouth slightly agape at the heavenly feeling of him stretching your walls.

"Does it feel alright?" Jace whispered.

You nodded, leaning down to kiss him again. "I'm fine," You murmured against his lips.

The sound of Daemon's empty goblet being placed back down on the table echoed around the room, making you pull away from Jace, looking behind you to see Daemon removing the rest of his clothes.

"Hold on, you said-"

"I said she was ready for you, I never said that I was finished with her yet," Daemon interrupted his stepson's protests, walked behind you to whisper in your ear.

"Do you think you can take me as well, dārilaros," He whispered, warm breath fanning against the shell of you ear. He let out a small hum of approval at your nod of response, lips pressing against your shoulder as he leaned you forward slightly.

"Relax for me, byka mēre," He cooed in your ear, his finger teasing the entrance to your puckered hole. "Kepa will not hurt you unless you wish for him to."

You clenched around his finger as he slowly pushed it into you, gently moving it in and out. Beneath you, you felt Jace's cock twitch inside of you, as though pleading with you to move. His gaze was focused on you as your expression twisted into one of pleasure, your hands braced against his chest as Daemon continued working on preparing you for him.

When he deemed you were ready, he slowly entered you, hand holding your hip to keep you in place as he sheathed himself inside of you.

The feeling of being filled up by the two of them was almost euphoric, Daemon stretching you out perfectly despite not being as well endowed as Jacaerys (although still impressive).

"Are you ready, dōna mēre?"[sweet one] Daemon asked, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck.

"Yes... please kepa... please let me move..." You whispered.

"Ssh, little one," He hushed you. "It's alright. You can move when I tell you, understood? When I pull out of you, that's when you can move, yes?"

You nodded. "Yes, I understand, kepa."

"Sȳz riña," Daemon whispered, lips brushing against your temple as he slowly drew out of you, his grip on your hip loosening to allow you to move up and down along Jace's length. When you lifted yourself off of him, Daemon entered you once again, establishing a slow but steady rhythm.

You let out a moan as Jace pressed a thumb against your swollen pearl, the sensitive bud sending another jolt of pleasure through you as Daemon picked up the pace, guiding your hips faster. Jace sat up to capture your lips with his, more passionate than the last.

The kiss broke as Daemon grabbed your hair, tugging your head back to replace Jace's lips with his, exposing your throat for Jace to lay his own claim on you.

After your two previous orgasms, you knew you wouldn't last longer, and when Jace applied more pressure to your clit and Daemon snapped his hips against your ass, you were tipped over the edge, your third orgasm of the evening coming over you like a tidal wave.

Daemon's hips stuttered against you, and stood still for a moment as he reached his release, laying a kiss to the top of your head as he slowly pulled out of you, using his finger to push any of his load back into your hole.

"Finish inside of her Jacaerys," He said, stepping back. "I'm sure she'd look quite heavenly with her stomach swollen with your heir."

You had been waiting all evening for Jace to snap, to take control, and Daemon's comment must have triggered something within him, as the next thing you knew, you're husband had you pinned down beneath him as he rutted into you like a depraved animal, his mouth on yours swallowing the moans and cries that ripped through you at the relentless pace he'd set.

"Do you want that?" He all but growled against her lips. "To be swollen with my heir? My babe?"

"Please Jace..." You breathed. "Ñuha dārilaros, ñuha zaldrīzes, fill me with your seed so that I may grant you an heir." [my prince, my dragon]

And with that, Jace spilled himself inside of you, and like Daemon, he made sure none of his release went to waste, pushing it back inside of you.

"It seems my work here is done," Daemon smirked, redressing himself. "Well done, Jacaerys, I hope you grant your wife her wishes more often now." He walked over to where you were sprawled out on the bed, covered in a sheen of sweat. He crouched down and leaned forward, his lips hovering over your ear as he whispered so only you could hear.

"If you require me again, ñuha dārilaros, you need only ask," You could practically hear the smirk as he purred into your ear. "I'm sure nobody would bat an eye if your babe was born with silver hair. Jacaerys does carry the blood of the dragon in his veins." [my princess]

And with a gentle kiss to your forehead, he rose to his feet, and left, closing the door behind him and leaving you and Jacaerys to catch your breaths, and realise what in seven hells had just happened.

If you wanted to be added to the general HOTD taglist or taglists for specific character/s, just let me know

Masterlist

#Daemon Targaryen #Daemon Targaryen x reader #Daemon Targaryen imagine #Jacaerys Velaryon #Jacaerys Velaryon x reader #Jacaerys Velaryon imagine #House of the dragon #House of the dragon x reader #House of the dragon imagine #House of the dragon smut #Daemon Targaryen x reader x Jacaerys Velaryon

[madame-fear]

Hi i was wondering if you could write an nsfw head cannon of jacaerys and his wife reader and what their intimate life is like, and like talk about stuff they do.

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 | 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐒 𝐗 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

˗ˏˋ ꒰ summary : request.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ genre : headcanons, smut + slight fluff. ˗ˏˋ ꒰ pairing : : jacaerys velaryon x wife!reader

WARNING.ᐟ THIS FIC CONTAINS ; p in v, unprotected sex, sex from behind, bootfucking, breast play, creampie, slight mentions of mirror sex, oral sex (both receiving), mentions of you riding him, praising, slight mentions of spanking.

: ̗̀➛ Okay, so, for starters. Your intimate life naturally came after you were both officially married, and the bedding ceremony came. To respect your privacy, the two of you already had a chamber of your own to share, and you would be able to be as intimate as you wished.

: ̗̀➛ Initially, Jace would’ve been very soft and delicate with you. It’s in his gentleman nature to be careful, especially with the woman who was now his wife, and he so adored. Things would’ve gone slowly, but surely. And perhaps, there would’ve been a bit of foreplay and kisses before starting anything.

: ̗̀➛ Jace would press sweet, teasing pecks all across your cheek, going down to your jawline, focusing on giving your neck attention with his kisses — especially in a particular spot of your neck where Jace notices it makes you squirm and gasp —, and goes to your collarbone, savouring your skin with each peck.

: ̗̀➛ All the while, of course, Jace’s hands softly move behind your back, playing with the laces of your nightgown as he leisurely unties them, letting your gown become loose from your body, and fall from your shoulders. Being the gentleman he is, of course, Jacaerys would constantly ask you if you’re feeling comfortable with what he’s doing, if you want him to stop, or keep going; all with the most sweetest voice you’ve ever heard.

: ̗̀➛ His coffee eyes would look up at you admiringly, just like a fascinated puppy. You don’t want him to stop any sooner — if anything, the way he teased your skin by pressing soft kisses and caressing it leisurely with the tip of your fingers, merely got you all wet and needy for him. To which, you gave him the green light to keep going.

: ̗̀➛ And my god, you didn’t regret it. The second you approved for him to keep pleasing you, his hands rather desperately pulled down your gown, low enough to just expose your breasts. His mouth immediately took your hardened nipple in a delicate manner, using his tongue to tease it very lightly, and his teeth nibbled on your sensitive skin to leave some lovemarks, using his hands to pinch, twist, and rub your nipples.

: ̗̀➛ Pretty little hushed whimpers & moans would continuously escape from your lips as your eyes flutter shut, and you throw your head back; feeling your cunt grow wet and needy. Each sound that spurred from that beautiful mouth of yours, simply made Jace grow harder for you, with an overwhelming need to fuck you right there, and make you shout loudly his name for everyone to hear who you belong to.

: ̗̀➛ And so he did. By the time Jacaerys had already feasted a bit too much on your delicate skin and sweet breasts, his mouth abruptly pulled away from your tits after some minutes, making you gasp, and his firm yet gentle hand pushed you onto your back against the mattress, getting on tip of you, and fucking you fervently throughout the entire night, cumming in and out of your body several times.

: ̗̀➛ After such lovely bedding night, getting lovingly yet roughly fucked by the eldest son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, you would’ve gotten more and more used to explore your intimacy together - whether it’s privately, or... Even publicly, being a bit more bold.

: ̗̀➛ Jacaerys absolutely adores having you all submissive & needy, as much as it pains him to hold himself back from taking you right there all for him. So, whenever he’s either studying, reading in High Valyrian, or simply reading a book - he will absolutely have you sitting on the floor, whining and begging for him to take you.

: ̗̀➛ You look beautifully endearing just like that, and Jace will tease you by making you sit on top of his boot, and rubbing your needy moist cunt, bootfucking you. Continous desperate whines would escape from you, begging for him to fully take you - but not just yet. Jace prefers having you clinging to his leg, and seeing how you rub yourself with the tip of his boot.

: ̗̀➛ Jace always knows exactly what you like, and what you need. And he keeps the perfect balance between roughness, and gentleness at the same time. Part of him loves treating you as if you were the petal of a rose, or made of glass - delicately and lovingly. And another part of him simply wants to fuck you like a whore, like you need and want to get fucked, rough and disgusting. This, however, doesn’t mean he will not respect the boundaries you’ve set for each other, and afterwards, he will always ask you if you’re okay, and feeling comfortable.

: ̗̀➛ Sex from behind happens often, and I dare to say it’s one of his favourite positions, after having you riding him. The feeling of you becoming weaker with every pound of cock buried deep inside your pussy, continously hitting your soft spot. Expect his hands to always firmly grip your waist violently in a possesively controlling manner... Or, perhaps, one of his hands gropping your breast while he plays with your stimulated nipples. That feels pretty good for both of you.

: ̗̀➛ And speaking about sex from behind! During this position, I can imagine he would like fucking you right in front of a mirror, making sure to change the speed in which he penetrates you just to see the different expressions in your beauteous features. His hand would hold your chin occasionally, forcing you to stare at yourself through the mirror being fucked by him, as he whispers just how much of a good girl you are, taking his cock so well and obediently.

: ̗̀➛ One of his many favourite things to do in bed, is having you go down on him, and him going down on you. The way your hand forms a fist around his throbbing cock, gently masturbating him as your lips press delicate smooches on his leaking tip, moving your mouth all the way down to his cock with small kisses until you decide to finally take him in your mouth makes him go absolutely feral for you.

: ̗̀➛ It would take Jacaerys all the efforts that he has to not grip harshly from your hair, pulling it back, and violently face fuck you until you’re deepthroating his shaft and maybe even gagging a bit. It hurts not doing so, but he prefers to treat you like the true future Queen you are. The way in which your tongue strokes his cock leisurely while you’re going down on him with your mouth provokes him to loudly groan, and chant your name under his breath. As expected, his semen spurs all over the inside of your mouth, your tongue, and the roof of your mouth.

: ̗̀➛ Or, if he’s feeling a bit too aroused, he will quickly pull out from your mouth at the feeling of his seed being released, and come all over your precious lips, chin, neck, and chest. The sight of his own cum dripping from your chin and neck, some sticky drops falling to your tits, is enough to make him feel proud of himself. You’re all his.

: ̗̀➛ And when Jace has to go down on you? Man, he for sure knows how to take your aching pussy. His hands would be harshly gripping your hips, as his plump lips press playful kisses all over your inner thighs, moving upwards until he meets with your wet core.

: ̗̀➛ There, he would sweetly place kisses all over your moist folds, working up until he meets your glistening clit. He would then carefully rub the rim of it, and slowly work his way in to meet your throbbing core. His tongue would flick against that sensitive spot, and then he would move his mouth back towards your entrance, where he would suckle at your slit, selfishly drinking from your dripping slick while he eagerly fingerfucks you.

: ̗̀➛ It’s just as if Jace knew exactly how you like to be treated; pampering each bit of your sensible core with such fervent adoration. Jace does it like nobody else does, and you can go down on him like nobody else as well. You’re the perfect match.

: ̗̀➛ The eldest Velaryon Prince would also absolutely adore having you riding him. Especially because you tease him by telling him that you’re finally learning on how to properly ride a true dragon... And because he likes the way your tits bounce when you’re on top of him. And, of course, the sight of the bruises Jace leaves on your hips after firmly holding you down on him is also a very pleasant one.

: ̗̀➛ Jace knows how to treat you when you’re such a good girl for him, so obedient — and he will be so gentle, loving, and adoring. But when you’re a bit feisty with him, thinking that you can misbehave around him, Jace will never doubt on having you laid all across his lap, harshly spanking your ass until your flesh is red and swollen, occasionally rubbing his palm across your aching cunt teasingly.

: ̗̀➛ And when you accept your punishment, his pulsating cock would fill you up so delightfully. Pounding violently in and out of you continously, making sure his cock hits deeply against your G spot just to have you shaking, whining, and whimpering under him. Seven Hells, the way you moan his name in that ruined state is so, so pretty. And Jacaerys would cum several times inside of you, to the point you would feel comfortingly and overwhelmingly warm, until his hot semen is oozing out of your abused pussy, dripping down your inner thighs.

: ̗̀➛ I think Jace would pretty much be up to anything. Want to be tied to the bed while he fucks you and you can’t do anything about it? Sure, he will do as you please. Want to be choked? Okay! Jace will be happy to oblige. Want to be tendered softly, and fucked with love and adoration as he praises you in between kisses? Say no more. Jacaerys absolutely adores you, and that’s an understatement.

: ̗̀➛ Your sex life will be pretty much open to anything, and of course, his only focus will be in making you feel satisfied, comfortable, and loved. Jace would never do anything to get hurt you or make you uncomfy. 💗

♡ taglist : ♡

@damatheirin @jacesvelaryons @jjamieberry @anemicroyalcore @countsmoon @capellaadara @kyuupidwrites @tchatso @tasty-nutella @mstxdes @valeriecash @cookielovesbook-akie @zzz000eee @bellarkeselection @visenya-reigned @maria699669 @hopelesswritergall @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @sweethoneyblossom1 @jamiemydeer @snowprincesa1

#jacaerys velaryon smut #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader smut #jace velaryon x reader #jace velaryon x reader smut #hotd x reader #hotd x reader smut #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon x reader smut #hotd smut #house of the dragon smut #hotd headcanon #hotd headcanons #house of the dragon headcanons #house of the dragon headcanon

[targaryen-dynasty]

OF DRAGONS AND WOLVES.

Daemon Targaryen x Cregan Stark x Targaryen!Reader

You and your husband came to Dragonstone on behalf of your nephew Jacaerys, needing your help in the upcoming war of succession. However, you seem to be in need of something entirely different.

WORDS: 2.3 K

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT–MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest (uncle and niece), threesome (MMF), p in v, anal, double penetration, fingering, dry humping, breeding, size kink, profanity, jealousy, possessiveness, marking, reader is cregan’s wife, high valyrian

It was the raven from Dragonstone with desperate words written by no less than your nephew Jacaerys that had lured both you and your husband to the impressive castle on the eponymous island. 

While you descended the sky with your green beast, still keeping up with the main column of your servants and maids, and most importantly your husband, the latter chose to accompany your entourage on horseback, never daring to step close enough to your dragon. 

Regarding the reason for your visit, the position you currently were in was more than dangerous, as you had never meant to be pinned between the two men who held more than enough distaste against each other already. 

In front of you knelt your husband, Cregan, the true wolf of the North, and behind you your uncle, Daemon, a hot-blooded dragon that rarely trusted anyone that didn’t share the blood of the dragon. 

Daemon had walked in on you and Cregan, barely sharing more than some fervent kisses in the safety of your provided chambers, yet one or two daring–no, challenging–words of your husband had prompted the Targaryen to dispose any matters at hand and indulge in the pleasures you had offered your husband. 

Back in King’s Landing, your uncle’s visits had always been the ones you had looked forward to most. With Rhaenyra’s departure to Dragonstone with her entourage, court grew more and more boresome, leaving you to the company of your half-siblings and the vipers of the Red Keep. 

But Daemon’s visits always brought a certain tension with him, your encounters limited to longing stares, accidental touches and a lot of unsaid words, and seeing you more or less openly involved with your husband seemed to have snapped any last thread of his already thin resolve. 

The little predicament you had found yourselves in didn’t seem to please your husband at all at first, always being quite possessive of you, but the more you seemed to relax in their proximity, so did he–not without making his claim on you obvious. 

His lips mouthed along your jaw, and eventually settled in the curve of your shoulder, where his teeth sank into your flesh before his lips sucked  a mark into your sensitive flesh. Your wincing caught the blonde’s attention, the scoff he released a stark contrast. 

“Possessive much, pup?” Daemon mocked, and for a second you feared them trading insults at any given moment. Cregan, however, barely drew his head back to meet his counterpart’s lilac eyes, his tongue flicking over the burgeoning bruise while he did so, “Merely reminding her of her place–whose wife she is.” 

Cregan’s gray eyes trailed over your form, watching the way you writhed in his arms the moment Daemon’s skilled fingers snaked around your front to slide between your parted legs, toying with the little bud at the apex of them. Now it was him mouthing along the other side of your neck, and you anticipated him to leave his own mark, though it seemed that something in Cregan’s threatening stare was enough to keep his longing for mischief at bay. 

Perhaps he knew that one wrong step was putting an end to this whole thing straight away, and having lusted after you for years, your uncle was not eager to take the risk, not when his own wife hadn’t touched him in so, so long. 

Daemon’s hand slid into your hair at the nape of your neck, fisting it rather roughly to force your head into his direction. Your lips melted together, and the kiss was nothing short of rough and needy. But you didn’t expect anything else. Daemon seemed as if he had to prove a point, and perhaps he had, but neither you nor Cregan reacted to it. 

Yet that didn’t mean your husband was pleased by the sight of you leaning into the blonde, parting your lips slightly to allow his tongue to slide into your mouth, while his fingers rubbed your bud and never ceasing moans left your throat. Another thing Daemon didn’t dare to do was plunge his fingers into you, even though you wanted it so badly. 

“Sagon iā sȳz riña syt īlva, kessa ao?” he panted against your lips with a smirk that just screamed of smugness, the High Valyrian toppling over them so effortlessly, it had you drooling. You nodded, your lust-blown eyes flickering between his lips and matching pair of purple eyes, seemingly not comprehending a single thing he said. Be a good girl for us, will you? 

But you processed the dangerous growl that came from the wolf in front of you, and you knew better than to test his limits, and his patience. Cregan was a generous lover with very much patience and calmness, and when both things reached their end, it didn’t mean anything good. 

“This cunt is mine to take and claim over and over again,” your husband warned, a sharpness to his tone that was a borderline threat. Daemon raised both his hands in defeat, muttering an ‘all yours’ at him, but instead of whining at the loss of stimulation of his fingers, you charged at your husband, wrapping both arms around his neck, and your lips meeting his in a fervent kiss. They spoke about you as if you weren‘t there, and that sent a thrill down your spine. 

Not anticipating you to seize him, the big wolf wound his muscular arms around your middle, keeping you locked in place while one of his paws brushed from the small of your back down to your arse, slipping two thick digits into your cunt from behind without a warning and any preparations–not that you needed them, being wet enough to have them push in with ease. 

You gasped against his lips at the sudden intrusion, the sound stifled by his tongue licking into your mouth and his arm around your waist tightening. 

Behind you, you finally heard the husky groan of Daemon, indicating that he had fisted his hard cock and stroked himself to the sight of your small frame in the embrace of your bulky husband as he fucked you dumb with his fingers. 

His solid member was nestled snugly between your bodies, and each time you rutted your hips against his hand, the friction it caused against his cock was enough to have him pull back to release grunts and groans. 

“Ready for me?” the brunette asked softly, voice barely above a whisper, and you nodded once again. 

“Use your words, byka perzys,” he said, and the usually smooth tongue was laced with a thick, northern accent. It was charming, and you remembered the evening you two basked in the warmth of the fireplace, lying on the ground merely wrapped in some furs, your legs intertwined, and his flaccid cock still nestled inside of your cunt. He had asked about your ancestors and the foreign tongue, and all but begged you to teach him some basics–the nickname being one of them. Little Flame.  

You licked your lips, “I am ready.” If you weren’t so engrossed in the moment, in your husband’s gentleness, you would have heard the derogatory scoff your uncle released, seemingly unphased by your display of affection.

When your husband tried to move, you stopped him, catching both men’s attention. You looked between them, your eyes not knowing where to settle. “I… I want you… both,” you swallowed, and Daemon was sure he could spill himself right there and then. Even your husband was baffled by your request. 

It was common for Cregan and you to use your other hole every now and then, mostly during your moon’s blood. It wasn’t that your husband was disgusted by your blood coating his member, he wasn’t, but you just did not enjoy it, always worrying about ruining the bed, and even getting embarrassed by it. So, you had suggested for him to try the other hole instead, and after a bit of persuading, he had complied. 

Cregan lay back on the bed, and the only reason he withdrew his fingers from your womanhood was to wrap the used hand around his cock, using your arousal as slick to make it easier for you to take him. You had your hands braced on his broad chest, the dark curls of his chest hair peeking from between your fingers, and hovered your hips above him, until he aligned himself with your entrance.  

You sank down on him, both moaning in unison, and Daemon watched in awe as your cunt enveloped Cregan, sucking him in to the hilt without moving. You were waiting for him. The Targaryen moved to kneel between Cregan’s parted legs, almost a bit too eager, pressing his cock against the crevice of your arse, rutting against it. 

While Cregan’s palms slid around your body to cover the entirety of your arse, gently parting it to give Daemon the perfect view of your unused hole, the other man reached in front of you to drag his fingers through your mound, sliding them around the girth of Cregan’s cock to gather some of your slick. He coated his cock in it just like your husband had done before, and then spat into his palm to spread the liquid over your hole. 

Daemon was eerily silent, too focused on the matter at hand, and only groaned in anticipation when his cock prodded against the rim of your hole. Angling your hips just slightly, you made it easier for him to push in, digging your hands into Cregan’s flesh the moment Daemon breached your hole. 

The man beneath you murmured words of encouragement, something along the lines of ‘what a good girl’ and ‘taking both of us so well’ which made it easier for you to bear the intrusion. 

It was overwhelming for you, especially when Daemon was sheathed inside of you completely, and both their thick cocks filled you to the brim. It had felt different in your thoughts, but it wasn’t uncomfortable either–you just weren’t sure how to move, or even if you were able to move at all.

When you clenched around both of them tightly, they sucked in a sharp breath at the same time, followed by the same, raspy groan, knowing all too well they were doomed to last no longer than two minutes with how tight you were wrapped around them. In any other setting, the similarity would have been amusing, if it wasn’t for you being impaled by them on both ends. 

Both men seemed to notice your apprehension, and knew it was their turn to take over. Cregan moved first, bucking his hips into yours at a slow pace, and after two thrusts of him, Daemon joined, rutting into you. They plunged into you in a steady rhythm, allowing you to adjust to the sensations that overtook your body. 

It felt as if every fiber of you was on fire, adding to the natural fire that flowed through your veins, and bringing you to a point you were certain you could never go back to only taking Cregan and not both at once. 

The feeling of both men filling and stretching you in tandem rendered you a drooling mess, and no words were needed to be exchanged–except for their mutual praises. 

Daemon wrapped his arm around your throat, choking you with his muscles, while his lips pressed against your temple, his hot and heavy breath lighting your skin on fire. The sweat that formed at his brow dripped onto your skin, but you couldn’t care less.

“I shall spill myself inside of you,” your uncle groaned against your skin, announcing his impending peak, and you nodded with your mouth agape, whimpering a pathetic ‘Y… Yes.’

This time around, Cregan didn’t seem to mind the proximity of you and Daemon, too lost in the sight of it all, and merely reaching to cup your bouncing breasts to squeeze them and tease your hardened buds. 

You had trouble breathing, and that combined with the stinging pleasure of Cregan’s hands had you cresting through your peak, coming over you in an ambush. 

Spasming around him, Daemon couldn’t hold himself back any longer with your peak driving him to his own, spilling his seed inside of you while Cregan held you up and raced to completion himself, finishing alongside your uncle. 

The grip on your husband’s chest loosened with the weakening of your muscles, only supported by his paws on your hips. 

But there wasn’t really any time for you to dwell in the bliss, not when Daemon pulled out of you mere moments after your peak subsided. Despite Cregan’s cock still inside of you, you felt rather empty, but weren’t able to move as you panted your exertion out. 

The wolf craned his neck to look past you at Daemon, who was already clad in his breeches. 

“Kostā umbagon,” you said and watched your uncle, raising your brow. You can stay. 

Daemon slipped into his tunic and tilted his head to meet your eyes, a hint of mischief flickering in the purple before he nodded toward Cregan. 

“Ao kostilus rual nyke naejot umbagon, yn ziry daoriot.” You might allow me to stay, but he does not. 

You glanced at Cregan, which prompted the wolf to run his hands along your sides possessively, and Daemon scoffed. “Am I right?”

Knowing your husband had no further interest in sharing you, simply tolerating your uncle’s presence because you wanted it, you smiled tentatively, “Yes.”

Daemon crossed back to the bed and leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of your head, to your dampened, silver hair, mostly to annoy Cregan one last time, but also because he had done so many times when you were younger, and because he wanted to. 

“Stark,” he acknowledged, and Cregan bowed his head once without saying anything in return before Daemon left. 

It was the gentle pinch of Cregan’s fingers on your hip that caught your attention again, and you nestled into your wolf’s embrace, head tucked under his chin, while his cock was buried inside of you, keeping his spent inside so perhaps it would finally bear fruit and give him the heir he had wanted all along. 

General Taglist: @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens

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[arabellasleopardcoat]

Hi! For the bingo: Daemon Targaryen & courting?

Mirror (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Warnings: Targaryen reader. Mature situations. Mature language. A bit of angst, incest, and innocence kink.

Summary: Courting. Daemon’s version.

A/N: Everyone who writes Daemon fics has tackled this trope. I missed oneshots so bad.

There was little King Viserys wouldn’t do for his lovely daughters. During your childhood, there were two of everything. Two Septas, two dolls, two play daggers. For as long as you have been alive, there have been efforts made to make things fair.

No doubt, it was the legacy of your mother. Your father was nice enough, but you doubted he had the foresight to try to avoid sibling rivalry. Queen Aemma’s influence had been greatly missed after her passing.

It had been then when the problems between you and Rhaenyra had started. Your relationship had gotten even more rocky when she was named heir. The situation had turned so bad, even your father had noticed. And just as if it were one of his models, he had demanded perfect symmetry in all aspects.

The same rooms. Same number of servants. Same number of dresses you were allowed to own. An even split of your mother’s jewels.

Unfortunately, there were things not even King Viserys could fix. This was one of them, you thought, as you sat on one of the rails of the dragon pit.

Daemon and Rhaenyra race on their dragons in the open sky right above you. They shriek in laughter and shout things in High Valyrian. You are not sure which you resent more. Rhaenyra, for dragging you along with the promise of tending to Syrax or Daemon for interrupting your time with your sister.

It seemed as if all you did was fight now. The occasion where you did not was rare, and so, intrusion on it was not welcome. But at the same time, you can’t help but wonder if Rhaenyra is playing a cruel trick on you, dragging you here so you can see what you are missing.

Despite your best attempts at keeping yourself calm, you can’t help but feel rage bubble up in your throat. Rage, and a deep sense of failure. You had heard even Laena Velaryon, younger than you, had managed to claim a dragon. Was this why your father had chosen Rhaenyra to be heir and not you?

It felt cruel, and hurtful. Not only did your uncle always pay more attention to Rhaenyra, but now you had to watch them do things you couldn’t do. Go where you couldn’t follow, and made you watch them go.

They dismount a few feet away from you. With them, comes all the hassle and fretting of the dragon keepers. Caraxes always takes a long time to settle after going flying, and so, you relax in your seat. You hope enough time might go by, they forget about your existence and you can slip out unnoticed. It would save you the embarrassment of having to hear them flirt and tell you everything as if you were a child.

No luck for you today, though. You smell it before you see it. Sweat, leather and the unmistakable stink of dragon. Your nose scrunches up, and you jump off the railing just in time to avoid your uncle’s ruffling of your hair.

Rhaenyra snickers a little. Despite the dragon ride, she looks as royal and regal as ever. It’s a feat you admire and despise greatly.

“Trying to sneak up on me?” You frown. You don’t need any further embarrassing. Being startled and falling into the mud would have been just the cherry on top.

Daemon ignores you, tugging on your braid.

“No dragon yet?”

“No.” Your answer it’s harsh, and perhaps a bit rude, but this feels as if they are targedly mocking you. Daemon raises his eyebrows, looking on the edge of apologizing, if such a thing it’s even possible for him. Rhaenyra, more used to your moods, just rolls her eyes.

“Let her be, Kepa.” She whispers, as if you are not there. “She is always like this.”

“Pouty?” Daemon tilts your chin up with two fingers. You jerk your head away, glaring daggers at him.

“Bitter.” Rhaenyra speaks, and you glare at her instead. You do not understand why she is so mean, lately. Her being named heir has not done anything good for your relationship, but you had tried your best to play nice. She didn’t seem to care.

“I can hear both of you.” You complain, but they just laugh. Angrily, you stomp off.

You feel too jittery to go back to your chambers. It would make you more angry, if you were to go inside the castle so soon. It’s too pleasant of a day to be spent cooped up at the Red Keep. Too preoccupied with your thoughts, you don’t notice someone is following you.

Your feet lead you to the training yard. It makes sense, in a way. This is where you have been coming the past few months when the castle got too small to house both you and Rhaenyra.

Early in the morning as it is, the yard is empty. Save for your sworn shield, of course. While Rhaenyra had gotten Ser Criston Cole, handsome and dornish, you had gotten Ser Harwin Strong. Riverlander, just as handsome and with a clear infatuation with your sister.

But kind. Unbearably so.

“I figured your meeting with the Princess would not go as planned.” He explains, as he helps you out of your cloak and jewelry. Ser Harwin helps you put on some protective gear before handing you a wooden sword.

He has been teaching you swordplay for the past few months. Not so much for self-defense, but as a way to curb your more violent impulses. When you feel like you might throttle Rhaenyra or perhaps smother her with a pillow, you come to him.

It's good. You have not learned a lot, but there is something utterly satisfying about hitting someone as hard as you can. With wooden swords and against Ser Harwin, you know there is no real possibility of hurting him. He is much taller and stronger than you.

There is also something satisfying about blocking his blows, too. In the smacking sound, in the effort it takes. You understand why men enjoy battle so much, finally. When you walk away, you are always sore and bruised, but your mind is finally quiet.

“I have just resigned myself to an arranged marriage.” You say to Ser Harwin, as you block his sword with great effort. “All the men in the court are panting after her, it’s no use.”

And you do think you are on the right, this time. Too often, you feel overshadowed by her, and seeing your uncle and Ser Harwin on the same day just confirms it. You have no chance at finding true love, not when every man here only has eyes for her.

You didn’t necessarily were a romantic person, but a bit of attention would be nice. Feeling desired and admired in the way Rhaenyra was. They even called her the Realm’s delight, for Gods’s sake.

“Are they after her? Or her tittle?” Ser Harwin tries to disarm you. You hit harder, a low blow aimed to his ribs that he avoids with little effort.

“You tell me.” You pant, a little out of breath. It was something you frequently wondered yourself, but never about him. Ser Harwin clearly wasn’t hoping to be King. What he wanted was something much more carnal. You had seen the way his eyes trailed Rhaenyra’s figure when they were together in a room. He appreciated her personality, perhaps, but he clearly wanted to bed her.

You loved teasing him about it. For such a big man, he could sure get sheepish.

“Fair.” Ser Harwin chuckled, raising his wooden sword again. You liked that he was very good-humored. He didn't mind your teasing. “But think of the bright side. If someone is after you, they are really after you.”

You frowned. He had a point, you supposed. If a man were about to pursue you, it might be because you are a Targaryen, or because of your valyrian looks. But never because of the Iron Throne. With baby Aegon existence, you are certain that whatever your place in the succession line is, plenty of people would have to die for you to even have a weak claim to it.

“Wise words for one so young.” The voice startles both of you. As if you were children caught with their hands in the cookie jar, you freeze. Ser Harwin even drops his wooden sword. “You should heed your knight, niece.”

“Uncle.” You answer, casually. You know Daemon. If he senses weakness, he is going to pounce. While Ser Harwin has given away already that you are not exactly doing something your father approves off, you are not going to have your Uncle thinking he has something to blackmail you with.

Daemon ignores you, choosing to attack the weak link. He tuts at Harwin.

“Poor form. And a poor trainer. Leave us.”

Harwin hesitates. He is not supposed to leave you alone and unprotected. Much less, with your uncle. Daemon it’s not known for his trustworthiness.

“With all due respect, Prince Daemon, I am not allowed…”

“Leave us, boy.” Daemon’s tone turns harsher. Channeling all the authority he has as a Prince. Now, your sworn shield can’t refuse. It’s an order, not a suggestion. But Harwin remains where he is, looking to you for approval.

Your uncle’s eyes flash dangerously at the defiance. You look at Harwin and nod. He leaves.

You twirl your wooden sword. Daemon smirks.

“Commendable.” He gives a slow clap. “Very loyal guard dog, you have there.”

“You could learn a thing or two.” You answer, vicious. The human equivalent of an animal biting down and refusing to release its jaws. By the brief look of hurt on his face, you have touched a nerve.

But soon, his expression smooths down into a vicious little smile, to match yours.

“So this is where you have been disappearing to.”

“So?” You ask, all nonchalance.

“Feisty.” Your uncle kicks Harwin’s discarded wooden sword away and unsheathes his. Whatever this is, it’s long overdone, you realize. You are bouncing with pent-up anger and frustration.

Daemon strikes at you, hard. The flat side of his sword hits your ribs. It hurts even with the protections Harwin makes you wear, a dull sting on your torso.

“If this was a real fight, you would be dead.” His tone is smug. You cannot take it, and so, bang your wooden sword against his hip.

“And you would be unable to walk.”

Your uncle laughs, coldly. He is angry too, you realize. In that messy way he gets, sometimes. Teeth bared in a cocky grin, still high on the thrill of riding Caraxes and chasing Rhaenyra.

Despite your best attempts, you are no match for him. He is a seasoned warrior. He has been at war for the last couple of years. No amount of anger can match his technique. Soon, he has you disarmed and cornered, Dark Sister at your throat.

“Not bad. I might even bruise.” His tone drips condescension, but there is something odd going on in his face. His pupils are blown, his chest is heaving, and there is no way it’s with exertion. While you were panting and begging for a respite, Daemon hadn’t even worked up a sweat. “You need a real sword.”

“Perhaps. But then Rhaenyra gets one, and this is only mine.” It’s more honest than you would like, but you are still trying to decipherate what exactly he is feeling. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glassy. You feel confused.

“Is that why you want a husband? To have someone only yours?” Daemon suddenly is much closer, twirling the end of your braid between his fingers.

You scoff, and push him away.

“That’s none of your concern.”

You storm inside the Red Keep, scowling. Finally, it seemed, Daemon and Rhaenyra had managed to run you off the castle’s grounds.

The encounter is barely given a second thought. You decide to keep yourself busy for the rest of Daemon’s visit to King’s Landing. Knowing him, he is due to get exiled soon. There is no point in worrying about it.

You fill up your days with activities, be it harassing some tutors, your Septa, or even visiting orphaned children in King’s Landing. That activity is one you and Ser Harwin particularly enjoy. It fills you with joy when you get to run around and play in the mud with your stern guard having no choice but to tag along. You have even caught him smiling when little girls ask to braid his hair.

Things are surprisingly calm. You would have expected your uncle to be involved in a scandal by now. Yet, there are no rumors of him bedding three whores in one sitting, nor there is an irate Otto Hightower asking your father to send him away.

Until one night, you find a jeweled sword resting on your bed. It’s small, but you can tell from the sharpness of the blade that it is made from Valyrian steel. You start training with it the next day, getting used to its weight. If Ser Harwin thinks anything of your sudden interest in doing more than hitting him, he doesn’t show it.

You are not surprised to find your Uncle waiting for you after your morning practice. At first glance, the courtyard is as empty as when you began your training. Despite it, you can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching.

Just as you are entering the Red Keep, sweaty and ready for a bath, Daemon steps out from the shadows.

“You look so grown up in riding attire.” He says, from beneath some trees. “Almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Almost didn’t recognize you, either. No scandal in nearly a month?” You start to loosen your braid, accelerating the process of getting into your bath as you walk. There is nothing you want more than to just soak in hot water and let the warmth wash away your soreness. “You must be getting old.”

“Youthfulness is in the spirit.” Daemons hurries to reach you, falling into step right beside you. You resist the urge to walk faster if only to see him struggle. Power play. Always. Push, and pull, and don’t let anyone else get the upper hand.

“Ah, that makes sense.” You slow down your steps because while you enjoy angering your uncle, you would rather not anger him too much. “You have the spirit of a child.”

“I’ll take that as the highest of compliments.” Daemon ruffles your hair, uncaring that’s matted in sweat. You make a face. “Did you like your gift?”

“Depends.” You give him a feral little grin. Your uncle looks at you, as if deciding whether he wants to bite or not. Knowing him as you do, you know he can’t stand the intrigue.

“On what?”

“How many of Rhaenyra’s necklaces you had to melt to get the sword.”

“That blade is worth at least five of her necklaces.” Daemon boasts. You give him an unimpressed look.

“Huh. Then I like it.”

“Not love it?”

“It wasn’t ten.” And with a cheeky grin, you are off towards your chambers.

You don’t see Daemon for a few days. You hear him, unfortunately. He is everywhere at once, yet never wherever you are. You know of him in the shape of rumors and hearsay.

When you go fetch yourself a tea tray in the kitchen, your uncle is in the middle of the servants. “I heard last night he was with four whores!” As you ask a maid about your sister’s whereabouts, he is her chosen companion. “Princess Rhaenyra went out to race your uncle, Princess.” And of course, when your father complains, Daemon is in the midst of it. “He insulted Otto and then walked out of the council meeting.”

Despite your wishes, your uncle starts to occupy more of your mind’s space than you would like. You keep wondering what he is up to, each rumor more outrageous than the last. You cannot help but wonder if it’s you who was prompted him to wreak such havoc. The idea of having such power over him, that an offhanded comment can cause such a reaction, makes something tingle in your stomach.

You find him next in the gardens. Alicent and Rhaenyra are fighting again, a nasty thing that soon turns into a screaming match. That's a dynamic you have stayed out of, since you had memory. While Alicent and Rhaenyra were friends, you never felt anything towards Alicent besides a slight sympathy. She seemed nice enough, but she was not your friend.

Rhaenyra and you loved in the same way, you see. Possessive, harsh. As Princesses, you never learned to share. You wanted your person to be only yours. Alicent was Rhenyra’s, and so, you stepped aside.

When she married your father, you weren’t exactly pleased. But you had the emotional detachment Rhenyra lacked, being too close to the situation. In time, you had come to understand that it wasn’t like she had a choice, either.

So, it wasn’t like you were going to break with tradition now. To avoid their screams, you had decided to pace the gardens. Daemon seemed to have the same idea because you find him sitting on a bench with a book in his hands.

“Came to join me?” He asks, voice smooth like honey.

“Rather to escape the screeching.” You sit by his side, curiously peering at the book he holds.

“A Cautionary Tale For Young Girls.” Daemon’s smirk is the only thing that gives him away, that, and the fact that the book is written in High Valyrian. “Most illuminating read. You should try it.”

You laugh, despite yourself. His lips twitch into a more genuine smile, less full of smugness and bravado.

“I was getting lonely.” You say, softly. The admission surprises even you. “You are with Rhaenyra all the time.”

Don’t go where I can’t follow, you wish to say. Don’t take her from me. My other half. But you don’t speak the words aloud, from fear of him repeating your confession. You don’t want to beg Rhaenyra for affection, not when you have been competing with her all your life.

Daemon makes a face, as if pained of what he will say next. He seems wary of hurting you. You wonder if that means he cares for you, in his own twisted way. It’s not often he worries about what others think.

“She has a dragon.” No matter how gentle the tone, it hurts anyway.

“I miss her. Not you.” But it’s a lie. You know it’s a bad pattern, and you shouldn’t miss him, but you are so used to competing for affection that Daemon has become both your rival and the one you crave. The weeks without him have been lonely and taxing. No matter if it was you who pushed him away and didn’t care to reach out after.

“I remember you two were close.” Something must change in your face because your uncle reaches toward you, gently squeezing your arm.

“We used to be. She is just… So angry, all the time. And has all these new people. Admires, prospects…” You feel like a fool. There is a deep sense of unfulfillment and being wronged yet at the same time, you know you are being unreasonable. This was always going to happen. You can’t share the Iron Throne, and she has always been your father’s favorite. Rhaenyra was always going to be the heir.

“Which one am I?”

You shrug.

“It's not like I care.” But you do. You do care, despite your best sense. Because you want to be his favorite. You have always wanted to be someone’s favorite, but Daemon has a special brand of devotion for those he cares about. You wish you could be counted on that list, lately. By the smile on his face, Daemon can probably tell. “And it's not like before she didn't have things that were only hers.”

"I thought you shared everything.” Your uncle tucks a loose piece of your hair behind your ear. You lean into the touch, closing your eyes.

“She has Alicent. Had. Still does.” You know when the time comes, Alicent will be there for Rhaenyra. They are tied together by destiny in ways Rhaenyra and you are not.

“The curse of the younger brother.” With your eyes still closed, his hand gently brushing your hair back, the words do not feel as if they are being spoken aloud. The gardens around you feel muffled, distant. Perhaps it’s the soothing touch, or the deep pang of sadness in your chest, but you do not understand what Daemon means.

“I beg your pardon?” You open your eyes, giving him a confused expression. Not only is he muttering nonsense, your uncle is much closer to you than he was before. Daemon’s forehead is nearly pressed into yours, his thumb now gently rubbing across your jawline.

“Viserys and Rhaenyra are the same.” He explains, tracing your cheekbone next. As if he is keen to learn your face from touch alone, carve it on his mind. It makes you smile slightly. The pain from mourning your innocence is very much still there, but it doesn’t feel like it’s tearing you apart. “Just as you and I are the same.”

“I…” You are not sure of what to answer. Naturally, it makes sense. You can feel it in your bones, but you can’t quite articulate the thought.

Daemon’s thumb presses against your lips in a downward motion, closing them.

“We could fly off tonight. Go to the Free cities, marry. No one would care.” His tone is fervent, urgent. Pleading with you. You keep quiet, and so does he. The silence stretches between the two of you. Your mind races.

Just as your lips flutter behind his thumb to answer the proposal, your uncle speaks again.

“We are free, you and I. But the Iron Throne chains them.”

It’s then you realize it was not a proposition, but rather an explanation of the thoughts you were unable to articulate. And perhaps it’s the sting of rejection or the deep sadness that has taken root on you since the death of your mother, but you cannot keep the words in. They come flowing, tumbling, rushing out of your mouth.

“I want to be a girl forever.” You say to him, starting to tear up. “I am not ready to be a woman.”

You are scared, you realize. No longer are you a girl playing to be a woman, dressing up in your mother’s jewels and dresses. Five years down the line, you will be married. Ten, it will be you who is a mother.

Your uncle gathers you into his arms, painfully soft. You would have never believed Daemon capable of such a tender touch.

“You can’t be innocent forever.”

“Everything is so complicated now. I just… I don’t want anything to change.”

You whisper against his neck. It’s a doomed wish. You know already it’s too late for it. No longer are you an innocent, no longer anything is the same. It will never be.

“Not all changes are bad. There can be pleasure in losing one’s innocence.” Daemon kisses your temple. “And I intend to show it to you.”

That night, the two of you sneak out of the Red Keep.

“I wanted to give you something only yours.” Your uncle says, as he leads you down the Street of Silk. Both of you are wearing rough cloaks, for discretion. You cling to his arm, afraid of getting lost in between the strange sights and smells.

There is so much to see and so much to hear. People laughing in the streets, singing, drunkards and patrons from the brothels mixing. While you are familiar with the streets of King’s Landing, you have never seen them at night. It’s both frightening and exhilarating, watching the city come to life in ways new to you.

There are no children in sight, only adults. The message that Daemon hoped to convey by bringing you here is loud and clear. You are no longer a girl, you are a woman. And so, instead of sleeping soundly in your bed as you have done all your childhood, you get to enjoy the wonders of the night.

The crowd gets even more rowdy as you pass the bigger pleasure houses and walk towards the ones that are at the end of the street. Secluded as they are, they spark your curiosity.

“Where are we going?” You ask your uncle, tugging at his arm. “Inside one of those? Why?”

“They cater to tastes that the rest do not.” Daemon comes to a stop in front of one, and takes off his hood. The woman at the doors takes one look at his hair and quickly ushers you both inside a room.

The room is bare except for a couple of chairs and a bed. You examine everything closely, noting the inferior quality of the furniture. These are not the kinds of chairs you are used to, at the Red Keep. After a while, and only when you notice no one else is hiding inside, you lower your hood. Being overly cautious never hurt anyone, after all.

“What tastes?” You squeeze Daemon’s hand. He gives you a puzzled look. “You said they cater to tastes…”

“You will see.” You are saved from the wait to know what he means by the door opening. Two servants, dressed in little clothing, step inside. Men, near your age. They are completely unique, yet similar. You get the feeling they are not simple servants, even though they serve you and Daemon goblets of wine.

You stare. You do not understand why they are not leaving.

Your uncle steps behind you, to whisper in your ear. His arms circle around your waist.

“Look at them.” He presses a chaste kiss just behind your ear. “Really look.”

So you do. One of the men is tall and strong. Almost wide. All bulging muscles. He has dark hair and light colored eyes. The other man is slightly slender, yet strong either way. He has lighter hair and a much sweeter face. They are both handsome, yet you do not understand what game Daemon could be playing.

“You wanted something only yours.” He mutters, kissing the crown of your head. He perches his chin on top of it. “Most girls, they don’t get to choose whom they lose their innocence to.”

It dawns on you then. He wants you to choose one of the men to… Well. It’s a nice thing to do, but so undeniably Daemon it hurts.

Feeling mischievous, you turn around in his grip.

“And I can choose any of the men in this room?” You smirk. Your uncle’s brows draw together, in disbelief.

“That’s the point, yes.” Daemon speaks slowly, as if explaining to someone particularly daft. Or innocent. “I’ll pay for it, don’t worry.”

“Good.” You smirk, and kiss him. You feel him smirk right back against your mouth.

#daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x you #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon x oc #daemon x y/n #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen smut #daemon smut #daemon fanfic #daemon fluff #daemon targaryen fic #daemon targaryen fluff

[thewriterwithnoplan]

THE HIGHEST TOWER (1/2)

Summary: As a Princess of the Realm the chance to escape political marriage and abscond with your Promised was beyond anything you could wish for. When the time is right, your dragon will lead you to them and your mother will support your union. In return, you must do all you can to protect her claim, even if you must do so from within the very heart of the Greens.

Soulmate AU: Your animal familiar leads you to your soulmate.

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader (eventual), Aemond Targaryen x Reader (mentioned)

Word Count: 4296

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, just general character awfulness, some espionage, canon divergence, my first time writing for hotd.

Masterlist

You had lived the better part of eight and ten years in the Red Keep. The daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen handed off to the Queen like some paltry trinket. The King’s first and final word on the matter of his granddaughter. Thrust carelessly into Alicent’s care at the fresh age of ten, a peace offering and a trade for Lucerys’ life. You scarcely remembered life beyond the borders of the castle. Only that one moment your brother's life had been under threat and the next yours was all but forfeit.

Your mother had clasped the back of your neck, pulled you toward her and begged her father for mercy. You who had not even been in the room when Aemond had lost his eye, lost to your own midnight flight atop dragon back. And then the curtain of Rhaneyra’s hair parted, and from over her shoulder Daemon met your eyes. For a single poignant moment, he stared and then a smirk broke across his face as if he knew.

Knew that you were not the innocent that your mother would have the King believe you to be. Knew that your midnight rendezvous with your dragon at the exact moment of Vhagar’s claiming was not mere coincidence. Your intentions had been innocent at first. A trip to the kitchen for a cup of milk which you would warm on the stove – a feat the late Sir Harwin Strong had taught you. Past your brothers’ room, your mother’s room, the servants' quarters and a balcony overlooking the beach. And then you had seen him. Aemond scaling your cousin’s dragon. And that just wouldn’t do.

Targaryens – true Targaryens who did not cower under the cover of darkness – needed their dragons if they had any hope of finding their Promised. Your cousin, Baela who always shared her sweets and let you borrow her wooden sword, deserved the chance to meet her Promised in the wake of her mother’s death. The man or woman that Vhagar would lead her to when the Old Gods saw fit. In the game of thrones when Targearyens already found so few chances for happiness, how could Aemond strip his cousin of her chance at true love? True, as an eldest daughter Baela’s future husband was most certainly decided – likely one of your brothers. But you were certain that Jacaerys or Lucerys would be understanding and gracious when the time came for Baela to claim her Promised, as she would be when the time came for her Lord-Husband. Such was the way of things. At least for the lucky.

Imagining your dragon, Laesuvion, claimed by another and leaving you with no guide to your Gods-given Promised made you feel ill. And so, you set out on bare, hurried feet to find and mount Laesuvion. You were a Targaryen born of the blood of dragons, of true Valyrian features. Vhagar was your cousin’s dragon by right and it was your duty to protect that claim. She was a formidable, indomitable beast but shackled with a new rider on his first flight. If you had one chance to disrupt the yet fragile bond being formed by dragon and rider, it was to dislodge the green boy and send him toppling toward the sea.

Laesuvion had hatched for you in your cradle. He was much younger and smaller than Vhagar but all the faster. It would be no trouble to fell your traitorous cousin. The difficulty became disguising the shock of white scales along the elongated arch of Laesuvion’s neck whilst searching for Vhagar’s camouflaged breadth.

“Aderī Laesuvion. Dokimarvose.” (Quickly Laesuvion. Focus.) You urged him.

Despite your efforts, you only caught sight of them twice. Once among the clouds, though you were sure Aemond got a greater view of you than you did him. And again, as Vhagar was returning to land Driftmark. Your hunt had been unsuccessful. But you had been sure no one would suspect you of such vengeful intent toward your uncle. Except perhaps Daemon.

“It is a fair price, Rhaenyra,” Daemon’s smirk was cunning, “They will not harm her.”

The betrayal on your mother's face heated your blood. How dare he tell her what to do? Your mother, Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the iron throne. This man who was no one, husband of no one, Prince of nowhere, heir of nothing. Who was he to command your mother? And now, to step toward you and attempt to pry you away from her. So close you could almost-

Almost hear the two of them whispering. To each other. To you.

“Think.” Daemon hissed, “They will demand her for Aemond sooner or later.”

“She is my only daughter.”

“She will still be your daughter in the Red Keep.” He kept up the pretence of fighting your mother, despite her arms having gone lax around you. “Not a bastard. Not a bargaining chip. Your daughter. At the heart of the greens.”

“She is a child.”

“A Targaryen child.”

“She is my child.”

“Then let her prove it.”

“Mother,” You warbled. “I don’t want to go.”

“Tala.” Daemon shifted, and his eyes met yours again as if you should know this word. You did not. “You will go. Make your mother proud. Learn at court. Find those who support her claim and those who will side with the Hightowers. You are weak and a girl, they will not suspect you. When the time comes you will be our most valuable weapon.”

“But I want to go home, Kepa.” (Father or paternal uncle)

“Oh, my sweet girl.” Rhaenyra held your face and brushed away your tears. “You will.”

“’Nyra.” Daemon warned.

“But not today.” She kissed each of your cheeks. “Today you must be strong for me. You must be strong for your brothers. You must do as Daemon says, we must keep them happy.”

And then your mother pulled you toward her firmly, pressed her lips to your ear and whispered a promise. A reward should you embark on this mission. Beyond sweets and silk dresses and extra time on Laesuvion. Beyond anything you had ever been promised or ever dreamed of asking for. Do this for your mother and she would exempt you from the chains of political marriage that would shackle each of your brothers. There was no guarantee you would be lucky like your brothers, married to one who would understand. But do this and you could have your Promised under the eyes of the Seven, the Old Gods, and the traditions of old Valyria itself. Even at 10, you knew that for a Princess and a second-born, there was no greater boon.

So, you did what you had to do for your one shot to truly be with your Promised. You squared your shoulders, kissed your mother's cheek, and stumbled toward Queen Alicent. She gripped you by the shoulder, tucked you into the folds of her skirt, and stared cruelly down her nose at your mother.

“Now I will have no more fighting.” Said the King and having satisfied his wife for the first time in their long marriage, he ambled off to bed.

As the crowd dispersed, Sir Criston Cole flanked the Queen and as a unit, the three of you marched from the room. Your mother, scarcely held together in Daemon’s embrace, gave one last warbling cry as you passed the threshold and disappeared, not to be seen again for nine long years.

You were kept that night in the Queen’s own quarters to thwart rescue or escape. Behind a bolted door and no less than three kings’ guards. And yet, that morning, upon waking with puffy eyes from silent tears and aching limbs from the harsh sitting room sofa, you found something that had not been there before.

A gift from Daemond, most assuredly, tucked under the pillow you had slept on. The handle was perhaps an inch too long for your small age, but the blade was curved and wicked sharp and would require little finesse to cause harm. Inlaid in the pommel was a single ruby, the size of your thumb and wonderfully smooth. Carved into the cross-guard flowing Valyrian script read valar morghūlis. (All men must die.)

You would call the dagger gaomilaksir, duty. You would carry it as a reminder of the promises you and your mother had made one another. One day, as Daemon had said, you would become her greatest weapon.

There had been few bright spots in your life as the Queen’s ward. So, few in fact, that you could count them on one hand.

One.

You could not fly. Such a thing would only encourage escape back to Dragonstone and your mother. But you could visit Laesuvion and watch him sweep through the clouds. He had grown much in your teenage years. Still lithe in build and elegant in frame, but more angular like an arrow strung tight. He did not take to Kings Landing, not in all your years trapped there. So used to the comfort of Dragonstone and your family’s own dragons, he often abandoned the Dragonpit entirely. Kept tethered to the Keep by your presence alone.

“Where is Laesuvion?” You were just shy of ten and two when you approached the Dragonkeeper Acolyte.

“Hunting, my lady.” He knocked his quarterstaff against the ground. “He flew north not three hours ago.”

“Do you not offer him food?”

The keeper lowered his head, “He refuses it, my lady.”

“Offer him better.”

“We give him our very best, lady. He is a magnificent but stubborn creature.”

“He is a dragon, not a creature.” You conjured up a playful grin. “And I am a princess, not a lady.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” The Acolyte blustered, “Shall I inform you upon his return?”

“That won’t be necessary,” You strode to his side and plunked yourself down to lean against the stone entrance. “I shall wait for his return here.”

And so, you did. Silently, for the better part of twenty minutes as the Acolyte threw furtive glances your way.

Until finally, “Truly, my lady. Your Highness. He could be hours still.”

Wonderful. You thought and cast a dazzling grin up at him. “Perhaps you ought to keep me better company then.”

And so, you began your mission. You charm the Dragonkeepers – Acolyte and Elder, all seventy-seven of them – who knew the princes and their dragons, their strengths and weaknesses. You befriend the maids, the scullery, the wet nurses, and the servants they bunk with. Piece by piece, inch by inch, you win back your mother's share of Kings Landing.

Two.

Strange though she was, your Aunt Heleana always welcomed you into her chambers. In your shared youth, she always had a critter clutched between her hands as if it were the most precious thing she owned. You are four and ten, a year younger than your aunt when she is forced to split her time between her menagerie of insects and the chubby masses of her twin babes.

“The young prince has lungs,” You smiled at Heleana as the wet nurse rocked a wailing Jaehaerys. “He will make glorious speeches when he is grown.”

“Only one.” She examined the creature in her hands. Today she favoured a centipede, passing Jaehaera onto you.

You had long since learned to ignore her ramblings, “The sweet Princess must be the wordsmith, then.”

“The fourth in an age.” Heleana startled as if only just noticing your presence. “Apologies, Hāedar. You wished to speak?” (Younger female sibling or cousin)

“No apologies necessary, Mandia.” (Older female sibling or cousin). The Valyrian word tasted foul. You had your own siblings on Dragonstone, those whom you had been stolen from and those whom you had yet to meet. But Heleana liked it when you pretended that you were not a prisoner, that you were her mother’s daughter and not her forcibly attained ward. And so you swallowed it with a smile, “Might we talk privately?”

Heleana startled again as she turned to the wet nurse. “Take the children to the nursery, Bria.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Bria gave an awkward curtsy, shuffled the still-wailing Jaehaerys to one side and received Jaehaera from your arms. Heleana turned to you expectantly as the trio disappeared through a side door.

“It is a sensitive matter I am afraid,” You eyed the centipede as it escaped her hands and crawled across her skirts. “I do not wish to cause offence.”

Heleana’s eyes pinched at the corners, “It is not such a terrible burden – to be a wife. Mostly he ignores you.”

“You misunderstand me,” You hurried. “I only wished to speak of your grandfather.”

“Not my brother?”

“Do you wish to speak of your husband?”

“No,” Heleana gave you a quizzical look. “I speak of Aemond, who will be your husband.”

“Aemond?” Your uncle who’s selfishness had trapped you here. One of Alicent’s precious children married to her living doll. The thought would have been hysterical were it not so frightening. Surely not.

“It is the natural progression of things. I was given to Aegon and now you to Aemond.” Heleana’s attention returned to the centipede. “One pairing to strengthen our house, another to mend its bonds. So says grandfather.”

“Oh Mandia. I am entrusted to your mother. There need be no marriage to bring me into the fold. We are family.” 

“Yes. So says mother.” Heleana stared. Not so blind as she seemed. “But grandfather always gets what he wants.”

And so, you are four years into your mission, having sat patiently by the Queen's side. Having listened and learned and noted those your mother can count on. Four years in and the time to begin quietly making moves had arrived with a head start from your oblivious Aunt.

But then you see the centipede crawl from her hands again and writhe across her skirt. And you think maybe Heleana’s warnings have more to do with where the critter is trying to lead her than it has to do with you.

Three.

It took you longer than you would like to admit to worm your way into Otto Hightower’s confidences – if there were such a thing.

You had quickly learned in your first year at the Keep that Alicent feared her father, distrustful of his greed and power lust. Not much unlike yourself, she had been sent into the greedy hands of a different house in pursuit of the Iron Throne. Were Otto not so blinded by his ambitions you might have begun to worry that Daemon’s strategy might ring familiar. But Lord Hightower’s strength was also his greatest weakness. So careful in his scheming, gently coaxing his will unto others, moving his pawns about the board, sacrificing all but himself, he could not see his tactics turned against him. Beyond your connection to Rhaenyra, you barely registered as a piece in the game.

Daemon had been right. Weak and a girl and not a threat. Not yet.

So, you worked tirelessly to endear yourself to Alicent. Just as you learned from her, you began to teach in turn. When you are in the room Otto Hightower dares not spin his lies about succession. When you appear around corners in search of your Queen-mother talk of hastening the king's condition ceases. When you are near, Alicent is safe. She begins to wear you like the expensive accessory you are, a decorative shield.

Hours trailing your Queen-mother to and from meetings of the small council, waiting patiently at her side as she sat in place of the King. Serving wine to fat and foolish lords.

And then finally, on the eve of your ten and fifth nameday, the Queen brings you along to the Hand's Tower.

“Father.” She greets.

“Alicent,” Otto brings you to his office, where a tea set for two lays steaming. “I see you have brought your shadow.”

The Queen barely glances your way as you serve her tea and then her father’s, before retreating to stand at her shoulder. She glares across her father’s desk, “This does concern her.”

“She is approaching her fifteenth year, two since her first blood. Time has well arrived for her to marry,” He stares directly at you then, “Have you any fondness for your uncle, Princess?”

“My lord, the Princes and I are often kept busy by our duties.” Your friends among the servants have divulged their schedules. You stay firmly away from drunken Aegon and selfish Aemond, remaining civil only with young Daeron.

“You must see reason.” Alicent implores her father. “They hold no affection for one another. Aegon and Heleana have already wed in the name of strengthening our family. To marry her would serve only to anger Rhaenyra.”

“And to bind her eldest daughter to us.” Interesting that he would say so openly in front of you. Perhaps you have been more effective in playing a Green than you had thought. “Aemond will be a good husband to her.”

“I have no doubt,” Alicent says and as silence stretches you suspect she is losing conviction; you have not saved her this time.

You clear your throat delicately, “If I may?”

“Of course, sweet pet.” Alicent reaches out to fuss with your hair. She likes it long and keeps its length to your hip despite how cumbersome it can be. Short hair is unbecoming, she claims.

You look to Otto in false deference, “My lord?”

“Very well.”

“I think,” You begin carefully. “Aemond and I may be of better use to you.”

“And how might that be?” He is condescending but you have his attention.

“When the time comes that grandsire passes on, I suspect the lords of the realm will need cause to back a claim to the Iron Throne. My Septa says that peace such as we have seen under his rule may bring unrest. I do not doubt that Aemond will make a fine and just husband. All I mean is that mayhaps it would be wise to keep us unwed until we may serve a greater purpose.”

No mention of your mother nor their ill-begotten plan for Aegon. Hightower's methods played against him.

“And when the time comes you will do this?” He demands.

“It is my duty to my house.”

He tilts his head as a predatory bird might. “You must swear it, to myself and to your Queen, upon your young brothers.”

To pause would mislay your ruse. To hesitate would be to sign your life away to Aemond Targaryen.

“I swear it, upon the lives of my brothers.”

He considered you for a moment, and then his daughter.

“You have done well with her, Alicent.” Your Queen-mother sighs as Otto Hightower stands. “Enjoy your tea, I have matters to attend to elsewhere. Perhaps you will be of more use than we originally suspected, Princess.”

Your first true victory. You will not be shackled to the Keep; you will be kept safe until your mother comes for you. Until such a time that you and Laesuvion can seek out your Promised.

Four.

The Queen held a strange fondness for you. Platinum-haired and purple-eyed, the spitting image of the Realm’s delight and perhaps the only trueborn among your siblings. She took pains to brush and braid your hair, dress you in green and flout you at court. Her perfect tamed Targaryen. Who would eat from her hand, take tea by her side, sit prim and silent as her Queen-mother decorated her. You were her walking-talking glimmering triumph over Rhaenyra.

At ten, Alicent’s obsession stole you from your mother. At ten and four, it protected you from a hasty marriage. And now, at ten and eight, it was your path to freedom.

“Mother?”

Oh, how Alicent loved it when you called her that. One more thing ripped from Rhaenyra’s thieving hands. Alicent pushed into your room with a tired facsimile of a smile and took the seat across from you by the roaring hearth.  

“My sweet pet.” She was dressed head to toe in full regalia. “I am so sorry to have missed you today.”

You tucked a piece of scrap paper into the book you had been reading, buying yourself time to school your features into innocent confusion. “As am I. My door has been locked. I am sorry I could not come to you.”

“A precaution – one that I fought.” Alicent reached for your hair, running her fingers through its length. “But we cannot trust you to betray your mother. Regardless of the years you have spent in our care.”

“I do not understand, mother.” But you do.

“Your grandsire is dead.”

You close your eyes, “Aegon is king.”

“Yes.”

“You did not wish for this.”

“I wish Viserys were still a living corpse. That he would outlive us all so that none could claim his cursed throne. Not Aegon. Not Rhaenyra. Not my father.”

“That is not a solution.”

She tugs at your hair harshly, “Foolish pet, there is none.”

You blink harshly. Your eyes scarcely holding back tears. For the first time since you left your mother's embrace, you are truly scared. No longer are you the meek girl who walks in the Queen’s shadow. Given liberties and protection in a twisted echo of her love for Rhaenyra. You are a living embodiment of what House Targaryen will be to House Hightower. A pretty little puppet kept from your dragon, cloistered away like some trophy, scrambling for a scrap of power to delude yourself that you have some control.

“What is to become of our house?” You whisper.

“Your mother and Prince Daemon remain on Dragonstone. No blood has yet been shed.” Alicent brushed your hair softly behind one ear. “We have sent Aemond to Storm’s End to do as you once suggested. To offer himself to one of the Baratheon girls, that Lord Borros might see reason and acknowledge Aegon as rightful King.”

Good, there were those beyond the Keep who remained steadfast and loyal. It was time to return to your mother, then. To tell her all you had learned these last eight years. To name her allies and set Daemon loose upon her foes. Now was the time.

“What of my brothers?”

Alicent leant back, “Scouts have spotted Vermax flying north likely as an envoy to rally support among the lords.”

“How could they have mobilized so quickly? Was Aegon not crowned mere hours ago?”

“He was, indeed.” Alicent’s gazed into the fire. “The Lady Rhaenys was not so welcoming of solitude as you have been.”

“She has gone to Dragonstone?”

“She has.”

“And no one has come for me?”

“They have not.”

For a moment you each stared listlessly into the hearth. When Alicent shifts back to face you, she has a letter clutched in her hand. It is crisp and of fine quality but most strikingly, stamped with the King’s seal.

“I am under no delusions,” Alicent says softly, mournfully. “You can no more contest your mother's claim than I can Aegon’s. We are matching pieces in this game, I think.”

Your fear swells, “Mother.”

“Please, my sweet girl.” She smooths the hair atop your head. “You must do me one last favour as my ward.”

“I don’t understand.”

She presses the letter into your hands. “Jacaerys will fly first to the Vale, to treat with House Arryn and then to Winterfell. You will take this and beat him there. You will do as you swore to do those years ago.”

“I ca–”

“Listen!” She jerked you by your shoulders. “You must listen. You will wed Lord Stark. He is as fine a match as any. The north is loyal to Rhaenyra and will remain steadfast, you will be well treated. You must go, with this missive from the King, his final wish to send you north to snow and safety. In return for your hand, they will take no part in the fighting, they will protect you as their own, until such a time that the victor is crowned. Do you understand me, pet?”

“The King never cared for me.” You said foolishly.

“And yet, with his dying breath, he spoke of you and of Aegon. That you would carry his legacy, that you would see out his dream to the North. That Prince Aegon was Promised to this kingdom. You must believe me. You must do this for your grandsire.”

“I do believe you mother.” She was deluded. “I will do what must be done.”

Alicent has offered you one gilded cage for another. You will not be fool enough to fall into this one. You will find Laesuvion and be gone in the dead of night. You tuck the King’s missive into your book and smile at the Queen.

“Shall we call for tea, mother? You have much to tell me. I hear I have missed a coronation.”

Five.

You shape your fifth and final joy as the Queen Alicent’s Ward whilst escaping her clutches. You take three sharp detours on your path to the Dragonpit. First, to the chamber of the small council where you snatch the King's ball of quartz, you will make a gift of this to your mother. Then to the creche where the Keeper’s turned a blind eye as you pilfered three precious Dragon eggs. Finally, you find yourself ascending the steps of the Lord Hand’s Tower. To take the Dowager Queen from the Greens would be the greatest gift to your mother and her cause. But Alicent, despite her many faults, had been as kind to you as one might be toward a favourite pet. And so you do as a pet would – you do not bite the hand that fed you. Instead, you do both your Queen-mother and the woman that birthed you, a favour. You find Otto Hightower asleep in his study and you pass onto him your final gift from Daemon Targaryen.

You leave gaomilaksir in the heart of Hightower as you flee north, your duty complete.

(Part 2 : The Winter Keep)

#cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon #prince jacaerys #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #queen alicent #alicent hightower #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #otto hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

With No One Around

When you and Aemond need to relax, you have a secret spot where you can go and be all alone.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader (2nd person)

Warnings: kissing, deep throating, Aemond has a spite-fueled breeding kink

This work is a part of my 12 Days of Smuff event! Read the rest here.

My Masterlist

With No One Around

Prompt: In Nature & Deep Throating

Vhagar sensed your intentions the moment you and Aemond climbed down from her saddle, giving you an annoyed, rumbling growl before she lumbered as far away as she could while still being close enough to guard you. You mumbled teasing words at her, but you couldn’t help but love the curmudgeonly old dragon. And be very thankful that she only understood High Valyrian.

Aemond huffed, grabbing your hand and practically dragging you through the trees. You cursed his long legs and scrambled to keep up with him so he wouldn’t pull your arm clean off. “In quite a hurry, are you?”

He only gave a frustrated hum. It was answer enough.

That day had been hard. On both of you.

It was the first day of the Festival of the Mother, and as it always did on holidays, everything went wrong.

The king was too ill to attend. Aegon was hung over. Helaena was in one of her distant moods, which did nothing to help calm the hysterical twins. It was supposed to be their first public event since the announcement of their birth, a way to show the world that their line was strong, secure, and, most importantly, true. Yet the future heir spent the morning biting everyone and everything he could find while his sister wailed ceaselessly.

In the end, Helaena and the twins stayed in their rooms, leaving only Queen Alicent, Aegon, Aemond, and you to attend. Not exactly the best showing for a day dedicated to the mother.

Especially not when you and Aemond had been wed nearly two years with no children to show for it – though not for lack of valiant effort – and all the nobility seemed able to talk about was the child Rhaenyra would give birth to in mere weeks.

That was what set Aemond on edge. He would not be able to dismiss this child as a threat to his family. For unlike its elder half-brothers, it would not be a bastard. It would be a true continuation of Rhaenyra’s line – a full-blooded Valyrian. And a boon of legitimacy to her bid for the throne.

You were not sure exactly why, but Aemond believed that if Rhaenyra took the throne, she would immediately move to slaughter her half-siblings and their families. The one time you asked him why, he refused to explain. You would have pushed further, but his lip had twitched toward his scar, and you knew what that meant – it was one of the first things you’d learned about him.

Whatever the cause, he had pulled you away after the ceremony in such a hurry that he didn’t even call for a wheelhouse to take you to Vhagar. He’d just lifted you atop the first saddled horse he found, swinging up behind you and sending the beast racing through the city.

Which is how you ended up here – being pulled along by Aemond as he brought you to his special place. A small outcropping on Blackwater Bay, just outside the Kingswood. It had ample enough space for Vhagar to rest and was completely private.

It was where Aemond would come whenever he got overwhelmed, whether by the pain from his eye, exhaustion after being forced to appear in public and be sociable, or just the stress and frustration of his everyday life. He used it for the same reasons still, but he now had a better way to calm himself rather than mope by the cliff’s edge.

Now, he had you.

And you were never going to complain about his using you for stress relief.

Aemond brought you just outside the tree line, then whirled on you, gripping you tightly as he pulled you into a searing kiss. “I swear by all the gods,” he moaned as you opened to him, “we will not return home until there is a babe in your belly.”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond before again diving into you and moving one hand down to cup your rear. You moaned as he pulled you against him, rolling his hips to show you just how eager he was.

“We may be here a while then,” you managed to eke out between kisses. You weren’t sure why he was delaying; he was more than hard enough, and you hoped your own movements against him would show him you were ready as well. “What will we eat?”

He growled. This was not the conversation he wanted to have. He’d always preferred no conversation when you were intimate, but you couldn’t help yourself. “Vhagar will cook us some venison.”

You laughed at the answer but were quickly cut off when he moved his hands to your shoulders to push you down on the soft grass. Aemond was in quite the mood, and you weren’t sure you liked it.

So, you decided to tease him. After all, he deserved it.

You let him push you to your knees but resisted his attempts to push you down further. He tried, but you were stronger than you appeared, especially when you were this annoyed with him.

“What are you doing – ” you cut him off this time, reaching up to grab his thighs and squeeze.

With a saccharine smile, you brought your hands to the ties of his trousers and began to unlace them, one by one. “I’m just helping you relax. If you put a baby in me now, I fear it will be born angry.”

Aemond growled softly, in warning to not delay too long, and begrudging permission.

You made quick work of his trousers, pulling them down only enough to retrieve his hardened cock, pumping it a few times to spread the moisture that had gathered at his tip before taking him into your mouth. Slowly, at first, because he wouldn’t relax if he got what he wanted immediately, but enough that he would not want to stop you to stick himself somewhere else.

You continued like this for a few moments, until Aemond got impatient and laced his fingers through your hair, moving you ever so slightly toward him.

The message was clear: more.

You happily obliged, bracing yourself with your hands on his rear, and took him further, and further, and further. And when your nose finally pressed into his stomach, you paused, hollowing your cheeks. You drew back just before you ran out of breath, running your tongue up the length of him before taking him all the way once more.

Aemond’s hands tightened in your hair as you repeated the action once, twice, three times. On the fourth, he gripped so tightly you were sure he’d tear half your hair out. On the fifth, he shouted a curse as he came, spilling down your throat and moaning as you sucked every last drop from him. When you pulled away, you left one last kiss on his tip.’

It took a while for him to catch his breath. He gazed at you adoringly the whole time. You waited until he was entirely calm before you teased him once more.

“Enjoyable as that was, I fear it will not produce a babe.”

Aemond’s smile fell into a frown of shame and affectionate annoyance, and you laughed.

#aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond imagine #aemond fluff #aemond one eye #aemond smut #aemond the kinslayer #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #hotd #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #hotd imagine #hotd x reafer #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #ewan mitchell #12 days of smuff

[achaoticeternal]

caught at a crossroads

prince regent!aemond targaryen x stark!reader

summary: while seeking safe passage down the Kingsroad to Dragonstone, you travels come to a halt. word count: 1.5k a/n: i would consider a part 2 if people are interested warnings: AFAB reader, mentions of violence and death

The journey thus far had been so silent with hardly any issues arising. Twelve men at your aid - six Stark men and six Queen's Guard - were ready to lay down their lives to safely deliver you to Dragonstone. After the eldest of Rhaenyra's sons came to call upon your brother in haste, an alliance was formed through the most sworn occasion. A marriage between the Queen's firstborn and Cregan Stark's only sister would tie your houses together.

Cregan and Rhaenyra had reached such a favorable outcome for the people whom they cared about most. Still, Cregan understood the dangers that came with swearing an oath to the Black council. If the Green's went North, he did not want you to fall into their capture. As such, an agreement was made that the young Lady Stark was welcome to reside on Dragonstone, within the sacred walls of House Targaryen.

Passage of the Kingsroad was a risk for anyone who dared to use. Miles of the path lived anarchic tribes that cared little for the proper laws of the land. With this in mind, the band of men were forged together to keep you safe from those on the road, and from those who would come to hear of the betrothal.

Already, your group had been riding for eight days, traveling south. They decided to avoid traversing the Westerlands, things swaying off the main road would do little to help if word ever got to King's Landing. It was better to take the faster route so that they could escort you quickly to proper safety. Instead, your path would take a slight risk. You would cross over the trident and pass through the villages on the outskirts of Harrenhal.

Harrenhal and its neighboring lands had become greatly abused during the war. The entirety of the Riverlands had been battered and bruised with forests of ash becoming more regular by the day. It was rumored that Prince Aemond Targaryen had laid siege to the region in reaction to the loss of his nephew, Jaehaerys. If you could lay low and stay away from the rotation of troops that came through the area, the remainder of your journey would be guaranteed safety.

At first, the ambush seemed to be nothing. Just a few bandits who were looking to start trouble. Yet when they drew blades of Valyrian steel, your guards had alerted you to seek cover. Metal crashed against metal, the sound echoing through the forest. Luckily, being a northern girl, you had some natural knack for survival. Swiping a jagged rock off the ground, you first hid behind the cart your band had been traveling in.

From the position, you could see how furiously your enemies brandished their swords. The experienced men of the King's Guard had no issue holding their own against the fierce warriors. However, the youngest of the Stark men was the first to meet his fate as a guard slashed his throat open. A broken cry had escaped past your lips, watching the body fall to the earth below. You had recognized him as kin to your dressing maid, a good boy, now dead.

As another Stark man fell, you took this as a warning sign to advance further into the woods. Gripping the stone, you slunk away from the makeshift camp and towards a mixed assortment of oak and evergreen trees. The candle in your lantern would soon be snuffed out by its own wax, but it did aid to light your path. Behind you, more men continued to fight and fall. However, huffs of aggression and assertion echoed towards your ears. The enemies were advancing.

"The scouts said there were thirteen," A voice barked out, "Find the last man. We must know what the Black's are planning."

Quickly, you moved behind the trunk of a large oak tree and immediately blew out your candle. There was just enough bush to keep you covered unless someone was searching intently or you gave any sign. If you stayed silent, maybe they would brush over you.

However, you heard the grunts of one of your guards, his gravely voice panting as you heard him being drug down the road, "Who is your final man? Where were you going?"

A low chuckle resounded from his chest, "Queen Rhaenyra's army is growing, and soon she will march on King's Landing and the Usurper."

As you went to peak upon the seen, you heard the sound of a sword being drawn and plunged through the guard's neck. Now all your guards were dead. You were alone in the Riverlands. Alone in the Riverlands with a two-day journey to Dragonstone ahead of you. If you could make it through the night.

Footsteps filled the area surrounding where you kept hidden. The width of the tree and the bush serve you well to keep you hidden in the dark of the night. With baited breath, you remained on edge, hoping they would soon give up.

"Ser Cole," A guard called out to his superior, "We have reason to believe the thirteenth traveler is a woman. If the raven from this morning is true, then I believe it could be-"

"I'll alert the prince," The other man replied shortly.

Nearly an hour passed with little disruption. Only the chittering of the forest kept you company. That was until a sinister voice echoed through the trees.

"Little wolf... Where are you hiding?"

So they were fully aware of who you were, but they still didn't know where you were hidden.

"C'mon, little wolf, if we don't catch you here, we certainly will before you are ever able to reach Dragonstone."

The voice held some familiarly to you. Though deeper and more confident, the rhythm and tone reminded you of just a few years ago. Your first and only visit to the Capitol.

It had been the King's 65th name day had approached and your father had decided that the three of you would all take the journey to King's Landing. While visiting, you had the honor of meeting the King's children from his second wife. His eldest son, Aegon, and his sister-wife, Haelena, the youngest, Daeron, and lastly, the owner of the current voice...

Prince Aemond Targaryen

"The hunter has become the prey it seems..." He called out to you once more, "It's been quite a few years, little wolf, won't you do me the honor of reuniting?"

Your heartbeat began to increase, hammering against your chest. Part of you feared that he could hear it pumping in your chest, or even the panting of your uneven breaths.

Silence returned to the wood, and you knew it might be your only opportunity to move until morning. As you moved to stand, a twig crunched beneath your boot. A moment later footsteps could be heard running in your direction. It was time to act, time to find a nice place to hide. Your feet carried you quickly and lightly through the forest floor, the feeling similar to chasing your brother through the Godswood as children. A feeling of hope grew in your chest...

Only to be crushed when a sword glinted in the moonlight. You came to a scathing halt as Aemond stepped out from behind one of the trees. His platinum hair and sapphire eye reflected bits of pale light as he observed your movements, "Ah... Lady Stark..."

"Prince Aemond," The lady quickly straightened her posture.

The man sheathed his sword as he approached the lone Stark lady, "Seems you haven't heard the news, it's Prince Regent, now. Though you would know that if you were where you belonged in Winterfell."

"I-" You attempted to stutter out.

"Yes?" Aemond smirked, knowing that he had you practically cornered, "Well, my lady, it seems you should come with me. It is dangerous for a Lady like yourself to be unaccompanied on the King's Road."

Aemond stepped forward which in turn caused you to take a step back. His smirk only remained at this behavior from you, the excitement of it all getting to him. Another step forward and he snatched one of your wrists in his large, callused hand. He tugged you forward to keep you close and minimize your attempts to run.

"I have a promise of safe passage, it's... it's a royal decree," You stuttered out as his glare only continued to intensify, "I have the right to go to my intended destination."

In an instant, his smirk fell quickly, "Your intended destination or your intended betrothed?"

Everything began to piece together as he continued, "That's right, my lady. I received word this morning that a dozen Stark men and traitors were seen along the Kingsroad escorting a young woman. This news arrived shortly after news about my Strong nephew's marriage approached, I simply connected the dots. But it's alright, little wolf, you are now a welcome guest at Harrenhal."

Your head shook at his words, "No, no, I-"

"It wasn't an invitation," Aemond quickly interjected as he pulled you closer, "By royal decree of Prince Regent Aemond Targaryen, you are my guest until I see fit to dismiss you."

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd #ewan mitchell #house targaryen #prince regent aemond #mattie writes

[darlingofvalyria]

❝I am going to make him bow to me, brother. Mark my words.❞

[ Jace does not yearn for you. Does not wish for you. Does not want you. But oh, lies are bitter and brittle under a tongue that yearns to taste. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 4,753 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), might be small aegon ii x reader but it's one sided on aeg's behalf, sorry.

contains— manipulative reader, targarcest, mild nsfw, angsty - CANON DIVERGENCE - use of bastard, mentions of alcohol and slight phys. abuse (otto's a dick) - sort of non canon compliant, timeline is loosey goosey; in the books, rhae & dae visit kings landing frequently even after moving to dragonstone, so im going by that - nsfw: male masturbation, strong allusions to sex but no actual woohoo, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas. unedited.

a/n— for my boy jace, the prettiest dark haired prince there is. simp!jace you will always be loved by me. comments, reblogs & like at will! + dividers by @danowh0re + accompanied song: SWEAT— HAYZ.

Aegon, under the guise of weighty cups and half-mast eyes, slides beside you, following your gaze as you appraised the entrance of the Strong bastards into the courtyard.

"Are you sure about this, sister?"

"Does wine taste like heaven under grandsire's scolding, brother?"

Aegon snorts. As your twin, the difference between the two of you are more stark than people might think. Though you share the childish, almost babe like features that usually got women to bow down to Aegon— with your doe eyes, the soft cheeks, and the curled pout — where people think Aegon is a horrible mess of a git, your shared grandsire the forefront of this slander, you are quite the opposite. Beloved, dutiful, and innocent in the eyes of many.

It didn't matter that you wore green as prettily as your mother, or that your twin is a mess of wine and women— you were different. You were kind, pretty, and enticing.

A precious flower among green thorns, the smallfolk whispered.

People had even commiserated how, despite the typical Valyrian looks of silver-gold hair and lilac eyes, your Hightower lineage softened your edges. Your looks.

Your personality.

Snort.

"You know Aemond would rather see you insult the little bastard in half, than whatever it is that you are thinking of doing."

You hum as you don't remove your gaze from the dark haired prince, making jokes with his younger brother, Lucerys. From the corner of the courtyard, you and your twin could see Aemond sparring with Ser Criston with more vigour than he usually did, especially at the time of day. Occasionally, he spared the younger Strong bastard a glance that spoke of trying to unearth his insides from his body, no doubt imagining the very same as he swung his blade.

Aegon and you shared a look, stifling laughter, before you focused back on your prey. Jacaerys Velaryon. A name he uses like a shield despite having not a single drop of the sea in his blood. All you had to do was look at the dark hair, the skin and the nose of the First of Men before him.

How your half-sister Rhaenyra can say he was a Velaryon with a straight face is beyond you.

Your gaze might be searing as Jace looks up at the balcony from where you had been idly staring at him for the better half of the time, and you give him a wry sort of smile. A soft sort of smile. An acknowledgement. Just as he makes a nod of hesitant acknowledgement— unlike your brothers, you had not join in on the hostility and mean-spirited comments — you had already turned fully to Aegon as if you are enraptured by conversation.

"It's a contingency plan, my darling Aeg," you say softly as you brush the back of your hand to his face. You are aware of Jace's gaze now focused on you and your twin and you make it good for him. You make a performance. You follow the steps you've practiced so eagerly.

And eager for your soft touch, Aegon's eyes flutter in response. Ever since you were young, and seeing how harsh everyone is of Aegon and his failures, you decided you would be the kindness to him.

Though you do like him, another contingency plan for him wouldn't be so bad, would it? After all, you can bet on a lot of things, but your grandsire's award-winning thirst for power and your mother's malady to anxieties are good tidings to see them planting Aegon on the throne and usurping everything from your dearest, oldest sister.

Aeg didn't need to know that, of course.

What he can know and what he can help with, is making sure Jacaerys was looking as you smiled softly at your brother, your gold and silver spun hair bathed in morning light, and in one of your favourite dresses— a white silver dress lined with black lace and green embroidery of dragons — you were angelic personified. The Maiden come to gather and soothe your dearest brother.

You capture Aegon's face in your hands, ever soft, ever sweet, as you smile at him. He's so deprived of physical touch that doesn't harm him that he sighs against your palms. You do feel a little bad, but you need this plan to work.

"I am going to make him bow to me, brother," you whisper, giving him a soft kiss to his temple. He shudders, hands placing them on your waist, enunciating the kind curves you sport. "Mark my words, that boy king will stifle under my hand and foot. Mother's fears will not come to fruition. All will be well."

"I am older than you," he says softly, half smiling.

A gaze sears at the side of your face, as strong as the concussive heat radiating off a dragon's maw as your thumb brushes across your twin's cheek.

There is that, you think amusedly. No one can deny the little heir is his mother's child. Bastard he maybe.

"And I am better," you whisper, snickering.

"That you are." But his gaze is past you, back at the courtyard, at the reason for the heat in your skin. A spark of jealousy is quick in his mulish blue eyes but you only laugh. Light but loud, echoing.

"Come," you say with finality, taking a step back and offering your hand as you make the conscious choice of not daring even a peripheral glance, and heading back inside the keep. "We shall see them at dinner. The king's orders."

Your brother makes a sound crossbred from a huff and a groan, and you are already making plans to ensure his wine is controlled for the night, lest he makes a fool of himself in front of the King— or gods forbid, your grandsire — and mayhaps ensure the seating arrangement once again with your mother.

But everthing else is background noise; your schemes and your plots, your facades and faces, because a faux Velaryon has made it known that he cannot keep his gaze away from you.

Everything else is moot.

Jacaerys Velaryon, firstborn son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, soon to be Heir to the Iron Throne and Prince of Dragonstone, does not understand himself.

Perhaps you are just eye-catching. Your hair is more gold than silver, but it shifts like a mirage against sunlight. You yourself seem to change under shadows and light, as if you're casting a new spell again and again. Your eyes, your lips, the slivers of presented skin (have you really shown this much skin, all this time?), and your hips.

They sway, like a panther's.

Like a dragon's.

Jace has always known you to be pretty; Helaena has always been his favourite aunt with the fact that she's quiet and doesn't antagonise him like your brothers. Because Helaena simply cared little for him not because he was Rhaenyra's son, or that he didn't look like his father, or because he was a prince of the realm set to become heir once his mother was crowned.

Helaena simply just didn't care about him as a human not as hisn ame or his blood, her thoughts lingering more in her bugs and the fat babes she had with her brother, humming nonsensical under her breath. Not insults.

You were different. You looked. Jace knew you looked but he had never caught you before. It's a dance, he later realises come dawn he is awoken and there is a weight on top of him in rings of gold and silver, breathing softly— alive and so very warm, and from that moment, his — but for now he doesn't know.

Doesn't understand.

Your gaze is weighty, leaving searing imprints like a dragon marking it's favourite horde. But it's so hard to catch.

It started at the training grounds. As if his Uncle Aemond's wasn't enough, there was yours. He knew but could only see once, and even that felt like it was deliberate, a mere nod. As if you controlled how he worked around your sphere, and by gods, were you beautiful. Then you had turned to your twin brother as if he was nothing to you— really, he was, in the scheme of things, you were the secondborn daughter of the Queen, no matter how pretty your visage or blood is, you are a woman and a third child (right after the firstborn daughter and son), and in the other end, Jacaerys was the first son and heir of the Princess of Dragonstone, soon to be Queen. In fact, you should be nothing to him.

He was to become King, and you to be offered to a lord. To be someone's wife, to relinquish your surname and become someone's mother. Rear your new lord husband countless of babes and live your life having fulfilled your sole duty.

It is a fact that tasted brittle and bitter in his tongue, like soot and ash, and he doesn't understand it. You had crossed his mind, idle as it maybe, from time to time, but nothing concrete. You are pretty, you are kind, mischievous at times, playful, and you purposefully don't keep him long in your orbit.

You were just another aunt. Aegon's Twin Flame.

Misbegotten to not even marry your brother.

It was at dinner that night, amongst clinking goblets and fat foods spilling the edges of the table, his grandsire having arrived, even Aegon, rumpled hair and sunken eyes but dressed and suspiciously sober— and you, your mother's favourite, her most affectionate daughter, late.

"Where is she?" Jacaerys heard the Lord Hand asked, but the Queen had no reply, as confused.

And then you arrive, not ten more minutes later, and Jace's entire body had locked.

Though he did not know why or what, he knew you were up to something. You arrived in a new dress from this afternoon— close to it's style, nothing like the Queen's or Helaena's, conservative high necks and pious ever green— no, you came as a surprise with a flutter of a silken hand and an embarrassed laugh, tipping to your father a kiss on the side of his good face.

Even as you sat, it took a good, long while before the chatter would arose again (from your gracious laugh at your father's compliment no less), before everyone's eyes— even Criston Cole's, ever loyal rat — would lift from your visage.

You were ethereal, simply put, in a dress that is not of pious ever green or high collar trim; but in a flutter of what Jacaerys remembers as his mother's gown when she was pregnant with Aegon, and the days got too hot. When the babe inside her, made of pure dragon, had made her a furnace burning from the inside out.

It was the same lightweight material draped over your skins, a thin material bunched up several times so it is not too sheer. Not too inappropriate. Jace doesn't know what the fabric is, doesn't care to, but it looks like flowing water against your body. It moulds to your movements. Your shape is obvious, so are the expose arms, collarbones, your chest dipping low, too low sometimes when you lean over and laugh, eyes alight— Jace's eyes cannot stay away, they are glued to your necklace, to the top of your smooth breasts — and the dress is held together in links of golden dragons, your hair made up in braids, in pearls and small emeralds, with curled strays framing your cheeks and smile, your exposed neck.

It was meant to garner looks, compliments.

But it was the colour that Jacaerys knew it was meant for him.

At the centre of your chest— your bosom that dips, two mounds, so soft looking and the urge to reach over and press his fingers down, see how soft and pliant you really are, hear the kind of noises you make, in pain or pleasure, his thoughts make him hiss, tightening his hold on his wine, pinching nails to skin to ground himself — it starts off a darken green, shifting, blending to a winter green, a bluer green, a seafoam that he is more than familiar with, before escaping the edges in deep water blue.

The colour of his father's house had never looked so good, so charming, so sinful before.

He tears his eyes away from you because it is improper to be staring so, to be looking at you and feel like he is feasting when he is rooted in his chair and still so hungry, especially with the plans of betrothal with Baela, his mother had already asked him if she is ever in his thoughts.

Baela who sits beside him, ramrod straight and keen-eyed, respectable Targaryen lady, a confidant and a good friend. She would make a good queen in the future, he had thought so before. Respectable and fearsome, the best parts of his stepfather and the late Lady Laena.

He shakes his head, swallowing down his slice of veal before he kicks Luke's leg under the table.

His brother yelps, a mournful irritated sound for his eyes had ogled far longer (just like he, but would never admit) on you than was proper, reminding him, and yet when you look up at the sound, your eyes— have they ever been so violet? — lands on him. Again.

When your gazes meet, he is enraptured, but he clears his throat and nods. "You look good, aunt." And because he cannot step, because his thoughts are cloudy and you are looking at him as if you know he can't stop looking at you, as if you can read each filthy thought he tries to stifle, as if you like it, he continues, "The sea green is a nice colour on you."

He can feel eyes on him, even the Lord Hand's. Even Aegon, goblet pressed against his lips, hiding a smirk. He burns, but he doesn't burn as bright when your smile stretches, your lids lower, and he burns so bright he fears he might be on fire.

The flames are licking him and he does not mind, so long as you keep your gaze.

"Thank you, nephew," you hum. "That is so very sweet of you to say."

And Jacaerys blushes, coughing once when he notices his lady mother giving him a look. Knowing. Curious but not probing, not yet. What he doesn't notice is the Queen's perceptive frown as she gazes at her daughter, the Lord Hand's raised eyebrow, or Aegon trying so very hard to stifle his laughter, turning to Helaena as if he is saying something to her.

But what Jacaerys does see is Aemond's intense glare, sharpened and rekindled and suspicious, and Daemon... The Rogue Prince is eyeing you differently. No longer just another Targaryen bleeding Hightower green, no longer just another offspring of the Hightower cunt.

No, Jace can almost see inside his stepfather's brain and see the Valyrian looks. The body of a woman freshly sloughed off the body of a child.

You are pretty and young and Daemon Targaryen is looking at you.

It shocks Jace how much he despises it.

It is for my mother, his thought persists even as he looks at you again and his insides whirl. I am upset for my mother.

Daemon Targaryen can see plainly what you are doing.

You've always hated that about men with good insight, who do not care for what is between your legs, only for your actions. For what it might do for what he cares about.

And Daemon cares for Rhaenyra, for Viserys, for the Targaryen legacy, pure and untainted.

(As if the blood of the First Men is okay to bastardise his bloodline but gods forbid the oldest and greatest of the Great Houses).

And he is now looking at you as if he has noticed the steps and webs you have spun around for his stepson, the direct legacy, and he is amused.

The dinner comes to a conclusion to a small dancing, and your twin, dutiful to you and your orders you had told him as you cleaned and prepared him for dinner; stood up, brushed himself off, and politely asked Baela for a dance— the latter looking so surprised he was fully sober, much less asking for her hand — that she found no excuse, and reluctantly accepted as they pivoted to the centre.

As Daemon continues to look at you, to unravel you as if you are an enemy in a battle map, you stand up quickly and turn to Aemond, smile wide and fake.

Jacaerys won't ask you to dance. He had drawn looks with his compliment, suspicion. Grandsire was right, they are planning to marry him off to Baela to strengthen their cause. Jace will not entertain anything anymore publicly.

Duty bound, honour bound.

But, but, but.

you are not a fool, you know men and their pissing contests. You are a daydream hiding a nightmare.

For the past few minutes, he had noticed Daemon's inquisitive, amused appraisal of you, and his brown eyes (pretty for a bastard's; Ser Harwin's lashes must have been long) had burned a different fire and it gives you an idea, an exhale of relief.

Jealousy can salvage anything.

You just need to push him.

And Aemond is beautiful, a true Valyrian King in visage, the Warrior come alive. You look so much softer when you are beside him.

"Sister?" Aemond looks up at you, curious, confused since the beginning of the night. There is a plot he isn't privy to, and he has been spearing glances at you, at Aegon, at his grandsire just in case he knew anything.

You were unmarried while Aegon had married Helaena. Your time is coming, and he loathes the idea of a betrothal to the Strong Bastard. He had made his complaints known when the missive came from your sister, asking sweet Helaena's hand for your son thinking your mother would have surely betrothed you to your twin.

Neither side knowing you had almost sent back your name, offering your hand.

"It has been a while since you had asked me to dance, little brother," you say, hands behind your back, framing yourself soft and playful. There are so many gazes on you, you play with it well.

"I was ten and one then, mandia sister, a boy."

"Too long," you tease. "Kessa ao daor lilagon lēda aōha mandia, valonqar? Will you not dance with your sister, little brother?"

He hums, acquiescing easily, and standing up. You peel a laughter that attracts a chuckle from the king. This is how you dance around the palm of Viserys I. Men like it when you play a part. Not to cost trouble, not to step over the line.

You aren't the elder sister, the firstborn child. You are means to further a line, not to have any important position. Rhaenyra is the exception only from the womb that bore her. You, like Helaena, are likened to fall in line and act like you like it. Like being a fat, old lord's wife has always been your dream. Bear his babes and suffer the trauma of hanging your life in the balance to produce them into the world.

It makes you burn with rage most days.

"What are you doing, mandia sister?" Aemond whispers against your cheek after having brought you close, dancing through the steps swiftly, keenly. It truly is a shame that Aemond doesn't dance oft.

"Won't you just believe and put your faith in the sister that you adore?" you snipe playfully. It's easy to use Aemond's hair to hide the glance you drop Jacaerys and see the seething glare he burns through your baby brother's head. Lust, yearn, jealousy— they dance and cook in his gaze. You giggle despite yourself.

"Grandsire will not allow you to marry that bastard," Aemond hums, unable to hide his irritation. You roll your eyes. Clever little brothers.

"As much love as I can grasp from my heart for our grandsire, valonqar, I am a dragon. I will take what I want. A tower is nothing to dragonfire. Grandsire oft forgets I am a princess of the realm and he is only a lord." You step back and bow as the song ends, as your father tires and wishes to go to bed. He only stays this long, or even leaves his chambers, when Rhaenyra decides to deign Kings Landing with her presence.

Always more for the heir. More effort, more love, more care.

And what is left for the other daughters of Viserys I?

He remembers Helaena's existence less, and if you do not make it a point to visit him everyday— to entertain him, read to him, laugh at being mistaken for Rhaenyra — you are sure you will be nothing more than a faint dream to him.

Your anger licked dark and green. Inside, it rages.

You watch as Jacaerys Velaryon says something to his mother, a rushed farewell, an excuse— a press of your fingers against your lips as you catch his breeches are tight, that his jaw is clenched — you step closer to Aemond once more, Aegon now drifting away from Baela and back into your orbit.

"Don't worry, little brother, I do not actually desire the Strong bastard. I want his crown."

Aegon giggles breathlessly, eyeing as Aemond's eye widen a fraction before he composes himself. "And what do you need now, sister, to accomplish such a beguilingly easy task?" Aegon snorts softly. There is only a faint scent of alcohol on him. You take it as win. "He's like a green boy from a quick flash of your chest. What more your tits in full display?" He leans close, mean and adorable. "You do not want a husband who is too quick for your own pleasure."

You swat his arm, pinching the soft flesh of his stomach before Aemond fully throttles him.

"Watch your tongue," Aemond hisses, fists clenching.

"It is okay. I take no offense, he is just being silly to rile you up," you placate him, pulling your twin closer to you just as Helaena approaches, shuffling close to your other side, burying her head against your collarbone. You hum, letting her quietly choose which physical affection she can take from you.

The four Green children, missing one. Scales of the dragon they may have, green fire burning from their maws. The four Green children, miss one. Sons and daughters of Viserys I. Nothing more than wombs and seeds for his legacy.

You finally turn to Daemon's probing stare and you keep it. "Keep his family away from him," you whisper to your siblings. You do not care if he understands. At this point, even your grandsire may have an idea for your plots.

And for the crown, for his lineage, no ambition is too small.

If he can send your mother to an old, grieving man after he had butchered his first wife, what ease it is to send a granddaughter willing to dance a scandal?

"I need him alone tonight."

You do not come to him immediately, more than knowing what he is doing. Maegor's Holdfast is a fun little place, with its secrets and tunnels. You had already studied the path to his apartments beforehand, and you are there, against the hidden way, hearing him fuck his fist to the vision of you, your name dripping and spitting from his pretty red lips.

You catching him after the high, chest up and down breathing hard. There is a self-loath, a disgust. You can just read his thoughts. When you enter, he is alarmed, a sword in his hand, guarded replaced to shock at the sight of you.

"Aunt," he whispers, appalled. Lustful. Righteous.

You tilt your head, unsmiling. You guard your thoughts as you approach, hands behind your back, voice soft. "Do you always reach to completion with my name in your tongue, nephew, or is today an exception?"

Jacaerys Velaryon flinches, sword hand dipping. "I—"

You are close, a hair's breadth away. Amusingly, he is struggling with himself. His honour in one hand, his desire in another. He wants to leap away from you and pull you close.

His choice is still open.

You answer for him.

"Would you like to know whose name falls from my lips when I reach completion?" you whisper against his lips. So close but still so far. Your fists are clenched behind your back, nails drawing blood. You cannot fail now. The Rogue Prince might be wandering now, ready to yank you or kill you.

You are a viper in a vipper's nest, and Daemon Targaryen is too late to realise you only want one true victim.

Jacaerys is drawn, the shock of your words melting to make way for the flutter of his eyes and the full shudder of his body as you lick a strip across his bottom lip, staining him.

Break yourself for me, Strong Boy, you think as he opens his eyes and stares at your lips. Break your oaths, your promises.

"Whose?" he asks, voice hoarse.

The surrender is at the hands he has brought first to your hips before he rose it slowly up and up, until his warm palms cupped your jaw, your face, swallowed in his hold. It is a delight to know his hands are bigger than your face, that he is told to tower over you. A boy king grown.

"Yours."

He groans but does not let you go. "I am betrothed."

You still. Such a Good, Strong Boy, resisting until the very fucking end. "I have not heard of such announcements, nephew."

"Mother will announce soon."

"Is that what you want then?" You grip his hands and stride forward until your are chest to chest. Until he can feel every outline of your body against his, until you can feel the hard line of his manhood against your stomach. Until he feels his own body breaking his oath.

"Please, Jace," you whisper, you beg. Your eyes begin to water. "I want you to take me... Only you. I have longed for you for so long. Your mother— my sister betrothed you to me first." He leans back, surprise flitting. "Yes, my love. But my mother had refused. I— I thought you would see it nevertheless. The affection in my gaze, the smile I give only to you. That I am offering my heart, my soul, my body to you. Only to you, Jacaerys."

Your tears are running down now, your voice so soft and so desperate. Where lust had clouded him, it is now tinged with a flattered adoration.

Men are so simple. Boys far simpler.

"I thought you knew," you say at last in a voice as broken as your heart. You take his hands away and step back. He grasps but you turn away, a sob wracks from your chest as fake as when you were a child, trying not to get in trouble with your mother so she can fire the septa that you hated. She had sneered at Aegon's drunken folly and was disgusted by Aemond's fresh wound.

You wanted her gone.

"Aunt, I—"

"It is alright," you cut him off. You turn back slightly, your smile watery, your gaze to the floor. "Aegon did not choose me either, unlovable as I am. Men only want me for my body and nothing more. I-I'll leave you be. Good night—"

You never finish your spiel because he had yanked you, hard, against him, his lips moving against yours— clumsily, not enough practice but aggressive in its desire — pressing you against him as if he is trying to swallow you whole.

Jacaerys is not bowing, not yet. But that night with his seed warm and full inside your womb, his body encased against your own, tightening whenever you made a movement, as if in fear any step you take away from him would slip you so freely from his fingers— his mouth, his lips, bruised by your own making, pressing featherlight soft against the side of your head, your hair — it is not too soon to think the boy king will bend the knee to you and only you.

And maybe the babe you bear him, but there is no need to rush. These steps are delicate but sure.

After all, he has only just cemented the thought that he will whisk you both to Dragonstone at first light, a traditional Old Valyrian wedding.

He will bow soon enough.

For now, you will enjoy your glowing win.

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