#wall mount dragon head

[yanderenightmare]

TW: NSFW, dubcon/noncon, slave darling, crude and derogatory terms, classism, abuse of power, death threats

fem reader

Thinking about the poor kitchen maid who's suddenly told she's to be the spoiled Prince's new chambermaid.

It hasn’t even gone a day yet, but you already miss your job in the kitchens.

Sure, the sweltering heat of the ovens always left you in a state of fever, and kneading dough from dawn ‘til dusk made your arms acidic with burns – unyieldingly sore – not to mention never getting a chance to sit down and rest before collapsing in bed at the end of the day. But the smell of freshly baked buns and the chance to sneak a bite out of those that came out of the oven just a bit too burnt for serving had always felt like payment enough.

That and not having to deal with the royal family.

You know you should feel honored. You know it’s supposed to feel godsend to be picked to become the Prince’s personal servant. But… there was a reason he so often required a change of maid.

You still remember the last one they’d taken from the kitchen. She was pretty and young and shouldn’t have been working there in the first place – that’s what everyone used to say before she disappeared.

You wonder if such words carry curses… and what you did to deserve the same things being said about you.

You nearly cried standing outside The Prince’s chambers, chewing on your lip with his breakfast tray in hand, wondering what rumors were true – if he really was as terrible as everyone claims – wondering where the other kitchen maid went and whether you’d end up in the same place… wondering what you could do to keep it from happening.

You don’t know what you were standing there waiting for, nearly pissing yourself when you knew he was still out – busy hunting down a couple of runaway servants for sport. It was almost as though you feared the room itself, as though it would bite once crossing the threshold. 

None of the sorts happened, though a gust of warm wind hit you like the breath of a beast once you opened the door.

Inside, there were around a dozen heads mounted on the wall – dragons, bears, lions, wolves, and other creatures you weren’t too sure of – all with mouths big enough to bite yours off.

You took only a second to look at them before they looked as though they’d leap from the walls and eat you alive, just like you’d predicted.

You set the tray of food down on the bedside table and walked to the bathroom to draw his bath – deciding work would keep your mind off it.

Stepping out a second later, you fixed a fire in the hearth and made to make the bed, stretching the duvet and the quilt over the massive mattress while eyeing the thread count with envy and the hand-stitching with awe. Left to wonder how many ducks had been shot to stuff the mountain of plush pillows he’d all but thrown onto the floor to make space for himself.

Walking through the steam to the bath again, you opened the cupboard to pick out soaps and oils – overwhelmed by the sight of every shelf stocked full of all sorts you’d never seen – glad you had somewhat decent reading skills – unlike many of the other maids.

Soaping the water, you sat on the edge and waited with a hand wading through the warmth – and while biting your lip, you let your mind wander again – daydream, like it so often did – imagining what it would be like to feel it on the rest of your skin, warm and smooth, sucking all the stress out and leaving you soft like a newborn.

He watched you enjoy yourself, his stark eyes calmly assessing what they saw with a tilt of his head – trailing from the tip of your worn-out shoes to the tattered edge of your grey maid’s dress, up your lap to the cinch of your waist where your white apron was bound – taking his time until your eyes fluttered open to find him standing there.

You nearly fell into the water, hopping up to a stance. “Sorry, your majesty- I forgot myself! Please forgive me.” You bowed, looking down at the muddy stains on your gray shoes – in anxious wait of his wrath.

But instead of a backhanded slap that would send you straight to the stone floor or a spit of venom which would make you flinch and cry, he spoke a calm and patient “Come here-”

Though spoken in a certain tone of authority that forced you forward in quick steps until stopping just short of him – still with eyes downcast.

“Mh, I'm glad they haven't run out of cute ones down there.” He said then, once you stood only a hair's length from him – voice just as calm as before and inspiring just as much surprise in you still, though now joined with visible confusion in the crinkle it caused between your brows. A furrow that only deepened once he reached out his hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Your majesty?” You questioned.

“It’s master.” He corrected sharply, and you grew unsure if his voice wasn’t just cold rather than calm. “I like that better. Now quit wasting my time and undress me, slave – I have important shit to attend to today.”

You wavered only a second, feeling the words like a flick to the forehead. “Of course, your majes- master. Forgive me.” You blurted with hands quickly jumping forth to help detangle the knots keeping his robes together. 

Small fingers working hurriedly to appease him, setting aside the light leather cuirass upon his dresser once loosening it from his torso – wondering if you should tell him your name, though thinking better of it as he’d opted for simply referring to you as a slave instead of asking. 

You hadn’t been called that in a long while – slave – never by anyone in the kitchen, at least. You’d nearly forgotten it was what you were – a slave – and not just a busy member of the crown’s staff.

You bit your lip with another bow of your head, not wanting the Prince to see your face in its hurt while you undid the ties to the braces on his arms. The castle had become your home rather than a prison over the years, but… with the echo of your title wringing in that very heavy tone of his, along with standing there – bowing your head while undressing him of all fine body armor and robes – you couldn’t suppress the reminder of being of much lesser blood and birth. A fact that – despite never before having bothered you much – somehow seemed to strangle you now.

He’d dragged mud in with his boots – and given he’d not bothered taking them off, you were left to believe he wanted you to do it for him. And though humiliating as it was, you crouched down and began undoing the laces nonetheless – further feeling degraded while caressing the boot.

You pulled it off and repeated the action with the other foot – wondering if he meant you to remove his breeches and tunic as well until he, fortunately for you, lifted the shirt off and pulled the strings to the trousers himself. Leaving the undergarments in a pool on the floor next to you.

You kept your eyes down until he was completely submerged in the water, afraid to see something you weren’t allowed to – before getting up and padding back to the cupboard. You'd never been any lady's or lord's maid before, but you had been trained in the duties – and though heat rose to your cheeks at the thought of those duties, you still made to grab the soap and loofa in shakey hands before kneeling down on the stool next to the tub.

You’d never seen the prince if not from afar atop the castle balcony during speeches by his mother, the Queen – and had only ever heard of his appearance as something twisted and foul – but looking at him with his eyes closed, he really didn’t look as demonic as people had made him out to be. But further thinking about it, scrubbing his chest with soap and water and oil – you realized that none of those people were likely to have seen him up close either.

He looks every bit royal with his strength of face – cutting edges as though carved in marble, with chiseled muscles gleaming in the water and oil.

He was no doubt very handsome, you concluded silently – finally understanding why he was more of an eligible prince than what his attitude would otherwise allow – that, along with the kingdom’s riches, of course.

He sagged forward while you mindlessly amused your findings – though paying attention enough to take the cue – squeezing water onto his back with the sponge before rubbing over the broad flex of muscles, freezing once hearing him let out a heavy moan.

He leaned back again after you were done. Spilling water onto your dress once pulling his arms out to rest on the frame with a sigh – his chin tipped upward, lounging lazily on the back of the tub.

You reached for his face next – now with a silken cloth – stroking it lightly over the few droplets of blood splattered from when he must have cut into those poor runaways after hunting them down with swords and dogs in heel.

You shuddered some at the thought and must have let your eyes linger too long – or at least long enough not to notice him opening his – staring at you silently with eyes jaded in something that seemed to seize you by the throat.

“I’m sorry, ma-” You tried, but he seemed disinterested in it, reaching for you with wet fingers rubbing on the hem of your collar.

“You’re not dressed properly.” He said then, voice lazy yet loud – unimpressed, though not enough to be outright angry.

Gulping at the feel of his large hand so close to your neck, your voice only barely held it together. “I’m sorry, master. They hadn’t the right maid livery in my size, but I’ll have it ready tomo-” You started, hands folded neatly on your lap.

“Take it off.” He interrupted.

You blinked – tensing with your throat closing – sitting there stunned for a moment before mustering an ever so hesitant answer.

“Your majesty?”

“It’s master. Don’t make me tell you again, slave." He growled through grit teeth right at your face after yanking you close by the fabric of your shirt. "And you either dress properly, or you go naked. And right now, it looks like it’ll be the latter. Unless you want to be whipped for poor servitude?”

Your eyes – moon-big now while you shook your head – breathing thin through your nose. “No, master... I’ll undress.”

“Good.” He broke off your collar, dropping you back down onto your seat on the floor before rising with water rushing fast and heavy down along his limbs, dripping onto you as he stepped out with an unfettered splash.

You got up as well, beginning with the buttons on your shirt. Feeling him eye you while he wrapped himself in the towel you’d laid ready for him – his burning gaze leaving you goosefleshed and nearly in tears, bashful as you stepped out of your skirt – naked before him.

You didn’t dare look – even as he stepped toward you. Keeping your head bowed low – breath in shivers while eyeing the hand he reached for you, his fingers stopping just short of touching your bare skin.

“Clean yourself.” He said then, wafting the same hand to the tub he’d just used. Still filled with bubbles of lavender, though no doubt also of his own grime. But you wouldn’t refuse, no matter the degradation – your thoughts still lingering on the former kitchenmaid who’d disappeared not long after becoming the Prince's personal servant.

You stepped in, feeling the warmth close around your legs – still hot enough to prickle. Lowering yourself down, you sat there – swallowed by the bubbles with the loofa in hand, lathering your flesh with the mix of oil, soap, and water – brushing off soot and sweat – leaving you soft-skinned and smooth to the touch, but also riddled with goosebumps that wouldn't lower under the heavy leer the Prince was giving you.

“Get out and come here.” He said a short moment later, and you got out as told – taking slow steps toward the man, with footprints leaving soapy puddles in their wake.

He reached behind you to pull the pin from your worker's bun, letting your hair cascade in flowy wisps down around your shoulders – before brushing them behind you to clear your face and chest.

He’d dried off but didn’t offer you the towel – having dropped it into a wet pile on the floor – now reaching out to feel the smooth gloss of your breasts with brazen digits. Inspecting and assessing while caressing their weight as you stood there with your head still hung down low – silent and shivering.

Soon his hands fell from your chest down to judge your every curve, sliding over slippery slopes until reaching your cunt – stroking two thick fingers through the drippy curls found there. Gliding them between the lips, he circled your clit with his middle digit – tickling you – while dark eyes watched your lip quiver with a power-hungry gleam.

Stepping closer, the small smirk stretched on his face brushed your hairline where you tried bowing your head even lower in embarrassment – with brows tremoring similar to the hands hanging loosely by your sides.

“Aren’t you gonna bleat like a little lamb? Hmm... slave?” He asked then – low in a whisper, blowing gently into the sweat of your hair – cold enough to make you shiver even more. “The slut before you did….” He added with his smirk sharpening – lips stiffening against your skin where he brushed them in halfhearted kisses down your forehead and temple until reaching the shell of your ear. “I had to wring her little neck just to make her stop squealing.”

You sucked your teeth on impulse, jolting just a bit but not enough to make the dire mistake of moving. 

“I can tell you’re smarter. That’s good….” He continued with fingers kept at your cunt – playing your shivering core where you stood planted – dripping wet with bathwater and terrified of moving. “Weak little things like you do better understanding their place.”

Your hands formed loose fists, flinching at your sides as you kept from the urge to wring your thighs shut until he left your sensitivity alone.

“But smart or not, I believe you missed a spot earlier-” Both his hands found your hair instead. “So get down on your knees, slave.” 

One paw cupped the back of your skull in a ponytail while the other laid flat on your scalp, pushing you down until he had you leveled with his throbbing manhood – thick and high-strung – blushed red and strangled with veins – bobbing with might against the ant trail leading up to his navel and looking every bit impatient to be served. 

“Use this pretty head of yours to do better, and maybe I won't have to wring your little neck too.”

You eyed the swaying length with eyes crossing – sucking your lip at its intimidating reach and how it seemed to rise higher than your head – mumbling out a weak. “Yes, master...”

You dropped your jaw and produced your tongue – feeling him keep control of your head in his tightening hold, yanking your hair before you gave the large cock a flat lick – starting at the base of his balls until flicking off at the very tip.

Not too revolted by the mild taste of lavender and vegetable oil, you locked your lips around the head and sucked it in hopes he’d ease his grip.

“Sh-fuuhck- you really do know your place, huh slave?” He mouthed – his head hanging back in a heavy groan – holding your skull in both hands while using them to bob you against his crotch on repeat, lolling his hips inside the wet warm comfort of your mouth a little deeper for each time – only moaning with a laugh once you gave a whine for breath. “Sweet and obedient- just how I like- with a nice wet throat to fuck too….”

He thought of kicking you when you put your small hands against his thighs to brace yourself – but given how softly you held them there without nails and pinches, he decided he’d grant you the tiny mercy – thinking he’d later teach you to keep your hands on your knees when serving him head like a proper slave ought to.

Tipping his head back again, he looked down at you and the pretty curl between your brows and the cute sight of your teary eyes looking back up at him – giving a hiss at how it made his balls tug in excitement.

“Get up-” He growled, pulling you up by your hair and throat until you shoddily stood upright on unsteady feet – lightheadedly looking at him with dazed eyes and a wet pout. “’This tight cunt as loyal to the crown as your mouth, hm?” He asked with a hand smacking the soft place, making you yelp before he made to bury two of his thick fingers inside the taunt space.

You whined out softly at the intrusion – kept steady and close by the fist holding your throat in a choke – before he used the same hand to throw you over the bed – stomach first with a slap to your ass.

“Bow down, slave- and show me some fucking respect. You’re in the presence of royalty, remember?”

He mounted you with a pent-up groan – and a strong fist in your hair, pushing your face down into the mount of pillows you’d dallied with earlier. His knees dipped into the plush next to your hips, locking you beneath him with his spit-slickened meat resting between the soft valley of your ass, sliding between the cheeks impatiently.

Gathering your wrists in his other fist, he kept them crossed at the small of your spine – before pulling back and letting his cockhead fall right to your sweetly wet and welcoming opening – wasting little time in piercing it nice and deep in a direct aim – like an arrow shot straight through a target.

You winced and bucked your hips at the attack – feeling your walls weep and sting – fluttering hot around the size of it.

He leaned across your back – heavy against your shoulders with his mouth at your ear in gritty whispers. “I like docile slave girls like you who know a thing or two about pleasing a man. Good submissive sluts who understand they’re nothing but warm soft meat for men like me to devour.” 

His words groaned in nibbling bites on your earlobe – with a hand kept strict and harsh in yanking your head back for him as he slowly started dragging himself out and stuffing you so fast you couldn’t keep from yelping at the breach. Toes gripping the cold rocky tiles as your legs shook under you – being rocked into harsh and deep by the muscle strength of the beast on top.

“I'm not the first one you’ve bent over for, huh?” He continued with a grin, haughtily chuckling in low breathy condescension. “Probably the first one you’ve had take you in a proper bed, though, hm? And not in a hayloft on whatever dirty farm you grew up on.” 

Your fingernails punched into your palms where he wrung your wrists tight, keeping you pressed flat beneath him while he heedlessly rutted into you like you were nothing but his own snug fist. 

“I bet the whole village had a go seeing how pretty you turned out.” He laughed again, scoffing at it with his tongue tickling your ear. “Did they all fuck you like this? From behind like a farm animal? On all fours with your pretty face moaning in the mud?” Simpering, he sped up as though aroused by his own words.

Twisting your hair tighter and groaning louder against your ear – chasing your deepest parts with balls clapping hard against your clit.

“You’re all fuckin' inbreds- It’s a fucking miracle your filthy parents created something like you- prettier than all the bratty princesses I have to listen to yap all day.” He moaned – now fully drooling against your face, nomming on your ear with heavy breaths.

Fully draping you in his sweaty muscles, you lay gasping beneath the weight – cunt clenching hard around his shaft – making him hiss.

“Ah fuck- It's nice coming home to an obedient slave- so tight and warm- grateful for a royal cock in your poor slave cunt, huh?”

You winced at his pounding, so deep you felt it choke you – making your stomach fold and curl, trying to protect itself from the assault. “Yes- thank you, master- thank you-” You cried while he placed sloppy layers of wet kisses down your temple and cheek in return – until finally pulling off.

“Come here, down on your knees-” Ripping himself to his feet, he pulled you with him by the fist riddled in your hair and pushed you down at the foot end. 

Tugging on his cock in the other hand – quick faps in the slick – he kept you looking up at him while slapping the wet weight in sticky taps against your lips. 

“Open wide, slave- here it comes-” 

Only one more jerk and it all blew in thick white beams shooting across your face – spewing in clusters, hitting you once on your forehead and another over the nose - dripping to your lips into your gaping mouth where he focused on squeezing out the rest – tapping the plush creamy tip against your tongue while panting. 

“Mh-fuck- clean me off and swallow.”

With breaths heavy and slowing, he detangled his hand from your sweaty locks and made to pet your head instead. Gently running his fingers over your hair while watching you obediently kiss and lick up all the spill in tired and slow yet devoted strokes with your tongue until it was all prettily wiped clean.

“Good slave.” The Crown Prince hummed then.

Finally sounding satisfied – still with a lazy hand holding your head where you so faithfully sat at his feet, swallowing his seed, while his satiated cock grew limp in regard.

“Now go wash off while the water’s still warm, and come out and help me get dressed.” He ordered, voice groggily soft in the after high. “I have a full schedule today looking at potential brides… and I want my little farm animal by my side to keep me going insane from boredom.”

BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi

JJK – Sukuna, Gojo, Naoya

HQ – Oikawa, Sakusa

BLLK – Reo

DS – Doma, Muzan, Sanemi

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yancore #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jjk smut #bnha smut #yandere bnha #mha smut #my hero smut #yandere csm #yandere aot

[dragons-and-handcuffs]

Aegon Targaryen ii x niece!reader

If there is anyone Aegon has truly loved in his life, it is you. His niece. Rhaenyra's daughter. Aegon knew you two will be married the moment you were born. At the time he was very young to realize that it was a strategic move by his older step sister and father, but it doesn't mean that his feelings for you have been anything but genuine. Even Alicent knew that if there is anyone who can keep him in the right path, it's you.

Aegon often compares you to a beautiful snowy day. Your hair silver and shining as the snow when the lazy sun rays brush against them. Your presence warm like the fire. Your smile bringing comfort to him always.

You were close to Aegon when you were growing up, or at least you thought you were made to be close with him. To always have his trust and love. Unlike Aegon, you always knew the reason why you two were arranged to be married, and it has always made you feel that whatever you feel for Aegon is not real, it's all part of the grand scheme. Even if you let yourself feel and enjoy him and his presence momentarily, your mother would always remind you of your purpose.

But Aegon was not completely blind. He can see how his beloved niece is always conflicted. He can see how you are stopping yourself from listening to your heart. But he hopes one day you will love him just like he loves you.

The night before your wedding Aegon sneaked into your room, taking you by surprise. "What are you doing in my room at this hour, uncle?" You asked. "What? I can't come and see my soon to be wife?" He just chuckled and threw you some clothes he stole from a servant. "Change into this quickly." He told you as he made sure the door was locked. "Why?" "Because I want to sneak you out of the castle like we used to do when we were kids," Aegon replied. "I want us to be just Aegon and y/n, not some prince and princess."

Aegon couldn't help but admit that even in a servant's clothes you look beautiful. He himself put the hood over your head to hide your silver hair before holding your hand and taking you through a secret passage.

For the night you forgot about your mother's words. You forgot about your purpose. You were just y/n enjoying your last night in the streets of kings landing before getting married the next day.

Your smile, your laugh, the twinkle in your eyes, it was all Aegon could focus on, thinking of himself as the luckiest man alive.

The night ended with you gently pressed against the wall, laughing after you two ran from some guards. Aegon gently caressed your cheek before kissing you. A kiss both of you have been longing for a while now. A kiss you have dreamed of many times but scared to desire it.

The next day you married Aegon in front of everyone, vowing to always love him. You were happy. Aegon was happy. But your smile soon turned upside down when your mother told you to not bear him a child until she is crowned as the queen. A legitimate child of Aegon would cause problems for Rhaenyra and her way to succession.

How can you stay away from the man you love? It would be impossible but to obey your mother you had to. You ignored Aegon, pretended to be annoyed by him or hate him. It was a torture for you. Poor Aegon couldn't understand what was going on. He couldn't figure out what he did wrong. And so he started drinking to forget about the pain. He slept with other women to forget about you. You knew everything and you never imagined it would hurt so much.

You were doing everything to obey your mother until you just couldn't take it anymore. You were beyond frustrated, unable to live your own life or love your husband, unable to see Aegon in other women's arms. You just ran out of the castle with tears in your eyes and mounted your dragon and flew away. The news reached Aegon and even in his drunk state he didn't hesitate to mount Sunfyre and ride in search of you.

Hours later Aegon finally found you, far away from kings landing. The young prince has flown through a storm, the effect of wine long gone, and he is beyond worried. When you heard the flap of the dragon wings you thought it was maybe Aemond, because in your mind there is no way Aegon would be the one to come for you.

When you saw him you just broke down, on your knees, tears running down your face. Aegon ran to you. Despite everything you have done he still loves you. "I can't take it Aegon. I can't take it anymore," You cried as soon as he kneeled down and wrapped his arms around you. "Tell me what happened. I can fix it," Aegon begged.

You just couldn't' hold it any longer and told him everything, breaking both your hearts with each word. "I love you Aegon. I really do but if I choose you I will lose my mother and my brothers," You cried. This is the first time in your life you have opened to him. Aegon just hugged you tightly, letting you cry and feel everything. "I don't desire the throne, y/n. All my life I have only desired you. I have only loved you and I will only choose you. For the first time in your life you initiated the kiss. It was slow and sweet, and full of emotions from both of you. " Make me yours, husband. I only want to belong to you from now on."

Aegon was gentle with you. Kissing you everywhere as you two made love. You were holding and hugging him tightly, feeling a weight has lifted off your shoulders. You have decided to only live your life as the Aegon's wife and the princess, not Rhaenyra's daughter or a pawn.

You two returned to King's Landing together, walked through the halls holding hands. Aegon has promised to only find comfort in your arms and has sent all the other women away.

A year later you are pregnant with his child. You have seen what a man Aegon has become. A true Targaryen prince. And after everything your mother has done you hold nothing but hatred for her. She pushed you to go against her and support Aegon's claim on the throne.

"My beautiful wife," that's what Aegon always calls you. He was right by your side when you gave birth. He became a much better man and an excellent husband.

By the time Viserys died you were a mother of three royal Targaryens, all of them strongly resembling you and Aegon. It's something Rhaenyra is very displeased with. For years she tried to push the agenda that Aegon forced himself on you, otherwise why would you betray her and give him heirs. She refuses to believe that you love him.

You now have a seat at the small council. Your children are loved and even have a great bond with their uncle Aemond. You are pregnant again and the maesters believes it's another set of twins.

But tragedy soon struck when Blood and Cheese happened. It was your children who were the targets, specifically your eldest son but how can you not protect them? You fought the two assassins and lost your own life right in front of your children. When the guards found you were already dead but your children were safe.

Aegon rushed to you and his mind and heart just broke in the most irreparable way as soon as he saw you on the floor. Your eyes still open, your lifeless body lying in a pool of blood.

Aemond rushed in as well. He couldn't process what happened either but he did manage to take the children out of the room.

"My love?" Aegon called you in the most broken voice as he shook your lifeless body. "Wake up, my love. It's me, your Aegon."

His mother, Alicent, stood by the door and was totally helpless. She watched her eldest son cry over you and the more the realization draws in that you are dead the more shocked he gets.

Aegon was crying and fighting everyone when you were getting prepared for the funeral. He didn't leave your side for even a second. His arms and clothes are still stained with your blood.

As your pyre burned Aegon vowed to get revenge and make everyone suffer. He didn't move a single thing of yours from the room. Your jewelry, your dresses, even the last flowers he gave you. If anyone touches anything of yours they would lose their hands.

Aegon did manage to get his revenge. He described to Rhaenyra his last most moments with you as he fed her to his dragon who was also very fond of you. But ge knows nothing he can do or desire can bring you back.

At last it's your eldest son who sat on the iron throne and even claimed your dragon.

When Aegon closed his eyes for the last time he knew he was finally going to see you again. He woke at the same place you two made love for the first time. You were in a white dress, playing with the two children you never got to give birth to. "I was waiting for, my love," you gave him the very smile that always brings him comfort. Aegon finally got to kiss you again, to hold you and feel your love again. "I am never leaving you again, my beautiful wife."

#hotd #game of thrones #house of the dragon #game of thrones imagines #hotd headcanon #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd imagines #hotd one shot #house of the dragon imagine #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x reader #hotd aegon #aegon targaryen #aegon the second #aegon the usurper #aegon targaryen x niece!reader #aegon x niece!reader #got fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones fanfiction #got #game of thrones imagine #got imagine #got one shot #got oc #aemond targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen

[kckt88]

Closer II

Summary:

Both Aemond and Lucaela deal with the concequences of their mating as certain revelations come to light.

Warning(s): Language, Angst, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut – Fingering, Oral Sex, P in V, Knotting, Marriage, Pregnancy, Child Birth, Character Death.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C LUCAELA VELARYON

INSPIRED BY - 'NINE INCH NAILS - CLOSER'

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 6623

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

"You fool!" Otto roared, his voice echoing off the walls of his chambers. "You can't keep your damn knot in your breeches, can you? Irreversibly tying yourself to Rhaenyra's daughter, of all people!"

Aemond's jaw tensed, his own frustration mounting as he bore the brunt of his grandfather's wrath. "I never intended for this to happen, grandfather," he protested, his voice tinged with desperation. "But Lucaela-she's my mate. I couldn't deny our bond any longer."

"Your mate be damned!" Otto spat, his fists clenching at his sides. "Do you realize what you've done? You've single-handedly destroyed any chance we had of securing the throne for your brother. All because you couldn't control your urges, I thought I had to worry about your brother, not you”.

"Grandsire-“ muttered Aemond.

Otto's mind raced as he tried to salvage the remnants of his meticulously laid plans, the very foundations of which now seemed to crumble beneath his feet. With Rhaenyra and Daemon demanding that Aemond marry Lucaela, Otto saw a sliver of opportunity amidst the chaos.

"If we can't control the situation," he mused aloud, his voice heavy with frustration, "Perhaps we can manipulate it to our advantage."

Rhaenyra's attachment to her daughter was well-known, a weakness that could be exploited if handled with care. If Lucaela became a pawn in their political game, they might be able to force Rhaenyra to come to terms and bend to their will.

"Force her hand," Otto murmured to himself, his mind churning with possibilities. "Use Lucaela as leverage to ensure Rhaenyra's compliance."

The Alpha within Aemond roared in protest as he listened to his grandfather's plans for Lucaela. Deep within him, a primal instinct surged, rejecting Otto's manipulative schemes with a ferocity that matched the flames of a dragon.

"No," Aemond growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I will not allow Lucaela to be used as a pawn in your games”.

Otto's gaze hardened as he locked eyes with Aemond, his own resolve unyielding in the face of his grandson's defiance. "You are willing to risk everything," he countered, his voice laced with frustration, "Your own life, the lives of your brothers and sister, the life of your mother, all for the sake of this bond?"

Aemond squared his shoulders and shook his head, his grandsire’s words playing on a loop in his mind.

But the Alpha inside him was furious, demanding that he protect his mate.

"If Rhaenyra is crowned queen, we will all be in danger. She will see us as threats to her rule, and she will stop at nothing to eliminate us."

“Grandsire-there has to be another way“ muttered Aemond.

Otto shook his head, his expression grim. "What of the realm?" he challenged. "Do you not care about the stability of the Seven Kingdoms? Aegon is the King’s firstborn son, the crown is his by right”.

"But at what cost?" Aemond shot back, his tone fierce. "Do we sacrifice everything we hold dear in the name of political expediency? I refuse to let Lucaela suffer for our ambitions, to see her used as a pawn in a game of thrones."

“I implore you to see reason Aemond-a living contender invites challenge. We must work together to secure your brother’s succession,” said Otto.

“Not at the cost of Lucy-“

"You're being used, Aemond," declared Otto, his tone cold and unforgiving. "Can't you see? Lucaela deliberately placed herself in front of you, knowing full well you wouldn't be able to resist her scent."

Aemond's jaw clenched at the accusation, his Alpha instincts bristling with indignation. "You speak as if Lucaela is some kind of manipulative pawn," he countered, his voice sharp with defiance. "But she is my mate. Our bond is stronger than any scheme Rhaenyra could concoct."

Otto shook his head, his expression incredulous. "You only lost one eye how could you be so blind" he scoffed. "Do you honestly believe Lucaela's actions are purely out of love? She is her mother’s daughter, and she’s been raised by Daemon. You think it's a coincidence that she presented herself to you on the day of the Driftmark petition?"

Aemond's chest tightened at the implication, his mind reeling with the possibility that he had been deceived. But even as doubt crept into his thoughts, he refused to entertain the notion that Lucaela's feelings for him were anything less than genuine.

"You don't understand” he asserted, his tone firm and resolute. "Through our bond, I can feel her emotions, her feelings for me. They are genuine, I would know if they were false."

“A fools notion” scoffed Otto.

His Alpha instincts surged within him, reinforcing his conviction with a primal certainty that Otto could not hope to comprehend. "You speak of manipulation and deceit, but you underestimate the power of our connection," Aemond continued, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. "I can feel her love for me. No scheme or plot could fabricate such emotion."

Otto's scepticism faltered slightly, a flicker of doubt crossing his features as he regarded his grandson. But he quickly regained his composure, his resolve unyielding in the face of Aemond's protestations.

"Feelings can be fickle, Aemond," he cautioned, his voice tinged with warning. "Do not let your emotions cloud your judgment”.

But Aemond remained steadfast, his faith in Lucaela unwavering despite the doubts cast upon their relationship. "I trust in our bond, grandsire," he declared, his voice ringing with determination. "No matter the challenges we face, I will stand by Lucaela's side”.

Otto's voice carried a solemn warning as he fixed Aemond with a steely gaze. "When the time comes, Aemond," he said, his tone grave, "You had better pray to the Seven that your bond with Lucaela will be enough to save not only your life but the lives of your siblings as well."

As he rounded a corner, Aemond's heart skipped a beat at the sight that greeted him. There she was, Lucaela, radiant and alluring as ever, standing in the company of her stepfather, Daemon. His presence sent a surge of possessiveness coursing through Aemond, the Alpha within him bristling at the sight of another Alpha in such close proximity to his mate.

For a moment, Aemond stood rooted to the spot, torn between the conflicting urges warring within him. On one hand, the desire to assert his claim over Lucaela burned fiercely within him, driving him to emphasise his dominance over any who would dare to encroach upon their bond.

But on the other hand, a voice of reason whispered in the back of his mind, reminding him of the consequences of giving in to his primal instincts.

With a deep breath, Aemond forced himself to calm, the turmoil within him subsiding slightly as he approached Lucaela and Daemon. "Lucaela," he greeted her, his voice husky with desire yet tempered with restraint. "I was hoping to find you."

Lucaela turned to him, her eyes lighting up with warmth and affection. "Aemond," she replied, a smile gracing her lips.

" I was wandering when you’d have the courage to show your face after defiling my stepdaughter” said Daemon, his hand wrapping around the pommel of Dark Sister.

Aemond's jaw clenched at the barb, his Alpha instincts bristling at the insult. "Things will be set right by our marriage," he retorted, his voice sharp with indignation.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening into a knowing grin. "Of course, of course," he replied, his tone oozing with insincerity. "Nothing like a hasty ceremony to make up for your indiscretions, eh?"

But before Aemond could respond, Daemon continued, his tone dripping with condescension. "I do hope your grandsire hasn’t taken the news too hard, now that you can’t be sold off to forge alliances" he taunted, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "I suppose his carefully laid plans will have to be put on hold now that you've tied yourself to my stepdaughter."

Aemond's fists clenched at his sides, the Alpha within him roaring with fury at Daemon's jibes.

Just as he was about to respond, Aemond felt a surge of panic course through him, a jolt of raw emotion that cut through the haze of his thoughts like a knife. It was Lucaela, her distress echoing through their bond with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.

His mind raced back to his grandfather's words, the insinuation that Lucaela had deliberately placed herself in his path, tempting him with her presence.

Could it be true? Had she orchestrated their meeting, knowing full well the effect she would have on him?

The doubt gnawed at him, a relentless whisper in the back of his mind as he struggled to make sense of the tumultuous emotions swirling within him.

“L-Lucaela” exclaimed Aemond, his hand reaching up to his mating mark that had now started to sting.

Lucaela stared at Aemond for a moment before she turned and fled, her steps quick and determined as she disappeared back inside the Red Keep. Without a moment's hesitation, he followed, his instincts driving him forward with a single-minded purpose.

"Lucaela, wait!" he called after her, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the keep. But she did not stop, her form disappearing around a corner as she continued to flee from him.

With a surge of determination, Aemond quickened his pace, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty corridors as he chased after her.

Finally, he caught up to her just outside her chambers, his chest heaving as he reached out to gently grasp her arm, turning her to face him. "Lucy, please," he pleaded, his voice filled with urgency. "Tell me what's wrong. Why did you run?"

Lucaela's eyes were wide with fear and uncertainty as she looked up at him, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "I-I can't," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the pounding of their hearts.

But Aemond refused to let her push him away. "You can't or you won't?" he pressed, his voice tinged with frustration and desperation.

As Aemond searched her eyes for answers, Lucaela's resolve crumbled under the weight of his gaze. She took a shaky breath, steeling herself to confess the truth that had been weighing on her.

"Aemond," she began, her voice trembling with emotion. "Daemon found out about Otto's scheming-about your family's plans to usurp the throne and have Aegon crowned instead of my mother."

Aemond's eye widened in shock at the revelation, the implications of Daemon's discovery sinking in with a sickening sense of dread. "How?" he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.

Lucaela swallowed hard, her hands trembling at her sides. "Someone overheard a conversation between Otto and one of his advisors and word got back to Daemon," she confessed, her voice barely audible above the pounding of her heart.

“What does that have to do with me?” asked Aemond.

"After Daemon found out about Otto's plans, he knows that you and Vhagar are Otto’s biggest asset.  He-he told me to place myself in front of you, to allow nature to take its course."

Aemond's eyes widened in shock, his mind reeling at the implications of her words. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice trembling with disbelief.

Lucaela swallowed hard, the truth spilling from her lips like poison. "He knew that as a newly presented Omega, no unmated Alpha could resist me," she confessed, her voice shaking with shame. "He told me to use that to my advantage, to tempt you into-into succumbing to your desires."

A wave of anger surged through Aemond, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he struggled to process the betrayal that lay before him. "And you-you went along with it?" he demanded; his voice laced with accusation.

Tears welled in Lucaela's eyes as she met his gaze, her own heart breaking at the pain she had caused him. "I-I didn't know what else to do," she admitted, her voice cracking with emotion. "I thought-I thought I was helping, that I was ensuring my mother’s claim”

How could you?" he demanded; his voice thick with emotion. "How could you deceive me like this, Lucy? To use our bond for your own gain, to manipulate me-“

But before he could finish his tirade, Lucaela scoffed, her own frustration boiling over at his accusations. "And what about Otto's scheming to usurp the throne?" she shot back, her voice tinged with bitterness. "Did you really think that Daemon would stand idly by while your grandsire plotted to undermine my mother’s claim?"

Aemond recoiled at the venom in her words, the truth of her accusations striking him like a blow to the chest.

"Lucaela, I-" he began, his voice faltering as he searched for the right words.

But she held up a hand, cutting him off before he could speak. "I'm not excusing what I did, Aemond," she admitted, her voice softening slightly. "But usurping the throne from the named heir, it’s wrong”.

"In order for your mother to secure her reign, she would have to eliminate any potential threats to her power. Aegon, Me even Daeron. A living contender invites challenge," he continued, his voice heavy with resignation. "And in Rhaenyra's eyes, any one of us could be seen as a threat to her rule”.

Lucaela's eyes flashed with indignation, her voice rising with anger as she countered Aemond's grim assessment. "How dare you, Aemond," she spat, her words sharp with frustration. "My mother would never harm anyone. You are her blood. You would be part of her rule as Queen, not victims of her ambition."

“Did she not demand that I be sharply questioned-to discover where I heard slanders against her bastards” snapped Aemond.

The fire in her eyes burned bright, fuelled by a fierce loyalty to her mother and a deep-seated belief in her righteousness. "Otto has dripped his poison in your ear," she accused, her voice trembling with emotion. "You've let his doubts cloud your judgment, but I refuse to let you believe such lies."

“How can I be assured that they are lies” replied Aemond.

"Aemond, please," she implored, her tone softened with earnestness. "Search our bond. Feel the truth in my words. My mother has no intention of harming you or your siblings."

Aemond hesitated, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air between them. But as he gazed into Lucaela's eyes, he saw nothing, but sincerity reflected back at him, a raw honesty that stirred something deep within his soul.

Closing his eye, Aemond reached out through their bond, searching for the truth amidst the tumult of emotions that swirled within him. And as he delved deeper, he felt a sense of clarity wash over him, a profound realization that cut through the fog of doubt and uncertainty.

Lucaela wasn't lying. Her mother, Rhaenyra, harboured no ill intentions toward him or his siblings. It was a truth that resonated deep within him, anchoring him in the certainty of their shared bond.

Aemond pressed his forehead against Lucaela's, their bond pulsing with the intensity of their shared emotions. "My grandsire told me that crowning Rhaenyra would divide the Seven Kingdoms and start a war," he murmured, his voice heavy with concern.

But Lucaela shook her head, her eyes filled with a solemn conviction. "Usurping the throne is what will start a war," she countered, her voice steady despite the turmoil that raged within her.

“I’m worried Lucy-“

“Aemond, please listen to me," she implored, her gaze pleading with him to understand. "My mother is the named heir. It is her birthright, recognized by law. To challenge her claim would only sow further discord and violence only begets more violence. If you take the throne by force, it will only lead to bloodshed and chaos."

Aemond's expression softened as he regarded Lucaela, her sincerity and wisdom shining through in her words. "But what if-“

“-The House of the Dragon needs to stand together as one. Let the realm see us united, witness our strength and unity."

She reached out to take his hand, her touch warm and reassuring. "We can show the realm that we are not divided by ambition or greed," she continued, her voice filled with conviction. "That we are bound by blood and loyalty, and that together, we are stronger than any external threat."

“I want to believe you-” whispered Aemond.

“What do you think would happen to us-to me if Aegon was crowned King? It works both ways Aemond, my life would be forfeit as would that of my mother, stepfather and brothers-Otto wouldn’t let us live” whispered Lucaela.

The Alpha inside Aemond bristled with anger at the thought of Lucaela being killed, as angry as he was at her scheming, he knew she was right.

The only thing to do was make a choice-believe his Omega and trust that her word was true, or side with his grandsire and stand on the precipice of war.

In the end it was the Alpha inside who made the choice.

"My Alpha, issa zaldrīzes," she murmured, her voice a gentle caress against his senses (My dragon).

The bond between them pulsed with a primal energy, igniting a fierce longing within Aemond's heart. The Alpha inside him roaring to life, demanding that he seek to make amends with his mate, to bridge the divide that had grown between them.

Unable to resist the pull of their bond any longer, Aemond leaned in close, his lips brushing against Lucaela's ear as he whispered his own confession. "My Omega, I need you" he breathed, his voice husky with desire and regret.

“Then take me Alpha-claim what belongs to you. Now and always” whimpered Lucaela.

Aemond suddenly lunged forward and pressed his lips to hers.

Their kiss was rough and vicious. Consisting of teeth and tongue.

It was an eruption of frustration and passion. Hands everywhere, grabbing, scratching, and pulling at one another.

He spun Lucaela around and pressed her face against the wall, with one hand on the back of her neck and the other quickly untying the laces of his breeches.

Aemond nudged her ankle with his foot, signalling for her to open her legs wider.

His body covered hers as he sucked and licked the delicate skin of her neck, leaving red marks in his wake.

Lucaela moved her head to the side and moaned loudly as she felt Aemond’s teeth nipping at her skin.

Not having the patience to properly prepare her, Aemond spat into his hand.

Aemond ran his hand up and down the hard length of himself, eyeing his Omega with an animalistic hunger, a smirk on his lips as she bent forward for him.

He pulls aside her small clothes as he guides himself to her entrance, she barely has a moment to adjust before he is pressing his cock forcefully inside and stretching her brutally, causing her to cry out.

“FUCKING TAKE IT!” growls Aemond.

Lucaela can’t think of anything but the intense pounding thrusts that greet her, causing her to wail and moan, causing tears form in her eyes, before running down her cheeks.

Aemond sets a brutal pace, his hips crashing into hers.

Then he withdraws from her and spins her around, lifting her into his arms, his mouth pressed against hers as he quickly thrusts back inside her.

“YES! YES! AEMOND!” screams Lucaela.

“FUCK!” shouts Aemond as he feels her cunny clenching around his cock.

“P-Please Alpha-“ wailed Lucaela.

Aemond digs his fingers into the soft flesh of Lucaela’s hips, pulling her body against his as he thrusts forward, his singular eye focused on where they are joined.

His cock shining with her slick, the knot beginning to swell at the base, but he doesn’t want to finish not yet, not like this. So he withdraws from her again, making her whimper in frustration.

But Aemond ignores her as he lays her on the chaise lounge and falls to his knees.

Sliding his calloused hands up her legs, bunching the fabric of her small clothes in his hand before he rips them from her body.

“Aemond” shrieked Lucaela as Aemond’s mouth descends on her cunny.

Ravenously, he pressed into his Omega’s dripping core with his tongue, in and out, much faster than his cock ever could.

Still gasping, Lucaela clutched at his head with one hand, her other digging into the fabric of the chaise.

Aemond withdrew from her soaking wet core and lashed hard at her clitoris with his tongue, pulling on it with his lips. He was hard, fast and brutal, alternating between her assaulted bundle of nerves and drinking deep from her cunt.

Lucaela ground down on Aemond, hard; his tongue speared deeper inside her, and she felt the warm curl of her peak approach.

Aemond growled, deep in his throat; a sound that she didn’t hear very often. The vibration of his vocal cords rippled through to his tongue and Lucaela gasped; she felt every vibration keenly. Her body tensed for her peak– But Aemond pulled away from her and smirked, his chin shining with her slick.

“A-Aemond” gasped Lucaela, the tears of frustration spilling down her cheeks.

“Be a good little Omega and take what your Alpha gives you” said Aemond as he reached for the laces of her dress before he grew impatient and tore it from her body, leaving her breasts bared.

His tongue licking at the stiffened rosy peak.

“P-Please. Alpha” sobbed Lucaela as she felt his hard cock sliding against her folds.

“Hmm” growled Aemond as he wrapped his hand around his wife’s throat and sheathed himself inside her once more.

“God. Yes. Aemond” moaned Lucaela.

He began to thrust in and out of her in deep achingly slow thrusts.

“Your cunt is dripping, it's so beautiful” sighed Aemond.

Slowly thrusting back and forth. Over and over, withdrawing further each time, until his cock entirely withdrew from her warm wet entrance. He marvelled at her body. Such a beautiful, succulent thing his Omega was. Allowing him entry into the most sacred parts of her body.

Aemond began to fuck her in earnest, his fingers digging into the flesh of her throat, using her as leverage as he repeatedly plunged his cock into her cunny, over, thrilled to hear Lucaela’s moans of need echoing around their chambers.

His thrusts, brutal and unrelenting.

“Come for me, love” breathed Aemond.

Lucaela’s. screamed as her desperately needed peak exploded from her body, making every limb tremble as her body bucked around Aemond’s cock.

Gods, he needed to spill his seed, to see her swollen with his pup. But he wanted to watch her ride him to completion.

So, with his cock still nestled inside her, Aemond manoeuvred himself into a sitting position with Lucaela on his lap.

“Give me another-I want you to come on my cock again” growled Aemond.

Lucaela ripped open the cotton shirt he was wearing and ran her hands over the defined muscles of his chest, her nails digging into his pale skin.

“Oh” gasped Lucaela as she rolled her hips against Aemonds.

“That’s it baby, take it. Take all of me”.

Aemond placed his hands on Lucaela’s hips and marvelled at his Omega as she rode him.

Lucaela dug her nails into Aemond’s chest as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Lucaela as he moved his hand to her breasts and once again took one of her nipples into his mouth, his teeth gently grazing the rosy bud.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me” exclaimed Aemond, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention as the other.

Lucaela’s thighs began to burn, as she felt her second peak approach.

“AEMOND” screamed Lucaela as she felt Aemond’s knot slip inside her.

 “God. Lucy-my Lucy” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he finally spilled his seed inside her, collapsing against the chaise, breathing hard.

It took a good while for Aemond to regain his senses. Meanwhile his Omega had collapsed against him, her face pressed into his neck.

Kings Landing was a buzz with activity. The guests were arriving, the preparations had been made and it was finally here. The day Lucaela and Aemond would stand together in the great sept and get married.

Lucaela was so nervous that she decided to skip breakfast, as she wasn’t sure that she could actually stomach food.

After bathing, Lucaela’s maids began to help her get ready. Her dark hair was brushed and twisted into elegant braids and the Valyrian steel necklace that had once been gifted to her mother by Daemon was placed around her neck.

The cool metal resting against the mating bite that already marred her pale skin.

Her wedding dress had a fitted sleeveless bodice with a modest neckline. The skirts flaring out behind her like a cloud.

As soon as the gown had been buttoned and her maiden cloak tied, there was a soft knock at the door.

It was her mother.

“You look beautiful” gasped Rhaenyra as she looked her daughter up and down.

“Thank you” replied Lucaela smiling.

“I’ve come to escort you to the sept and Daemon will walk you down the aisle”.

“D-Do I look like a bride mother?” asked Lucaela.

“You look perfect my sweet girl-but tell me is this what you truly desire?”

“Yes mother-“ replied Lucaela.

“I do not agree with Daemon’s scheming-“ said Rhaenyra as she took her daughters hand.

“It was for a purpose mother-I was always meant to marry for allegiance”.

“I hate that you have done this for me-“ replied Rhaenyra.

“I do not. You are my mother and my future Queen, I would see myself from this world if it meant you were safe” said Lucaela firmly.

“My sweet girl what a precious gift you are-“ exclaimed Rhaenyra as she pressed a series of kisses to Lucaela’s face.

“Aemond isn’t all bad mama-he makes me feel desired” whispered Lucaela blushing.

“I can see the marks of Aemond’s desire for you” quipped Rhaenyra.

“Mama” gasped Lucaela.

“Right, shall we get going. It’s almost time” said Rhaenyra brightly.

The sept was decorated beautifully, but it all paled in comparison to Aemond who was stood beside the High Septon.

He was elegantly dressed, his black tunic decorated with silver dragons and his Targaryen cloak tied loosely around his shoulders. His long hair tied back in its usual half up, half down style.

The horns signalled the beginning of the ceremony and begrudgingly Lucaela took Daemon’s arm.

“You look beautiful my daughter” muttered Daemon.

“Thank you, father,” replied Lucaela.

“Be mindful Lucy-Desperate men are dangerous” whispered Daemon as he nodded towards Otto and Larys Strong who were muttering to one another.

“I had assumed that the traitors would have been dealt with already”.

“In due time-I cannot wipe out half of the Kings council, we must be vigilant and strike when the cunts least expect it” said Daemon.

“Mother must be persuaded to remain in Kings Landing, returning to Dragonstone isn’t the solution” said Lucaela softly.

“I agree” uttered Daemon.

“Thank you for escorting the bride Prince Daemon. If you would be so kind as to wait for the Princess to remove her maiden cloak” said the Septon.

Lucaela undid the ties of her maiden cloak and handed it to Daemon who nodded respectfully to the Septon and took his seat next to Rhaenyra.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection” said the Septon loudly.

Aemond removed the cloak bearing the colours of house Targaryen and draped it around Lucaela’ shoulders.

Aemond then took Lucaela’ hand and smiled as the Septon tied their hands together by a ribbon.

“In the sight of the seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity. Now you may look upon one another and say these vows together” exclaimed the Septon.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine from this day until the end of my days” said Lucaela, her lip wobbling slightly.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am hers and she is mine from this day until the end of my days” declared Aemond loudly.

“The vows have been spoken. You may kiss your bride”.

Aemond hesitated for a moment before he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Lucaela’ lips.

“ñuhon” whispered Aemond as he pulled away (Mine).

The grand feast in the throne room of the Red Keep was a sight to behold, a dazzling display of opulence and extravagance befitting the union of two noble houses. The room was alive with music and laughter, the air filled with the tantalizing aroma of exotic dishes and fine wines.

Aemond and Lucaela sat side by side at the head table, their fingers intertwined as they shared stolen glances and whispered words of love. But despite the festivities that surrounded them, the Alpha inside Aemond was restless, his senses ablaze with the primal urge to claim his mate.

As the night wore on and the feast reached its crescendo, Aemond found himself increasingly unable to resist the pull of his desires. The mating bite on Lucaela's neck called to him like a siren's song, its intoxicating scent sending waves of arousal coursing through him.

Desperation clawed at Aemond's senses as he struggled to maintain his composure, the need to reclaim his Omega growing more urgent with each passing moment. But amidst the revelry of the celebration, he knew that they would need to wait until they were alone, until they could be together in the privacy of their chambers.

Suddenly Aemond’s senses sharpened, a strange scent tickling at the edges of his awareness. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but to Aemond, it was unmistakable.

Nosing Lucaela's mating mark, he inhaled deeply, his heart pounding with anticipation. And then he caught it—the faintest hint of milk, sweet and intoxicating, mingling with the scent of their bond.

With a surge of excitement, Aemond turned to Lucaela, his eyes shining with joy. "Lucy," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "You're carrying my pup."

Lucaela's eyes widened in disbelief, her hand instinctively moving to rest against her stomach. "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice filled with wonder.

Aemond nodded eagerly, his heart soaring with pride. "I can scent it as your Alpha, the scent of milk is unmistakable," he explained, his voice filled with excitement.

Tears welled in Lucaela's eyes as she processed the news, a radiant smile spreading across her face. "Aemond," she breathed, her voice filled with love and gratitude. "I can't believe it”

The Alpha inside Aemond surged with a primal delight, a fierce sense of pride and joy coursing through him like wildfire. To pup his sweet Omega mate was a dream he had scarcely dared to imagine.

As he gazed upon Lucaela, his heart swelled with love and adoration, his Alpha instincts urging him to protect and cherish her and their unborn pup with every fibre of his being.

With gentle caresses and tender words, Aemond showered Lucaela with affection, his touch a promise of the unwavering devotion and support he would offer her as they embarked on this new journey together.

As Aemond and Lucaela reveled in the joy of their news, their moment of intimacy was suddenly interrupted by the boisterous arrival of Aegon. With a mischievous grin, Aegon sauntered over, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"Well, well, well," he declared with a playful smirk. "I think it's time you two lovebirds got a room, don't you?"

Aemond's scowl deepened at his brother's teasing, but before he could retort, Lucaela gently squeezed his hand, a knowing smile playing at her lips. With a soft chuckle, she rose to her feet, her gaze locked with his.

"Shall we, my love?" she whispered, her voice laced with laughter.

Aemond's heart swelled with affection as he returned her smile, his Alpha instincts urging him to protect and care for her above all else. With a nod, he rose to his feet, his hand entwined with Lucaela's as they made their way out of the crowded hall

-Months Later-

In the dim light of the birthing chamber, Lucaela's laboured breaths echoed against the stone walls, her grip on Aemond's hand tightening with each wave of pain.

Aemond stood by her side, his heart heavy with worry yet brimming with pride as he watched over her, offering words of comfort and encouragement with every contraction. "You're doing amazing, my love," he whispered, his voice a steady anchor amidst the storm of pain. "Just a little longer, and our pup will be in your arms."

With each passing moment, Lucaela's strength grew, her resolve unwavering as she pushed through the agony with unwavering determination. And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, their pup emerged into the world, a tiny bundle of life cradled in Lucaela's arms.

Tears welled in Aemond's eye as he beheld his newborn pup, his heart overflowing with an indescribable sense of joy and wonder. "He's beautiful," he breathed, his voice trembling with emotion.

Lucaela smiled through her exhaustion as she gazed down at their son, her fingers gently caressing his soft, newborn skin. "Aeron," she whispered, her voice filled with love as she spoke his name for the first time.

As Aeron let out his first cries, a sense of awe washed over them, a profound realization settling in their hearts. For even in his first moments of life, he emitted a scent similar to that of his father—Aeron was destined to be an Alpha.

As Aemond cradled his newborn son in his arms for the first time, his heart swelled with a love so fierce and profound that it felt as though it might burst from his chest.

"My son," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "My precious Aeron. My boy"

Tears welled in Aemond's eye as he looked upon the small, features of his son, the exact mirror of his own, his fingers gently tracing the delicate curve of his cheek. In that moment, he vowed that Aeron would always know his attention, his kindness, and his love and devotion.

"You will grow up strong and brave," he murmured, his voice a soft promise. "I will teach you to be honourable and just, to stand up for what is right and to protect those you love."

With each word, Aemond felt a sense of purpose settle within him, a determination to be the father his son deserved. For Aeron was not just his son—he was his legacy, his hope for the future, a symbol of the love and bond that he shared with Lucaela.

As the joyous celebration of new life echoed throughout the halls of the Red Keep, a solemn hush fell over the chambers of King Viserys Targaryen.

Beside him stood his loyal attendants, their faces etched with sorrow as they watched over their beloved King in his final moments.

“With a final, gentle exhale, Viserys' hand went limp, his eyes closing.

"Aemma," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper as he reached out through the darkness, his thoughts drifting to the wife he had lost so many years ago.

"Queen Rhaenyra of House Targaryen," he intoned, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of tradition. "The First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

With a graceful movement, the High Septon lowered the golden crown onto Rhaenyra's brow, the weight of it settling like a mantle of authority upon her shoulders. And as the crown gleamed in the dim light of the sept, Rhaenyra felt a sense of pride and purpose swell within her heart.

"And her Consort King, Daemon of House Targaryen," he declared, his words ringing out with solemnity. "May their union be blessed by the Seven, and may they rule with wisdom and justice for all the days of their reign."

A ripple of applause swept through the crowd as Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged a knowing glance, their hands clasped together in a silent vow of unity.

In the quiet chambers of their quarters, Aemond stood watch over his mate as she recovered from giving brith. Beside them lay their newborn son, Aeron, his tiny form cradled in the warmth of his mother's embrace.

Despite the grandeur of the occasion unfolding within the walls of the Red Keep, Aemond had made a solemn vow to remain by Lucaela's side, his protective instincts as an Alpha driving him to ensure her safety and that of their pup.

And so, as the sound of cheering crowds echoed through the castle walls, Aemond and Lucaela remained cocooned in the quiet sanctuary of their chambers, though they may have missed the pomp and pageantry of Rhaenyra's coronation, Aemond knew in his heart that their absence was a small price to pay for the precious moments they shared as a family.

But as Aemond gazed out of the window, his thoughts were consumed by the weight of uncertainty that hung heavy upon his shoulders. With Rhaenyra now crowned as Queen, the future seemed more uncertain than ever before.

Would their lives be in jeopardy under her rule, or would Lucaela's assurances of her mother's intentions hold true?

The memory of his grandfather's warnings echoed in his mind, a haunting reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows. Otto Hightower's schemes had been thwarted, but the threat to their family still lingered, a dark spectre looming on the horizon.

Lucaela stirred from her slumber, her presence a comforting balm amidst the storm of his thoughts. As he turned to look at her, her eyes fluttered open, and she reached out to take his hand in hers, her touch a silent reassurance of their bond.

"Are you alright, my love?"

Aemond forced a smile, though the worry still gnawed at his heart. "I'm fine," he replied, his voice strained. "Just-thinking."

Lucaela's brow furrowed with worry as she squeezed his hand gently. "Whatever happens, we will face it together," she said, her voice filled with determination.

As Daemon sat next to his wife, his sharp eyes trained on the trio of men engaged in hushed conversation across the room. Otto Hightower, Larys Strong, Jasper Wylde, and Tyland Lannister—men whose ambitions and treachery simmered beneath the surface, threatening to undermine the fragile peace of the realm.

As Daemon's gaze met theirs, they offered him a hesitant smile, a silent acknowledgment of their unease of what the future would bring. But Daemon remained stoic, his expression unreadable as he raised his goblet of wine in a silent toast.

The time had come to confront the traitors who sought to plot against his wife, Queen Rhaenyra. With a sense of purpose coursing through his veins, Daemon wrapped his hand around the pommel of his sword, the weight of it a comforting presence at his side.

The blood of the treasonous cunts would serve as a warning to all who dared to oppose Rhaenyra's rule. With steely resolve, Daemon vowed to root out the rot that festered within their midst, to ensure that justice was served, and the realm remained united under his wife's rightful reign.

As he took another sip of wine, the taste of it bitter upon his tongue, Daemon knew that the road ahead would be fraught with peril. But with his sword in hand and his wife's reign to defend, he would stop at nothing to protect what was rightfully hers.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #aemond x oc #aemond x original female character #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #hotd smut #hotd #alpha omega

[huramuna]

selkie's song - chapter 1.

night's watch aemond x wildling shapeshifter ofc work is 18+, minors do not interact, lest ye be smited.

this is wholly inspired by @lonelymagpies depiction of Night's Watch Aemond. please go check out their beautiful work here!

i am also partial to selkies bc irish 🤭 i'm going to take some liberties with wildling lore since we don't know too too much about them and mix some of my own heritage into it (indigenous american and irish) , which i feel would meld really well.

previous | next chapter

word count: 2.2k

content: smut (eventually, specifics will be under the cut of chapters with it), enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, canon divergence, ofc is a menace to Aemond and he kind of likes it

who is she? - I MONSTER • dead! - my chemical romance

The blood of the dragon runs hot and thick, pulsing through Targaryen veins like molten lava. His mother always snuggled him as a child, citing him as her own personal furnace. 

If only that would come in handy now. Aemond thought he knew cold, way up in the skies, skimming the clouds upon Vhagar’s back, feeling the chill away from the heat of the earth. A frigid autumn breeze going through his window, causing him to bundle up in two blankets— although he usually kicked them off sometime during the night. 

But this— this was cold. Ball freezing, bone chilling, blue lipped cold. He was stuck up in the ass of the North, stationed at the wall, dressed all in black. He puffed up the collar of his cloak, trying to find some respite from the gales of glacial air. 

“Saddle up, Targaryen,” the lord commander grunted. He was a broad man, some disgraced Northman who rose his way up the ranks of the Night’s watch. Aemond could hardly remember his name, “We’re goin’ beyond the wall. Scouts said wildlings gettin’ too close.” 

“Mm.” Aemond grumbled in response, not wanting to waste his energy talking to the ogre of a man when it could be better used for warmth.

The stable boy, no older than nine name days, tugged his palfrey to him, “I’ve got ‘em all tacked  up for ya, prince.” 

“Oy, Ryam,” the lord commander snapped. Lord Ennard Fir, that was the commander’s name, “He ain’t no prince anymore, so stop callin’ him as such. He’s just one of us now, eh? A man in black.” 

Ryam nodded slowly, handing the reins to Aemond. The boy’s face was tinged red as he puffed air into his cupped hands, trying to keep warm. He was a boy from the south, just like Aemond— a butcher’s bastard boy, Ryam Waters. He had accompanied the now scorned prince on his ride up the Kingsroad. He reminded Aemond greatly of Daeron.

“Stay warm, boy,” Aemond said, giving the youngster a stiff nod of his head, “Take the fur from my bed, it’ll help.” 

Ryam puffed out his chest, “Uh huh, your grace,” he giggled, speaking the title in secret. 

It almost made a smile come to Aemond’s lips. Almost. He tried to remember the last time he smiled– it was on that fateful day near Storm’s End, over Shipbreaker’s bay. He was taunting Lucerys, finally being the stronger one, the one who had control. He laughed and smiled like a madman, chasing his nephew on his puny hatchling of a dragon. He felt like a god.

Then Vhagar snapped her jaws, ignoring Aemond’s commands. The sickening crunch of Lucerys Velaryon and his dragon still lived in his mind. It played in his dreams, making them into nightmares. He constantly woke up in a cold sweat, muttering, “It was an accident, it was an accident, I didn’t mean it.”

His eye began to ache and he clenched his jaw as he mounted his horse. Glancing around, he saw that five other men were joining him. He tugged his hood up slightly before his hand rested on his blade. He donned two weapons; a standard issue castle-steel short sword, and the Catspaw blade. He had watched his father carry it for years, he watched his mother brandish it in his name and cut Rhaenyra— and now it was his. 

Not by precedent or bestowment, he actually stole it. When he was being sent to take the black, he pilfered it from Daemon’s chambers. The old fucker already had one ancestral blade, he didn’t need two. It was the only thing he had left of home, besides the sapphire in his socket and his eyepatch. It was gorgeous crafted Valyrian steel and he always kept it on his person. 

His thumb grazed over the ruby gem on the hilt of the dagger absentmindedly as they descended on their journey, spurring their horses further across the threshold of the wall. Lord Fir was at the front, with Aemond holding up the back in their procession of ingrates and outcasts. 

If he told his younger self that he was to be lumped in with bastards, thieves, rapers and ne’er-do-wells, he would’ve laughed in his own face. It was a ridiculous notion for a Targaryen prince to be even entertaining the idea. And yet, here he was. Living it out. 

He wondered what his mother was doing currently. Had she taken Helaena and Aegon to Oldtown with the children? Did she stay in the Red Keep to be squashed under Rhaenyra’s heel? 

“Aemond Targaryen, you stand before Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, protector of the realm,” Ser Westerling had shouted, “You stand accused of treason, conspiracy to commit usurpation, and nepoticide. You murdered Lucerys Velaryon in cold blood above the skies of Shipbreaker Bay.” 

Aemond had been in chains, his face haggard and stubbled from not being able to shave. They stripped him of his eyepatch and sapphire at the hearing, sending him down to his knees with his barren eye socket to behold. 

“How do you plead to these charges?” Ser Harrold asked. 

Aemond said nothing. 

Rhaenyra sat upon the Iron Throne, tapping her finger incessantly against the metal, “Brother. I’ve granted you the courtesy of allowing a hearing to your… crimes, rather than simply sending you to the block. Mayhaps I was too lenient on my decision to let you say your piece.” 

Aemond still said nothing, looking down at the ground. He heard his mother shuffling near him, off to the side in the throne room, murmuring something hurriedly to someone. 

“I have nothing to say. Lucerys is dead— nothing I can say will bring him back or undo what’s been done.” he finally grit out, his voice hoarse from disuse. 

“So, you have no objection to being punished for your crimes? The crime of Kinslaying is the most cursed,” Rhaenyra said, leaning forward, “Mayhaps I will grant you a death by dragon— I would honor you the same way you so graciously honored Lucerys, hm? Mayhaps have Syrax and Caraxes rip you limb from limb and scatter your parts over Blackwater Bay.” 

Aemond didn’t respond.

“Y-your grace,” Alicent spoke up, walking to Aemond and standing in front of him, “Please, have mercy upon him. Your son wouldn’t have wanted this—“

“DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME WHAT MY SON WOULD’VE WANTED,” Rhaenyra bellowed, standing up from her seat, “Your son took away his ability to want anything, and for that there should be repercussions! A son for a son.” 

“Rhaenyra, please,” Alicent murmured, “Please, I can’t lose him— it… it was an accident. Aemond, tell her it was an accident!”

He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to admit their family’s greatest fear was true; they did not have complete control over their dragons. 

Rhaenyra gazed at Aemond’s pained expression, then at Alicent, “He will be punished. But I would not become a Kinslayer— I do not wish to be as accursed as you, brother,” she strode back to the throne, twisting the rings on her fingers, “He will take the black and be sent to the wall. He will have no titles, no land, no wife or children. He will have nothing for the rest of his life except for the Night’s Watch.” 

Alicent was stunned, as was Aemond. He wondered if he would’ve preferred death. 

“In addition,” Rhaenyra continued, “His claim to his dragon, Vhagar, will be severed. He will undergo the Valyrian ceremony for it.” 

“You can’t,” Aemond growled, “You can’t!” he panicked— Vhagar had been the only thing he ever achieved in his life, truly. He lost his eye for her. 

“Take him back to his cell and prepare him for the ride up the Kingsroad.” she said with finality, looking down at her hand as she sat back on the throne. 

Aemond saw— she had been pricked by the throne, blood beading at the tip of her finger. 

Mayhaps there are still small mercies in this world. 

A particularly strong gust of cold air snapped him back to reality, his hand still itching over his dagger. They reached the thick treeline that stretched out for miles, their horses trudging through the snow. 

They were at least ten miles out from the wall now, the Seven Kingdoms left truly well behind them. A small river trickled near them and Aemond saw the shadows of fish— large ones at that. 

He had been in the Night’s Watch for at least seven moons now, and this was his first expedition outside of the wall. It felt like a whole different world— a world without laws, without political duty, without fights of succession over a throne made of swords— there was something freeing about being here. It was only a remnant of what he felt soaring the skies on Vhagar, but it would have to do. 

The wind whistled through the branches of the trees, fresh snow beginning to fall. He heard a fly buzzing near his ear. No, that couldn’t be right. Surely there weren’t flies in the cold? 

It wasn’t right— another fly whizzed past him, sticking into the man in front of him. Those were the arrows. 

“Ambush! Wildlings!” Lord Fir shouted, reeling in his horse. 

Aemond went to unsheathe his sword when his horse went haywire, rearing up on its hind legs. “Lykiri, lykiri!” Be calm, be calm. He shouted at the horse, tugging at the reins as the wildlings descended upon them. He felt like he was above Storm’s End once more, screaming for Vhagar to heed his commands—

His horse bucked him off, sending him tumbling into a deep snow drift. He dropped his sword somewhere aside— his hand immediately went to his waist, gripping around the Catspaw dagger. 

A breath of relief washed over him as he rolled and hid behind a tree, unsheathing the dagger. He twirled it around, waiting for someone, anyone to cross his path. 

He then felt the cool pressure of a blade against his throat. 

“Don’t move, crow,” a voice said. It was almost diminutive, soft in tone— but it was threatening all the same, “I don’t need to paint the snow red with your blood just yet. Drop the dagger.” 

Begrudgingly, he dropped the Valyrian steel into the snow. 

“Now turn around, slowly. Keep your hands out.” 

He turned around, expecting to see an ugly wildling in his gaze. He had only heard the tales of them, that they were more ugly than not. 

His breath caught in his throat as he looked upon her— she was small, much smaller than he, her skin somewhat pale and cool toned, freckles dotting the bridge of her nose. It was her eyes that caught him— one was a deep, rich brown, and the other was a light blue, with fragments and shards of brown in it, like a mountain against a clear sky. Her hair, dark chocolate brown with one streak of white in it, was tied into a haphazard braid. She wore earrings made of the lower jaw of some small mammal, inlaid with opals. She was holding a dragonglass dagger to his throat, the hilt of it carved from a deer’s antler, encrusted with a matching moonstone. 

She wore a long, white coat— it looked to be the skin of some animal, but Aemond couldn’t tell which. It was spotted and fluffed. 

His brow narrowed as he noticed that she was soaking wet, dripping water from her nose and hair, the sheen of moisture shining from her skin.

He could only imagine how astonished he looked staring at her— but she stared back at him in the same manner, her eyes wide. She had huge eyes, Gods be good. 

“Fucking hell, you’ve got a purple eye.” she murmured. 

“You should see my other eye.”

A harsh crack across his face— she had slapped him, “Don’t be a pig.” 

Aemond blinked profusely, “By the Seven— I meant my actual other eye,” he grunted, “May I?” he gestured to his eyepatch. 

“… better be worth it, crow.” she murmured, nodding slowly. 

He lifted his eyepatch off, revealing the sapphire underneath. 

Her lips were slightly agape as she ogled at him, “You’re a fancy crow, aren’t you?”

“Hm.” he grumbled. 

She retrieved the Catspaw dagger from the ground, stowing it at her hip, “I’ll be keepin’ this for right now.” 

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” he asked, perplexed as to why he wasn’t dead yet. 

“Not yet— you got interesting eyes, I wanna show my papa,” she retrieved a leather cord from her belt and wrapped it keenly around his wrists, “Caught myself a crow.” she hummed, seemingly entertained with herself. 

Aemond rolled his eye, letting her hoist him up into a standing position. He towered over her, to which she didn’t seem too bothered about. 

She led him past the battle, which was now over. He saw three of his Night’s Watch brothers slain, and it looks like two others had run off like cravens, including Lord Commander Fir. 

“Where are you taking me?” 

“My tribe,” she replied, stringing him along. 

“Your… tribe,” he repeated, “And what is your name?”

“Euna. And you, crow?” 

“Aemond.”

#aemond fic #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x fem!reader #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fandom #my writing #selkie's song

[jacesbeloved]

for the kingdom: part II

summary: being the youngest daughter of alicent, you hadn’t known what it was like to feel restraint until you had been betrothed to the eldest son of queen rhaenyra for a pact. for who? for the kingdom

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!reader

warnings/notes: sexual innuendos, tension again, drunk jace and rude y/n, mild enemies/rivals to lovers, them arguing 60% of the time. (a/n: i haven’t read the part in the book w/ jace being in the north and w/ cregan so pls don’t come at me at the latter part <3 and also meraxes the dragon is alive yay)

part: I, II, III, IV

ftk taglist: @kentarosbaby @lady-ashfade @simrah1012 @mfrnchsk @sexualityisajoke @elsyyie @instabull @ephemeralninon @chrisevansgirlfriendsposts @mainstreambitchlife @alexandra-001 @writer-lee5 @nightly-polaris

jace taglist: @cosmicfairygirl @simrah1012 @lucerysvelaryonstan @lady-stark-winter-rose @moon1gt @aureliapappa @jcrsctrl @bobfloydluvsblackwomen

It was quite mind boggling to you how Jace managed to irritate you even more than your pre-wedding feast.

After telling you that both of you had to travel around Westeros, he only clarified now that you two would head north to Winterfell. Telling you there's no need to pack or choose your clothes to bring since he already had them tailor different clothes.

Your voice boomed around you and Jace's chambers, furiously ranting about your own style and preferences all the while, Jace stared at a random book he picked up on his cabinet.

"What do you even know about my clothing!?" You roared, glaring at your husband. "I'm well aware of your tastes and colors, beloved. No need to yell," Jace replies swiftly, his tone calm as if you weren't hysterical at him, loudly slamming the book shut.

"Rich green and white colored gowns, hand-sewn images of Meraxes on the cloth, golden accents and belts, emphasis on the bust area, curvy patterns. I may elaborate further if it pleases you." He started to list out before you could respond, each thing he mentioned describing your own collection of gowns perfectly. He stood from his seat, eyebrows arching in challenge as he saw the surprise in your eyes.

You scoff at him before leaving him in your room, walking out, and yelling at him to get on with the flight. Your husband followed quickly right after.

With your and Jace's bags loaded onto carts and horses set to journey to the north, you and him, along with the Kingsguards, head outside the walls of King's Landing to your dragons. Vermax was brought outside by dragonriders, while Meraxes, your dragon, lived outside. She didn't fit in the Dragonpit.

Your blank face slowly brightens as you see your dragon, and you smirk when you hear Jace marvel at the sight of her. "Meraxes is beautiful," Jacaerys comments, staring at the silver beauty that is your dragon.

Having been riding Meraxes since you were 12, you were quite proud of your dragon. Her silver scales that made her look white, her red eyes that made any person gulp in fear, and the fact it was first ridden by Rhaenys Targaryen, sister-wife to Aegon the Conqueror, gave you all the more boast.

You side-eyed him, getting a glimpse of his dragon before sighing. "Vermax is small, very much uglier as well."

Some of the kingsguards stifle a quiet chuckle at your comment while you smile sweetly at Jace. Your husband glared at you before scoffing.

"Truly such an honest woman, aren't you, my dear wife?"

"Only for you, my lovely husband," you grin, and he scoffs sarcastically before turning to his dragon. You did the same, patting the side of Meraxes' head as she mewled, the ground rumbling when she started moving.

You easily mount your dragon, pulling at the ropes cautiously and patting the base of its neck as it starts to rise. You see Jace rise the same way, his dragon roaring as well.

"I bid you a safe flight, my princess." Criston Cole spoke, bowing with respect. "And to you, Prince Jacaerys."

The both of you nod at him, your heads gliding as you glance at each other with squinted eyes, the wind blowing in your faces.

"May you reach Winterfell safely, my beloved," he says loudly, nodding at you.

"See you there." Was the only thing you replied before ascending with your dragon.

Winterfell appeared to be much colder at night. The infamous grey direwolf that every person in Westeros recognizes greeted all of you inside the castle walls warmly, contrary to the cold environment surrounding it.

You walked the pathway of Winterfell with your head held high, meeting halfway with Jace after you and Meraxes had to take a detour. Your husband now wore a thick fur coat around him, placing a matching coat onto your shoulders after you arrived at his side.

Jace leans over to your side, breath fanning over your ear. "I see Vermax may be uglier, certainly faster though." He withdraws with a cheeky grin as the both of you arrive in the very heart of Winterfell, the courtyard.

The guards holding the Targaryen banners halted when you both did, facing the people of Winterfell as you and Jace did.

In one united motion, they all descended onto their knees, bending the knee to you both, bowing their heads out of respect. Jace inhaled a sharp breath before beckoning the lord up, his people following after.

"Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Heir to the Iron Throne, and Princess Y/N Targaryen, his future Queen Consort, daughter of the late King Viserys, the first of his name."

"You honor us, Lord Cregan," Jace was the first to speak, smiling warmly at the older man before they hugged. "It is our honor to have you both in Winterfell," Cregan says, pulling away from Jace and kissing your hand.

You nod at Cregan's council, sisters, and children beside him, them bowing in return whilst Jace shook their hands.

"How long has it been, a decade? More than?" Cregan inquires, "I'm afraid more than, Lord Cregan. It's been quite some time, if I may say so myself." Jace says with sympathy.

While Jace had been conversing with Cregan, you let yourself stare at the people surrounding him. You're not really familiar with any of them; you haven't really known much about them aside from what's written in the books in the Red Keep and what you hear from your mother.

They all had a small smile as you looked at them; even the children looked happy, like they were excited to hear the prince and princess would come to their castle. Although, one of the men caught your attention.

A lowborn. His face was dirty and messy, blank expression, and his clothes were torn. He was haunting. You two locked eyes with each other, as everything else seemed rather irrelevant.

"Beloved, are you okay?" Your husband's hand lightly holds your arm, startling you a bit. You looked at him alarmed before your face softened, turning to Lord Cregan.

"I’m fine." You nod, smiling tightly at him. Jacaerys stared at you weirdly before nodding as well and turning back to Cregan.

The man clapped loudly, a jolly smile on his face as he spoke. "Well then! Let us have them settled and rested for the hunt tomorrow!" The rest of them clapped as well, slowly dispersing away as you heard your horses neighing, glancing to see your stuff being taken off of the carts.

Cregan led the both of you to the guest house himself after feasting for a bit, cracking jokes with you and Jace. He was actually much more jolly and warm than you had expected.

You enter first, a massive door opening up to a warm living room with a fireplace already burning in the middle. There were heads of wild animals decorating the walls, and a staple, the House Stark banner, in the middle of it all.

"We gave the princess her own table of sweets, we heard the princess loves that." Cregan directs your attention to a platter of fruits, crackers, and pies.

"That is well appreciated, Lord Cregan. Such thoughtfulness," you replied, nodding softly at him. Cregan nodded his head at you—a bit ambiguous, which made you and Jace confused a bit.

When he saw the way both you and Jace looked confused, he chuckled loudly. "Oh, are these the newlyweds that threw away tradition? I see why now, you two are still stiff with each other."

"My prince, go on, feed her." Cregan encourages, patting the other's back rather harshly, which made him lunge forward a bit.

Your forehead creased, looking at Jace to see what Cregan meant, and the man had the same amount of confusion as you did. He tried to utter something, but the smile on Cregan's face never faltered, now resulting in Jace laughing dryly and nodding, picking up a fork from the silver tray, cutting a piece of the pie, and gathering a big amount of cream on it.

You swallow harshly, wondering if that big of a pie slice is going to fit in your mouth. It was the side of a fist, and Jace had a grin on his face as he cut it.

"Say "ahh," my beloved," Jace holds up the fork, your eyes going over to Cregan, a proud smile on his face.

"There's, uh, there's a lot on it, husband," you chuckled at Jace, the man clearly knowing the smile on your face only meant a threat.

"You can take it, go on." You glare at him as the pie eventually dissolves in your mouth, surprisingly fitting. The sweet taste of the blueberries and the sweetness of the cream on top of it mixed so well. "Very good," Jace whispers, wiping the leftover cream on the side of your mouth.

You quickly swallow the pie down whole, quickly grabbing the fork from Jace as you cut an even larger piece than the one Jace made you eat. Cregan laughed loudly at this, thinking of it as a sweet interaction between the two newlyweds, but it was just both of you trying to shove pies down each other's throats.

There wasn't a second you wasted, after cutting the piece, you scooped it up on your fork, shooting the fork inside Jace's mouth as you ignored his nervous excuses.

"It's- Gods, it's really good. Thank you, Lord Cregan," Jace says while munching on the pie, grabbing a glass of wine to drink as he side-eyes you. "And you as well, my dear wife."

"Truly such a sweet couple," Cregan sighs, walking away to head upstairs. You smirk at Jace, hitting his side before following Cregan. Jace had clutched his side before following you. He led the two of you upstairs, where there were only two doors, one of which you recognized as the room with the chamber pot.

You look at Jace, trying to communicate with him with your eyes as he still holds his side now with a delicious cup of wine in his other hand. He furrowed his eyebrows when he saw your glare, a jerk to your head to the door and he finally gets it.

"And, uh, this is our chambers then?" Jace asked, gesturing at the door.

"Ah, of course! This is where I hope the miracle would happen," Cregan winks at your husband, the latter freezing in place. "Rest easy now, my princess, prince, and be ready for the feast tomorrow! We have a hunt!" He bows at the both of you before excusing himself, leaving the two of you there now.

"Miracle," you grimaced, glaring at him while he rolled his eyes, ignoring you and opening the chamber's door for you.

The door revealed a beautifully lit and decorated room, warm fur all around, an incredibly large bed with fabric draped on the frame, and a dozen candles all around. The room had everything.

Your things had already been arranged inside the room when you saw your familiar knick-knacks and bottles by the mirror. Jace's things were also mixed in with yours, his black and red coats hang beside your green and white ones on a wooden hook.

Your hands quickly pulled open the cabinet, ready to lash out again at Jace when your mouth dropped.

The green color of your gowns was just as rich as you always liked, the amount of gold accents were just right, the appropriate buckles, buttons, laces, everything. Even the embroidered images of Meraxes were done well.

"Told you. A beaut, aren't they?" Jace smirks, joining you by your side to look at the extravagant dresses inside the cabinet.

You swallowed down the need for complaining in your throat, tonguing at your cheek before grabbing a hold of one of the gowns and inspecting it critically as if you had five sets of eyes. You had wanted to look at something to nitpick at, but none of them were ugly or imperfect.

"What now, Jacaerys? Do you want me to fall to my knees in front of you? Do you want me to smother you in kisses? Warm our bed? Tell me, I'd give it to you since you're such a darling for having such beautiful gowns tailored for me." Jace could hear the sarcasm even if he was deaf. The sarcastic look in your face contradicted your actions as you tried to give him lovestruck eyes while walking towards the bed.

"Does your family have a knack for drama?" Jace remarks. "You're welcome, Y/N. I see giving thanks is not your specialty."

You lay on the edge of the bed, your head lying beside Jace's figure. "I give thanks in different ways, Jace. Would you like to know how?"

The man's eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips, licking his own in a split second before standing up, the knock on the door making you both stand quick.

The door opens to reveal Lord Cregan's sister, holding a fruit basket. "I beg your pardon, my prince. I did not mean to interrupt you and your wife, my brother, Lord Stark, had just wanted me to give you these."

She smiled sweetly at him. The man reciprocates the smile as he takes the fruit basket gratefully, surprised at another basket. He inspects a few of the fruits in the front, glancing at you, who had been lighting a few candles before handing Sara an apple.

Sara furrowed her eyebrow at him, chuckling lightly at the prince as she waved her hand as a no.

"Go on." Jacaerys gives her his hand after she takes the apple. "I don't think we've been properly introduced to each other, I am Jacaerys-"

"I already know who you are, my prince. I am Sara Snow, Lord Cregan's sister," she replies, shaking Jacaerys' hand.

"I already know who you are as well, Lady Snow," The two laugh lightly before waving, Jace closing the door.

When he stepped back into the room, you still had your back to him, lighting your candles.

"So you prefer brunettes," you spoke quietly while fanning the matchstick you held, raising an eyebrow at him.

"You're taking an interest in my preferences, might I say you like me?" Jace replies, walking over to you to grab his clothes from his cabinet.

You laugh at him, side-eyeing your husband as he pulls off his shirt. "And you're always undressing in front of me, might I say you are hinting at something?" He halts his movement, turning to face you with his bare chest in front of you. His lips jutted out as he cocked his head to the side.

It was tempting to look down. It took every bit of control you had not to look at his body.

You had expected him to reply, but he doesn't. He merely looks at you from your head to your legs before taking the cup of wine he had set aside earlier on your dresser and drinking it, walking away from you.

The whole hunt had been boring—mainly just Jace and Cregan laughing and drinking with each other, not paying you any mind. You hated being bored, so here you were, playing with three highborns from Winterfell for hours.

"A boar's arse? Just a peck?" One of the boys clarified with you, the other two were already thinking about how they'd get to do it.

"No, kiss a boar's arse also using your tongue. You must kiss its ass for two minutes. All four of us must be present for it to be valid," you explained once more, laughing to yourself when you saw them look at each other worriedly.

They nodded at you, making you laugh at how stupid they were. They even kneeled, swearing to you that they'd do their best. As if you'd actually let them ride Meraxes, you'd rather jump off of your dragon mid-flight than place another person with you on your dragon.

The maidens beside you looked scared but intrigued, anticipating whether or not they would actually do it.

"Oh, and, the boy that could do that and climb the broken tower in the middle of Winterfell, I'll bring him to King's Landing on dragonba-"

"I'm deeply sorry, my lords, my wife is not bringing anyone to King's Landing on dragonback," the familiar voice cuts you off, placing an arm around your shoulders while you roll your eyes. "If I may have a word with her, that would be splendid."

The three boys and maidens beside you all bowed to the prince, scurrying away while they still hoped your offer still stood. They wanted to ride a dragon that badly. You winked at one of the boys, nodding to him teasingly.

"A boar's arse, really, Y/N?" Jace spoke, disappointment in his tone, as he took a seat on the log beside you, holding a canteen of wine, courtesy of Cregan, as you expected.

"You should've seen earlier, one of them ate a rabbit raw after I told them I'd take them to see Meraxes—not even a ride, just see." You laugh at the memory, remembering the boy puking his guts out because of it.

You glance at Jace; he still has a disappointed look on his face. "Oh, come on, at least I'm keeping myself busy. What d'you want me to do, chatter with the maidens? Head back to the halls? This is honestly so boring, Jacaerys." You groaned while dramatically massaging your own forehead, even closing your eyes.

Jacaerys reciprocates the same gesture, probably even more stressed than you were after he'd been hearing your tricks and challenges to the mindless boys with you, seducing and playing with their feelings and desires.

"Do whatever you wish for entertainment, but leave the poor boys alone," Jace says, and you giggle at him, slowly cocking your head in his direction while batting your eyelashes. "Or else what?"

He turns to you, no longer stressed nor disappointed, but amused, "Do you really have to turn everything provocative?"

"I just asked what would you do if I did it again, how is that provocative?" He crossed his arms. "I am either provocative or dramatic, which of me do you like more?" You asked, crossing your arms as well.

"Isn't there a nice one of you?" You smiled at his question, one that he's always seen from you.

"Go kiss a boar's arse, my lovely husband."

After the day-long hunt, a boar was piked on top of a fire, with rabbits and birds being roasted beside it as well. Dozens of Cregan's men had their tents set up, declaring that, as per Cregan's joyful experience with earlier's hunt, they'd sleep in the woods and continue tomorrow.

And there you were, laying inside your tent while studying the handle of your own sword, given to you by your father, Viserys.

"Keep it, be someone they don't want you to be." The words of your father echoed in your head, telling the story of your older sister Rhaenyra, who was forbidden to be a queen, told not to be one as it breaks the law. But your father didn't care; he still named her heir, and no one could do anything about it.

Not even your mother.

You sheathed it back, throwing it aside as you pulled a cushion underneath your head. Closing your eyes while the rest sang songs and danced around the fire. You didn't even know where your husband-

"There you are," speak of the devil.

A relieved sigh sounds from the entrance of the tent. You didn't need to look at the speaker, you already knew who it was.

"They're... They're asking for you, for the princess." Jace slurred his words, audibly drunk.

"So you came to me, the princess, your wife, because your companions are looking for me? Not because you just so happened to wonder about what I was doing?" Your voice came out gargled as you had your face planted on the cushion.

"And also to make sure you're not tormenting boys. Who knows, someone might just throw themselves in the fire, saying you'll give them a kiss if they do," you laugh at Jace's allegation, seeing that the alcohol has given him quite a different personality now.

Alcohol does change people, at least for a few hours.

You raise your middle finger at him from your back, and you feel him sit beside you. The rustling and clanking of glasses make you sit up. And there you saw that Jace wasn't only audibly drunk, he was the most obvious drunk you have ever seen. His eyes were puffy, his hair disheveled, his cheeks a light shade of red, and his lips in a pout as he took a sip of his wine once more.

If you knew any less, you'd actually think he was adorable right now. He looked like the type to read stories at night, but you knew better than to expect nice things.

Silence floats around the air between the two of you, him silently sipping on his wine all the while you watch him blankly, taking a sip of your own wine as well.

"Well then? I am alright here. You can go back to your companions and drink 'til you drop. Tell them to just drop you outside of our tent after." Jace nods however, he refuses to leave the tent. Making himself comfortable with a cushion.

"Can't I stay in our tent?" Jace furrows his eyebrows at you.

You groaned, slapping your hand onto your forehead. "There's no fun in our tent, Jacaerys."

"Who said that? Of course there is." He smiled. For a second, you thought something else, but then you see him holding a ball—various balls—and throwing them upwards in amusement as he tried to catch them again with the same hand he used to throw them.

You watch him entertain himself with some balls and wine while drinking some wine yourself.

"Oh, so you'd rather drink here with me, have fun with me?" you spoke. "That's... provocative," Jace replies, clearly drunk as he downs his wine, making you scoff.

"Do you want to see how provocative I can be, husband?" You whisper just enough for him to hear, and he gulps.

You stood up from your seat, walking slowly to the older man before sitting down in front of him. The two of you are now inches apart. You placed the cup somewhere, making sure it was far from both of you as you unclipped your coat, throwing it to your side of the tent as you were now left in your dress. You stood once more, swinging your leg over him as you straddled him, making sure there was still a decent amount of space between you two.

Jace froze completely, not sure what to do as he was intoxicated. His mind was hazy, drunk and nervous. This is the first time you two have ever been this close. You placed your hands on top of his shoulders, leaning in slowly.

You manage to give him a short kiss, his own lips moving subtly with yours as you taste the strong wine on his lips. Before you could fully close the distance between you two and continue, he spoke. "Don't."

hearts, reactions, replies, and reblogs are very appreciated if you liked the story! <3 ^w^

#hotd #jacaerys imagines #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon fic #jacaerys x reader imagine #jacaerys fluff #jacaerys x reader #hotd fics #jacaerys fic #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys targaryen

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

ñuhus prūmӯs (my heart) │Chapter 12: Dynasty

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 │Chapter 11 │Chapter 12 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Childbirth is the duty and dismay of all highborn women. Together, you and Daemon experience the trials, tribulations and triumphs of expectant parenthood. You stand your ground.

(Set post-episode 7, though Daemon never married Laena or Rhaenyra.)

Thank you to my slap daddy @ewanmitchellcrumbs​ for editing this monster! Thank you also to  @evisnotok, @connorsui​​ and @ajthefujoshi​ for holding my hand throughout the drafting, teehee!

Triggers: incest, age gap, purity culture, dysfunctional family dynamics, brief reference to gore, brief reference to graphic child murder.

It’s been weeks, he seethes as he follows you back to the Keep, and those two fucks couldn’t even bother sending a raven to mark the deed as done? For his decrepit brother to bring the news before the cutthroats themselves…

Daemon reminds himself that it’s likely neither man had ever learned his letters. Nor had he extracted a vow through which he could come to expect confirmation of the slaying. He curses the oversight. How in the hells had he expected to discover if his target was successfully slaughtered without an adequate means of communication? Fucking lackwit.

You maintain as stony a silence as he while stalking your way up the path, past the Garden, through the heavy stone doors etched into the base of the fortress and along the halls of your island home. It is as though the varied aches and pains of childbirth have fled your body entirely, such is the stiffness of your disposition and the chilly wrath that chokes the air around you. The babes, foisted on that plain milk sow—Fredda? Freya? who knows, or cares for that matter—squawk with outrage as they are rattled about in her arms, assuredly disgusted by such indelicate management.

Good. He’d hate for his heirs to willingly submit to ill treatment by lesser hands.

Cargyll is escorting you all to the Chamber of the Painted Table, or so he surmises. There’s little else to be found in this direction. The stairs that wind up and up and up from the Great Hall lead to apartments and the relics of Aegon’s Conquest from long ago. You wave away his every attempt to assist you in climbing the steps, fresh from childbed as you are. He notes with some concern each wince and gasping breath, each press of hand to your side or to your belly like you are trying to hold the fractured parts of yourself together for just a little longer. By the time your party reaches the top of the tower, even he is winded. Too damn young to feel so old, his thoughts protest.

The doors creak open with a resounding echo as his foot meets the landing, the solid mass of Breakbones thumping through the parting of wood with heavy stomps. He pauses when he sees Daemon, a tempest raging across the terrain of his face. His fists ball up at his sides even as he remains stock-still.

Shit.

Daemon takes careful note of his surroundings—the lit torches mounted on the walls, the winding carvings of dragons etched into the rock around the window, the widening of the stairway as it approaches the open hall outside the Chamber—and assesses Strong, waiting for any indication that he will strike. He wouldn’t blame the man if he did. Larys might have been a treasonous viper and a cunt, but he was Harwin’s brother. No, he wouldn’t blame him. But neither will he allow him to attack without putting up a fight of his own.

A pale hand settles on Harwin’s arm. Rhaenyra moves out from behind him, communing wordlessly to her lover with solemn eyes and thin-pressed lips, a subtle shake of the head. The man huffs, working his jaw. Then, with an abrupt lurch, he storms past, deliberately avoiding Daemon as he marches down, down, down the stairs. Each footfall resounds with a dull thump, fainter and fainter.

She turns to Daemon. “With all this time having passed”—his eldest niece hisses as she steps forward to remonstrate him, though her attempt at privacy is utterly lost in the resonant composition of the space—“and you never once thought to tell me you’d ordered the man’s death?”

He glances at you. With a carefully blank expression, you’ve turned away to dandle at the babes in the wetnurse’s arms, tiny fists clenching onto outstretched fingers. You murmur in low tones to your companion, making it clear that you have no intention of participating in the conversation taking place. He knows not what you think of the revelation.

“You would have counselled caution,” he says, never once taking his eyes off you. She blusters in annoyance, but he hardly cares. A cold wash of triumph suffuses the very air he breathes, almost as though it is a tangible flavour collected on the tongue. They’ve done it. The traitor is dead. You are safe now, you and Rhaenar and Aelys. “I’ll not apologise for the deed. He deserved it.”

Rhaenyra sighs. “I know. But… Harwin—” She stops, shaking her head. “Never mind. The King is waiting. He is—most displeased.”

Daemon grunts. “When is he not?”

Her responding smile is wan. She nods her farewell in grave ceremony, sidestepping him and venturing to you. Reaching a hand forth to glide across the feather-fluff softness of each babe’s head, she presses a single, wordless peck of dry lips to your cheek before following her vexed paramour’s path down at a much more sedate pace, slippers barely to be heard on the stone steps.

Daemon’s pulse rumbles in his ears as he enters the Chamber with you and your attendants in tow. He knows most perceive him as someone who enjoys riling the King; but, in truth, he does not take pleasure in this. He never has, though he is by nature one who creates chaos wherever he walks, a blight upon the earth. It is his curse to crave approval from Viserys, even now that age and circumstance have elevated him so by comparison. He will forever be a little boy begging for scraps of his brother’s love, never to be satisfied.

Viserys sits at the head of the table, distinctly out of place. King’s Landing may be the epicentre of Targaryen power, but it is here at Dragonstone that the true vestiges of Old Valyria remain. Draconic, ominous, almost savage—it does not suit a man so affable, indecisive, common as Viserys.

“Brother,” Daemon says, stopping at the edge of the Painted Table opposite the King.

Viserys makes no attempt at greeting, nor any other movement. He simply continues staring at Daemon with a frigid countenance, purple eyes glinting like cracked ice in weak sunlight, dangerous and jagged. An excellent beginning.

Daemon doesn’t bother genuflecting. The concession would be pointless. Still, the King appears to take notice, jaw clenching faintly at the slight.

“I believe you summoned me,” he adds with an air of insolence, testing, needling. Silence in return. He lets his next statement hang. “If His Grace has forgotten the purpose…”

Viserys’s deformed face twists in anger. “I would have you silent, you—you plague! You do not speak unless I comm—”

“Father.”

The King’s gaze darts to you, surprised, starting visibly when he notices the wetnurse by your side and the wriggling forms of the twins in her hold. All at once, his disposition changes. He is no longer the austere arbiter of justice come to scold Daemon for his many failings, but instead a jovial, tender-hearted father. “Oh!” he says, exhilarated and overcome. “Oh!”

Though you smile as you approach him, there is a stiffness to your shoulders and an unhappy pout to your mouth that belies just how deeply the bond between you has fractured. You avert your eyes from the King’s, avoiding his upturned cheek to settle Aelys into the crook of his remaining arm and taking Rhaenar into your own grasp. Your voice is too light as you introduce your children—Daemon’s children—to their grandsire.

“Rhaenar and Aelys?” Viserys asks, distracted from his own words by the whimpering of the babe in his grip. “I cannot recall a ‘Rhaenar’ or an ‘Aelys’ in our histories.”

“They are new. Free from the burden of comparison to one’s namesake.” A moue of defensiveness colours your speech. The King does not notice.

“I’d believed you might call them ‘Viserys’ or ‘Aemma’, for those that bore you,” he says, entertained by Aelys’s scowling expression. He does not see the chill that sweeps across your visage, the traces of warmth that are stifled by wintry resentment, deadening the flush of your skin to pale ice and the brightness of your eyes to dulled jewels. “Ah, but ‘tis no matter. They are a fine pair, my girl. Well done!”

You nod jerkily. Daemon watches the scene with incredulity, stock-still at his post across the Table. Surely my brother is not that obtuse? he wonders. But of course he is. So proficient has he become at ignoring the discontent of those around him that it is probable that he no longer recognises the sight of it.

“I trust your labours were easy?” Viserys asks. It is the wrong thing to say.

You no longer hide your disdain. It mars the sweetness of your features like ink stains parchment, spreading swift and uncontrollable. “Aelys was breech. Maester Gerardys wished to cut me open to take her from my womb.”

Daemon’s gut roils at the reminder even as his brother’s face blanches.

“By the gods!” he gasps, peering up at you. “But—”

“But Daemon refused to allow him to do so,” you say, lower lip wobbling. “My life mattered to him more than the prospect of an heir, you see.”

Dangerous territory. The jibe almost hits its mark. The King’s brow furrows, creasing in concern as he notes your hostility.

“Why have you come to Dragonstone, Viserys?” Daemon asks, stopping the conversation in its tracks.

No good can come of such vitriol. Your umbrage may be justified, but you are too ruled by the irrationality of new motherhood to head down this avenue of discussion. You are too young to risk losing your father to your own bitterness. The time may come that the truth of Aemma’s death can be dragged into the harsh light of day—but it is not this day. He’ll not let you make this mistake. Not yet.

“I’d have thought Ser Arryk had made that abundantly clear already.” His brother appears to shake the uncertainty off as he refocuses upon his sole purpose for traversing the Bay alone, sighing. “Lord Larys was found in his chambers. Or, rather, his body was found in his chambers. His head is… elsewhere.”

“How unfortunate.” Daemon cannot help the drollness. It goads a twitch from the corner of Viserys’s eye. “We’ll all miss him so.”

“Daemon.” Ah, the aggravation has returned. His mouth curves cruelly at the sight of the King’s indignation. “I know it was you.”

“And how do you know this?” you ask, ushering the wetnurse forth to retrieve Aelys from your father. “My husband has scarcely left my side since our return. And whatever time he has had to spare was most certainly not long enough to commit the crime of which you have accused him.”

Daemon calls your name. There is still enough of the biddable little doll in you to follow his implicit command and come to heel at his side like a good wife, to turn willingly into him when his hand rests upon your waist. It’s hardly improper, but close enough to raise an eyebrow or two. His brother observes you, observes how you gladly obey his whims, how you have readily found another sun around which to orbit. How easily he has been replaced.

He stares impassively back while you mutter instructions to the nursemaid and the Mallery knight, while the pair convey his children out of the room, infant squalls fading with the clanging close of the door. Viserys is pained, sorrowed. That much is clear. He tries not to let the conceit play out so obviously on his own expression, but it is most difficult. Modesty does not become him, after all.

‘Do you see, Viserys?’ he wishes to say. ‘You are not wanted here, not anymore. I am her world. We are all each other needs.’

“Will you not confess to it, brother?” The man is resigned now; the wrath has fled, cowed by your frosty reception. “I remember your words to Lord Strong well: ‘One day soon, you’ll be alone. And one day soon, I’ll have my revenge.’ The day has come and gone, it seems.”

Daemon cannot resist drawing it out. “What strange customs you set stock by, Your Grace. Symbols taken from the attacker’s own bodies and confirmation from Harwin Strong himself will not incite action from you. And yet, mere words—spoken in anger, at that—have you traversing the waters to Dragonstone to seek confession? Strange, indeed.”

“Enough of the games!” Viserys snaps, sharp and discordant in the ringing hall. “Admit to the deed and let us be done with it.”

“Ha! ‘Be done with it.’ Yes, we are ‘done with it’—no thanks to you.” Daemon feels the urge to laugh rising, rising. This is fucking ludicrous. “What do you want so desperately to hear, Viserys? That I was the cause of his demise? Take your satisfaction, then. I did. I did it.” He persists through his brother’s gusty inhale of dismay. “I hired cutthroats before I even left your fucking city. I made sure that Larys Strong would be dead before he could come for my children again.”

The King wavers, astonished. It seems that for all his bluster, he had not actually expected Daemon to assert his culpability so brazenly. “You had the man killed? Even after I expressly forbade you from such violence?”

Daemon snorts. He is not ashamed of his actions. “You refused to act, so I took it upon myself to eliminate the threat to my wife.”

“Such—such impertinence!” Viserys sounds utterly winded, scored open at the navel. “Such disloyalty. Why must you betray me time and time again?”

Disloyalty. How insulting. How disappointing. How very like the man to disparage him so.

This time, he does laugh. It is more of a chuckle, but with none of the joy. Rather, it is harsh and biting, mocking. “Disloyalty? We aren’t in King’s Landing now, Viserys. You do not rule here. I’m well within my rights to tell you to fuck off.”

If anyone holds dominion over this rock, Daemon thinks viciously, it is not the battered creature before me. Any other may make their claim. Rhaenyra; you; even he himself.

You do not belong here, brother.

The man stands, slapping the jagged surface of the table with his sole hand. “I am the King!” He sits at the craggy North, where the surface rises and dips with the spiked contours of icy mountains. His action draws blood from skin, welling rapidly and oozing across the peaks. He does not notice, instead turning to you.  “And you, girl,” he says. “What have you to say to this treachery?”

You twitch at the abrupt directive, having been but a bystander to the fray. “What have I to say?” Your voice is frosty.

“Yes! I demand you speak, child!”

You move away from him, clutching your hands together before you. The very image of maidenly grace, Daemon’s mind supplies. The sight of you standing so demurely calls forth a faint resonation of desire. It pulses in his gut like a broiling flame.

“What would you like me to say, Your Grace?” you ask flatly, the dawning thunder in your expression so at odds with your stance. “I could say many things. I could say that Daemon did what you would not. That for all my dislike of his methods, I can trust that he will keep me safe. That I have never, not once, been anything other than a loyal and obedient daughter to you—only to find that in my hour of greatest need, you would bend to the vultures that rule in your stead, cast the name of the man responsible for my plight aside like rot beneath your feet, without care. That you have failed me in every conceivable way; as a King, as the head of my House, as a father, as grandfather to the babes you never bothered to enquire after in the wake of the attack.”

Each word lands like a physical blow, and so it is fitting that blood drips readily from Viserys’s flesh. He jerks as if injured by your mounting pitch, as if your diatribe alone lays waste to his form.

You remain immobile, frozen in your ferocity, your seething misery. Still, you speak, trembling. “So, yes. I could say a great many things. Where would you like me to begin?”

Not even he can conjure up a worthwhile response to such a challenge. My poor, precious girl. Though you stand tall with chin jutted forth and brow arched in supercilious question, he can only see the quailing child in you, plaintive and forlorn, eager for the slightest validation from a sire who could never give you what you need. In this moment, he wants to tuck you away, coddle you close, hold you down and surround you so that all you can see or hear or feel is him, him, him—

The hush reigns long—until it doesn’t.

Viserys’s breathing can be heard even from here, nearly the opposite end of the room. His words are weak. “I did the best I could.”

“And yet, it was not enough. You were not enough.” Your address is just as quiet, distressingly saddened. “You did not even ask after me when you arrived, did you? Or you would have known beforehand that I had already given birth. So much for loyalty. Mother would be disappointed.”

It is here that Viserys protests. “Daughter—”

“No.” Daemon can see the threat of tears in your eyes. “You had every opportunity to use your voice before this moment, Father. I will not hear whatever excuse you have to make now.” At this, you turn back, angling yourself away from the King to direct your next words only to him. “I need to make sure the babes are settled.”

“Sȳrī iksā?” Are you well?

He cannot help but reach for you, to cup your jaw in his hand and collect the moisture from the corner of your eye with the pads of his fingers. He sweeps your sorrow away with the brush of skin on skin, shining iridescence that paints your cheekbone in glow.

You nuzzle against him like a cat, like a starved pet, like a little princess aching for care. “Issa,” you say—yes—laying your hand upon his own, cradling him to you as though you are afraid he will vanish if he lets go. “Kesīr humbon daor. Zijomy daor.” I cannot be here. Not with him.

Who else but he can understand that sentiment so profoundly? He nods once, stealing a final touch of thumb to the plush divot of your lower lip. “Jās.” Go.

You revolve like a puppet on strings, staccato motions of rote absentmindedness. Curtseying with perfunctory deference, your parting words to your father are chilling in their detachment. “I pray that you have a safe journey back to the capital, Your Grace.”

Viserys makes an appeal of your name, beseeching, but you are lost to him now. You lean up and—with more zeal than the occasion calls for—press your lips to Daemon’s, parting your mouth to welcome his instinctive drive to claim. He sinks into the flavour of you without thinking, gripping your waist to keep you on tiptoes and pull you tight to him, your soft little sounds coiling dark in his groin.

You withdraw with a smug half-smile, dimmed by your melancholy but beautiful, nonetheless. His impulses drive him to snatch you back to him as you step away. He won’t. Enough has been taken from you today.

You make your escape with poise, turning your back on his brother with a strength he had not known you possessed and seemingly gliding from the chamber, weightless.

When did she become so formidable? he wonders. It is no easy thing to deny a king. Perhaps motherhood—the fire of bearing babes borne of his own blazing nature, their father’s heirs in truth—has ennobled you with a tenacity you have long kept dormant.

“You have turned her from me.”

He’d forgotten Viserys is still here. The man is grey, hollowed out. Defeated. He has sunk himself back into the chair at the head of the Painted Table, hunched over and looking every inch the ailing life-form he has been reduced to. Malady has crept back in, casting a shadow of gloom across Daemon’s ire until it too feels as a void rather than a maelstrom.

With a tone just as resigned as his brother’s, he replies. “You did that yourself.”

Silence.

“I know.” The King stares at some fixed point on the Table, or perhaps he is unseeing. He has retreated into himself, into thoughts unknown to Daemon. “I did not wish for this,” he says, more air than word. “What happened to her… I wanted to strike the head from his shoulders myself. But I am—”

“—the King.”

The King, the King. Make way for the fucking King.

It is always the excuse, the reason, the proof that Viserys will forever remain powerless to the capriciousness of others. If he is the King, he cannot be the husband, or the father, or the grandsire. If he is King, he cannot be Daemon’s brother.

“Yes.” Viserys chuckles. It is a wretched noise, a mournful hacking from crippled lungs. “King of the Seven Kingdoms… and yet I am as limited by law as any other. More, mayhaps.” Finally, he looks up from whatever had taken his focus. When he does, his eyes seem eclipsed, without light or emotion. It is like peering into the face of the Stranger. “Maegor did what he wanted. He ruled according to his every whim. Where did that get him? Who today remembers him as anything other than a despot and a monster?”

Daemon scoffs. “And yet you allow your lackeys to call me by his name—to abuse my temperament and malign my character.”

“Not even I can control what others think, Daemon.” How kindly the man sinks the blade through my flesh. Viserys hums. “Be that as it may, I do not think you to be Maegor reborn. Unruly, yes. Reckless and brutish, at times. But not cruel.” Here, his voice gentles. “She would not love you if you were cruel.”

There are times that he wonders if he’d ever given you the chance to feel otherwise—if he’d taken and taken and taken until you’d reshaped yourself entirely, bowed and bent and broken under the weight of his ceaseless desire. What is worse? To be tormented by the thought that the one woman he’d ever loved had been forced to return the sentiment for the sake of survival? Or to find that very same thought maddening, stirring, thrilling beyond measure?

No, he chides himself. She loves me. She sees me for all that I am, and she loves me anyway.

Viserys resumes after a brief pause. “The details of Larys Strong’s death have been concealed from the commons. But the Council suspects you. They have charged me to summon you to court and arrest you for conspiracy to murder a member of the governing body. And I cannot say now that there is no recourse for it.”

“You’d arrest your own broth—”

“Of course not! Have I fallen so far in your esteem?”

‘You have,’ Daemon wants to say. He does not.

“Brother,” the King says. “You have committed the crime you are accused of, by your own admission. This is true, yes. But I will not throw you to the vipers. The price would be… too high.”

“Death?” At the vociferous shake of the head, Daemon revises. “No… Exile.”

Ah, his old friend. He recalls the occasions in which you had teased him for it in the past. How many times, indeed? It would be galling, yes, if he were alone. But he is not alone.

What of my wife? What of Rhaenar and Aelys and Daeron?

“Most likely.” Viserys’s upturned hand rests on the table, the blood clotting to dark in the centre of his palm. A minor wound by any other measure; but for the King, it is like to be the source of new infection. “Perhaps not a punishment you are unfamiliar with—but for my daughter and grandchildren’s sakes, I should seek some lesser consequence for your actions. There must be a reckoning, Daemon. For the sake of the Realm.”

“If you cared more for her than for your fucking Realm,” is his answering hiss, “perhaps we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Enough! I will not—enough.”

What little vexation that had been stirred by Daemon’s taunt vanishes like smoke in a dark sky. His heart sinks. There is no triumph in conquering a man so beholden to his own feebleness.

Viserys makes his proclamation with the weariness of one that may well have lived a thousand years. “You will be charged with perfidy if you return to the city. Thus… you shall not return.”

“So it is exile, then?” How uninspired. Daemon might have respected the man more if the sentence had been more dire. He is fully aware of how contrary that makes him.

“Is it so terrible? You despise the capital,” the King says. “Remain on Dragonstone, Daemon. Raise your children. Be with your wife. Tour the Kingdoms. Travel across the Narrow Sea, by all means. But you will not—you cannot—step foot in King’s Landing again. That is the price you must pay.”

It is not so bad, he thinks. Better than he had expected, though worse than he had hoped. Some small, naïve, foolish part of him had half-believed Viserys might spare him entirely.

‘But I am your brother, when Father died you made a promise, you swore—’

‘And what of your whore Queen, do you know what she’s done, do you know about the moon tea—’

‘Why don’t you love me as I love you, why was I never enough as I am—’

The possibilities crumble like ash, words floating by on a breeze just out of reach. Things he might have said, might have done, no more than unattainable futures now. There is no point. He is a haunted shade of the man he is, seated at the table in the room on the isle, forever wishing, wanting, waiting for the sun to shine a light upon him. And yet. And yet.

Daemon tries to convey a façade of agreeability. What comes forth is terse, a threat of temper lurking below the depths. “Fine.” Folding his arms, he cannot help but make one last query. “But you understand that you won’t see her again, either?”

His meaning is abundantly clear if Viserys’s reaction is anything to go by. Though the King does not move, he appears smaller, less substantial, the breadth of him collapsing like a dying star. When he concedes, it is with a burdensome breath out, a rattling knell of defeat. “I do,” he says, forfeiting all rights to you in so short a statement.

What a sire! What a man! Viserys may be a wretch, but he loves Aemma’s girls. His love is not enough, it seems.

Such folly it was, Aemma—dear, dear cousin—to depart so soon from this world…

Daemon is tired. “If that is all, Your Grace.” He dips his head, intending to make for the door, to seek out the place in which he truly belongs: in his chambers, by your side, with his children.

“Wait!” his brother says.

He turns back.

“One thing more. I… please. Here.” A scroll is drawn out from beneath the layers of cloak, bound in blood-red ribbon gilt along the edges in brilliant gold. Viserys holds it up, inviting him to take it for himself. “It is a pittance, but I… I hope it might ease the sting, if only a little.”

The temptation is great—too great. Almost without realising, he is where he wishes to be least of all: next to the King, cracking the hard wax of the royal seal open, unfurling the contents within with nary a word of thanks to offer the giver.

Daemon’s brow raises. The living sons and daughters of Our esteemed daughter… will have... the style, title or attribute of Prince or Princess.

Prince Rhaenar. Princess Aelys. Titles worthy of his heirs, after all. It galls him that he has no gratification left to indulge in, no reserves of feeling from which to draw his pleasure at finally, finally gaining at least something he has coveted.

“My thanks,” is all he can offer. It sounds feeble in his own ears, apathetic.

Clutching the parchment tight in his fist, he hopes that his response will not spur Viserys into reneging on the decree etched within. To his relief, the man only nods, ashen smile contorting the open sores on his face.

Daemon swallows; lays his hand tentatively on his brother’s shoulder. “Farewell.” It rings with finality, finality he is not ready for, he is not ready, not ready—

A light touch against his elbow. Viserys pats his arm, rueful, mired by all that is left unsaid. “Farewell… brother.”

Daemon pictures you in his mind’s eye—your strength, your steadfastness, the iron sturdiness of your willpower—and lets the thought surround him, overwhelm him, obscure the churn of his gut and the throb in his chest. He takes a step, and another, and another, resisting the urge to look back at what remains.

The door closes.

You will not deign to see him off.

“Let my disappointment be his last recollection of me,” you say snidely, swaying a whimpering Aelys from side to side. “Mine own mind remembers naught but a coward.”

Still angered, then. Daemon does not dare press you. With a nod and a gentle stroke of each babe’s head—daughter in your arms, son in the wetnurse’s—he goes forth to meet Rhaenyra at the shore.

The skies are dark and grey as he observes Viserys hobble his way through the sand, helped along only by the Cargyll man. Though it galls him to see his brother brought so low, he makes little move to assist. If he wishes to create some great observance of his departure, then let him do so by his own power.

He stands back and endures the parting words between the King and his heir—the only person on this isle he’d ever truly given a damn about—and the weak attempt at light-heartedness from Laenor, idling thoughts keeping him company.

‘Tis a suitable day for dragonriding, he muses. Not too bright, not too cold… Perfect for introducing fragile forms unused to the severity of the changing winds to flight. He is glad to have finally settled on the venture with you earlier.

“… and I’d best not keep Alicent waiting. She was much aggrieved by my venturing here alone,” the man says with a joviality that seems only slightly forced, ignoring the manner in which Rhaenyra’s countenance slides flat at the mention of her once-dear friend. “Alas! She herself would not brave the journey, and the Hand… Well, someone must keep things in order.”

He grits his teeth at the mention of Otto and his bitch of a daughter, paying no notice to whatever words spill next from Viserys’s overeager mouth. More of the same prattle, no doubt. From what he’d discerned, the man had tried his hardest to uplift the spirits of the Keep’s inhabitants for the remainder of his stay, desperate to alleviate the blow the news of the Rogue Prince’s latest banishment had struck.

What follows is of little pomp or curiosity. The King shares but one look with the brother he has forbade from his city, offering no words of leave nor of apology. Daemon had not truly expected any. All that could be said has been in days previous.

The Kingsguard escort their sovereign onto the ship docked at harbour, a further distance than he himself cares to traverse. The faint shouts from the crew above and below deck herald the unmooring of the vessel, the shifting tides taking it swiftly out to sea. He watches, and waits, and wishes that Viserys and he had concluded proceedings under better circumstances—that, for once, the parting had served to bring them closer together than further apart.

Until we meet again, brother. This is not the last time. Daemon knows better than most that exile is not tantamount to an ending.

A flash of silver appears at the window overhanging the beach, bright against the sombre hues of stone and capturing his notice even from a distance.

It is you. He is sure of it.

Never would you forgive yourself if you had allowed your papa to depart without at least seeing the event with your own eyes. A dutiful daughter, even to the very limits of your tolerance.

He thinks to make his way to where he assumes you must be surveying the Silver Firedrake’s slow shrinking on the horizon—but when he arrives at your chambers to don his sturdier riding boots (for if he should think to take the twins on their first trip in the sky, how can he be anything less than prepared for the task?), you are once more to be found within.

A melancholy princess is what he discovers, sitting on the great chair with knees tucked into your chest and staring unseeingly at the empty hearth. Jeyne and Bethany cluck over his children like broody hens across the room, overseen by that exceedingly loud-mouthed nursemaid, clearly waiting for his arrival so that he may take his heirs on the agreed-upon expedition. He disregards them as he always does. They are unimportant, all three of them, useful only in their capacity as your aides.

“Sweetling,” he murmurs, prying one of your palms free from the vice-like grip you’ve established in amongst your skirts.

Though you release easily enough, you do not look up at him. Indeed, there is no outward recognition of his presence from you at all, and so he is obliged to take your chin in his grasp and tug upwards until your gaze meets his own.

The words lodge in his throat. It seems rather redundant to ask if you are well at the sight of your deadened stare, rage and grief and discontent burnt out entirely so that all that is left is the husk of once-feeling. A not-uncommon mood after matching wits against Viserys. The man most certainly has a talent for ensuring the impossibility of victory regardless of the outcome of quarrelling with him. Dark circles have formed under your eyes, a memoir of disturbed nights imprinted in skin, the shade deep enough to tell him that you have slumbered poorly since rowing with your father some days previous.

How many more blows will she be forced to take for the sake of this fucking family?

He tuts, tilting your head to the light to examine the bruise-deep smudges marring your sweet little face.

No, you are not well—but it doesn’t mean you won’t be eventually.

“You’ll get some sleep while we’re gone,” Daemon says, already digging his hand between thigh and calf to curl an arm under your knees.

You squeak softly, fingers digging into the hairs at the nape of his neck as he lifts you bodily and carries you toward the bed. “I am not tired,” you say, stubborn insistence so like the choleric peevishness of a girl so much smaller than you are presently. “I don’t want to sleep—”

“And I don’t recall asking.” He shifts you in his hold so that he can free the sheets from where they have been tucked tight against the mattress and deposit you soundly below the covers.

You frown, glancing past him at the ladies ogling the scene. “But I want to go with you and the babes!”

A firmer touch. He is reminded of nights so long ago—back when Aemma’s love had softened Viserys’s opinion of his carefree younger brother—taking visitation with his King and goodsister (of course, these were the evenings where he had not been trussed up between some brothel whore’s thighs), only to be interrupted by a bashful, sulking girl-child of barely three summers, plump baby-fat fists rubbing gummy doe eyes as you’d toddled in with a babbled refusal of bedtime. “No, no, no,” you’d mumble, swaying on unsteady legs toward your uncle, so sure already that it would be he to support your juvenile rebellion.

He’d had regrettably little patience for the display back then. He’d scoop you up, whirl you about so that you were red-faced and squealing, and promptly march you back to the nursery to trap you beneath your coverlets until the exhaustion of wrestling against his much stronger arms had you fast asleep.

I’ll do it again right here and now if I must, he decides. “Do you happen to find respite easily on dragonback?”

“What?”

Daemon huffs, tapping you on the chin to regain your wandering attention. “I’ll be taking our son and daughter on Caraxes. You need your rest,” he says, a touch of condescension bleeding into his cadence. You flush, whether in ire, embarrassment or the faint stirrings of longing, he knows not—but it is gladdening to see the colour livening your wan expression. “So, you have two options: you sleep here in our bed, or outside in the saddle. Either way, you’ll do as you’ve been told. Unless you’d like for them”—he nods toward your wide-eyed spectators—“to see what happens when insolent girls disobey kepa. Which sounds better to you, hm?”

The hidden threat quails you. You sag into the pillows, no longer warring with him, with yourself, relief lingering in the capitulatory flare of nostrils. “I… I will stay.”

“Good.” Delighting in the sullen lowering of your lashes, he strokes your hair down, more proprietary than soft, and tucks the coverings around you tight, hushing noises escaping at your minute protests. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. Lay down properly, there’s a love. Tired little girls don’t get to make choices, do they? That’s why I’m here. Sh, sh.”

Truly irritable now, you turn away from his wandering hands and his patronising devotions, burying your face into the plush softness of the cushions beneath your head. By the time he has located those damned boots and tugged them on, you are already lost to your long-needed slumber, mouth lax and breathing slow and even.

Predictable, isn’t she? And a terribly easy thing to bend to his will. He takes one final look at you, that trace of uneasiness unclenching in his gut, and readies himself for the outing ahead.

Daemon selects no one save the Mallery man and a pair of the Keep’s guards to accompany him down the path to the craggy sunning spot so favoured by his dragon. He finds the walk somewhat arduous, hyperaware of every bounce his form makes along the uneven trail, every jostle that risks upsetting the babes strapped to his chest. Not the most accommodating of arrangements, it is true, but he had been loath to attach them to his back where he could not reach in the midst of strife. He’ll have to make do with minimal manoeuvrability in the air.

Caraxes chirrups when he approaches, a gust of hot air jettisoning out from between his teeth. It is rank enough to give his companions pause. They cough, stepping further back, ensuring they are well out of range of the Blood Wyrm and his famous capriciousness.

Fat fucking chance of frightening anyone nowadays, Daemon grouses to himself.

The scent of his son and daughter attracts the creature like a moth to flame. His whistling growls cease abruptly, head tilting akin to that of a curious hound as he bends forward to examine his rider closely. Then, what can only be described as a softening occurs, rippling over Caraxes’s massive frame like sunlight dappling across scales. The wyrm blows the gentlest of breaths across Rhaenar and Aelys’s heads, a sweet little greeting before he settles down, seeming to disregard Daemon entirely.

What has happened to my fucking dragon? The scourge who routed the Dornish, the fiercest of beasts—a doddering old fool in the presence of two tiny humans.

He’ll admit it to no one, but he is immeasurably pleased. There are exceedingly few who could claim the protection of so mighty a monstrosity as a battle-hardened dragon, let alone at less than a moon’s turn of life.

“Avy kipagon kosti, Karaksys?” Will you allow us to ride you, Caraxes? he asks, thumping the dragon’s flank good-naturedly. A needless gesture, to be sure—but still, it is best to make it clear that he intends to bring aboard new quarry today.

A soft hoot sounds. The ground shudders as the draconic being’s belly thuds to the grassy surface, wing flattening to a smooth incline so that he may tread upward without the necessitation of climbing.

With a wry grin—how sentimental you’ve become, old boy!—Daemon treks up sinew and cartilage, cupping the babes’ heads to his neck to alleviate the erratic shifting of live flesh below his feet.

Aelys wiggles in her bonds as Daemon adjusts himself in the saddle, neck craning to the side like she is desperate to take in the sight of the world atop this new summit. Meanwhile, Rhaenar has fallen promptly to sleep, utterly at home next to the pulse and warmth of his sire’s heartbeat. Both are endearing in their own way; his daughter for her ceaseless inquisitiveness, his son for his perpetual surety.

“Sōvēs!” Fly!

Rhaenar cries at the rough shaking as Caraxes skitters toward the precipice, ramping up his pace to build momentum, and so Daemon tucks the boy further into the wrappings to secure him more tightly and shield him from the elements. When the dragon takes a dive from the cliff face, Aelys squeals, legs kicking at the booming rustle of wings flapping once, twice, three times, each swift beat careening them up and up into the air.

There are but three things that ignite the flame of exultation in his soul: the newest being his children, whether they be but sleeping or screaming or shitting, because they’re alive and they’re here after so long waiting, wanting; the most maddening being you, his baby wife turned woman, pudgy-cheeked tot turned maiden whore in a mere moment, his obsession, devotion, frenzy; and the longest-serving being this, soaring atop a giant winged beast, the thin air and roaring breeze stealing the breath from his lungs and forcing his heart to pound almost through his chest. Even when he’d had nothing but his reputation across the Narrow Sea—“Rogue Prince,” they’d whispered, “brother to a King who’d rather banish him than address the failings that had brought him so low in the first place”—he’d had Caraxes, he’d had flight, and he’d had freedom.

As Caraxes careens further and further out from the hillside, Daemon glances down to his son and daughter. For once, Rhaenar is looking about curiously, taking interest in his surroundings in a way he has so rarely done thus far. For once, Aelys is silent, eyes wide but carrying none of the vitriol her waking hours usually comprise.

“This is what it means to be Targaryen,” he whispers to them, pressing his nose to the warm buttermilk suppleness of each tiny infant’s snowshine hair. He is sure that this is what love smells like. “Va Zaldrīzo Lentrot jemī jiōran, ñuhus dārannis.”

Welcome to the House of the Dragon, my heirs.

The whipping winds take his words unto themselves, conveying them henceforth to be lost in the great wild world. Still, he feels their power in his bones. His heels dig into Caraxes’s flanks to speed him onward, racing the sun to the very edge of the horizon, hues of brilliant gold nearly blinding him and the saline tang of the sea stinging sharp in his mouth.

Grinning like a boy, Daemon leans forward, revelling in his flight across the open sky.

A new normality weaves itself into the tapestry of life upon Dragonstone.

Soon enough—too soon—that blasted healer deems you healed enough from your labours to move around the Keep unfettered. “She have babe,” Ūlla snaps as she shoves him out of the way, silencing him with an admonishing noise. “You act like she almost die. A natural thing, birth. Calm yourself!”

Daemon had tried to pay her for her services and send her off on her way. She’d merely levied him with an unimpressed look in response to his attempt at a conciliatory farewell.

“I hear you both sometime,” she’d said pointedly, cackling at your red-faced splutters. “New babe come very soon, I think. Better stay here, or I leave for Qohor and you make boat turn around when I get there!”

“I thought you were living in Braavos before?” he couldn’t help but ask.

She’d sighed. “I tell you once, I tell you again: sometime Braavos, sometime Qohor, sometime other place. And now, sometime Dragonstone. I live where I like, stupid boy.”

If the woman wants to make yet another port of Dragonstone, let it not be for me to stop her. Besides, she’s probably correct. There are plenty of rooms in this wing of the castle to fill, after all. He’s not going to fund her bizarre lifestyle, though. She can find her own bloody income.

And so, with you fully liberated from childbed and no longer in need of him, it is with great reluctance and no small amount of relief—for a man can only spend so long staring at tiny beings that do little else but sleep—that he returns to the task of maintaining the fortress.

His routine of old awaits him near unchanged. His men-at-arms welcome him back with congratulatory slaps to the back and cheerful salutations, a whirlwind that ceases only when his particular training methods serve to wipe the smiles from their faces and sap the strength from their limbs. By the time they are finished that first day, not a single man is able to move about without hobbling, clutching at a spasm in their side or stemming a weakly oozing cut with grimy fingers.

Good. They’d gotten too complacent in his absence.

In running drills, reviewing the training of Jace, Luke and Daeron (and Baela, too, it had been decided), rearranging the shift of the guards, recompiling figures upon the ledgers—and he’d have to speak to Robert Quince about his fucking appalling sums, by the gods—it becomes a true effort to find a moment to spare for you or the babes. Gone are the hours of uninterrupted leisure where he could lounge about with a book or with his varied lines of correspondence, using such activities as concealment for his preferred pursuit of watching you learn and adapt to the ever-changing role of motherhood.

Whenever he can, he goes back to you. On those occasions, he makes little attempt to reveal his presence. Rather, he stands at the door to the solar or hall or garden and surveys you and Rhaenar and Aelys. You take tea with Ser Lysan, infants propped up on your laps as you converse over your philosophies and linguistics, treating each squawk or whimper like it is a serious contribution to discussion with solemn nods and mischievous eyes. You arrange and rearrange the furnishings of the cradle, pensive eyes lingering overlong on the stone-still eggs laying within before turning to coo in the tongue of his homeland, sweet words of adoration for the beings you’d made. You wave freshly plucked blossoms at the babes laid out on a woollen rug spread over grass, laughing with Daeron and Rhaena as Aelys sneezes after jamming a flower into her face.

Such a pretty little mama you make. There is a rightness to it, taking and claiming you for himself, a Valyrian maiden for a Valyrian man as it had always been and will always be. He’d felt it when first he devised to make you his, and he feels it ever more keenly now. A sweet baby cunt—a Targaryen cunt—ripened with his seed, pure blood sprung from pure blood as it had since the dawn of dragonbinding, since those with magic in their veins had climbed to the very peak of power so long ago.

He dispels the musings with a toss of the chin. Yes, you’d taken beautifully to your new station, cossetting his babes with a heartrending sort of tenderness that can only be born from having gone so long without that same unwavering dedication. He’d chosen the vessel to bear his heirs well.

But so enamoured of these new lives are you that he has become the one bereft. He’d almost think you barely notice his existence if not for your absent-minded requests to ‘hold Rhaenar, would you, kepus?’ or to ‘take Aelys for just a moment while I use the privy’ when he arrives to your chambers after a long day.

Daemon had never quite grasped how fortunate he’d been to have procured and made himself such a wanton little whore of a wife. He does now. The shifting humours of your blood—the arduous process of healing from the inside out, of producing sustenance for small hungry mouths, of attuning yourself to the innate needs of these whole persons formed from parts of you and him—had rendered desire utterly meaningless to you.

He’d love nothing more than to show you how deeply he appreciates the undertaking of your body and spirit over the previous moons. He mightn’t be able to fuck you just yet, but there are certainly plenty of other acts to partake in. And yet his overtures—sly stroking here and there, a lazy upcurve of lips awash with intent, his solid warmth pressing in in in against your smaller frame—remain frustratingly, vexingly unobserved. He makes do with a spit-slick hand to his cock and the dim of the moonlight casting a dreamy glow over you, ethereal, lovingly caressing your newfound curves and near begging him to follow the path of it with his own unworthy touch.

Alas, as Viserys might say. It is not to be. Thus, he trammels his want as far down as he is able and focuses on the things he can do, such as finalising this evening’s undertaking.

It is like any other evening in recent memory, save for one addition. Daemon sits across from Laenor this time, restraining the urge to beat the man about the head to finally, finally shut him up, the man prattling on and on about nothing of import instead of actually assisting with inventorying the reserves of dragonglass on the isle. The entire enterprise is pointless, he’s sure, but some stupid cunt had told Rhaenyra that obsidian may be a marketable commodity further East.

Not like there’s anything else of value on this rock. Dragonstone is rich in sentiment and strategy rather than in resources. He’d have gotten the castellan to do it, but after the bother he’d made of the ledgers… well.

When he is at last free to escape Laenor’s clutches, he immediately ventures to the relative safety of his apartments. Like any other evening, he finds you alone with the babes, the hearth lit to blazing despite the mildness of the weather outside. The ties at the front of your shift are loose, the smooth swell of your tits peeking out from just below the hemline as you bend down to settle Rhaenar or Aelys—he cannot tell from this vantage point—beside their sibling in the cradle.

Daemon pauses. There is an odd scent upon the air. It reminds him of the Stepstones. His stomach churns.

And then he sees it. The eggs on the table beside the cradle, blackened with ash, the wood beneath smoking at the points of contact.

“What are you doing?” He tries to keep the ire from his voice, but he cannot conceal the bewilderment. What the fuck is she doing? he thinks.

You smile, moving toward him in greeting like there is not, in fact, a pair of scorching dragon eggs destroying the furniture. “Daemon.” He wants to wring your neck. How can she be so simple-minded, how can she endanger herself, the babes—”I solved it.”

“What?”

You lay a hand to his chest, bracing yourself to stand tall and brush petal-soft lips to his jaw, docile little princess, darling baby pet. He grits his teeth against the temptation to teach you a lesson you’ll not soon forget. Grab her and rip those fucking silks into tatters, pin her to the ground and beat her arse until it’s blue, ‘no, kepus, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again’–

Your hand is bleeding. He snatches you by the wrist with too-rough fingers, tracing the thin gash in your palm with the pad of his thumb until you hiss at the sting of it.

“What is this?” he asks sternly. “What’s going on?”

Has she gone mad? It’s not an illogical assumption. Madness runs in the bloodline. ‘Tis the curse of pure breeding, he knows. There’s been a fair share of harebrained, eccentric, even downright cruel members of his lineage. He cannot say for certain that he would not also be named to such notoriety in the annals of history. But this: slicing your own skin open, for it can be nothing else to have done the deed; preparing to place dragon eggs scorched from the fire straight into the cradle beside your newborns, for the scene he’d walked in on can suggest little alternative…

There is a saying about Targaryens. He cannot recall it. Madness, greatness. Something about coins.

“Oh,” you murmur, half-absent, peering upon your rent flesh as though surprised by the blood that wells there. “I forgot about that.”

You hum as you pull away, wandering back over to your little arrangement. Stopping before the eggs, you lean forward and eye the surface of the yellow one with zealous interest.

“You forgot about your fucki—”

“Fire and blood,” you say, the absurdity of such a statement stopping his vehemence in its tracks. “Such strange words, no? What is the reason for them?”

Daemon frowns, heart pounding. He’s never seen this side of you before… this distant creature that seems two steps out of time, floating on a plane just out of his reach. Gael had seemed that way as her waist thickened and then thinned once more, growing pale and frenetic and prone to fits of howling. It had been no surprise to him to eventually learn that his dear, sweet wisp of an aunt had walked into the sea, torn apart by anguish.

The fear—that same fear—renders him mute.

You continue on. “I found it peculiar that the eggs had not yet hatched. My sister’s boys’ did on the days of their births. Why then did ours not?” You look up at him, brow furrowed, struggling with some great puzzle.

Fuck. Perhaps he ought to have taken more notice of your concern when the eggs had remained stone-still, unchanged by the emergence of their riders-to-be. He’d not been too bothered. Long has the notorious volatility of dragonspawn been known. Most Targaryens of note had had to claim a mount from among the riderless dragons. Still. He’d not been paying attention, clearly. Fuck.

“Rhaenyra told me a story earlier,” you are saying to him, earnest now. “How she’d been presented with Luke’s egg while her hands were still wet with birthing blood. He’d only just come from her, and the cord was not yet cut. Laenor put the egg back into the brazier, you see… the smell of burning blood made her retch as she delivered the afterbirth. That night, the dragon hatched. She meant nothing of it, but… I thought about it.”

You take the purple egg in your grasp, still smoking beneath, and what comes lurching from the bowels of his chest is a strangled noise of terror. It dies as quickly as he’d given it life.

You do not scream. You do not cry. There is no aroma of singed flesh nor sizzling sound of skin crisping like overcooked meat. Instead, you hold it out like an offering, mouth twisting up in recognition of his fright.

“There is magic in our blood,” you say, and suddenly your inexplicable fanaticism bears great weight. “We are the ones—the only ones—able to bring the fire to life. Fire and blood. Fire of home… and blood. My blood. It is no adage, don’t you see? It is a secret. It is the secret.”

He is torn. Part of him wants to dash the egg from your hands, to bellow for the guards to bring the healer or the maester, to force potions and tinctures down your gullet until the gleam, that perplexing, unnerving gleam, fizzles out and you are returned to him. But the other part—the other part wants to bend the fucking knee.

He chooses neither.

“Come, riñītsos”—little girl, oh gods, please just stay my little girl—“let’s go to bed.”

Daemon cleans and binds your hand himself, shoving you backward in spite of your stubborn insistence that the eggs “really must go in the cradle, kepus, please, wait a moment,” and so he does that, too, shrugging off his coat to use as a barrier between the consuming heat and his bare skin, only to find that the eggs really aren’t hot at all, though the wood still smokes and the table is singed and ruined. He ignores the significance of it. It’s too mad, even for him.

The babes—his Rhaenar, his Aelys, his littlest beloveds—are fast asleep, stirring not once at the exchange between mother and father, and they care little when he places the eggs beside them. Purple for him, yellow for her. He knows not why, but it’s a simple thing to heed your intuition. A brief caress to each small head is all that he can spare this night, all the disturbance that he can stand to risk what with their milkdrunk mouths slackened peacefully and their gossamer lashes unmoving upon their cheeks.

When Daemon sinks into unconsciousness, he is plagued by fragmented visions, your words spun around upon themselves until all he knows is the tang of copper stealing through the air and the choke of ash fumes and charred dust. ‘Fire and blood,’ your voice haunts him, the egg in your grip but this time the blood stains you dark, running rivulets down your arms and spurting from between your teeth as you grin, maniacal, an unholy light in your lilac stare.  ‘Fire and blood,’ and he sees his own unwieldy fists as from above, watches his hands lay themselves upon Rhaenar and twist, wrench, birdbones cracking like paper overdried in the sun, watches himself hook around Aelys’s chin and tear the head from her shoulders like pulling apart bread, ichor coating his tongue. ‘Fire and blood,’ and the eggs hatch but they are no dragons, no, they are shrivelled and misshapen, maggots wriggling from deep wounds in the belly and claws snapping into a thousand pieces like hard wax, and when they scream it is not the sound of a dragon but your own voice, wailing, “I think I will die, oh, gods—”

He starts awake.

At first, he thinks it is his own mind to have drawn him from an uneasy rest. Casting his eye upon you—splayed out on your stomach in the moonlight, face turned to him, slow, even puffs escaping parted lips—he is satisfied that his dreams have not become reality. Rolling closer to you, suddenly cold, he draws the covers up higher around you both and presses his nose into your hair.

And then, he hears it.

A cry in the night. But it is not you, not Rhaenar, not Aelys. It is different, foreign. Wrong.

Someone is here.

Daemon lurches from the bed with a grunt, Dark Sister already in hand and drawn from the scabbard. The snick of the blade and the clatter of the wood-and-leather sheath as he casts it upon the floor is enough to rouse you, though he is heedless of the befuddled exclamations you emit, eyes straining through shadow to acquire a sense of whom has entered his chambers so brazenly.

One of the babes squawks. It is this that breaks his standstill. Stumbling toward the cradle, his pace quickens at that same hooting, unnatural cry, louder with each step he takes.

No. No, no, no. Not his heirs. Not his son and daughter, please…

“Daemon?”

“Wait!” he barks in your direction, barely registering the rustle of you fumbling with the tinderbox beside the bed. In the darkness, he is forced to feel rather than see, fingertips outstretched to ascertain the wellbeing of the babes. “Fuck!” he hisses. His hand throbs.

A dim light draws nearer. You follow his path onward, slower, the golden glow bathing the nearby furnishings. Daemon chances a look down into the cradle, searching for the cause of the sharp sting in the meat between his thumb and finger.

“Oh,” you say, stunned. “Oh!”

The paler one cocks its head at the sound, tiny snout craning up from where it had rested upon Aelys’s swaddled thigh. Unfurling wings so thin he can nearly see through them, no bigger than the span of his palm, the creature totters forward on unsteady legs, hooting again when it falls flat. This rouses the darker one—the shade of deep, glittering amethyst, tinged gold by candlelight—from beside Rhaenar, and it straightens itself much like a kitten might, stretching its spine out and hissing low, tinny. Though Daemon’s children are awake, they remain unbothered by these curious interlopers, these fragments of stone shell littered about their place of slumber, wide eyes watching as the baby dragons make themselves familiar with the world in which they have arrived.

By the gods.

“See, kepus?” you whisper, exultant. “Do you see?”

“I do,” he says, stunned and overcome, overwhelmed and overawed. “I see them.”

“Fire and blood. I was right. I was right.”

He sees. He hears. And he knows, in his gut and in his heart, that you speak true.

“Prince Daemon had at last a son and daughter both of his own blood, delivered unto him by his lady wife. Indeed, the early years of the marriage are widely regarded as some of House Targaryen’s most fruitful, as the young Princess proceeded to bring several of her husband’s children forth in quick succession. All would receive dragon eggs in the cradle, and all would hatch, bringing the might of the royal dynasty to astounding new heights.”

- 'Fire & Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros' by Archmaester Gyldayn

Read it on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44058132/chapters/119324212

Taglist (😭 thank you!):

Now in the comments!

#terms of endearment │ daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x you #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon x fem!reader #daemon targaryen x fem!reader #daemon targaryen x niece!reader #matt smith #a song of ice and fire #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #got #got fanfiction #house targaryen #fire and blood #dance of dragons #daemon x oc #daemon x you #daemon x reader

[tobitofunction]

The Pact of Fire and Ice part 3

Part 1 Part 2 part4

After the ceremony was done Cregan lifted you into his arms and carried you back towards the Castle. He carried you towards his room, which now you will share, he let you down in the middle of the room. His hands resting on your hips, "Are you going to bed me now?" you asked staring at the large bed which was covered in large black fur, Cregan hummed,"That's usual for after the wedding" he said, his lips ghosting at your neck," I'm still a maiden" you said softly,"I try to be gentle" he whispered, he began to unlace your dress, the pressure of the corset slowly being realised, Cregan than pulled your dress down your body making the cool air hit your skin making you gasp softly."Targaryen seems truly to be gods" Cregan whispered as his hands glided up and down your body, you turned around slowly,"It's unfair that you are still clothed," you said feeling confident due to his compliment, the wolf hummed before slowly stripping him selves of his clothes, he was muscular, small to large scars littered his body, your fingers traced a larger scar which went from his shoulder to the middle of his chest," I was attacked by a wildling who managed to find themselves inside the walls" he explained, you didn't say anything but your fingers tracing lower until they stopped."Never seen a cock before?" he said with a teasing voice which made your cheeks flush,"No" you said removing your hand from his body and your eyes moving towards his own icy blue ones,"Than I be gentle dear wife, well until you have gotten used to having a cock inside of you" he said pressing a kiss against your temple, he then grabbed your hand and led you to the bed,"On the bed, lay on your back" he instructed, you complied and laid down on soft furs which were sprawled out onto his bed, Cregan climbed onto the bed grabbing you by the waist and pulled you closer to him, he caged you with his body,"Let's see if the dragon can be tamed by a wolf" he said making you take a sharp breath.

You feel asleep after the act, Cregan warm body luring you to sleep with ease. Cregan gently stroked your smooth skin, different thoughts filling his head. He didn't want this marriage, he only did as he needed an heir, his heart still belonged to his two former wives, that's what he thought at least, the more time he spent with you the more he started to feel, something which is dangerous for him. He believed he was cursed, he lost his first love in childbirth and his second due to a sickness, he believes if he lets you in his arms you be the next. He sighed and looked down at you, your cheek was pressed against his bare chest, your full lips were parted slightly. He than gently removed himself from you, he quietly got changed before leaving you alone in the large chamber.

You woke up, your body ached from last night's activities, and you stretched your arms across the soft first just to find the other side empty. You sighed and sat up lifting the furs over your chest just as a knock was heard on the door,"Come in?" you said,"Princess, Lord Cregan send me to get you ready for the day" a maid said bowing her head,"Where is he?", "On a hunt, my lady," she said, you bit your lip,"Very well, let's get dressed".

Jace rubbed Vermax's neck when you walked towards him,"Ready to leave?" you said sadly, "You be fine sister, you're a dragon" Jace said cupping your cheek, "I need to go back the veil" he said letting go you," I hope I will see you soon again sister" he said mounting his Vermax, Tyraxes cooed at Vermax as he was ready to take off"Be safe, I can't lose you too not after Luke, promise to be careful" you said looking up at him, "Of course, I promise and remember a King always keeps a promise" he winked before taking off. You looked after Jace as his figure became smaller and smaller, you only turned away when you felt someone stare at you, it was Cregan and his Direwolf.

"I hoped you slept well" he said,"Is it a tradition in Winterfell to leave your wife after bedding her?" you asked with a lifted brow,"I'm sorry if you took offence," he said playing with his gloved hand," I just...I just had a business to take off" you cocked your head, you could sense he wasn't telling the truth but you didn't press him to it,"Well don't do it again, it's pretty rude, I am a Princess after all" you said lifting your chin as Cregan stepped closer," A Lady of Winterfall as well, it truly was immoral of me to leave you, looking so irresistible all bare in front of me" you felt your cheeks heat up at the comment," irresistible, huh? and you still left me" you teased trying to hide how is comment affected you,"And I said it won't happen again, quiet the opposite, you and me will be spending day and night under the furs" he smirked cupping your chin,"A storm is heading to Winterfell, we won't be able to leave for a while, your brother left at the right time","A storm?" you turn to Tyraxes who was staring at Winter, Cregan's Direwolf," I need to get Tyraxes to a safer place, is there a cave where she can have shelter?" you asked holding Cregan's wrist,"Yes, it's not far from here, I show you" you nodded your head,"Than it's time for the wolf to mount a dragon" you smirked, Cregan was taken back by those words,"And I'm not referring to myself" you added which made Cregan tense,"I could just show you where it is and you can some back for her" Cregan said,"Is the Warden of the North scared?" you teased making him shake his head,"No, of course not....maybe a tiny bit" he admitted after a while,"Don't be scared, so long I'm on with you nothing will happen, I promise" you said walking towards Tyraxes, Cregan looked down at Winter who was staring at him with a cocked head,"Don't look at me like that, you be scared as well on a beast like that" Winter just replied with a bark before disappearing into the forest," Come on Lord Stark, a storm is coming you said".

Cregan's fingers were digging into your waist making you chuckle,"Sōvegon(fly)" you said making Tyraxe's open her wings, she let out a roar before taking off,"Shit" you heard Cregan say, Cregan's heart was beating out of his chest as he saw Winterfell become smaller and smaller under him. Once Tyarex's was flying steady Cregan relaxed, his grip loosened and he began to look around in wonder,"The skies are so beautiful" he said with a soft smile,"No wonder people say you are closer to gods than to men, with a few like this you can only feel like a god" he added making you smile proudly,"Where is that cave?" you asked making Cregan snap back into reality," It's north of the wolfs wood, it's small but I say Tyraxe's will fit into it" you nodded and pulled her north,"There" Cregan said pointing towards a dark patch of land,"Tegon (land)" Tyraxe's slipped slightly as she landed which made her growl, you patted her neck as Cregan stepped of the beast with a thud,"I say you ruined Horse riding for me" he laughed as you landed back on the ground, just when Winter reappeared from the bushes,"Hello girl" he said brushing his finger tips against her ears,"We need to go now, I can feel the storm coming closer" he said becoming serious again, you nodded and turned to Tyraxe's,"Jikagon se ruaragon isse konīr, ao sagon save hen se jelmio (Go and hide in there, you be save from the weather)" you said making her roar and turn around and waddle into the depth of the cave.

"Lord Stark, my Lady thank the gods for your arrival" a soldier said," Is everyone in their houses?" Cregan asked back in his stoic tone, no sign of the giddy and excited man from just moments ago could be seen,"Yes my Lord, we were just waiting on your arrival" Cregan nodded,"Close the doors, and head back in for shelter" he ordered making the soldier nod.

"Cregan thank god, you are save" Sarah said the second she saw her brother walk into the hall," You had your wife outside?" she hit Cregan in the shoulder making Cregan lift a brow,"That was idiotic of you, she's a westerner, she isn't used to this cold, she could have frozen to death","Thank you for concern Sarah, I appreciate your kindness, but your brother letting out close to a storm is the least idiotic thing he did" you said making Sarah lift a brow,"Leaving me alone after taking my maidenhead is on top of the list" Cregan pinched the bridge of his nose,"That will follow me around for a while" he mumbled as Sarah looked at him with shock,"You did what?"

#cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #cregan stark x reader #cregan fanfiction

[r-rizzo]

hi! your jon snow headcanon is fantastic! you could make an imagine of aemond targaryen, where he and targaryen!reader (who is daughter of viserys and alicent too) take a ride on their dragons and the reader rides VERMITHOR! in honor of your name. after taking a flight, they arrive on an island or something where they spend their time, lots of fluff and kissing! thank you. 💝💝

dragon moon. | aemond targaryen

❝ pairing: aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader.

❝ summary: aemond was never a lonely child, since he was always with his sister, the princess y/n targaryen, the second daughter of the second marriage of king viserys. since then, they have always been in love, that is why, on every full moon, they get together on trips on their dragons to show their love.

❝ warning: targcest, aemond being sweetbread with his lover, wild kisses and aemond's hands going elsewhere, vermithor is in love with vhagar, just two teenagers in love, a possibly mistranslated valyrian.

❝ note: this is my first request about aemond and i'm very excited! i want you to leave me your opinions on how i write, constructive criticism is always welcomed, especially if it is respectful. i hope you like it!

THE COLD night wind entered through your window, lifting the dress from your legs, getting you to wake up. you huffed in annoyance, sitting up quickly on the bed and rushing to slam the window shut.

you stood at the window, rubbed your eyes and looked at the stars that adorned the sky of king's landing. the stars seemed to throb when you looked at them, the wind that crashed against your window seemed to go slower and more delicate in your presence. and the moon, the beautiful bright full moon, seemed to grow brighter and brighter before your eyes.

until, before your very eyes, a shadow extinguished it for a moment, accompanied by a dragon's roar, "that dragon ate the moon" you thought, but it was physically impossible. vhagar crossed your field of vision, blocking the moon with her massive body.

you knew that your brother, aemond, rode vhagar on bright moonlit nights around the king's landing with the purpose of waiting for you, he did not dare to invite you, but he expected you.

so, without wasting any more time, you took a coat warm enough to fly on the back of your dragon and you left through the secret door of your room, which, for your convenience, it led directly to the dragon pit, where vermithor, the dragon you rode, was waiting for you.

your feet crunched under the dirt of the pit, you took the burning torch that was on the wall and made your way to vermithor. it was an easy dragon to tame from the stories your father had told you, you always wanted to tame an adult dragon, and vermithor had been gentle with you.

you had approached, with only seven years but great courage, to the place where the dragon waited. and when he saw you, he didn't roar or spit fire at you, he offered you his head to caress.

ever since, you knew vermithor was as much yours as king jaehaerys's. you had a special bond and everyone knew it, they knew it from the day they saw you flying king's landing on the back of a large hermit dragon.

while you remembered how you tamed your dragon, your path was over. you left the torch on the ground and approached in search of your dragon.

"skoriot issi ao, vermithor?" you called your dragon out of the darkness. you listened to his warm breath, until, peeking out of the dark pit, his nose approached your face. scaring you, but you knew that what he was looking for was simple affection. "nyke kesīr, dona zaldrīzes" you said between laughs, caressing and kissing vermithor's nose.

vermithor closed his fiery eyes at your touch, moving closer to you, rubbing his head against yours. "jikagon de ivestragī syt nykeā kipagon rūsīr vhagar" you said bluntly, moving away from him as he followed you from behind.

when you could see the moonlight on your face, you were already mounted on vermithor, who, after your order, ran until he took the impulse and rose into the air.

the wind moved your long white hair, you closed your eyes at the sensation of the cold hitting your face and you were grateful for having brought a coat with you. vermithor was not fast like the young dragons, but for you, his flight was just perfect. its bronze wings shimmered in the light, and you found their contrast fascinating.

"issa zaldrīzes" you listened to your side, you opened your eyes to meet aemond on vhagar, who seemed more excited than usual to be next to vermithor. you smiled at him, trying to get as close to him as possible, "issa jorrāelagon" you said and you could see how his eye became small when he smiled at you.

aemond felt complete with you, you were the woman he always loved, you were everything he was missing and, although he suffered a lot from not having a dragon, he had you, and that made him love you more.

you were with him when the velaryon boys gave him a pig and you defended him from aegon, you were with him when he took vhagar and when he lost his eye.

aemond not only lost his eye for a dragon, he lost it because you. when all the children rushed to hit him, you tried to defend him, but jacaerys prevented it, throwing you away from aemond and causing you to hit your head on the ground. that was enough for aemond.

and now, while vhagar and vermithor pass each other in the skies, he doesn't mind having only one eye, because he has you.

he has your laugh when you see vermithor trying to beat vhagar, he has you saying "my love" every day, afternoon and night, he has you loving him, and for him, it is enough.

after a long race, where according to the criteria of the two, each dragon had won, you arrived at the island where you always stopped, where you had shown your love more than once.

and it's not that you couldn't in the castle, of course you did, after all, aemond always told his mother that you would be his wife. but you enjoyed the moments alone, where no one could disturb you.

you let vermithor land on the ground, and when he stabilized, you got off his back, you saw the largest dragon in the world land a little ahead of you, but still, vhagar seemed unwilling to keep his distance from vermithor. as you approached its rider, who was down to earth, you caressed your dragon's long neck until you reached its nose, where you left a kiss.

"sȳz trabajo rūs" you said, leaving one last kiss on his nose. you turned completely away from him and walked towards aemond, who was making his way towards you as well.

"she is so beautiful" he thought, seeing how behind you, vermithor raised his wings towards the sky, and the cold wind behind him only clarified that the dragons would take a walk by themselves. when you were close, he wasted no time wrapping his strong arms around your waist, pulling you so close that your chest hit his.

you laughed, but you put your arms around his neck and brushed his hair. you smiled at him, giving aemond a closer look at your smile and how your purple eyes grew small. he loved everything about you.

"you're beautiful" he said in a sigh, gently squeezing your waist, you smiled, bringing your nose close enough for them to caress "i love you, aemond" you said, placing your hands on his neck and bringing it closer to your lips.

"i love you too, y/n" he said, clasping his arms tightly behind your back and finally connecting his lips with yours. his lips were perfectly set, something that drove aemond crazy, your soft and cold lips made him more and more tense and how they moved fiercely against his made him lose control. whenever you kissed it was a battle, a battle between dragons and control.

your legs lost their stability when aemond began to pass one of his hands over your back, caressing it from top to bottom and leaving small squeezes against your waist. but god, his other hand was on your ass and he wasn't just rubbing it, he was squeezing it hard. he wanted you.

you did not know when, but you were on the ground and aemond on you. desperate to rip your clothes off when his hands rushed to take your coat off. but not even the heat that he made you feel, you could forget the cold.

"aemond" you said, peeling your lips against his and pushing your hands against his chest. his eye scans you, thinking of possible harm. "did i hurt you?" he asked and you denied with a smile "so what's wrong, my love?" his hand reached out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

you breathed heavily, needing the air that kiss had taken from you. "it's too cold to do it here, my prince" he smiled and nodded, understanding your reason but not giving up "i can try to keep you warm" his hand found its place between your thighs, but even though you wanted it, you couldn't.

"we are immune to fire, not cold" you said, kissing his nose and sitting down. aemond got off of you and sat down, but he took you with him until he had you on his lap, his forehead found yours, closing his eye to your breath.

"we can continue later" you said and he nodded, took the coat he had taken from you and put it on your shoulders, wrapped his arms around you and rested your head on his neck.

"if my wife wants to continue later, that's how it will be"

masterlist | © vermithorider | do not steal, copy, publish my work without my consent, if you wish, ask and inform me about it, I am the one who should give you my permission.

#aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen headcanons #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond fic #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen scenarios #vermithorider

[aealzx]

“Uhhhh, we got more company,” Mikey announced unnecessarily, gaping up to try and figure out if this was a friend or foe. It only took only a moment for the smoke to clear enough for them to see green among the black, signifying it wasn’t one of Augustine’s soldiers. After that the first thing Raphael and Don noticed from the newcomer was the purple themed bandana and attire, then an unusual amount of bandaids on his limbs, and the rather familiar bo staff in his hand as his gaze swept the room. The next thing Raphael noticed was the quickly mounting rage behind the yellow eyes that locked onto their huddled group. Raphael had always known his brother Don was a soft soul, and probably couldn’t intimidate anyone to save his life. But his counterpart apparently had just absorbed all the venom, and Raphael felt Don tense beside him when the other Donnie’s gaze met his. A prickle of danger stinging the backs of their necks as the younger figure took in the situation, eyes rapidly flicking from them, to Lil Mikey held close to Raphael, to the blood on Lil Mikey’s arm, and the gauze in Don’s hands.

For a moment Raphael thought they were going to have to do some lightning fast explaining before getting a rage filled brother trying to bash their heads in. But instead a mostly transparent barrier began constructing itself over the huddled group even as the bay doors behind them began creaking open. The sturdy purple shapes reminded Raphael of the back of an armored vehicle, possibly even a tank, and it pulled his gaze for a stretch.

“Help him, or else.” The voice of the second mutant turtle that Raphael and Don had seen in the transmission sounded surprisingly fragile, and came as a hiss, but it still sent shivers unwillingly through Raphael’s form. Definitely Don’s evil twin.

“Oh yeah? And what are you going to do to help?!” Mikey shouted, cutting off in a yelp and ducking low behind the previously felled machine as more mechanoids clomped into the room and sprayed additional bullet fire. The bullets failed to come even close to the group huddled behind Donnie’s barrier though, bouncing off the newly formed shield and clattering against the wall and floor harmlessly.

“Fascinating. It’s like a shield constructed from ballista glass, yet it doesn’t seem to have the exact properties-”

“Don! Focus here,” Raphael snapped. He did not like the way Little Mikey’s movements were getting more erratic and sluggish, half cries of his brother’s name being whimpered.

“Right- Right,” Don twitched back, resuming his task of pressing the clean gauze onto Lil Mikey’s wound.

With Don back on track Raphael’s focus switched to the new Donnie, wanting to check on his physical well being as well as make sure he wasn’t going to get shot as well. There were new mechanoids in the room after all. He’d heard clattering behind him continuously from moments after Donnie had spoken, but he’d thought it was just some different machines than before being sent to kill them.

He was apparently wrong.

“I WARNED YOU AUGUSTINE!!” The younger Donnie’s crackly loud voice was followed by a familiar hiss of missiles that Raphael knew all too well from the spats they’d had with Hun and the Purple Dragons over the years. But even though Raphael braced himself for their barricade to be blasted to bits, the impact never came. Not to his back anyway. The shudder of the floor was dampened by distance, and the secondary familiar noise of a reactive combustion from machines being destroyed greeted his ears instead. Giving another glance to Don to make sure he was still focused, Raphael stole another peek over the barricade and the sight made his eyes widen in mild disbelief. Six more missiles the same hue as the barricade encompassing them constructed themselves in the air before blasting into the mechanoids coming into the room. Along with them various forms of blast canons pieced themselves together and thumped heavily on the ground, firing pulses of lasers into their enemies. And in the center of all the return fire Donnie’s form floated, suspended by whirling turbines jutting from his back.

Okay, the little Mikey had magic chains, and the little Donnie apparently had a magic arsenal. Wonderful. “.... Holy shell…,” Raphael muttered involuntarily, taking a moment to let that fact settle in his mind. This kid was demolishing a military arsenal on his own, with nothing physically on him but a fancy stick and backpack. At least they didn’t have to worry about mechanoids stepping on them. Now they just had to worry about accidental friendly fire. And the hiss of gas spraying from canisters clanging into the room was also a problem.

“More poison,” Raphael hissed, raising his hand to his mouth automatically and looking for the gas mask he’d discarded.

“It looks like the barrier will keep it out, but we can’t let Lil Mikey get exposed to any more of it,” Don responded, hands working fast to wrap a tight bandage around Lil Mikey’s shoulder so they could stabilize him until they got back home.

“Yeah, I think the other Don has that taken care of,” Mikey commented from where he was pressed low against his hiding place, eyes wide and holding the floor like a lifeline. While he was all for making their escape, they were still missing one brother, and he didn’t think they would be getting any words in to Donnie around the explosions. At least the young lad didn’t seem keen on leaving this room.

And at least it didn’t seem like Augustine’s army was endless. After one more barrage of missiles the mechanoids were reduced to smoking heaps on the floor, Donnie’s figure descended to the floor amidst the destruction. The settling silence allowed Mikey to breathe a sigh of relief, and Raphael drew a tense breath as he prepared to talk to the new Donnie. The lad still looked pissed, but also strangely detached from the situation as he landed lightly on his feet and turned to brokenly start walking towards them. What Raphael was going to say was cut off by Don catching sight of a small figure in the clearing smoke.

“Watch out!” Don shouted, having finished giving Lil Mikey first aid and lurching forward to his feet. Donnie’s eyes semi focused on him before he turned to look over his shoulder, a soft click and whir being his only heads up for the oncoming pain. The same mystic nullification energy from the previous machines blanketed the room through a rippling pulse originating from Augustine’s hand as she delicately stepped over the rubble. But this time it seemed the energy was either less refined, or higher in concentration. Donnie let out a strangled yell and flung his hands to his head, barely keeping from crumpling to his knees as his remaining constructs were ripped to particles, while Lil Mikey whimpered and pressed his head into Raphael. Augustine could only watch with barely contained disgust, a blaster gun sliding out from the only undamaged panel in the wall on her command.

“And I warned you to behave yourself,” Augustine almost hissed, anger seething under a maintained exterior.

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Hey 8'D I actually had this part, and the next one already typed along with the previous one. Just had/have to get drawings.

Also I totally spammed the Ultimate Weapon no. 7 remix of Emil's theme in Nier Replicant while drawing this X'DD

(someoddmix your comments recently have made me laugh so hard and are so motivating. thank you! X'D everyone else who comments regularly make me smile too)

#my art #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #cross dimension kidnapping #rise + 2003 crossover #donnie #writing #long post

[ssplague]

Chapter 3

Masterlist

Warnings ⛔️ A/B/O themes, soulmates, mating, sex, manipulation, power and control.

Honorable mentions 💌 @lalachanya  @mrsmelaninhood 

@whatdidshesayyy @faemagic88

@viridianhero  @alishii @rv19 

@maggiecc @crazy-eight17 @nnubee

“All for you, All because of you”

The sight of you standing in the shadows of the hallway, made Bakugou feel as if the breath had been sucked from his lungs. You look from the angry blonde, to the way he holds your green haired savior. A brief flash of anger reflects in your eyes, while your facial features display abject terror. Seeing your display of negative emotions focused solely upon him, had something in the shifter’s chest aching painfully. “Unhand him! Put him down right now!” You demanded shakily, tears begin to well up in your eyes, quick to overflow and dribble down your cheeks. “He was just trying to help by getting me out of the storm! Please don’t Kill him! PLEASE!” You wailed, feeling absolutely helpless.

The original shock that your sudden appearance had brought on was quick to fade. Each of the men regained their composure, each one’s expression was drastically different from the other’s.

Deku being dropped to the floor has you shrinking back against the wall. Done in attempts to make yourself smaller, hopefully small enough to go unnoticed. Only to realize how stupid that thought was, while the one you now knew as a blood thirsty beast approaches. Flames danced within the crimson stare, its intensity was solely focused on you. A chaotic swell of feelings had resulted from the earlier encounter with Shindo. Even after channeling said feelings Into a rage fueled destruction, the continued heart ache had been too great for his mortal self to endure. So Bakugou had let his draconic side bear the brunt of that emotional onslaught, to which the beast didn’t seem to mind. Now however…with you mere inches away, cowering at his feet, the beastly side of him was fighting like mad to remain in control.

We found her! 

Let’s take her, mark her, make her understand there is no escape!

Somehow you had managed to hold his gaze since it landed on you. Despite the fact that your body is shaking like a leaf caught in the wind. For a split second the actual scene infront of him is altered; Rather than being in Deku’s shitty second home the two of you were in the dragon king’s most cherished place, with his fangs piercing your neck as he mounted you from behind. Quick as the vision had come, it just as rapidly dissipated.

Obviously this image was forced to the forefront of his mind on purpose. Pathetic, as if he needed any more incentive to take what was already his.

Her eyes are even more beautiful when she cries…Just look at her, poor thing is wound up as tight as a bow string…

Reminds me of a timid little doe in the forest, ready to run at the first sign of danger…

As Bakugou slowly brings a large hand up towards your face, you flinch instinctively.

“Y/N…I would never harm you…how could your opinion of me have shifted so drastically just from hearing some ridiculous stories?” His voice is soft as he speaks to you, the calloused pad of his thumb drying your tears.

“Are they really just stories? You looked perfectly capable of killing Midoryia right now, maybe you would have even enjoyed doing so…” you gesture toward Izuku as you finally look away from Bakugou. Your heart ached with some strange unspoken need to be close to this man, you couldn’t get him out of your head, “Can we talk somewhere privately?”.

“The bedroom in the very back of the house would be a good spot” your host offers, giving you an encouraging smile, despite rubbing his sore neck.

You turn and walk back down the dark hallway, not looking to see if the Dragon king was following you. Opening the door to a tidy old bedroom containing a bed with a purple patchwork quilt spread out over it, and an old wooden dresser.

Taking a seat on the bed you look down at the floor boards, not even bothering to look up when the bedroom door shuts and the lock clicks. The bed dips slightly as Katsuki comes to sit beside you.

A few minutes of silence pass before you let out the breath you’d kept in,  “Im sure you’re expecting me to return to the capital with you tomorrow…and the only way I will agree to come willingly is if there are no more lies…I…well I need to be able to trust my king “

My king

The touch of a warm, rough, palm incased your cheek. The feeling of it enough to get you to look up at its owner. Instantly returning the sentimental gesture by intertwining your fingers with his other hand. “I know what they must have told you about me, I’m sorry you were frightened enough to flee…Its true I have killed countless men and beasts alike…but it was all for the sake of my people! To keep them safe, to earn even more respect than the almighty king of the south had during his reign…Our lands have expanded, we have gained even more allies than ever before, its all been for the greater good my love…all for us to rule over together, we’ll make our kingdom the most prosperous of all of the lands surrounding us” Bakugou spoke so passionately as desire sparked in his crimson irises, his words made you feel inspired and excited in ways you never had felt before.

“I need you with me y/n, I need you by my side as my queen! No one on this entire planet could ever make me feel the way you do…my goddess, let me worship you like you deserve” He spoke so passionately to you, keeping eye contact to demonstrate his honesty. A gentle push had you laying back on the plush mattress, lashes fluttering over you’re half opened eyes as you moved further up the bed to make room for him as well. Rather than laying next to you, the imposing man loomed over the top of you. “Katsuki?” his name left your lips in a breathy sort of simper, causing a low rumble to sound in his chest. His reply is just as gruff sounding as he rasped “Love hearing you say my name…wanna hear you say it every day for the rest of my life”.

“I don’t understand why im so drawn to you, I should be afraid, I should want to run away and put distance between us…but im just so relieved to have you with me once more…MY king” it seemed as if you had accidentally envoked a possessive, borderline seductive lilit   With the way you had spoke. Surely that explains the sudden surge of confidence expelling any trace of the shaken, timid person you’d been mere minutes ago. Your sudden change didn’t go unnoticed by Bakugou as he studied you carefully, another pleased rumble rolling through his chest as your fingers carded themselves through messy blonde locks. Closing his eyes allowed him to feel his way through your aura; A pleased hum  the possessive emphasis placed on your words Vibrates your throat as your spirit attempted to entangle itself with his own.

Not yet.

The sound of your disappointed whine had his crimson irises re-open to lock with your own. The delectable fragrance you emitted seemed to have strengthened and it takes all of the young king’s will power not to let the drool pooling inside his mouth leak out onto the pillows bellow. Your honeyed scent coated his tongue and clung to the passages inside of his nose. No longer laying dormant, your omega spirit had finally exposed itself to him. Now wide awake, it seemed she wasn’t interested in waiting for any sort of proper ceremonial rigamarole to be claimed by her chosen mate.

“Stop that”

“Stop what?” Your innocent sounding voice and wide doe eyes aren’t fooling Bakugou in the slightest. 

Still doesn’t stop from making you look so adorably fuckable though…

Moving from over the top of you, the extremely turned on dragon shifter lays down behind you.

Turning on his side, slinging a heavy arm around your body and pulling you closer to him.

“Katsuki?” You ask, confused at his sudden change of heart.

“Sleep, we have a long day to get through tomorrow” he grumbled, kissing the junction between your neck and shoulder. The statement had an air of finality to it, and you couldn’t help but be disappointed.

So much for “worshipping his goddess”….

The following morning the Dragon king wakes up to the sound of birds chirping. Feeling his arm still resting on your plush body, he lets out a pleased rumble, trying to pull you closer. Only to realize it wasn’t you beneath his arm, it was your pillow.

“Y/n!” His voice cracked as he hurriedly sat up, frantic eyes scanning the room for you.

“Dammit!”

Instantly on his feet, a frightened but rapidly growing furious Bakugou berated himself for his foolishness.

You let your guard down and look what happened! She could be miles away by now!

Wrenching the bedroom door open and hurrying down the hallway, the wide open front door has panic gripping his very soul as he imagines losing you again.

“Oh uhm good morning Kaachan” 

A sheepish Deku greets his childhood friend warily, in his hands are a tray and three empty cups.

Noticing the look on the blonde man’s face, a smile appears on Deku’s, “Y/N is outside with Kirishima, they seem to have taken a liking to one another! I made sure to save you a couple of the pasteries we had for breakfast, I’ll get them for you”. Ducking his head down to awkwardly lean against the door frame, Katsuki watches your interaction with his idiot friend.

A small pile of wild flowers sit between the two of you, your lips are moving while explaining what your fingers are doing as they carefully braid vines and flowers together. The giant red head is watching intently until you finish the flower crown and place it atop his shitty hair. “I LOVE IT! I’ll cherish it forever!” The fool exclaims happily, sharp teeth on full display as he grins at you. The laughter that follows from you two brings a small smile to the King’s face, shaking his head at the idiot that is Ejiro.

“I poured you some tea to go with your breakfast Kaachan” Izuku calls as he comes down the hallway, appearing with Katsuki’s cloak folded over his arm, “it’s in the kitchen, and here is your cape, it’s all dried now”. Taking the offered cape, Katsuki drapes it over his broad shoulders and enters the kitchen. Grabbing his food to stand at the window where he can continue observing you and Kirishima. It doesn’t take him long to eat the two pastries and drain the cup of tea, and rather than leave the dirtied dishes for the nerd, he washes them.

Glancing out the window once more, Katsuki watches Kirishima attempting to make a flower crown with his clumsy hands and clawed fingers. Seeing the polite smile on your face as you helped shitty scales with patience and undoubtedly kind words…well it did something to Bakugou. The very first time he’d remembered ever experiencing such comfortable warmth extending from the depths of his heart, a feeling of peace that extinguished his always present fury, a softness that cushioned his sharp tongue, was the day he met you….

When word had reached Bakugou that one of the elder dragons was wreaking havoc in the eastern mountain range, he’d immediately felt the need to prove himself once again. It wasn’t just an elderly rogue creature, it was one of the ancient dragons that inhabited these lands long before any human stepped foot upon them. The magnificent beasts are few and far between these days. Some had been slain, others chose to befriend and coexist with humans, the most dangerous had been forcibly sealed away. The latter of which was only carried out when the beast was so formidable that the combined efforts of dragon and human together could not kill It. 

Great protest had followed the young royal’s announcement of planning to take on this monster by himself. The naysayers were silenced by the threat of exile or execution should any of them attempt to follow him. The battle between Bakugou and the ancient dragon waged on for three full days, neither of them willing to give up. Once it was all said and done, the Dragon King’s ferocious tenacity won out. With the beast dead at his Royal feet, he shifted back into his human form and set about pulling out teeth, claws, as well as a large gem embedded in the slain beast’s forehead. All of the things the man collected were to serve as more than just trophies in demonstration of his victory. Only when he was finished and the giant satchel was secured around him, did he switch back into his dragon form and take off toward home. It was about halfway through the journey that Katsuki’s vision started to blur, not long after came pain in his limbs. The Adrenaline rush had officially worn off, along with the dopamine high victory had brought about. Seeing what looked like an island below, the black dragon slowly loses altitude, and before it can hit the water, a human body appears in its place. Exhausted as he was, Bakugou kept a tight grip on his satchel as he fought the tide to get to shore, where he immediately collapsed.

Waking up was a surprisingly comfortable experience, whatever the Royal lay upon was soft, the air around him was a comfortable temperature and the smell invading his senses was possibly the best scent in the world. Only the feather light touch of small fingers on his skin made his eyes fly open, a frightening growl comes from deep in his chest. Taking hold of a tiny wrist in his large fist, “What the fuck do you-“ the words died on his lips as he caught sight of you. Pupils expanding due to fear, inside rings of wide e/c eyes stared back at him, before looking down at the wrist he still had clutched inside his hand, “ I didn’t mean to startle you…Im sorry”. The sound of your voice was like music to his ears, a unique tone that was made for him to hear and no one else, he had to of died during his flight home because no shitty mortal could be making him feel this way…”Im y/n by the way…I uh, I came across you passed out on the shore at the beach, and once I got a better look at your injuries...I couldn’t just leave you there” you spoke to him so softly, touched him so gently. The strange sensation wouldn’t go away; This tingling warmth in his chest, the serene calm you brought Bakugou only amplified the longer he spent with you, the closer you got to him.

It made the normally rage fueled monarch relax, it made him want to be a better man and a better leader.

All for you.

All because of you.

The memory made it easier to force himself to turn away from the window and stalk down the short hallway. Pushing open the already slightly ajar door to see the green haired male scribbling down some notes, muttering to himself as he picked up a jar and inspected the contents. Taking a few steps inside Bakugou clears his throat to gain the other man’s attention, “Oh Kaachan! Im sorry I didn’t hear you come in!” Deku exclaims, emerald eyes shifting nervously “Is something…wrong?”. “No…I just need to talk to you…” it comes out rougher than he’d intended but somehow Katsuki is able to get the words out “I wanted to thank…you…for uh…for helping Y/N…and Im s…sorry about last night I…I was worked up and I snapped on you when I shouldn’t have…”. The two men stood and stared at each other for a minute before Izuku breaks the silence “You don’t have to thank me, I was just doing the right thing….And Kirishima filled me in on what happened before you guys ended up here yesterday…It makes sense that you would be on edge after all that….Im sorry I didn’t just tell you she was here right away, I was uh kinda terrified you would think things were different than they appeared to be…”. 

“So…we are good then?” The Dragon king replies, narrowed eyes glaring at Deku.

“Yep we’re good” the green haired man says with a nod, smiling as he turns back towards his notes.

Bakugou turns to leave the room, only to pause in the doorway.

Keeping his back towards Midoryia to hide the grimace on his face as he says “If you want a ride back to the capital you can come with us, hurry up and pack your shit cause we’re leaving ASAP” no sooner are the words out of his mouth that his stomping feet can be heard down the hallway, huffing when he hears the nerd happily accepting his invitation. Its gotta be you and your infectious kindness thats getting to him, and that should be a lot more unsettling than it was to him in this moment. 

You and Kirishima were far too busy laughing at something Bakugou hadnt heard to notice when he emerged from the cabin. A large shadow falls over the grass infront of you as your laughter dies down into snickers. Which then cease immediately as soon as you notice who stands behind you.

“Oh! Good morning your highness!” Ejiro exclaims as he enthusiastically gets to his feet and smiles at the grimacing monarch. The red head extends his hand to help you up, only to have it knocked out of the way and replaced with the king’s. Taking your much smaller hand in his, Katsuki uses a little too much strength to pull you up and ends up with you falling face first against his hard chest. “G-Good morning my…King” you mumble against his skin as you peer up at him from in between his pecs.

“Missed you in bed this morning my goddess” the king replied, wrapping his arms around your body to keep you held to him. He couldn’t help but smirk at your flustered expression, where was the boldness you demonstrated to him the night prior? “Im not a goddess…yet” you corrected with a sigh “About last night, I….I apologize for behaving in such a provocative manner, it was innapropraite of me to proposition you like that….I dunno what came over me”.

“You’ve always repressed that side of yourself, it only makes sense that being in the company of your fated Alpha would get your omega all hot and bothered” Katsuki massages your hips as he takes a deep inhale of your scent “You handled it pretty well, Although, I wouldn’t have minded if you let the lust get to you, woulda been a good time for both of us…”.

“Is it inappropriate to admit that I missed sleeping beside you?” You nervously ask, shifting your weight from one foot to the other “I haven’t slept that good since the night before you left the island..”.

“No…its fine” he replied, taking notice of the way your eyes briefly fall to his lips “I feel the same”.

Your lashes flutter as you bring your gaze back to his, tilting your chin up slightly, craning your neck upwards to move your face closer. It was like the two of you were the only ones in the world for that brief moment your lips pressed gently to his. When you begin to pull back he stops you by giving you his own chaste kiss, resting his forehead against your’s.

“Will it always feel like this?” You whisper, gently grabbing hold of his cape to ground your out of control emotions. “Most likely”  Bakugou pauses to give you that stupid smirk “You’ll get used to it…eventually”. 

“Alright I’m ready to go! Sorry for making you all wait!” Calls Midoryia as he locks the cabin up, hurrying out to the field where Bakugou, Kirishima, and you are standing.

Rolling his eyes the king turns towards his companion, “Shitty Scales”. “Right! Give me just a second” Kirishima runs a few feet away, giving himself enough room to shift without worrying he’d hurt you or Izuku.

“Aren’t you going to fly us back?” You give Katsuki a questioning look, eyeing the blonde man wairly lest he shift and catch you by surprise.

“Someone has to make sure you don’t fall off mid flight and die” Katsuki says with a roll of his eyes.

Just as you open your mouth to retort ,magic electrified the air surrounding you. A red flash and an accompanying roar announce the magnificent crimson dragon that now stands where Kirishima had been moments ago. 

The beast lowered its head before the three of you, and Katsuki wasted no time helping you climb up its snout. Izuku follows the two of you to the middle of the dragon’s back before pulling a paint brush and jar from his rucksack. “What will you do with that?” You ask, watching the green haired man dip the brush into the jar. “Earlier Kirishima told me he wouldn’t mind if I painted some protective ruins on him to make sure we couldn’t slip or get blown off his back during our flight” Midoryia explains as he perfected the enchantment “It’s just some mashed berries that make up the pigment, something easy to clean off once he shifts back”. Once the brush and jar are placed into his bag, Izuku shuts his eyes and mumbles something unintelligible.

The runes glow bright green before fading to black, your eyes are wide with excitement and you can’t help but to be impressed by that.

“Incredible Izuku! Maybe one day you could teach me magic like that?!” You ask, tracing the symbols that line Kirishima’s scaled back. 

Deku didn’t even have to look at the king to know his red eyes were giving him a death glare.

“Oh it’s not that impressive, Kaachan’s magic is much stronger and flashier than anything I could do” the smaller man stutters as he waves his hands back and forth in surrender. Before you can praise Deku’s abilities any further, hands grip your hips, you don’t fight them pulling you backwards into Katsuki’s lap. You lean back against his chest as the King wraps his cape around both of you, probably to keep you warm during the flight. “Alright shitty scales let’s go!” Bakugou hollers, the dragon immediately spreads its wings and launches itself skyward. It’s terrifying at first, but once he’s gained enough altitude Kirishima glides along smoothly. Unable to contain the excitement anymore you begin to giggle, Midoryia sighs with relief and cracks a smile as well. “This is amazing!” You shout over the loud wind surrounding you, glancing over your shoulder to smile at Katsuki. The dragon side of  him is proud to see you smiling instead of crying and fearful. “I bet you are much more fun to ride my King, I can’t wait until you take me!” Your compliment is completely innocent, still he can’t help but agree as he definitely anticipated both those things himself. Both In an innocent and not so innocent manner.

Izuku sneaks glances at you two throughout the flight, seeing his childhood friend so happy is a pleasant change to the usual moody Kaachan. Its obvious that Katsuki’s affection for you is genuine and deep; In just the short time you two have known each other its obvious that you have began to change him. The crescent moon on your forehead catches the sunlight just right and a thought hits the observer. Quickly pulling a notebook from his bag the green haired man searches through his notes. Finding the page he was looking for, emerald eyes scan back and forth over the neatly written text.

In this realm,

a blessing descends,

a child of fate,

Whose power immense, 

destined to determine 

earth’s fate

Born beneath the moon's shadow,

a tale quite bizarre,

A beast hides within, 

a spirit touched by mar.

Not at the outset, 

but time's relentless flow,

Unveils a name in history's 

annals to grow.

Victories numerous, 

A heart encased in sin,

With a chance encounter, 

love's dance shall begin.

Strings of fate weave 

a love, pure and oh so divine,

The dragon king seeking

 a mate with whom

Soul shall intertwine.

This love is true, 

by impurity shunned,

Great Darkness out shone 

by a Celestial radiance 

Who’s light could

Outshine the sun 

Blessings abound 

Once the moon's grace prevails,

A bright happy future 

Similar to a child’s fairytale 

The prophecy that the oracle spoke twenty two years ago…

These words were something he’d heard since he was a small child. Everyone in the kingdom knew the words to this prophetic message, even going so far as to turn it into a song. For some reason it has always confused Midoryia.

It always seemed like something was missing from it, why does it end so abruptly? Placing the book back into his bag Midoryia chances another glance your way; Bakugou has his head resting on your shoulder, eyes closed and expression relaxed as you speak softly in his ear. Maybe Izuku was getting ahead of himself, maybe there was nothing to be worried about, maybe your love would really be enough to smooth over the dragon shifter’s horrifying and violent tendencies. 

Flying over the capital is an experience in itself;The city was vast, stretching out across the land as far as your eyes could see! All those people below looked like ants as they marched through the clean cobblestone streets.

Kirishima lands in the middle of the castle courtyard, lowering his belly to the ground  and curling his tail around to serve as a make shift slide. You watch Izuku, then Katsuki slide down before you followed suit, laughter flows from you as you slide across the smooth crimson scales, the latter catches you with ease once you reach the end. Midoryia bids you goodbye and before he can turn to leave you reach out to grab ahold of his sleeve, “You’ll come to visit me right? This won’t be the last time I see you, will it?” You ask nervously, hating to have to part with one of the first friends you’d made here. “You aren’t going anywhere yet nerd, I have something I need your help with so come on” snaps the king, dragging you until you fall instep with him. Approaching the castle, you notice it was tall enough for a dragon to inhabit, and more than wide enough. The dark stone making up the outside held a stark contrast to the granite and marble inside, the floors were polished and clean. The windows each had dark crimson curtains pulled to the side, allowing the natural light to illuminate the gorgeous paintings littering the walls. Kirishima jogs up the slope leading to the back entrance, appearing behind you just as the large back doors are opened. Two servants hold each door and bow their heads welcoming the four of you, you try to catch their eye but it was like they were ordered not to look at you. The further Katsuki led you into the castle the more you noticed that this lack of eye contact was a trend amongst the servants. At least when it came to you it was, they didn’t hesitate to return greetings from Izuku or Ejiro, offering kind smiles and waves along with each exchange.

Just as you were about to question the brooding blonde a loud voice resounds through the palace halls:

“Finally you got back! Was about to send out a fuckin’ search party….speaking of parties, the celebration was called off last night because of the weather so you got lucky Brat, but it will be going on tonight! Move aside so I can get a proper look at my daughter to be”. A female version of Katsuki shoved him to the side, identical crimson eyes growing wide as they observe you, taking your hands in her’s she introduces herself “Im Mitsuki, the last queen and mother of the soon to be king”. “Its lovely to meet you, your highness! I am Y/N…” you trail off, wondering if you should add anything else but Mitsuki beats you to the punch “Daughter of the Moon Goddess Selene”.

“Ah uhh yes” you reply nervously, shifting your weight from foot to foot.

The older woman eyes the crescent moon on your forehead, “Absolutely radiant, I am honored that you chose my son, he is definitely undeserving of someone that projects such outward and internal beauty”.

“Your grace please” you blush at being talked up, covering your mouth with your hand.

“Now that we’ve gotten through introductions, I’ll be turning you over to these lovely ladies to help get you ready for the evenings festivities” your soon to be mother in law gestures to two woman standing off to the side, both looking directly at you wearing warm smiles on their faces “These two are Mina and Momo, no need to worry dear you will be in good hands, now get a move on, I still need to talk to my ignorant son privatley !”.

Katsuki wanted to protest as he watched the two women each grab one of your hands and lead you down the hall.

“She is the real deal, I could sense the ethereal magic as soon as she stepped foot in the castle” Mitsuki notes, before continuing “Katsuki you need to cherish her, that isn’t just any normal earth dwelling woman…if you hurt her or inflict any sort of suffering-“. “Enough old hag! I had to deal with enough bullshit the last two days, and now I have to deal with this stupid celebration tonight-“ Katsuki is cut off by his mother talking over him. “You were the one that insisted the party should take place before the actual wedding ceremony, since you wanted to be able to whisk your mate away as soon as vows are exchanged” Mitsuki rolls her eyes “You’re lucky that I personally saw to a majority of the details to both ceremony and celebration, you should be thanking me profusely”.

“I have something I need to take care of, whatever you need me to do will have to wait until im done, c’mon nerd lets go, Kirishima you stand guard over Y/N, don’t let her go anywhere unattended” the king demands as he heads back towards the door he’d originally entered from, not waiting for the red head to reply. Izuku bowed to Mitsuki before hurrying after the retreating monarch.

As soon as Momo and Mina had you behind closed doors they bombarded you with questions:

“How did you and the king meet?”

“Was it love at first sight?”

“How did he propose?”

“How big was his-“ you quickly put an end to that line of questioning.

“I found him injured as I was walking down the beach of an island in his territory, it took some time for us to warm up to each other….Uh he didn’t exactly give me a choice, it was just a mutual agreement, and as for THAT…I wouldn’t know since we haven’t…y’know” you answered their questions lamely, it was embarrassing. If they thought anything negative the women didn’t share it, they just made idle chit chat as they combed out your hair. Taking a deep breath you shut your eyes, a bead of sweat slid from your temple to down your cheek, falling between the valley of your breasts. Had it always been so stifling hot in here? Pleasant scents of sweet almond, and vanilla reached your nose before suddenly being over powered by a lavender fragrance. Glancing around the room you don’t seem to find anything that would have put off the scents, the room was bright with afternoon sunlight illuminating the white canopy of the large four poster bed in its center. A small oak writing desk sat in one corner, and a clothing rack sat in the corner opposite of it, between the two directly across from the door used to gain entry to the room was another slightly ajar door, most likely a bathroom. Bringing a hand up you begin to fan your face, now beads of sweat lined the entirety of your forehead, you dab them away with your other hand before they slip into your eyes. Thats when you felt the sleeves of your dress being pulled down as the back of it had been unfastened, feeling your chest slightly exposed caused you to squeak in concern.

“Sorry my lady, we’re done brushing your hair out and now its time for your bath” Momo explains apologetically.

“Oh okay…I can undress myself” you begin to head towards the open door only to realize that the two of them were following you, turning back around Mina speaks up “Its our job to get you ready for tonights celebration and your wedding tomorrow, so its our job to scrub you down, remove any unsightly hairs, wash, condition, style your hair, and then moisturize you from head to toe,  I know its not ideal for two strangers to see your naughty bits but we’ll all be the best of friends afterwards!”. “Mina!” Exclaims Momo as she clutched her chest “Im so sorry my lady, please forgive her indiscretions, she means well!”.

The two of them begin to bicker on what is and isn’t appropriate to say to their future queen, your eyes bounce from one to the other as they speak. The pinkette is outgoing and high energy, while the ponytail is more somber and sophisticated. Mina begins making a game out of saying cruder and cruder things until her partner looks like she might just feint from the naughty language. Your laughter echoes around the bathroom as you strip out of your dress and undergarments, soon dying down into giggles as you enter the large bath, submerging your entire body.

“A thousand apologies my lady-“

“None needed, and call me y/n…I don’t consider myself above either of you…I want to make more friends” you admit this albeit nervously. A huge grin lights up Mina’s face, and MoMo ops for a more polite smile.

“You still haven’t mentioned where we are going Kaachan” Izuku nervously pointed out as he followed Bakugou. One of the kingdoms other shifters had given them a ride to the base of a nearby mountain. Now the two of them had been walking for over an hour, ocassionally having to climb up steep rocky ledges. “I told you already, you’ll find out once we get there! We’re over halfway there, woulda been there already if it weren’t for your sorry ass slowing me down” Katsuki sneers back at his companion. He was already 

irritated that Deku of all people accompanied him, and now the worm would know of his greatest kept secret. It couldn’t be helped, the nerd was the only one he trusted enough to assist him with this task.

After climbing one final ledge Bakugou comes to a stop Rubbing vigorously at his temples in attempt to stop the building tension headache. The pain stemming from his draconian sides repeat attempts at taking over his rational mind. Waiting for Midoryia to catch up, the king stood just outside of a cave that led inside of the mountain itself.

“We’re going inside?” Deku panted as he stared at Katsuki incredulously. “Yep C’mon” the king replied, immediately heading inside. Once inside the cave their path was blocked by what appeared to be a wall of volcanic rock. Placing both of his crackling palms atop it, the rock wall seemingly melted away, green eyes grew wide signifying the other man’s amazement.

“This is my horde, tell anyone the location, show up here without permission, or steal something and you’re dead, got it?” The King says with fire in his eyes, drawing himself up to his imposing height to make it easier to look down on Deku.

“I-of course not, I mean yes understood!” The frightened male squeaks, nodding his head nervously.

Turning his back on the cowering man, Katsuki walks further into the cavern. Treasures of all sorts line the pathway, Izuku can’t help but continue to marvel at all of it. A single path branched off the crowded walk way that led further into the cavern. Following it took the two men into what appeared to be a room carved into the rock wal

It wasn’t huge, it was small enough to be considered comfortable. Izuku noticed the various objects and decorations in this area were different than the haphazard treasure piles outside it. These things been placed with care, silk sheets covered the pile of furs and pillows surrounded what was obviously a bed in the center of the room. There was no spot that indicated the bedding had been slept on, and before the green haired man could contemplate this any further, the hulking blonde motioned for him to approach the spot.

“Paint these ruins right here” the king orders, lifting the bedding up and exposing the floor before he hands his subordinate a page that had been torn out of an obviously old book. Taking the ripped page carefully, Deku examines it curiously. Only to realize this was something in an ancient draconian language, raising a brow he begins to ask “What do these-“ only to be cut off by an angry “None of your damn business, just hurry up and come paint them”.

While Izuku set about his task, Katsuki continually left the room and returned with different things.

Arranging the treasures neatly, adding more decor and standing back to look at it satisfactorily.

Only to frown and take it away, going back out into the cave and exchanging the rejected items with something else. Once the runes were transcribed perfectly across the stone floor they glowed red hot, and burst into what had to be flames. This makes poor Deku Yelp loudly, jumping back to avoid getting burned. Quickly he grabs his bag and attempts to smother the flame, “Oi what the fuck are you doing?! Move idiot!” Katsuki exclaims as he runs over. Disregarding the frightened babbling coming from the startled man on the floor. The king takes a breath before closing his eyes in concentration lifting his hand that rapidly began forming into one of a dragon. Using the sharp talons to slice his other palm, blood began pouring out of the wound and dropping onto the burning shapes.

That’s when Izuku realizes that the flames weren’t burning anything despite the intense heat they were emitting. When the drops of blood hit the various letters it would sizzle loudly before extinguishing the flame all together. By the time each letter had been coated and the fire had been put out completely, only a faint outline of ruins appeared etched into the cave floor. The king carefully placed the bedding back in place to cover them up and smirked, very pleased with something apparently.

“Kaachan?” 

“Listen up nerd,  you’re going to help me haul the rest of the necessities I need up here before the wedding, since you are the only person other than shitty hair that knows where my horde is, now c’mon we have shit to do”  with that the king is quick to leave the room, and a very confused Deku inside of it. Something felt off to Midoryia about that enchantment, making sure he had all of his personal items put away before getting to his feet. Emerald eyes notice the old scrap of parchment had drifted a little off to the side during his earlier scare, considering Katsuki hadn’t picked it up or asked for it back, its quickly stashed away in a pocket of his satchel.

“WHAT THE HELL IS TAKING SO DAMN LONG?!”

“S-Sorry! Coming Kaachan!”

Back at the castle Mina and Momo had finished styling your hair and now were dressing you in your formal attire for the celebration taking place in the capital that evening.  The white dress had translucent sleeves that billowed outward when you walked, the slits on either side, and cut outs on the sides of your sternum made you nervous. 

“You look wonderful, everyone is going to think so” compliments the pinkette.

“I absolutley agree with Mina, you look every bit a future queen, the people will definitely be reassured they’re in good hands with you and the king” Momo adds with a polite smile. Thanking the both of them you glance out the window and notice that the moon has already taken its place high in the sky, shining bright as ever.

Without thinking you strode toward the doors of the small balcony in your room, opening them and stepping out into the fresh night air, closing your eyes and letting the gentle breeze caress your skin.

The two women watched you in fascination, it was as if your were taking in the light from the moon as one would from the sun on a warm day.

“Such a warm, gentle light” your whisper is lost on the faint wind, your heart swells in your chest at the fond memories made back then in your true home, the beautiful flowing silver hair and dazzling smile of a women dances behind your eye lids “Mother I miss you…I wonder what you think of all this…I hope you will come to watch me get married….or prevent it if its something that shouldnt happen…”. A ethereal glow surrounds you, making Mina and Momo gasp excitedly, the reassurance you had began to feel seemed to be a good enough answer from the goddess. As you turned to head back inside you paused in the threshold, glancing over your shoulder up at the crystal like light in the sky, the soft breeze blows hard enough to ruffle your dress. The voice that was carried on the winds from the heavens above was for your ears alone.

I will be there

The party was well underway by the time Kirishima escorted you out onto the balcony where two identical blondes sat overseeing the festivities. Katsuki is on his feet before you step through the door, you reach out to him and his expression softens as he takes your hand in his. “You look beautiful y/n” Mitsuki says as she too has gotten to her feet “The people are ready to meet their future queen”. Your stomach fills with butterflies as you take your place beside the dragon king. The older woman gestures towards a blonde precariously dressed man with a thin mustache, he gives a nod before loudly addressing the guests;

“Attention please! The royal family has announcement to make”. His voice has to be magically amplified some how, it’s so loud it makes you want to cover your ears.

“Thank you all for coming to join us in celebrating the unveiling of your soon to be queen” Mitsuki smiles warmly at the crowd below, gesturing for Katsuki to take over.

As soon as the king steps forward the people cheer “Long Live the Dragon King!” “Congratulations your majesty!” “King Bakugou!”.

The smirk he flashes his subjects has many in the crowd swooning, as soon as he begins to speak they all quiet down “I know many of you have long awaited the introduction of a new queen to rule beside me…It took longer than I would like to admit to find her, twas an accident that she came across me grievously injured from my battle with one of the ancient ones” a dramatic pause has the room so silent you could hear a pin drop, Katsuki smiles over his shoulder at you before continuing “It’s by the grace of Selene herself that her one and only daughter would not only find me, but put in the effort to nurse me back to health, I knew as soon as I opened my eyes and beheld the beauty above me that she was the one…my true mate and now your future queen my princess 

y/n”. You allow yourself to be pulled forward and now stood at your fiancé’s side, the crowd below erupts into applause, shouting and chanting.

“Goddess Born!”

“Daughter of Selene”

“Keeper of moonlight”

“Long live the King and Queen!”

You smiled and waved to the people, happy when Katsuki holds you close to him. You glance up to admire your handsome fiancé, without thinking you lean upwards and he meets you halfway in a passionate kiss that has the citizens cheering even louder.

Pulling away the two of you touch foreheads briefly before waving to the crowd once more and moving away from the edge of the balcony.

“Should I have said something?” You wonder aloud, glancing over your shoulder wearing a confused expression. “You did fine darling, if you had addressed them they would have went berserk with excitement, we don’t want the castle getting torn up before the wedding” Mitsuki reassures you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

Handfuls of nobles and commoners alike swarm to shake your hands and introduce themselves when you briefly come down to mingle among them. You spot Izuku’s green curls across the room and are quick to excuse yourself, happy to see a familiar face. He’s talking to a woman whose cheeks are bright pink as she giggles at something, only to immediately pause after catching sight of you.

“Midoryia!” You called out, smiling once you reached him.

“Princess! Hello!” He stands up straight, greeting you warmly “This is my good friend Ochako Uraraka”.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you your highness” the pink cheeked girl says shyly.

“You as well, no need to be so formal! Please call me y/n” you reply happily “I’m relieved to see someone familiar, I’ve met so many new people tonight already!”.

“The whole kingdom is buzzing with excitement, I bet it’s overwhelming!” Ochako exclaims, glancing around the room “Most of us didn’t think Bakugou would ever end up finding his fated partner”.

You chuckled at that, it certainly made sense why they would feel that way. Before you could continue your conversation you felt a familiar hand on your shoulder “Come now y/n, let’s get you back to Katsuki, Ejiro just informed me that he’s getting pissy” Mitsuki says with a roll of her eyes, Kirishima nervously scratches the back of his neck behind her. It takes the couple by surprise when you hug each of them “Hopefully we can have a longer conversation next time, bye Midoryia, nice meeting you Ochako!” You say quickly, flashing them a dazzling smile before taking hold of Mitsuki’s hand, Kirishima following closely behind the two of you as you head back towards the raised platform.

Katsuki was slouched in his chair, two of his knights you hadn’t met yet, along with Mina, all appeared to be teasing him. If the scowl on his face was anything to go by that is. “I brought her back just as I promised you damn cry baby” Mitsuki snapped as she released her hold on you. Gracefully moving past the older woman you were about to take a seat beside the brooding king, only to let out a startled yip as his large hands took hold of your hips and yanked you into his lap. “Yeah what happened to only five minutes? It’s been at least an hour, she’s not your show pony old hag” Bakugou sneers at his mother, making you gasp,

“My king how could you speak to your mother in such an awful manner?!”. This only makes the woman smirk at her son as she looks down her nose at him, “Listen to your wife Katsuki, she’s got a much better head on her shoulders”.

“Yeah yeah” the disgruntled blonde huffs, waving his mother off.

“We haven’t had the chance of meeting yet my lady” the yellow haired male says, immediately moving closer to take your hand.

“Denki Kaminari at your service” he presses a kiss to the back of your hand before bowing low. “Let go of her hand before I take off your head DunceFace” Katsuki snarls.

Kaminari is immediately bumped out of the way for his black haired counterpart to stand before you, “Hanta Serro, pleasure to make your acquaintance my lady”.

Serro bows to you, flashing a toothy grin as he does so.

“Nice to meet you gentlemen” you say with a polite smile.

“Now piss off you all” Bakugou grumbled “Want a minute to speak to my women without any comments from the peanut gallery”.

Both knights give him a mock salute, and wave at you as them and Kirishima leave you two.

Immediately you feel warm hands squeeze at your sides and you lean your forehead against their owner’s. “You okay? I thought you would get overwhelmed meeting so many people” Katsuki asks, admiring your beauty as you close your eyes. “It wasnt that bad, I’m fine now though” you reply, a pleased hum followed it as Katsuki’s hands began to brush across the skin of your hips that was exposed from the slits in your dress. His hands are warm as they trail down your thighs, leaving tingles in their wake as they travel back upwards. He decided to continue this action, caressing your exposed skin, allowing the skin on his palms to slightly increase in temperature. A prideful smugness begins building inside of him after noticing with each pass over your hips you’re leaning further into him.

Soon your head comes to rest between his neck and shoulder, the relaxed sigh you emit has your breath ghosting across the sensitive skin. Without thinking he grabs a bit too harshly at your hips, causing an adorable squeak to come from you. So he does it again, only this time it gets a much different result.

The cute little “humphh” was there, but what followed it was….teeth.

Your teeth grazed the skin of his neck before nipping it. The pain was nothing to the dragon king, but combined with the warmth of your tongue poking at it, that was everything.

 Katsuki abruptly got to his feet, his grip shifted beneath your ass in order for him to swiftly carry you out of the crowded ballroom. The two of you are out the door you’d entered to reach the balcony before you could properly access the situation. Carrying you a little ways down the castle hallway, the king stops at a small alcove. Deeming the small space good enough to press your body against the polished stone wall. “My king?” You ask nervously, his body pressing against your’s even though he was as close to you as possible already.

“Won’t everyone notice we left?” You only get a rumbling growl In response, your body tensing as the king squeezes your hips again, his nose coming down to sniff at your neck.

Still haven’t claimed her yet? Coward, I’ll have to change that.

“M-my king?” 

Feel  that?

Your core grows wet with slick as you begin to lose yourself in these

 new pleasurable sensations caused by your lover’s continued motions. They fueled the aching need between your spread thighs, little whimpers escaping as you begin to rut against his abs.

I think she likes me more than you…think I’ll claim her, since you have been dragging your feet…Let me show you how it’s done.

Crimson eyes begin growing black they eat up the sight of you breathing heavily and growing desperate.

One of his fingers slip into your wet hole, earning a gasp from you. His eyes drinking in your appearance, enjoying the moment.

“O-ohhh Katsuki!” Your mouth hangs open, your nails bite into the skin of his biceps “I…please Katsuki I need more…want you my king”.

Bakugou finally regained control over his body, not that you know he had ever lost it. The sight of you growing so needy from his touch was overwhelmingly gorgeous.

His lips crash into your own as he begins sisscoring you open.

“Mmm princess…tell me what you want…just tell me and I’ll give it to you y/n…you look so beautiful like this” Katsuki moans as one of your hands tangles in his hair, forcing his head forward to continue the kiss.

“I want…hahhh…want you” you whine into his mouth before curling your tongue with his “I want you to ravage me King Katsuki…show me how a dragon makes love” Surely he couldn’t fuck you right here in this hallway? After all the work he’d put in back at the mountain to make your first (and only) mating perfect….

“Katsukiii”

He couldn’t.

“I want you to.. I want you to fuck me”

He can, and he will.

“Whatever princess wants, princess gets” the king replied, one hand wrapping around your throat and gently beginning to apply pressure.

“Oh? You like this, don’t try to bullshit me when you keep squeezing my fingers” he applied a little more pressure as his other hand moved to free his aching cock. “M’gonna fuck ya right here, right now…don’t care who sees do you? Begging for me like a desperate little whore”.

Your whines are growing higher in pitch as you begin to fuck yourself on his fingers. “Gods princess you look so good like this, I got what you need right here baby”  he mumbles, guiding the head of his dick towards your slit. Gathering some of the wetness leaking from you, both of you were holding your breath and watching the spot where you would be conjoined. Just as you felt the tip of him against your fluttering entrance, did you both notice the sound of footsteps approaching. Katsuki releases his hold on you, making sure you could stand alright before stuffing his dick back in his pants. You leaned down to grab your ruined panties off the floor, sticking them deep into his pants pocket. Smoothing down your dress, you moved forward and grabbed his hand pulling him along. You both appeared calm when you met Kirishima as he rounded the corner.

“There you guys are! Sorry to bother but Jeanist and Aizawa wish to meet with you before the night’s end My king” the red haired man says, his large smile is a bit sheepish as he looks anywhere but at you.

“Take her back to her room, I’ll tell pinky to join you” Katsuki orders his knight, who nodded before moving a slight distance down the hallway.

“I know you must be worn out princess, it’s been a long day…” the king began, dropping your hand to touch your cheek “Get some sleep, I’ll see you tomorrow”. As he leans down to kiss you he is abruptly thwarted by your hands pushing against his chest, “Tomorrow?!” You practically squawk at him “What am I to sleep alone?!”.

Blaming your heightened emotions on your guy’s previous actions, tears well up in your eyes,

“What was all that for if you just planned to abandon me afterwards?”. Later that night as you lay awake staring off into space, your reaction would embarrass you. 

That would be then, this here was now.

“We shared the same space throughout our time together on the island, slept side by side! Now that you’ve uprooted me and brought me here to this foreign land, where I have no family or allies, you leave me alone and refuse to share a bed?! This is where you draw the line?” You kept your volume at a harsh whisper to avoid attracting any unwanted eavesdroppers.

You pulled away as Katsuki reached out towards you, “Go and handle your business, I refuse to stoop so low as to disrupt the order of your kingdom, Goodnight King Bakugou”. “Y/n wait! You can’t just say all that and walk away, we aren’t done with this conversation! Get back-“ the king went silent as he heard a door open further up the hallway, his arm dropping back to his side. Turning to leave, the last thing he sees is Kirishima following after you.

Should have just let me handle it.

“Shut the fuck up!” Katsuki snarls, stopping just outside the door he’d carried you out of previously “Don’t think you ever are going to pull that same bullshit again, that’s my woman!”.

You forget, I am you….

Before he can respond the Door opens and his mother stares back at him “Where’s y/n?”.

“I sent her to bed, she was tired” 

The clipped tone of her son’s voice was nothing the older woman wasn’t used to. Something wasnt right, as she moved to let her son pass by her eyes scrutinized him.

“Oi what’d you two old bastards want? My intended is upset with me now thanks to you assholes” the King snarls, approaching the two men that stood waiting.

“Hello to you too your majesty” Jeanist replies, pushing his dark blonde bangs further to the side.

Aizawa only rolls his eyes, “Let’s move somewhere quieter, too much going on down there”.

“Y/n seems nice, how’d you two meet? I figured Bakugou would have kept her hidden until tonight” Ochako asks, excitedly taking a large bite of cake. “Hmm? Oh well long story short I gave her shelter when she had been caught out in a storm” Midoryia replied, absentmindedly glancing around the ball room. “What was she doing out in a storm?” The witch asks around her fork, savoring the first bite. “Oh uh well” Izuku chuckled nervously “It was just due to a misunderstanding, no big deal or anything”. “Bakugou upset her and she took off, got lost, only to be found and saved by you…right?” Ochacko asked, fixing him with a narrowed eye stare. “Right” the green haired man sighs.

“I just dont get it Mina….how could he just dismiss me like that after…well you know! I just dont understand what I did wrong” you lament to the pinkette brushing your hair out. “You didnt do anything, im sure that he was seconds away from whisking you off to his chambers, if the two of you hadnt been interrupted” replies Mina, briefly glaring at the bedroom door Kirishima was currently posted outside of. “Typically our people dont wait for marriage to mate, mating often times proceeds a formal marriage, but you are someone special, and I believe thats why the king is waiting until after the wedding to break your back” she explains, wrapping the silk scarf around your tresses.

“W-What?! Break my back??” You stammer fearfully.

“Its a figure of speech, basically he’s going to do it so good you wont be able to leave the bed afterwards, rumor has it the king is rough, and likes to get a bit freaky too, so good luck with that” Mina teases as she knots the scarf, tapping your shoulder with the brush as she chuckles.

“Mina! I might be offended if I knew what any of that even meant” you whine, shaking your head back and forth.

A/N: I hope the length of this made up for the last one! I tried to find out if there was a form of A/B/O for dragons so I could use those terms, but I guess they go by the same things? I dunno 🤷🏼‍♀️ Thanks for all the love and support you guys show me, it makes me happier than you know ❤️‍🔥

#katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #mha x reader #mha #fantasy au #bnha #dragon bakugou #dragon king bakugou #royal au

[hamsterclaw]

Dragonfire

Lord Namjoon commands the dragon riders of Mount Halji, he's authoritative and respected, a fearless warrior, celebrated for his prowess on the battlefield. So why aren't you afraid of him, damnit?

Pairing: Namjoon x F! reader

Genre: Fantasy AU, smut, a spin-off from the Royal Pain AU

Rating: 18+

Word count: 7.3k

Warnings: Sex, Namjoon mounting everything in sight

Namjoon’s watching from across the room as she greets guests at the banquet. She’s striking, not only because she’s beautiful, with her dark hair and lovely eyes, but also because of her bearing. There’s pride in the way she holds up her head.

When it’s his turn to greet her, he bows, low, and kisses the hand she offers to him.

‘Good evening, your highness,’ he says. 

He can feel her eyes on him, his black armour, the mark on his hand signifying his status as a dragon rider.

‘Lord Namjoon,’ she murmurs. The way her tongue flicks over her full bottom lip, the spark in her eyes, makes his blood warm.

Then she’s letting go of his hand, stepping away gracefully to greet the next person, and Namjoon’s left with the faintest scent of lavender, tantalising and sweet.

When she reaches the end of the line, she looks straight at him, like she’d known he’d be watching.

She inclines her head just slightly, but it’s enough.

Blood hot, lust thrumming through his veins, Namjoon follows her out of the banquet hall.

***

Namjoon’s tired from his night with the beautiful and lusty princess of Ijil, and it takes him longer than it should to realise that his armour is missing.

Even worse, his sword is gone.

He storms out of his chambers, looking for Jimin and Taehyung. He’s heading for the stables when he sees you.

His first impression is of softness, which is ironic given you’re staggering under the weight of his armour. His sword swings from your hip, he doesn’t even know how you managed to attach it you.

‘Stop,’ he commands.

You glance around, looking for where his voice came from. 

Namjoon doesn’t know how you could possibly miss him. He’s always been tall, and of recent years, his build has filled out, a byproduct of wrangling Styx, his bonded dragon.

He still feels a thrill of pride when he thinks about her. Styx, with her midnight black scales, her wingspan wider than any others in her clan. She’s a magnificent beast, fiercely loyal, with the instincts of the finest warrior in battle. 

He snaps out of his reverie when he realises you’re limping away, dragging his armour with you.

‘Stop!’ he commands again. 

He catches up to you easily. ‘Where are you taking my armour and my sword?’ he demands.

‘Didn’t Jimin tell you? I’m your new squire,’ you tell him, like it’s a done deal.

Namjoon’s flabbergasted.

‘I’m a dragon rider, not one of those fanciful royal knights,’ he scowls. ‘I have no need for a squire.’

‘The dullness of your armour tells a different story,’ you have the audacity to say.

‘It’s black!’ protests Namjoon, not sure why he’s arguing with you but unable to stop himself.

‘You’re a disgrace to Styx,’ you mutter.

Namjoon realises he’s walked with you all the way to the stables.

Cursing, he lifts his armour off you, and you sigh, relieved.

‘It’s very heavy,’ you remark. ‘No wonder you’re so muscular.’

Namjoon stares at his sword, hung carelessly around your shoulder.

‘How are you supposed to be my squire if you can’t lift my armour and sword?’ he mutters, more to himself.

You’re already gesturing to a small area you have set up with a scrubbing brush and a bucket, a polishing cloth and a tin of oil.

‘Leave it with me,’ you say airily.

You frown at his sword. ‘Sweet mother of Jaesu, how old is this blood? It’s caked on.’

Namjoon scowls. ‘I’ll be back in an hour to collect it for a sparring session.’

You wave an arm at him, muttering something that sounds awfully like ‘Lord Jimin’s armour is pristine.’

Namjoon decides to pretend he hasn’t heard you.

***

When Namjoon returns, Taehyung’s leaning against the wall, chatting to you.

‘Did you know about our new squire?’ Namjoon asks.

‘I’m right here,’ you announce, bright, chirpy.

Namjoon ignores you.

‘She’s very good at mending clothes as well,’ Taehyung replies, smiling at you.

Namjoon’s forced to turn to you when you push his armour into his arms.

‘I only do mending for selected people,’ you say, haughty, like he’d shown any inclination to ask.

He’s about to snap a retort when the Princess of Ijil arrives.

Namjoon bows deeply.

You drop into a surprisingly graceful curtsy.

She eyes you.

Namjoon’s already stepping in front of you when you say, ‘I’m the squire to the dragon riders of Mount Halji, your highness.’

‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ she says, dismissive.

She turns back to Namjoon.

‘Do you have time for a quick catch up in my chambers before you set off back home?’ 

‘Of course,’ Namjoon replies, admiring the way her skin glows in the late morning sun.

She flicks her gaze over his shoulders, gaze meaningful.

‘I can help you mend that rip in the seam of your tunic,’ you say, helpfully, calling everyone’s attention to it. 

Namjoon narrows his eyes at you, then turns back to the princess.

She’s already walking away.

***

‘Oof,’ you remark, holding up Namjoon’s tunic. ‘What’s this stain?’

Namjoon’s gaze flies to you.

‘Just kidding,’ you say, chuckling gleefully. 

‘Are you ever quiet?’ Namjoon asks, exasperated. ‘Being a squire is a serious task.’

‘She’s a very good squire,’ Jimin says, emerging from the stables with their horses in tow.

‘Thanks, my lord,’ you say cheerfully.

‘You don’t call me my lord,’ Namjoon observes, tetchy.

‘I’ll call you it, if you can tell me my name,’ you say, smiling at him.

Namjoon realises he doesn’t know your name.

‘You didn’t tell me your name,’ he complains.

‘You didn’t ask,’ you shoot back, merrily.

‘Is everything a joke to you?’ snaps Namjoon.

‘Ignore our grumpy commander,’ Jimin says, giving Namjoon a quelling look. ‘He gets cranky when he’s tired.’

Jimin hands you the reins to your horse. ‘Need anything before we set off?’ he asks, offering you his knee to help you mount.

You shake your head, seating yourself. ‘Thank you,’ you tell him.

Namjoon mounts his steed and sets off, nudging his stallion into a brisk canter.

He doesn’t look back to check on you. 

***

The first hint of trouble is a rustling in the trees overhead.

Then, firebolts rain down.

Namjoon’s about to urge his steed into a gallop when your horse, spooked and less battle-worn than all the others, rears up.

You land in an ungraceful heap on the forest floor and immediately get up, dazed.

A firebolt grazes your foot, and you lift an arm up over your head in an attempt to protect yourself.

Taehyung and Jimin are up ahead, turning back to help, but Namjoon’s the closest to you. 

‘Get your horses away!’ shouts Namjoon. ‘It’s fire demons!’

He turns his steed, Thunder, and speeds towards you.

You watch him approach with wide eyes.

Namjoon reaches down and plucks you off the ground.

You land, hard, on the front of his saddle, face planted in the breastplate of his armour. 

‘Hold on,’ grunts Namjoon. He leads Thunder towards a clearing he noticed earlier, to another route that will take you both to the edge of the forest, away from the fire demons.

For once, you appear to have no snappy remark at the ready. 

You wind your arms around his waist, holding on tight, and Namjoon’s stomach flips unexpectedly when you press your face into his chest.

He leans forward on Thunder, urging him on, you soft and pliant between his thighs, and gets you both the hell out of there.

***

It’s late afternoon, the sun filtering through the trees, and you’ve yet to catch up to Taehyung and Jimin.

Namjoon stops by a brook to allow Thunder to drink and dismounts.

He lifts his arms to help you down.

You place your hands on his shoulders trustingly, and Namjoon’s stomach does another curious flip.

He wonders if he drank too much arabica before leaving Ijil.

You stay for a moment like that, pressed against him, arms up, face tilted to his.

‘Thanks for saving me,’ you say. 

‘You’re one of mine,’ Namjoon says. He doesn’t think he’s saying anything but the truth, but you look pleased about it just the same.

He looks around. ‘It’ll be dark soon. We should set up camp around here.’

***

Namjoon lets out a sigh.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asks, barely concealed impatience in his voice.

‘It’s cold,’ you complain, even though he can barely see you under the mound of blankets you’ve stolen, including his own.

Namjoon rolls his eyes. ‘Live with it,’ he says, unsympathetic.

‘They say body heat is good,’ you suggest.

Namjoon scoffs. ‘Is that an attempt to get into bed with me?’

You’re quiet, he almost thinks you’ve fallen asleep when you say, ‘we’re not technically in beds.’

Namjoon thinks it’s dark enough that he doesn’t have to hide his smile. 

‘Come here then,’ he says, gruffly.

‘No thanks,’ you say rudely.

Namjoon reaches over and yanks you into his arms, blankets and all.

‘Just shut up and sleep,’ he advises, when you open your mouth.

Your mouth closes and you nod.

You’re asleep in seconds. 

***

When he wakes, too hot, you’re already up. For some reason you’ve wrapped him in blankets, even though he runs hot all the time, a byproduct of his bond with Styx.

Namjoon fights his way out of the blankets and rises, stretching and yawning, rolling the stiffness out of his muscles.

Footsteps make him straighten up and turn around.

You’re bright and freshfaced, holding out a mug to him. 

‘Made you arabica,’ you chirrup.

‘Thanks,’ he grunts, accepting.

Your eyes fall to his bare forearm. 

‘You’re burned!’ you say, sounding genuinely worried.

‘It’s nothing,’ Namjoon says, amused by your concern over the tiny burn. You should see the scar on his side from the last dragon battle.

You’re rustling through the leather bag you carry near your hip.

‘Let me put some salve on it,’ you say.

Namjoon sits and drinks his arabica whilst you fuss over his arm.

‘You’re aware I’m a dragon rider,’ he can’t resist teasing you, but he lets you rub salve into his arm anyway.

He can’t deny it feels soothing. 

He realises you’re looking at the dragon rider mark on his hand.

‘Pretty,’ you say. Your thumb rubs over it, a quick smooth swipe, and then your hands leave his skin.

Namjoon doesn’t think anyone’s ever called him pretty before.

Big, yes. Tall, certainly. Ruthless. 

Not pretty.

To hide his discomfiture, he stands. ‘We should get going,’ he says, brisk.

You’re already heading to Thunder. 

You stop in front of his enormous steed and look to him for a leg up, as though you’re expecting him to kneel before you like Jimin did.

Namjoon mounts Thunder, then holds out his arms for you.

You reach up, trusting like you were yesterday, and Namjoon’s stomach flips again. 

It’s definitely the arabica, he tells himself as Thunder falls into an easy canter.

***

Namjoon says, grumpily, ‘stop wriggling.’

‘It’s just, the hilt of your sword keeps poking me,’ you complain, wriggling more, another smooth movement that makes him grit his teeth.

You look back at him just in time to catch him clenching his jaw.

‘It’s not my sword,’ Namjoon growls.

Your hand on his thigh makes his muscles jump.

‘Something in your breeches —-‘ you trail off abruptly.

‘It’s just the friction,’ Namjoon says, as your whole body stiffens between his legs, against his chest.

You don’t say a word.

‘You’re my squire. I don’t think of you lustfully,’ Namjoon continues.

You’re still silent, ramrod straight against him.

‘I prefer women who are —-‘

‘Beautiful and curvaceous,’ you fill in for him, describing the princess of Ijil.

‘Less annoying,’ finishes Namjoon.

You suggest, ‘I can ride behind you, if my ass is too tempting.’

Namjoon snorts a laugh. ‘And press those pretty breasts into my back?’

You look down at your chest thoughtfully.

Then you quip, barely stifling your laughter, ‘want me to polish your sword, my lord?’

‘Silence, wench,’ growls Namjoon.

Your laughter is equal parts infuriating and infectious.

***

You both catch up to Taehyung and Jimin at the gates guarding the dragon rider enclave on Mount Halji.

Namjoon takes a moment to savour the familiarity of it. He was born to be a dragon rider, the latest progeny of a long line of Eosulian warriors. 

He was fourteen when he bonded with Styx, a lanky, graceless teenager with no idea what the hell he was doing. There was more than one surprised reaction at the unlikely combination of the studious teenaged Namjoon and the most fearsome dragon in the clan.

It’s been a while since anyone’s looked at him and Styx with any incredulity.

These days, Namjoon leans into his powerful build, his broad shoulders and chest, the lean muscles of his thighs. 

Underneath he’s never stopped studying, learning, trying to better himself.

You nudge his chest with your shoulder, and he realises you’re talking.

He’s quite pleased with how he’s managed to tune you out.

You’re much more easy to tolerate when you’re on mute.

Namjoon allows himself a moment to admire your piquant little face.

He’s almost smiling when your voice manages to break through. 

‘Plain?’ you ask.

Namjoon frowns, and obligingly, you repeat yourself. ‘Heading to the plain?’

He nods. He’d automatically guided Thunder in the direction of the plain, where he knows Styx will be waiting for him.

Namjoon stops and dismounts, instinctively reaching up to help you down. 

It’s funny how he’s got used to doing that so quickly.

He faces North, and within moments, there’s a change in the air.

Styx lands noiselessly before him, sleek and so beautiful his skin thrums at her proximity.

Namjoon bows, and her massive head dips low to the ground in response. In two steps he’s mounted her, feeling at home in the way he never did in the vast Royal Palace of Ijil.

Something makes him look towards you.

You’re watching him and Styx, unmoving, hands clasped.

Namjoon doesn’t realise what he’s going to say until the words leave his mouth. He’s never invited anyone else to ride with him on one of these journeys before.

‘We’re reacquainting for the bond,’ he tells you. ‘You can come, if you want.’

He can sense Styx’s assent, but she lowers her head again, as if to show you, too.

You approach tentatively. 

Namjoon holds out his arms to pick you up, and you say, ‘wait. Would you prefer tits or ass?’

Namjoon, to his surprise, can sense Styx’s mirth.

‘Just get on, and be quiet,’ he grumbles. He lifts you in front of him, locks his thighs around yours and pulls you tight against his chest, and then you’re off, gliding through the mountains of South Eosul.

***

Namjoon looks up as you enter the courtyard where he and the other dragon riders are combat training.

You march past everyone and head straight for him.

‘I need your muscles,’ you announce, without context.

Namjoon mops sweat off his brow and waits.

‘I’ll help you,’ Taehyung volunteers. 

Namjoon stops him with a look. 

‘What do you need help with, squire? And why is it so important that you’re interrupting our training?’ 

You frown. ‘The merchant down by the market is a swindler and a scoundrel,’ you tell him.

‘A swindler, and a scoundrel,’ Namjoon teases, amused by your vehemence.

You stare at him. He can almost see the smoke coming out of your ears, the way you’re vibrating with rage.

‘Fine!’ you burst out. You stomp away. ‘I will take care of him myself.’

You’re walking so fast you’re most of the way to the market before Namjoon catches up with you, even with his longer stride.

‘I’m sorry I teased you,’ he tells you.

‘I’m sorry I interrupted combat practice,’ you reply immediately.

You sigh. ‘I needed cloth for your jackets for the Harvest banquet next month. This merchant’s got the best supplies, but all the cloth he’s delivered is less than what we bargained for. Less than what I paid for.’

You’re getting worked up again, indignant. ‘How dare he try to swindle us?!’

Namjoon falls into step beside you. ‘It could be a genuine mistake,’ he says, trying to be reasonable.

You snort in disbelief.

Namjoon accompanies you to the stall, a little worried about how you’re going to approach this.

The merchant bows as you both approach. 

‘Can I interest you in the new silk taffeta I’ve imported from Seldinia?’

‘No, but you can interest me in the remainder of the order I put in last week, of which only half has been delivered,’ you say, firmly.

The merchant eyes you narrowly. ‘Which order is that? I’m afraid I’ve completed all the orders from last week.’

You’re apoplectic. ‘Surely you have a ledger!’

You step around the table displaying his wares as he sighs and opens a worn ledger.

‘There!’ you say triumphantly, pointing to an entry that takes up half a page.

The merchant elbows you away from the ledger, making you step back. 

Namjoon’s not sure how it happens, all he knows is one second he’s watching you and the next he’s got his forearm to the merchant’s neck, holding him up against the pillar.

The merchant’s looking at his dragon rider mark, spilling apologies.

Namjoon takes a moment, letting the rage recede. 

You’re unharmed, you hadn’t even flinched when the merchant pushed you.

So why is he so goddamn incensed that that asshole had the audacity to touch you?

You can hold your own.

So why does Namjoon want to grind this man to a pulp?

He grunts, lets the man down, and he scuttles to do your bidding.

You wait until you’re both walking away, cloth tucked in a basket over your arm, before you turn to him.

‘What?’ snaps Namjoon.

You put your hand on his arm. ‘Thanks for ——‘

You pause, searching for the right phrase. 

Namjoon lifts the basket off your arm.

‘Thanks for helping,’ you say carefully.

You seem to not know what to do with your arms now that he’s taken the basket, so you clasp your hands demurely in front of your chest. 

‘No problem,’ Namjoon replies. 

You keep sneaking glances at him as you walk, until Namjoon sighs. 

‘What?’ 

‘You look quite dashing when you’re angry,’ you tell him.

‘Is that why you’re always vexing me?’

You nod. ‘That jaw clench you do.’

Namjoon glowers at you. 

‘You’re doing it right now!’ you point out, delighted, skipping alongside him.

Namjoon says, ‘Quiet, or I’ll make you carry this,’ nodding to your basket.

‘Pfft,’ you scoff. ‘It’s nothing.’

You give him a sideways look. ‘Especially after I’ve got used to carrying your sword .’

You waggle your eyebrows meaningfully and nudge him between the ribs, like he wouldn’t get the innuendo otherwise.

Namjoon turns away so you can’t see him biting back his smile.

***

Namjoon answers the knock at his chamber door with a brisk, ‘come in.’

You take two steps into his chamber, eyes fixed on his chest. 

‘My lord,’ you say, bowing. ‘You look very well indeed. That material suits you.’

Namjoon finds he’s distracted by your own appearance.

Has your body always been this lovely shape? And surely you’ve done something to your hair, too. 

‘My eyes are here, my lord,’ you say, but you sound more amused than vexed.

‘You look beautiful,’ he tells you.

‘Thank you. Did you call me in here to seduce me with your sweet words and broad chest?’ 

Namjoon rolls his eyes.

‘I have something for you.’

You look suspiciously at the black bangle in his outstretched palm.

Namjoon says, ‘hold out your wrist.’

You hold out your hand, palm up, and Namjoon fastens the slim black band around your wrist, securing it with a tiny key.

You lift your arm, admiring the way the onyx gleams in the light as Namjoon threads the key along the silver chain he always wears around his neck.

When you speak, there’s a softness in your voice Namjoon’s only heard a handful of times.

‘What’s this for, my lord?’

‘The merchant at the marketplace,’ says Namjoon. ‘He changed his tune when he realised I was a dragon rider.’

He shrugs. ‘You don’t have a dragon rider mark, but I want people who deal with you to know that you have our protection.’

You’re standing so close to him he can feel the warmth of you, smell the fresh scent of your hair.

You look up at him, and he braces for whatever smart retort you’ve thought of.

Instead, you say, very sweetly, ‘thank you, my lord, that’s very thoughtful of you.’

Namjoon opens his mouth to speak, but you’re already speaking again.

‘Thank you for my shackle.’

Namjoon stares at you, speechless.

‘Shackle?’ he splutters, incredulous.

‘It goes round my wrist, it fastens with a key that you wear around your neck. It’s a shackle,’ you say, nodding.

Namjoon glares at you.

‘Aaaaa there’s that sexy jaw tick,’ you say, beaming at him.

Namjoon sets his jaw and ushers you out of his chamber.

‘Ooh, you look like you’re about to turn me over your lap and paddle my bottom,’ you say, chuckling merrily.

‘Maybe I will one day,’ Namjoon threatens.

‘I’ll look forward to it,’ you say, looking positively thrilled at the prospect.

Namjoon slams his door in your really rather pretty face.

****

Namjoon’s near the end of his speech to open the Harvest Banquet when the doors to the Great Hall open.

‘The Princess of Ijil,’ announces the herald.

Namjoon remains standing as she crosses the room, beautiful and resplendent in a gold gown that matches the brocade embroidery of his jacket.

She raises a hand, and Namjoon automatically leans down to kiss it.

She smiles at him, skin burnished gold in the candlelight, eyes full of promise, and Namjoon feels that familiar heat pool low in his groin.

She takes the seat next to his like she belongs there, and on any other day, Namjoon would be proud and honoured to have her by his side.

Today, though, his attention is divided by you, sitting in between Jimin and another dragon rider, Mingyu.

You’re chatting to them merrily, more than a little tipsy, judging by your bright eyes and the way you’re letting Mingyu lean against you.

Namjoon doesn’t realise he’s glowering at you until the Princess says, coyly, ‘I’ve come all this way, and you haven’t so much as complimented my gown, Lord Namjoon.’

He turns reluctantly from you. ‘How remiss of me,’ he says, politely. ‘You are very beautiful, as always, your highness, and we are privileged to have you in our midst.’

A burst of laughter and a round of applause erupts from your end of the table as Jimin leaps up, gracefully, to catch a tray of mead on the verge of tipping over.

Namjoon watches as Jimin deposits the tray safely on the banquet table and twirls you around triumphantly.

Jimin is his second in command, and has saved Namjoon’s ass more times than he can count. He’s a gifted fighter, instinctive and merciless when he has to be. 

It’s also vaguely annoying that he has the face of an angel and a physique sculpted by the gods. 

Namjoon tears his eyes away from you in Jimin’s arms.

He turns back to the princess.

***

Namjoon’s heading to his chamber after dinner, wondering where you are and why he cares. 

If you’re with Jimin, you’re in safe hands. 

Jimin likes you more than he does.

Namjoon stops in front of the looking-glass by his bed, staring at his reflection. 

Does Jimin like you more than he does?

He slips his jacket off, starts unbuttoning the white silk shirt underneath. 

There’s a knock on his door. 

Namjoon cracks it open, an odd burst of warmth blooming in his chest when he realises it’s you. 

You hiccup and reach out, curling your fingers into the open placket of his shirt.

The tips of your fingers are cold, and Namjoon realises just how much he wants to warm you up.

He’s reaching for your arm to pull you into his chamber when you both hear approaching footsteps, an entourage.

The Princess of Ijil.

Namjoon’s distracted for an instant, and when he looks back at you, you’re giving him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

His hand closes around nothing.

The Princess of Ijil reaches his chamber door.

And you?

You’re gone.

***

Namjoon has to admit, you’re quick.

By the time he’s made his excuses to the princess and tried to follow you, there’s not a trace of where you might have gone.

It’s only when he passes the stables and hears Thunder whickering and stamping his feet that he finds you, sitting on a groomsman’s stool in a corner of Thunder’s stall.

You give Thunder an accusing look that makes Namjoon bite back his smile.

Namjoon looks at you, at the petulant way your lower lip is pushed out, the bottle of potent mead in your hand, and says, gently, ‘want to go for a ride?’

Before you can come up with whatever terrible innuendo he knows you’re capable of, he’s saddled and mounted Thunder, and is holding out his arms for you.

You give him a curious look but it doesn’t stop you from letting him lift you up into the saddle in front of him.

You settle back into his arms, between his thighs, against his chest, like you belong there. 

Namjoon leans forward, urging Thunder into a gallop. 

The cool night air is like a balm on his brow, and for the first time Namjoon decides to let himself enjoy how you feel in his arms.

He thinks you’re trying to say something to him, but it’s lost in the wind as the fields of Mount Halji speed past.

He’ll ask you later.

***

Namjoon beds Thunder down in the small barn and heads to the tiny farmhouse.

He finds you standing by the door where he left you, waiting for him.

He lights a lamp, holds his arm out to you. 

You say, ‘wait.’

You set the mead down on the wooden table and step up to him, hand on his chest, going on tiptoe.

Namjoon stays perfectly still as you press your lips to his.

It’s sweet, chaste, and yet it makes him want to push you against a wall and take you right here.

You pull away. 

‘Just wanted to check if you’re a good kisser,’ you say, breathlessly.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow at you, tilts his chin. 

‘Am I?’ he asks, like he doesn’t care what you think.

‘Yeah,’ you say. 

‘I’m good at a lot of things,’ he tells you.

‘Stop showing off,’ you chastise. 

You squeal as he chases you into the bedroom.

***

Namjoon’s trying to take it slowly but you’re writhing under him, rubbing against him in all the places that he likes, and god, he’s so hard he can’t imagine there’s any blood going to the rest of his body. 

He can’t think . 

You’re kissing his neck, tongue flicking against his skin, and Namjoon groans at the pleasure of it. 

‘I didn’t know you were so sensitive, here,’ you note, a purr to your voice that makes his eyes close. 

You grind your hips against his, arms splayed around him. 

Namjoon’s got no idea how you managed to get on top of him but Jaesu, he loves the view. He already knows he’ll never get tired of taking the weight of you. 

Namjoon raises his head, trying to kiss you as you’re pulling away, and you press your hand to his lips. 

‘Look at you, my big dragon rider,’ you taunt. You roll your hips against his cock, still covered in the dress pants he put on for the Banquet, pulling another grunt from him. 

‘You like being under me?’ you ask. 

‘I’d rather be in you,’ Namjoon tells you, honestly. 

He runs a hand down his torso, cups his length. ‘Get these off and I’ll show you.’ 

Your eyes meet, and the heat in his gaze makes you visibly shiver. 

Then you’re undoing his pants. 

Namjoon lifts his hips to help you slide them down. 

His cock brushes your parted lips, and quick as a cat, you open your mouth and take him in. 

Namjoon’s fist clenches in the silk of your dress as you take him deeper, tongue flat against the underside of his cock. 

‘You unman me,’ he utters. 

You look up at him, mouth full, eyes wide, and he groans at the sight of you. 

‘Do you like this?’ you ask, pulling back, lips swollen, stained with the stickiness of his seed. 

Namjoon reaches down to cup your cheek. ‘I want you on top of me, love,’ he tells you. 

He never knows if you’re going to do what he says, but to his relief, you wriggle up to sit on his chest. 

He reaches out, undoes the ties fastening your gown carelessly, enjoying the way it falls open under his hands. 

He tugs it up over your head, leaving you in a chemise so gossamer thin he can see the outlines of your pretty breasts, your hardened nipples imprinted against the fabric. 

Past the length of your torso he can see between your legs, and, he realises he can feel the dampness of your arousal on his own stomach. 

You’ve wetted through his shirt, and Namjoon doesn’t think he’s ever been more aroused. 

Your mouth opens, and Namjoon shakes his head. 

‘Look what you’ve done,’ he tsks, his voice husky, low. 

You open your mouth again, and again, he shakes his head. 

‘You and your smart mouth,’ he says. ‘You’re so wet you’ve ruined my shirt, and I’m so hard I hurt.’ 

He hisses as you roll your hips over him. ‘What are you going to do about it, my love?’ 

You’re moaning at him, and he laughs harshly. ‘You want my cock? Do it yourself.’ 

‘Or do you just like talking with that smart mouth,’ he taunts. ‘Can’t follow through?’ 

Your eyes flash at him, and then you’re bracing against his chest, taking him in hand, lining him up. 

Your eyes flick to his, and Namjoon stares you down. ‘Shy?’ he asks, voice mocking. 

‘No,’ you gasp, as you lower your hips onto his pelvis, taking him in increments. 

Your hand tightens on his arm. ‘Too big,’ you murmur, breathless. 

Namjoon has to take a breath when he’s in all the way. You’re wet, and warm, and he can already feel his pleasure starting to coil out from his shaft, sending tingles across his groin, making his balls tighten. 

You’re moving on him, thighs flexing as you ride him. Namjoon has the loose thought that the definition in your thighs is probably from carrying his armour around for months, because he’s never seen you do any other form of exercise, then you’re leaning forward on his chest, murmuring in his ear, and his thoughts evacuate his head again. 

Fuck, you’re beautiful when you come. 

You cry his name, and Namjoon cups your ass, helping you move on top of him, wringing every last bit of pleasure out of you until you’re limp on top of him. 

He waits, hard and throbbing inside you, until you look up at his face. 

‘Did you think we were finished?’ he asks. 

There’s a spark of something in your eyes at his challenge. 

‘I did, actually,’ you say haughtily. 

You make as if to move off of him, and as always, Namjoon’s amused and outraged by your audacity. 

He grips your thigh, admiring the mark his fingers leave when he lets go. 

You’re watching him carefully. 

‘Should have known you’d like that,’ you remark. 

‘You know,’ Namjoon says thoughtfully, pulling you underneath him, thrusting once, experimentally. 

You wait for what he has to say. 

‘I like you better when you’re not talking,’ he says. 

Your squawk of outrage turns into a moan as he starts to move, his cock sliding in your slickened cunt. 

‘Yeah,’ he says, as you moan. ‘This is better.’ 

He seals his lips against your own and fucks you until you’re crying out and coming on his cock. 

***

Namjoon’s awakened by a pounding on the door. 

He stumbles to the entrance of the tiny farmhouse and is greeted by Jimin, dressed in full battle gear, thrusting his armour at him. 

‘Halians,’ Jimin says grimly. ‘They’re en route to the Hold.’ He pauses, meaningfully. ‘The Princess of Ijil is still within our Gates.’ 

Namjoon’s pulling on his armour, methodical. ‘The dragons?’ he asks. 

‘They’re all in formation,’ Jimin says.

He looks up as you walk into the room, dressed in Namjoon’s shirt from last night. 

‘Ah,’ says Jimin, unsurprised. ‘Tell me later if I need to defend your honour to your brother.’ 

You laugh. ‘Seokjin can’t talk,’ you say, and Jimin grins. 

‘Don’t I know it,’ he agrees. 

Namjoon doesn’t have time to unpick this conversation right now. 

He tightens his sword and says to Jimin, ‘Let’s go.’ 

‘Wait,’ you say. 

You step forward and pull him down into a kiss. 

‘Stay safe,’ you say. 

Namjoon casts a look at your pretty face, wishing he had the time to appreciate how good you look in his shirt. 

You’re already stepping back. 

‘Look after him, Jimin,’ you say. 

Jimin nods. ‘I always do.’ 

The laugh you both share at his expense makes Namjoon scowl. 

***

Jimin grew up with Namjoon, and he’s been analytical, an overthinker, for as long as he’s known him.

Namjoon was the friend who always used to get caught when they played dragons and wizards, the kid who was busy trying to strategise when what he needed to do was run.

He made up for it by becoming quicker, stronger than anyone else. So then he didn’t just win at games, he annihilated his opponents.

He’s fought alongside Namjoon in countless battles against the Halian army, and there’s no doubt that Namjoon’s brilliant strategising has saved their asses many a time. 

It’s just that, Namjoon’s so damned serious all the time. He wears his responsibility as commander on his shoulders, bears the weight without complaint. 

When he started sleeping with the Princess of Ijil, Jimin had realised he was in real danger of losing his friend to a life of power seeking and political manoeuvring. 

That’s where you came in.

Jimin’s known you for years, he’s friends with Seokjin, your brother who’s currently making a name for himself in the vast plains of Daljeon.

He’s always liked your sense of humour. Like Seokjin, you cloak your inner steeliness in jovial banter. Also like Seokjin, you’ve been blessed with a face as pretty as Jimin’s own. 

You’d been at a loose end when Seokjin left, and Jimin had quickly realised that your personality was the perfect foil for Namjoon’s seriousness.

He’d watched in amusement as you ran circles around Namjoon with your quick wit, and had relaxed after he’d seen the way Namjoon had consistently chosen to laugh with you rather than flatten you. 

Today, though, Namjoon’s not laughing.

They’d returned from a skirmish with a Halian sub unit at the border of Eosul to find the farm cottage empty. 

A search of the Hold has so far, not revealed your location.

Namjoon looks up as the doors of the Great Hall open and a messenger comes in carrying a package.

Namjoon tears it open and stops dead as pieces of onyx fall out.

He looks at Jimin, jaw set. ‘It’s hers. I gave it to her the night of the Banquet.’

Jimin’s already grasped the messenger. ‘Where is she?’ he demands.

‘It’s from General Dei of the Halian army,’ splutters the messenger. ‘That’s all I know.’

Namjoon moves so quickly the messenger’s against the flagstone wall before he finishes his sentence.

‘Tell me where she is and I’ll spare your life,’ he utters, voice low and deadly.

One move of Namjoon’s hand toward the hilt of his sword yields the information they need.

Then Namjoon’s running, heading for Styx on the plain.

***

Namjoon glances over at Jimin as they approach the caves where you’re being held. 

‘I’m worried, Jimin,’ he confesses. 

Jimin places his hand on Namjoon’s shoulder, drawn taut with worry. 

‘She’s the only bargaining item they have, even the Halians wouldn’t be stupid enough to harm her knowing you’re on your way.’ 

Namjoon’s gaze is dark. ‘I’m more worried about what this is going to cost them,’ he tells Jimin. ‘I’m angry.’ 

His fists clench. ‘I’m really fucking angry right now.’ 

Jimin says, carefully, ‘This isn’t a reason to start a war.’ 

Namjoon laughs, short, humourless. ‘I don’t want a war,’ he agrees. 

He sets his jaw as they reach the entrance. ‘I want a massacre.’ 

You’re against the back wall of the cave, flanked by Halian guards. 

General Dei’s standing by. ‘Lord Namjoon,’ he says, inclining his head in greeting. 

Namjoon, imposing in his battle armour, gives the General a look that has the guards behind him shifting nervously. 

‘I know you wanted a negotiation, General,’ Namjoon says, ‘but I don’t negotiate when one of my own hangs in the balance.’ 

He draws his sword. ‘Release my squire.’ 

***

In the clamour of battle, Namjoon has a direct line of sight to you, and sees the moment you flatten yourself against the wall to avoid a wayward strike. 

He’s by your side in moments, cutting you loose, pushing you behind him. 

‘It took you a while,’ you point out. He can’t see your face but he can hear the smile in your voice. 

‘I’m sorry I left you,’ he says, tucking you under his arm, cutting down two Halian guards in a swift movement. 

He heads for the entrance of the cave, where Styx is waiting to dispense with any Halian guards who manage to get past Taehyung and Mingyu. 

Jimin emerges a moment later, sheathing his sword, breathing hard from exertion.

He draws you into his arms, raises an eyebrow when Namjoon doesn’t let go of his hold on you.

‘I’m taking her back to the Hold,’ Namjoon says.

Jimin murmurs, ‘and the rest?’

Namjoon helps you onto Styx, jaw tightening as he takes in the rope marks around your wrists and ankles. 

He can find no mercy in his heart for anyone who’s tried to hurt you. 

Honestly, he can’t even trouble himself to look.

He turns to Jimin. 

‘Let them burn.’ 

***

You awaken so quietly Namjoon’s got no idea how long you’ve been watching him sit by the window.

You clear your throat. 

‘You’re beautiful,’ you say, the words heartfelt.

Namjoon looks at you, at your skin coloured in the hues of the rising sun, at the sincerity shining in your eyes, and thinks that you’re the beautiful one.

He comes to sit on the bed next to you.

You clamber into his lap, face close to his, legs either side of his waist.

‘Thank you for coming to get me,’ you say.

‘I’m sorry I let you get taken in the first place,’ he replies. ‘Did you get hurt, my love?’

He’s looking at the mark on your wrist, where your bangle was.

You catch the direction of his gaze.

‘It didn’t hurt apart from that I didn’t have anything to show I belonged to you,’ you tell him.

Namjoon lifts your wrist to his lips, kisses over the bruise marking your skin.

‘I can take care of that,’ he says.

He moves his mouth further up your arm, sucks your warm skin, laves the new mark he’s left with his tongue.

You’re breathing faster now, watching him intently.

Namjoon tugs the shirt he put on you apart, presses his lips to the warm curve of your left breast, and sucks.

You make a pretty sound, and he does it again, suctions his lips over your softness, admires the lurid colour of the mark he’s made.

You’re shifting your hips slightly, moving over his thigh.

Namjoon flexes his thigh between your legs, and you whimper.

He dips his head again, this time to your other breast, coaxing your nipple out from under his shirt. He licks over your nipple, and to his pleasure, you let out another pretty moan.

You’re still moving your hips over his thigh, more boldly now, grinding harder with each pass.

Namjoon keeps up a steady pace laving your nipples with his tongue. He takes your breast into his mouth, lifts a hand to tweak your other nipple, and you gasp.

He can feel your wetness on his thigh.

His free hand lands on your thigh.

‘Ride me,’ he utters.

‘Namjoon,’ you gasp.

Namjoon can tell by the raggedness of your breathing that you’re close to your release.

He flexes his thigh again, helps you drag your hips along, laps at your nipples, and with a cry of his name you come.

Namjoon pulls you onto the bed, slides his hand onto your bare hip under his shirt and admires the view.

Your breasts look so pretty covered in the marks his lips have made, nipples taut and slick with his saliva.

There’s wet between your thighs, your cunt glistens with your release, and Namjoon’s never seen anything prettier.

His cock, already hard and aching, swells even more as you pull him down to you.

‘I want you, Namjoon,’ you plead.

‘You have me,’ he replies.

He settles himself between your spread legs and pushes into you.

Your back arches as he slides in, slow, giving you time to adjust.

He can feel your hands on his back, one near his shoulder blade, one low on his hips, urging him on, and Namjoon doesn’t want to hold back anymore.

He sheathes the rest of his manhood within you with another push of his hips, groaning at the pleasure of it.

He can feel the walls of your cunt fluttering around his hardness, the rush of slickness from you coating him.

You’re so wet, so warm Namjoon finds himself without words.

He starts to move, and you cry his name so loudly he stops, worried he’s hurt you.

‘Don’t stop,’ you reassure him, teeth on his earlobe. ‘Jaesu, don’t stop.’

Namjoon drags his cock from you and enters you again and again, going deep with every thrust, hard the way you seem to like.

He rolls his thumb over the swollen bud between your legs, and you buck your hips against his, chasing your pleasure.

You’re tightening deliciously around him now, clamping down on him like a vice, and Namjoon’s close himself, leaking into you with every thrust.

He strokes between your legs, dips his head to lap at your nipple, and then you’re coming again, gasping his name.

Your pleasure drags him over his own edge, Namjoon manages another thrust before he’s coming, spilling his seed into you with an intensity that robs him of his breath.

You’re pulling him down onto you now, arms around him. Namjoon has just enough awareness to move slightly so you’re not taking his full weight as he collapses onto the bed, tangled up with you.

***

When he stirs, you’re up already, but thankfully not any more dressed than you were.

You’re looking at him in the looking glass by his bed.

‘I like these marks you made on me,’ you announce, nonchalant.

‘I’ll make more,’ Namjoon says. 

He rises from the bed, drops to his knee before you.

‘On my legs?’ you ask, looking down at him quizzically.

‘If you want.’

Namjoon reaches for your hand, looks up at your face seriously. 

‘I vow fealty to you, in this kingdom and beyond,’ he promises you. ‘I will protect you to my last breath.’

‘Well,’ you drawl, with the familiar quirk to your lips he’s grown to love, ‘we’d better make sure you live a very long life then.’

©hamsterclaw 2023

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon fanfic #bts smut

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

So I don't really have a concrete theory or anything, but...

Dany dreams she is fighting the "usurper's rebel host" (aka Robert Baratheon's army) but these icy enemies are obviously Others; see how they melt away the way Ser Puddles did when Sam killed him.

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper’s rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be. The other was a nightmare, and I have only now awakened. She woke suddenly in the darkness of her cabin, still flush with triumph. Balerion seemed to wake with her, and she heard the faint creak of wood, water lapping against the hull, a footfall on the deck above her head. And something else.

Dany III, ASOS

In a later Jon chapter, in the very same book, an "enemy" bursts into the fray to scatter the wildlings. This enemy is a Baratheon king - Stannis. This Baratheon king claims to be the legendary Azor Ahai, but he's not (Dany is, "the dragons prove it").

Trumpets were blowing all around, loud and brazen. The wildlings have no trumpets, only warhorns. They knew that as well as he did; the sound sent free folk running in confusion, some toward the fighting, others away. A mammoth was stomping through a flock of sheep that three men were trying to herd off west. The drums were beating as the wildlings ran to form squares and lines, but they were too late, too disorganized, too slow. The enemy was emerging from the forest, from the east, the northeast, the north; three great columns of heavy horse, all dark glinting steel and bright wool surcoats. Not the men of Eastwatch, those had been no more than a line of scouts. An army. The king? Jon was as confused as the wildlings. Could Robb have returned? Had the boy on the Iron Throne finally bestirred himself?

Jon X, ASOS

I find it interesting that Jon initially thinks it's his brother, a military commander with a near spotless record, coming to rescue him. Then thinks that it should be the king on the iron throne; he's expecting a boy, but it's wasn't a boy who came.

I think that we're going to see a repeat of this in ADOS, with Dany as the real Azor Ahai and king coming to rescue Jon. Upon hearing that the Others have come and receiving Watch's call for aid, Dany will immediately choose to go North. Think of Stannis saying:

"Yes, I should have come sooner. If not for my Hand, I might not have come at all. Lord Seaworth is a man of humble birth, but he reminded me of my duty, when all I could think of was my rights. I had the cart before the horse, Davos said. I was trying to win the throne to save the kingdom, when I should have been trying to save the kingdom to win the throne.” Stannis pointed north. “There is where I’ll find the foe that I was born to fight.”

Jon XI, ASOS

Also notice how Dany's Trident dream alludes to a fated battle involving icy monsters.

This is all just conjecture right now but, Jon's chapter has Stannis breaking the wildling siege on Castle Black. In Jon's (obviously prophetic) ADWD dream, he's besieged by a wildling host who turn out to be Others/wights - this dream is literally a play by play of the battle at Castle Black; like to a tee, it's crazy. Jon is fighting alone in that dream, just as he was alone among the wildlings before Stannis came.

So my thinking is Jon gets besieged and he is fighting alone, in need of a helper.....

They are all gone. They have abandoned me. Burning shafts hissed upward, trailing tongues of fire. Scarecrow brothers tumbled down, black cloaks ablaze. “Snow,” an eagle cried, as foemen scuttled up the ice like spiders. Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. As the dead men reached the top of the Wall he sent them down to die again.

Jon XII, ADWD

...then enter Daenerys, who is above all a savior.

“But,” Prince Aegon said, “without Daenerys and her dragons, how could we hope to win?” “You do not need to win,” Tyrion told him. “All you need to do is raise your banners, rally your supporters, and hold, until Daenerys arrives to join her strength to yours.” “You said she might not have me.” “Perhaps I overstated. She may take pity on you when you come begging for her hand.” The dwarf shrugged. “Do you want to wager your throne upon a woman’s whim? Go to Westeros, though … ah, then you are a rebel, not a beggar. Bold, reckless, a true scion of House Targaryen, walking in the footsteps of Aegon the Conqueror. A dragon. “I told you, I know our little queen. Let her hear that her brother Rhaegar’s murdered son is still alive, that this brave boy has raised the dragon standard of her forebears in Westeros once more, that he is fighting a desperate war to avenge his father and reclaim the Iron Throne for House Targaryen, hard-pressed on every side … and she will fly to your side as fast as wind and water can carry her. You are the last of her line, and this Mother of Dragons, this Breaker of Chains, is above all a rescuer.

Tyrion VI, ADWD

Dany dreams her fight is for the iron throne, but she is obviously fighting the Others. Tyrion thinks Dany is coming to rescue Rhaegar's son in his bid for the Iron Throne, but she will rescue him as he fights to save the world (and not doom it with more war). Notice how Jon atop the Wall dons house Targaryen's colors. Notice how he too is symbolized with Azor Ahai imagery, waving a beacon to light Dany's way. It's Aegon the Conqueror reversed. Dany's not here not for the throne. She's here to fulfill a prophecy, which Aegon never did.

TL;DR

Dany will save Jon while he's besieged by the Others :)

(small rant below)

This initially started as a post talking about Dany the war commander and kinda morphed into something else....

But it's funny to me that when people talk about the war for the dawn, it's always Jon and/or Bran who are made to be the natural war commanders or battle planners. And that's not a bad thing...but neither one of them has experience planning for and staging pitched battles. Bran has zero military experience to begin with and didn't receive the same education that Robb did. People assume that he'll be the commander because his skinchanging can be used for reconnaissance and thus battle command, but the one who canonically uses their skinchanging to spy on enemy troops and use the intel is Jon.

Jon, on the other hand, has battle experience but he was defending against a siege and not leading a fight in an open field. And that's not to say that he would be a bad tactician. He did an incredible job in ASOS defending the wall and ADWD also shows us that he can come up with intelligent plans on the fly. Anyway, aren't we told that people get stuck in their castles starving and with nowhere to go? Jon has experience leading sieges so he's the most suited for that. But he's not the most suited for breaking sieges and leading open battles because he doesn't have experience doing so.

DANY is the one who actually has experience as a more well rounded military commander. It's literally in her name: Daenerys, the sacker of cities. She has a spotless record as a military/war leader in Essos. That's Robb Stark level of prodigious ability, yet she does not get nearly enough respect in fandom. Robb will often get touted as one of the top commanders, even making top three/five for a lot of people, but doesn't Dany have similar stats and way more disadvantages? Shouldn't she be up there too? So out of anyone, shouldn't she be the war commander?

I was just annoyed that she has this insane record overturning enemy lines and breaking sieges and no ever talks about how that invaluable skill can be used against the Others. It's always "someone else will command her to go here and do this and do that". When talking about what looks like a war of attrition, why is no one mentioning the human battering ram being the key to success?? Feelsbadman :(

#asoiaf #jon snow #daenerys targaryen #valyrianscrolls #didn't put it in the post but my theory is that this siege might be at harrenhal and not the wall #mostly because of jon and dany recreating rhaegar and lyanna's meeting in that cursed place - plus it's “the seat of kings” #but we have lyanna 2.0 and rhaegar 2.0 meeting and falling in love in a castle that doomed their predecessors #but this time their love saves the world instead of destroying it #plus think of how aegon never sat as king at harrenal so it would be awesome for dany to be there just for a while #it will be kingception in there - jon bran dany playing 'who wants to rule a cursed kingdom?? not me!' #I'm always just thinking thoughts all the time #they swirl around in my head like protons in a nuclear reactor until they combust into crackpot garbage

[dulcewrites]

Fool Me Once (part 7)

Summary: Time at Dragonstone leads to tense encounters. (Wc: 5k)

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x reader (y’all know the drill tho)

A/N: we are finally in dragonstone! Yay??? Lmao it’s about to get a little bumpy for reader now that she’s in the dragon’s den if you will. But I’m excited to explore team black’s dynamic. Or at least I think the dynamic would be since we really did not get that in the show. Also as our fab five (the nickname I have for fmo reader, Aemond, Aegon, Helaena, and quinton) are separated, I will be going back and forth between dragonstone and king’s landing. So we are gonna get lots of different povs which is fun

Fmo masterlist

But at last, the year of 129 AC would be one of great change for the House of the Dragon. Marked with death, triumph, and long simmering tensions boiling to the surface.

Many say the first turning of the tide was the departure of Prince Aemond Targaryen’s lady wife to Dragonstone… without him at her side. Speculation stirred around why she left; tongues ever wagging in court. Some say that it was an innocent as the young, and sprite Daella Targaryen insisting to see her ancestral home. Others had a more salacious take.

Gossip about a rift in the family swirled. One of the more of the inappropriate rumors was that youngest child of Prince Aemond was not actually his, but instead the illegitimate child of his lady wife and his brother Prince Aegon. Mushroom tells a story of the kind Queen Alicent sending away her good daughter in a fit of rage after finding out the truth. Many disputed this, nonetheless. Some claim the departure to Dragonstone was of Prince Daemon‘s demand. Court alight with the drivel of the Rogue Prince’s sexual proclivities. Talk of him and the Princess taking a special liking to Aemond’s lady wife. In more ways than one.

A more likely explanation came from Setpton Eustace. He emphasizes the smart and cunning nature of the family Aemond’s lady wife came from. Recounting that getting close to Princess Rhaenyra was just one step in a plan to landing marriage prospects for the little princess and princeling. It was said by Eustace that this angered Prince Aemond. His ire towards his sister and her family well documented.

Regardless of why she left, it was clear that family dynamics were bound to change. Whispers of a weakened house beginning to mount across the small folk. One prophet pushed the notion of the House of the Dragon being in grave trouble.

What would come in the follow years could only be explained by the Targaryen house words - Fire and Blood.

Eventually you get used to the smell of Dragonstone. In a way, it is no worse than the one that inhabits the Red Keep; just different. If you think about the smell too much, it makes you long for home. Your real one. The one that is clean, and warm. Nothing like the places you find yourself in now. At least at the Red Keep, you could facilitate a sense of domesticity with redecorating. At the Dragonstone, you are forced to stare at grey walls, and squint through dim lighting no matter how many candles are lit.

The stories you heard of Dragonstone were overflowing with fondness and reverence. Viserys was open about his love for place. You don’t know if it is the lack of Targaryen blood or if it really is just an ugly old castle.

Despite your feelings towards it, Daella had made her peace with everything. She is adaptable in the way most children are, wholly excited to be doing something different while somewhere different. Her interest in dragons only growing stronger. The high Valyrian lessons continuing. It was hard to complain if she was happy. Though her fascination with Daemon makes you pause.

You try not to think too much into it. She is at the age where everyone is interesting, including the new dragon riders around her. He must pick up on your skepticism. The head tilt and wry grin he gives you when you insist on sitting in on anything that involves her.

Quinton sticks to your side with heavy proclivity. The only time you can get away from everyone at Dragonstone was walks on the beach. It was your favorite part of the Island. The salty water of the Blackwater Bay cleared your head.

A close second of places your frequent being the Sept. There was something haunting about it. While the one in the Red Keep and in King’s Landing were grand and open. The one on Dragonstone was closed in. Just you and the statues of the Faith. Many say it is bad luck to stare at the statues of the Stranger for too long. Looking at the face of death apparently bringing bad luck. But all you can do is stare. The masts sculpture looks more animal than man.

You have accepted your fate by now. Those who go against the grain must be prepared for every option. You try to make the Stranger a familiar friend rather than foe. You memorize his face and pray for the day it does not scare you.

Helaena’s ears may be just as good as her eyes. Listening is a special trait, her mother would say.

It was supposed to be helpful. A teasing remark to help Helaena feel more comfortable about her dreams; the ones that her mother will never understand. It only made Helaena feel more isolated. Aegon would roll his eyes at the remark, and Aemond would just look curiously. Like the way she looks at her bugs. Trying to inspect and take in everything while knowing she will never truly know what it means to be them.

But Helaena does see and hear all. With the other personalities that inhabit the Red Keep, her family, it is easy to slip into the background. Easy to observe and wait till she knows what she wants to say. Your introduction into Helaena’s life had forced her to be seen. You weren’t there for anyone else, at least not in the beginning; just for Helaena. She soaked up that attention in a way that makes her crazy sometimes. The spiraling feeling, she got when she first met you reentering while you are away. She is back to being silent… invisible. A little mad.

She wonders if you would ever forgive her if you found out she was the one that brought up the prospect of you marrying Aemond. It was good thought in theory. Helaena saw how anxious you became over your parents’ insistence to start taking marriage offers seriously. At least if you were at the Red Keep, the two of you would be together. You would a part of the most powerful family in the Seven Kingdoms, and mother to dragon riders. It seemed like a no brainer to hint at it to her grandsire, who later convinced her mother.

She could delude herself into thinking it would work.

Daughters always secretly fear becoming their mothers. Following in cycles that feel like they will never be broken. She never felt more like Alicent when she watched you get married. She woke up that morning with the same floaty feeling she gets before a dream, except the dream did not come that day. But feeling lingered the whole day, and into the feast that night.

The dream finally comes years later. Dark hair, green eyes, red lips pulled into an attractive smile. She never told you; she never told anyone about that initial vision. Finding the words for what she sees has always been difficult. Even after moons of experiencing them, she still cannot predict how bad everything can be till it is going to shit in front of her. It makes her extra cautious to speak on them.

Perhaps it would have been better for you to be long away from the Red Keep married to some lord. Helaena likes to think she is better than Aegon and Aemond, and she is in many ways. But one thing they all share is their ability to be selfish when they want something. Love transforms that into an even nastier ordeal.

It is why Helaena is not surprised when Aegon began to follow you around like a kitten that wants its mother. She knew it was a matter of time before Aegon grew painfully attached to someone. Deepest of feelings often sprout from aching, wounds inside.

Though the reciprocation of feelings, whatever they may be on your part, did make Helaena pause. It was too easy to see what everything was in beginning. Men will always bend to the whims of their desires. And being desirable is a trait you wield so simply. But time has passed, masks have been dropped, and now the visions become blurred.

Helaena is not sure of your endgame anymore. She’s not sure even you know. If it was to send her and her siblings into a state of uneasiness, then you had succeeded wonderfully.

One day, she finds Aegon laying flat on his back on the balcony of the room they share. Eyes shut, and limbs laid out like a starfish. It was a rare, blindly sunny day in King’s Landing. The bright lighting only made his bags more pronounce. She was sure he had been laying there since the morning, right after the letter from you came in. The single letter for Helaena. She noticed how Aegon’s face fell.

She doesn’t see Aemond these days. Flashes of hair and leather catching her eye as he goes to his chambers or to the dragon pit. And when he is around, he is short and curt. More distant than normal. A claim she did not think was possible.

Oddly enough, the only person not on edge is their mother. Alicent seems to be floating around. Lighter than Helaena had seen her in years. She knows it is because of her half-sister. Alicent had scurried away, half smile on her face when a letter came for her.

Watching her mother in pain and sadness twisted parts in Helaena that she did know existed. Seeing Alicent happy, even in all its ephemeral glory, was worth taking and pushing down the floaty feeling in Helaena’s head.

She fears the dream will be too late again. Something is coming, and none of them are ready. They never are.

Before you left, Otto had given you a list of things to accomplish while at Dragonstone. Some things more realistic than others.

Get close to Rhaenyra.

You would be lying if you didn’t admit that she was a fascinating figure. A looming presence over everyone at King’s Landing despite never being around.

You have watched Helaena’s face fall when Viserys calls her Rhaenyra. Or notice Aegon’s eyes glaze over when Otto reprimands him about acting like a proper prince. You have helped Aemond remove the sapphire from his eye socket more times than you’d like to. Alicent’s whole demeanor changes at the sound of her name. All paths lead back Viserys’s first born.

And the most interesting part is that you do not think she even notices. It makes sense; of course, a princess and named heir would not fret over being the center of attention. She was born and bred to think she was important. More important than others.

“I thought you would like some water,” you bring out a pitcher to the outdoor area.

Rhaenyra’s head was leaning back against the chair, eyes shut, and one hand on her protruding belly. She opens her eyes softly, deep Iris saturated in calmness. Fresh air was always nice during this stage in the pregnancy. Took the mind off the uncomfortable feeling that begins to mount.

As you sit beside her, you notice the dark speck flying in the distance. Just based off the slightly bigger body of the dragon, you assume it is Jace on Vermax.

“Despite the invitation,” she begins softly. “I was worried about you coming here. Well, more worried about what you may have heard about me.”

Rhaenyra takes a sip of the water, and you notice the slight beads of sweat on her forehead.

“What do you mean Princess?”

Rhaenyra smiles, strained. “I am sure Aemond had mentioned me, mentioned my children in a less than glowing light. He still blames me for their mistake.”

You open your mouth, then close it. Often you felt like people expected you to speak on what happened to Aemond. A traumatic event that happened before your family even came to the Red Keep. While Aegon, Alicent, and Helaena recount the story in distaste and anger on Aemond’s behalf. Rhaenyra seems to brush it off as a moment of bad judgement by her son. The truth lies somewhere in the middle.

“Excuse my bluntness, but Aemond does not speak of you,” it was the truth. He was the one directly changed by whole ordeal, and you could tell by the way he avoided mentioning his sister at all costs.

Rhaenyra nods slowly. She seems not to believe you.

“But I am glad that I am here,” you try to shift the conversation. “Daella enjoys being here as well.”

While Daella had embraced the new scenery, Alaric’s attitude seemed to shift. A normally quiet baby seemingly on the verge of tears at every moment.

“I saw the egg she brought with her; it hasn’t hatched yet?”

The question takes you by surprise. Aemond had been adamant about both kids getting eggs in their cradle, the way he never did. You shake your head no. The deep green egg of Daella’s remained intact.

“I’m sure it will happen soon, or perhaps she will be like her father and claim one,” she says reassuringly. Except you do not need that reassurance. It sounds horrible, but a new dragon is the last thing you want to be worried about right now. But there is a sense that her not having one soon would be some sort of inditement on her.

You have seen the way Rhaena frets over it and have heard about the way Aemond did. You would hate to think your daughter felt like her worth was affected over a dragon. That having an unruly creature on her side will make her more valuable.

“But will it change anything,” you question. “Whether she does or does not any time soon. I know dragons are supposed to symbolize being closer to the Gods but does it really. Especially as a young girl?”

Rhaenyra’s brown furrow, pretty face pulled into deep thought. It is something she has thought about.

“No, I guess not,” she begins to pick at her rings. “At least not for me. I used to think that having Syrax meant that I was special, and because of that I would be valued more. Even compared to certain men in my life. That being named heir meant I would not have to go through certain things. In a way, I did not; my life has been different from other noble women. It will be different from other women. But I am also aware that nothing I do will ever make up for what is between my legs. Having a dragon does not change that for me. It unfortunately will not for Daella.”

Her candidness takes you by surprise. You can tell it is something that haunts her so deeply. For the first time, you feel sad for Rhaenyra. She is trapped in the same cycle you all are. Getting entangled in the same game but being the ones punished for it. The only difference is that she may eventually have the power to change it. If she will be is up for debate.

“It does not change the way the men in your family look at you, even the ones closest to you,” the words tumble out of your mouth. The flood gates that seem to open with Rhaenyra shut quickly.

The slight accusation towards Daemon or Viserys makes her back stiff. You must bite your tongue to say the next thing you are thinking. Even Targaryen women must fear those around them. The system will never be even.

———

Group dinners had become a necessary annoyance while being at Dragonstone. Some nights were you able to eat earlier when the younger kids do. Daella and you locked away in the apartments. But most nights you were all but obligated to entertain the drivel that Daemon and Rhaenyra could come up with.

After your tense conversation with Rhaenyra, you felt even more anxious about breaking bread. If there the tension was noticeable, Daemon did nothing to try and make dinner as peaceful as possible.

“Perhaps our guest can give the girls some advice on married life,” Daemon finally pipes up. Slick smile on his face, as looks around the table. “What to do… what not to do.”

Cunt.

Your eyes drift to Rhaenyra, who sits at his side silent; lilac eyes on the plate in front of her. She seems to do that a lot whenever Daemon takes over a conversation. Either goes along with whatever point Daemon is trying to make or shrinks into herself in the worst way. It is nothing like you have seen from Rhaenyra when she is outside of this dynamic.

“You have been married three times; I am sure you have ample experience to help your daughters.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flicker up at that, eyeing her husband. The table is silent before Daemon lets out a bark of laughter. Head thrown back as if it is the funniest thing he has ever heard. Rhaena shifts in her seat next to you, clearly uncomfortable by the scene in front of her.

Baela looks pissed, while Jace looks embarrassed by the whole ordeal. Funnily enough, the only person who can meet your eyes is Lucerys. A curious look in his big eyes. A warning in his eyes.

“And wit to match,” Daemon grins, a deep glimmer in his eyes.

It is the same amused look that Daemon gave Aemond at dinner moons ago. Daemon, who wants to be constantly entertained, would find Aemond what said and did, thrilling. Dispute the fact that the targets of Aemond’s ire were now his sons. Men like Daemon never truly settle down, and they never put their needs above others. They seek out the gallant behavior in others that they can no longer drum up themselves.

Aemond is all the youth and virility that comes with Targaryen blood. Daemon would find him compelling. More compelling than he has found a member of his family in a long time.

Rhaenyra has been sobered by motherhood, and the pending passing of the throne. The weight of the world changing the way she looks at everything. Gone is the young girl with little care in the world. Gone is the flush of youth that more than likely endured her to not only Daemon, but to others.

Daemon is someone is who thrives off making everyone else in the room pause. The Rogue Prince who wants all to stop and wonder what his next move will be. To let Daemon catch you on the back foot is a sign of weakness. He talks the way he spars. Fluid yet full of surprises.

Rhaenyra looks at her husband with an incredulous look. Then looks back at you with a scowl.

“I am tired,” she mutters, working her way out of seat slowly. Daemon makes little effort to help his pregnant wife. Jace instead gets up to help. Seeing it as an out - Luke, Baela, and Rhaena all get up as well.

Daemon and you stay seated for a moment. He gives you that same grin you have come accustomed to by now.

“You know I think I might have judged you prematurely.”

You raise a brow in efforts to get him to explain what he means by that, but it never comes. He gets up from the table leaving you alone. Rhaenyra’s frown plays in your head. At least you can see that your marriage is not the only fragile one.

It did not take you long to see something is deeply wrong with Lucerys Velaryon. Every thought you had about him was based on the less than promising things you had heard during your time in the Red Keep. And of course, the constant reminder on Aemond’s face.

The skepticism was right, but not for the reasons you assumed it would be. Luke, at a horribly young age, picked up a knife and did something that even the most morbid and seasoned of warriors would hesitate to do. Something is wrong with him the way something is wrong with Aemond.

There is something invisible holding everyone together, and you are sure that imaginary thing broke in Aemond and Lucerys that night at Driftmark. While Aemond was fine leaving the damage on floor till it crept up on him, Luke seems to be spending his life desperately trying to pick up those pieces. But it won’t happen without true remorse. Healing without an apology is not possible. So now, two broken people exist in constant fear.

It makes him dangerous in a way you did not expect. A flighty, anxious eye taker. The irony.

———

“Harrenhal is said to be a cursed place.”

The voice sends a bit of a chills down Luke’s spine. He turns to see you leaning against the study door, wine in hand. Bright eyes full of mirth. You point to the book in his hand.

“We have that book back at the castle,” you point at the one in his hand, as you walk into the room. “An… interesting read.”

The two of you had not been in the same room alone before; it sends Luke’s brain into overdrive. He has to remind himself that he had no reason to be nervous. You were here as a reprieve, at least that is what his mother said. And he always trusts his mother. Even when she has given them reason not to. Under all the splendor and false hope, he knows she means well.

Baela and Rhaena have fully embraced you being at Dragonstone, and Luke trusts them as well. His brother gets embarrassing moony eyed when you are around. He tries to be respectful of his betrothed, but Baela seems to pay it no mind. In fact, Luke believes she is relieved your presence takes attention away from the decision made at the Red Keep. He understands her apprehension.

But Luke has always followed Jace’s lead; he tries to do the same now with you.

“She is harmless, brother.”

Luke highly doubts that. This family does not toil with the feelings or thoughts of those seen as harmless. Harmless people get crushed under the weight of it all. Those to be feared or micromanaged get invited in. Told to sink or swim.

He wakes up every day and reminds himself he has no reason to be worried about the future. He is a Targaryen. He will not be casted out. He will not be crushed.

You lean over him to get a better view of the book, and he gets a whiff of helichrysum and sage. One hand on the table, the other on the back of his chair. Luke blinks rapidly at the page, not daring to look away from the book.

“Blood mixed into the mortar,” you whisper. “I wonder if the horrors within towers and walls truly haunt the houses who stake claim to it.”

Luke feels like he might throw up.

He finally dared to turn, and he sees the side of your face illuminated by the fire the room. Your face as calm as it is unsettling. Like the silver and red spiders that inhabit Dragonstone. The first time they all came back there, after his mother and Daemon had married, he thinks back to finding one on the lapel of his red suit coat. The scream he let out was blood curdling. He remembers the strange look Daemon gave to him. He gives that look a lot. Perplexed and annoyed.

Luke was sure Daemon disliked him for the same reasons Daemon dislikes a lot of people. He does not live up to the expectations Daemon has. Or maybe Daemon had no expectations, the dissatisfaction lies in Luke showing him exactly what he anticipated

But no man would marry his daughter off to someone he saw no use in…. right?

“I heard you like to draw,” you change the subject easily.

Like nods slowly, feeling embarrassed that Rhaena or her mother probably brought it up to you. They tend to gush about the most minute things to make him feel comfortable.

“I am so envious of people who have artistic talent,” you sigh wistfully. “Maybe you can teach me?”

Being alone with you is the last thing Luke wanted, but even then, he finds himself nodding again a bit entranced by the whole situation happened before him. You smile bright before turning to leave.

Luke lays his head down on the cool table to let out a shaky breath. Gods be good.

When Quinton joined the kingsgaurd, his mother cried.

Full on chest sobs, and hyperventilation. The whole scene was… a lot.

In beginning he was sure it was out of fear, now all of her children were away. Both of her sons, taking of a lifelong oath and her only daughter married and far from her family. It was not till her mother calmed down that he realized it was because she expected grandchildren from them. He had laughed at that being the thing she was most heartbroken about. They had joined the most honored spots in Seven Kingdoms, and the pitter patter of feet is what she wanted.

He never thought about children. He has accepted kids were not going to be a part of his life, for better or for worse. That was until he became your protector.

Life is funny in that way. Never letting someone find solid ground. Once you are sure of something, it will be taken away. Your introduction in his life flipped things upside down. Protecting the family was ironically easier to do what real emotions were not involved. When he did not have to question ever person met with, and how they could harm you.

Now he at a dragon castle, utterly confused. Why would any want to harm you begin with?

“I need my own master of whisperers while here,” you said lowkey as you bounced a babbling Alaric in your arms. “People who have been at Dragonstone for longer than us.”

All Quinton can do is give you a look. You know it well. It says it that really a good idea. You roll your eyes in response.

“Loyalties can be tested and broken, just look at Jayne,” you say sourly. “Not everyone here will be completely loyal to Rhaenyra or Daemon, and perhaps they will know something that can help us. Someone unassuming.”

You make a funny face at Alaric, whispering things in a baby voice at him.

“And I know exactly who can help.”

Your eyes go from Alaric, and they flash to the corner of the large room. A young boy with shaggy blonde hair, and a freckled face stands awkwardly in the corner.

“He is just a boy,” Quinton says confused. You grin at him slyly.

“Exactly,” you go to stand up, shifting Alaric in your arms. “Hold him for me.”

Before he can oppose, you place your child in his arms. Quinton just sat there stiffly. Alaric squirms, and he fears that the crying will start again. He tries to bounce him the way you do but he is sure it is no use. Nothing is compares to the embrace of a mother.

As much as the name gesture warmed him heart, being around kids is something he had to get used to. He often had to remind himself that they were half you.

Half spawn of Aemond, but also half you. The prayer is that the good part you instilled in them will outweigh whatever part their useless father put in them. Plus raising children is hard. His mother used to say that it was like cooking. Sometimes your stew would come out perfect. Other times you would just have grimace and eat through the bad taste. Not the best comparison for a young boy to hear, but he understood.

Quinton looks up to see you laughing at something the young boy said. His big blue eyes staring at you in slight awe. It is clear the young lad doesn’t speak to women outside his mother, the wife of a lord her at Dragonstone, often.

The effect you have on people is easy to see, and lately Quinton sees how quickly you are to use it. He supposes he can’t blame you for exploiting the nature of those around you. He can only hope that the side you show him is the full one.

Daella runs into the great hall area to you, an exhausted maidservant following behind. Daella’s short legs can barely keep up with herself. He watches you pick her up watching amused as she explains something exuberantly. Alaric begins to whine. Big lilac eyes filling with tears. This place disturbs him he thinks.

This place disturbs Quinton too.

———

As sun begins to set on over the mountains and castle, a soft breeze carries in the wind through each crevice and dip.

Inside the dragonmount, a low grumble spreads through the walls. Large tan wings spread out to their full, and withered yellow eyes blink into the darkness. A familiar warmth spreading through the large dragon.

The Bronze Fury feeling a presence he has not in years.

I’ve been seriously slacking on the Taglist so I’m sorry for that but here are people I remembered asking. Sorry if I miss anyone: @voniikg @afro-hispwriter @florent1s @crispmarshmallow @tremendouswolfsaladranch @strawbrryquinn @widemiffyhappy @msmarvel-19 @dc-marvel-girl96 @xkennobi @fanfics4ever @hydrationqueensworld @lyra689 @blazzlynch @httyd-marauders @bregarc @b00kdiary @grey-water-colors @mercedesdecorazon @flowerpotmage @bstorn @poisonedsultana @papery-maniac @its-sam-allgood @yu3kkii @hvx @leoramage @neenieweenie @stargaryenx @rey26 @lazypinkpig @blackravena @s0urmarvel @elleclairez @rebelfleur22 @inpraizeof @luvremlu @clora95 @blacpiink @let-love-bleeds-red @iwanttohitmyself @alastorhazbin @kitkat-writes-stuff @carriellie @aloneatpeace @ensolleildelune @landlockedmermaid77

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x oc #hotd imagine #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond fic #aemond imagine #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!oc #prince aemond targaryen

[hllywdwhre]

Dreamer, Queen, Prince - Chapter 2

Pairing: Daemyra x fem!OC

Warnings: Please check masterlist for warnings. This work is 18+, MDNI

Notes: I promise the plot will start picking up soon with lots of angst💀I had to set things up though

Masterlist

It was nightfall before Daemon escorted Viserea back inside the walls of the Keep. He offered to escort her to the dragon pit, but she rejected his offer, saying she had not slept properly in two days and all she wished for was a decent night’s sleep.

Thankfully, she was granted exactly that. The next day was a day of mourning with no council meetings being held and the sun was shining bright through her windows when she finally awoke. The handmaidens were called to her chambers and she was dressed in dragon riding attire. She greeted Rhaenyra in her room, who after taking one glance at how Viserea was dressed, immediately got dressed in her own riding attire.

They were escorted to the dragonpit and mounted their respective dragons and began flying. Neither needed to say where they were going in order to know. Soon they were greeted with the shores of Dragonstone and Viserea felt a weight lift off her shoulders.

The two landed in the field where there was plenty for their dragons to eat and walked to the far edge of it before either spoke.

“Do you remember when we snuck off right before your tenth nameday?” Rhaenyra asked, settling down in the field and Viserea joined her a moment later, giggling at the memory.

“Yes. I have never seen so many ships showing up to Dragonstone at once.” Viserea’s smile spread across her face slowly, “Or your father’s face turn so red.”

Rhaenyra laughed loudly at the memory and Viserea felt her stomach jump multiple times at the sound.

“You took the fault, saying it was your idea to run away.” Rhaenyra added, looking over at Viserea.

“Even at ten, I knew how much power a nameday’s wish could hold. How could they be mad at the child who just wanted to celebrate her nameday with her closest friend?” Viserea nudged Rhaenyra’s shoulder with her own.

“I think that day is one of my favorite memories. It definitely started one of my favorite traditions.”

“Traditions?”

“Sneaking off to fly here any time we needed a moment away from being the two princesses of the realm.” Rhaenyra answered and Viserea laid her head on her shoulder.

“It has always felt more like home than the keep has. I may know the grounds of the keep more, but Dragonstone will always be the home of the Targaryens.”

“Do you believe home has to be a place?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice curious.

“In what way do you mean?”

“I have visited Dragonstone without you by my side before and it did not hold the same feeling. I could never place why until Alicent and I were in my chambers last night. She held me as I cried, but it brought me only a small portion of the comfort you brought me, and I realized that I was wishing you were there to hold me. You were always the place that brought me the most comfort.” Rhaenyra’s voice had turned shy at the end and Viserea could feel her heart hammering in her chest as she lifted her head from Rhaenyra’s shoulder.

The hours Viserea spent alone in her room pondering her jealousy of Rhaenyra and Alicent’s friendship and realizing why she felt that jealousy, the terror of losing Rhaenyra as a friend, and the guilt she felt at her own inability to be happy for her when a handsome lord offered her his attention played through her mind in a blur.

“You have always been mine, too.” Viserea finally said, afraid to say any more in case Rhaenyra’s words didn’t mean the same to her as they did to Viserea.

“Rea, look at me.” Rhaenyra said, turning her body to face Viserea.

Viserea sat up straight and did as she was told, looking at Rhaenyra and holding her gaze even if the action made her entire body shake slightly.

“Dragons are meant to burn together, we feel safest surrounded by fire. You are the fire that surrounds me when I feel as though I am drowning in the seas. I need to know for my own sanity’s sake if you feel the same.”

Instead of replying, Viserea leaned forward and pressed her lips against Rhaenyra’s. Her world simultaneously came crashing down around her and was rebuilt in the same moment. As she felt Rhaenyra’s lips push back against her own, she felt the new world built stronger. Her world no longer consisted of the pain of so much loss surrounded by the walls of the keep, it was now the feeling of hope surrounded by the very air they flew through while on dragonback.

She wasn’t sure how long their lips stayed connected before Rhaenyra was pulling Viserea onto her lap. Viserea’s hands went into Rhaenyra’s hair while one of Rhaenyra’s hands rested on the girl’s hip and the other on the back of her neck to keep her close. When they finally pulled away from each other, both were breathing heavily and had flushed cheeks.

“I don’t think you truly understand how long I have been wishing for that moment,” Viserea said, her forehead leaned against Rhaenyra’s.

“My apologies for keeping my princess waiting,” Rhaenyra said, smirking up at her.

“You’re forgiven as long as you promise it will not happen again.” Viserea replied, with her own cheeky grin.

“I do not believe myself to be able to go without your kiss anymore.” As if to make her point, Rhaenyra kissed Viserea again and laid back, dragging the other down with her.

The two laid in the grass for a while longer with various topics being discussed between kisses. It was only when the sun began to sink behind the clouds that they finally rose from the grass and headed back to their dragons. Halfway back to King’s Landing, they began shouting joking insults to each other which resulted in a race back to the pit. The two landed at the same time just as they had earlier that week and allowed their dragons to be brought back into the pit.

“One day you will have to show me how you get in so much trouble wandering through the streets.” Rhaenyra said in a low voice as they were escorted back to the keep.

“It will have to be after a day of celebration. I’m not exactly accompanied by a guard and there are only two people in the city I trust to keep me safe.” Viserea told her in the same volume.

“How do you know you can trust them?” Rhaenyra asked curiously.

“Apparently they know of our uncle. He has bought their loyalty to the Targaryen family and I pay my share when I need their services.” Viserea told her honestly. Rhaenyra looked as though she was considering the answer and gave a slow nod.

“I guess gold is a powerful weapon, perhaps even more than Valyrian steel.” Rhaenyra finally replied.

“I wonder if gold is powerful enough to buy the silence of our guards or if we’ll have to find more clever ways to sneak to each other’s rooms every night. I don’t think they will believe that my dreams are suddenly visiting every night.”

“I believe you forget our power as the princesses of the Realm. The only person who holds more power than us currently is Father. One command from us as their princesses and they will be silenced unless Father asks them; and Ser Harrold and Ser Ryden both adore us so I don’t think they would betray our trust unless they had to.”

Viserea locked eyes with her cousin as she thought over what she had just said and the confidence in her eyes was enough to make her believe it.

They reached the keep and were helped out of the carriage. The two made their way to the kitchens where they were greeted with surprised faces. The staff smiled as they grabbed the random foods they wanted and made their way back to the hall that held their chambers.

The two walked into Rhaenyra’s chambers and placed the food on the footrest of her bed. While Rhaenyra bathed and dressed in her nightclothes, Viserea ate, and the two switched once they were finished. With full stomachs and smelling of the rich oils that littered the bathroom, the two eventually curled under Rhaenyra’s sheets.

They continued talking through the night, somehow never running out of topics to discuss. When one topic would seem to come to an end, it would spur on another conversation about a topic related that would only be interrupted when one of them pressed their lips to the other’s. Their responses to each other became more and more labored as exhaustion won over, and in the dark of night, the two fell asleep with Viserea’s head on Rhaenyra’s chest and their arms wrapped around each other.

When the morning sun began creeping through the windows of Rhaenyra’s room, two knocks awoke them from their slumber. Rhaenyra answered the door while Viserea stayed standing out of sight, and when they realized it was just the handmaidens coming to gather Rhaenyra for the first council meeting of the day, they both relaxed. Rhaenyra allowed the two women inside,

“Princess Viserea is also here, she stayed with me last night as I did not wish to be alone.” Rhaenyra informed them, though neither of the women were surprised to see her.

“It is no bother, princesses. I am happy to see that you two have each other as you both go through a difficult time.” Viserea believed the woman that said it was named Laera, though she couldn’t remember the name of the younger maiden that had joined her.

“I will go and retrieve Princess Viserea’s handmaidens as they are looking for you, also. The King Viserys said you both are to attend today’s council meetings to avoid any confusion of who’s duty today’s would be since none were held yesterday.” The younger girl left the room before anyone could respond, though she returned moments later with both of Viserea’s handmaidens in tow.

After the two were both dressed and their hair had been styled, they made their way to the council room. For once, neither were late and both arrived at the same time as the rest of the council.

Seeing the king made Viserea’s blood run cold, though she made sure not to show it. Aemma’s death flashed through her mind and she forced the images back. She couldn’t let her own feelings of the matter get in the way of her duties. Getting under Otto Hightower’s skin was one thing, but outwardly showing her new distaste for the king could very well end her life.

Two jugs of wine were on a table off to the side instead of one so that neither princess would be empty handed as they sat in on the council meeting. They placed the cups and filled each of them before the king sat down, signaling the start of the meeting.

“Before we begin, Your Grace, I have a report I feel compelled to share.” Otto says, causing Rhaenyra and Viserea to look at each other from where they stood on opposite sides of the table. “You know, Your Grace, how I cannot abide by gossip-“

“Please, Otto, gossip on.” The dread in Viserys’ voice was not lost on Viserea or Corlys as they both looked at each other with smiles that they were forcing back.

“Last night, Prince Daemon bought out one of the pleasure houses on the Street of Silk.” Otto said. This caused Viserea’s smile to drop quickly and she looked to Rhaenyra.

Anytime Otto mentioned Daemon’s name, it was sure to be an insult of some sort. The two had spoken before of how they viewed their uncle with a similar respect and, sometimes, envy. They were both protective over him and both of the dragons being prodded in the same room was not a smart idea for anyone who did not wish to be bathed in dragon fire.

“For what purpose?” Viserys asked Otto. Rhaenyra and Viserea looked between each other and the two men, having no more wine glasses to fill.

“To entertain officers of the City Watch and other friends of his.” After a brief pause, Otto continued on, “He toasted the passed Prince Baelon, styling him, ‘The Heir for a Day.’”

Viserea felt her heart hammer in her chest, not believing it until Otto went on to further say he had multiple witnesses who viewed the evening as a celebration. She locked eyes with Rhaenyra again and was met with a pained look equal to what she felt.

Both of the girls jump as Viserys sends his wine glass to shatter on the floor of the council room. Viserea and Rhaenyra move at the same time, both in sync with each other and not needing to verbally communicate to work in tandem. As Viserea carefully cleans the wine glass off the floor and reassures Viserys that she is okay to do so, Rhaenyra fills another glass for him and sets it a couple inches farther away from him than the previous.

The council meeting continues as normal after the outburst was made, though both girls stay suspiciously quiet. Viserea can feel Corlys eyeing her more than once in suspicion. Where one of the two would usually voice their opinion, they are quiet. They give each other brief glances as they move to keep wine glasses filled, but neither speaks a word.

The council meeting runs longer than usual, having two days worth of issues to handle instead of one. When they are finally dismissed, the Princesses only have enough time to speak to each other in the halls on the way to their lessons.

“Do you believe he said it?” Rhaenyra asked. She did not need any more clarification to understand what she was asking.

“I wish it was a lie, but the Hand is not a stupid man. An accusation that could cost the Rogue his tongue or even his life is not one to be made without solid proof.” Viserea is careful as she speaks. Names are easier for those to translate from Valyrian, so she makes sure to only use the nicknames the two had given the various members of the council to maintain secrecy.

“I hate that I feel more anger for my father than I do for Rogue. He has not spoken to me since mother’s funeral and now Rogue gives my brother that died in the cradle such a treacherous name and it is my father that I hold more anger for.” The Valyrian sounded enchanting falling from Rhaenyra’s lips, especially when spoken in anger. If it wasn’t for the topic, Viserea knew she could listen to her speak in it for hours uninterrupted.

“I agree with your anger, though it is for different reasons. I spoke to Rogue of the dream, among other things, once Rhaenys’ Hill had cleared and it feels as though he has used the contents of the dream to further mock him.”

“Did you tell him of the entire dream?” Rhaenyra asked, “I know you’re withholding part of it to prevent me some pain and I am not asking you to tell me of it…”

“You just wish to know how deep the betrayal I feel is?” Viserea questioned and Rhaenyra nodded, “He knows of the whole dream. I also told him how I view our family and he still made the remarks.”

“Yet you still hold more anger towards Father than him?” Rhaenyra questioned.

“Issa. (Yes.)”

“Is it because Father did something I do not know of?”

“Issa.”

“Do I need to know of it, or would it only bring me more pain over something I cannot change?”

“He regrets what he did, you do not need to hold the anger or pain that his actions would bring you.” Viserea looked to Rhaenyra who was already looking at her. Rhaenyra looked at her a moment longer then nodded.

“I trust your judgment.” Rhaenyra replied as they approached their meeting place with the Septa.

Their afternoon lessons went by quickly and Viserea welcomed the distraction from the betrayal she felt due to Daemon’s actions. Learning about the Old Gods of Valyria was more comforting than pondering over the current valyrian descendants' familial issues.

When the girls were informed of Viserys’ absence from dinner for the third night in a row, Viserea could not help the anger she felt. She had grown used to the feelings of grief, but she did not understand how a father could abandon his daughter to deal with those feelings on her own. Viserea thought Rhaenyra herself might breathe dragonfire when it was a member of the Kingsguard that came to collect them instead of Viserys himself.

“Father.” Rhaenyra greeted once they enter the altar room.

“Your Grace.” Viserea greets, changing her usual greeting to one of formality.

Rhaenyra notices the change in greeting and briefly looks at Viserea, but turns her attention back to Viserys instead.

“You haven’t spoken a word to us since Mother’s funeral, and then you send your Kingsguard to collect us?” There is no mistaking the anger in Rhaenyra’s voice. It mimics that in which Viserea feels.

“Balerion was the last living creature to have seen Old Valyria before the Doom… Its greatness and its flaws…When you look at the dragons, what do you see?” The King’s question is directed towards Rhaenyra, but both of the ladies are clearly taken aback by it.

“What?” Rhaenyra asked him.

“Answer me. It’s important. What do you see?”

“I suppose… I see us.”

“Tell me.”

“Everyone says Targaryens are closer to gods than to men. But they say that because of our dragons; without them, we’re just like everyone else.”

Whatever answer Viserys was looking for, Rhaenyra seems to have given him. He looks pleased as he turns to Viserea next,

“And what do you make of your dreams?” He asked.

Viserea took a step closer to where he and Rhaenyra stood, taking a moment of her own to gather her thoughts.

“Many Valyrians, Targaryens and Velarions alike, have prayed to Tessarion to give them the gift of dreams. It adds to our illusion of being closer to gods than to men, as do the dragons, but my dreams could stop tomorrow the same way dragons could stop choosing to obey our commands. Then we are the same as everyone else with only lilac eyes to say we were different at one time.”

Viserys nods at Viserea’s answer, being just as pleased in her answer as he was in Rhaenyra’s.

“The idea that we control the dragons is an illusion. They are a power that man should have never trifled with - one that brought Valyria its doom. And, if we don’t mind our own history, it will do the same to us.” Viserys looks back and forth between both girls before settling his attention on Rhaenyra. “A Targaryen must understand this to be King… or Queen.”

Viserea feels her breath hitch for a moment at what Viserys is implying, but does not interrupt or reach for Rhaenyra’s hand as she so desperately wants.

“I’m sorry, Rhaenyra. I’ve wasted the years since you were born wanting for a son. But, you are the very best of your mother. I believe, as I know she did, that you could be a great ruling queen.”

“Daemon is your heir.” Rhaenyra argued.

“Daemon was not made to wear the crown, but I believe that you were.”

“You summoned Viserea here with me.” Rhaenyra pointed out, bringing Viserea slightly out of her state of shock and causing Viserys to look at the other princess.

“You two have not been separated since birth. I cannot make you both Queens of the Realm, but I know that you two will have great influence over each other.” Viserys said, his eyes flickering between the two.

“She will be my Hand of the Queen.” Rhaenyra said quickly, causing Viserea’s head to snap towards her.

“Rhaenyra-“ Viserea started, but she was interrupted by her.

“No.” Rhaenyra looked to her father and held eye contact with him, a look of determination on her face, “Viserea is to be named my Hand when I am named your Heir. You brought her here because you knew I would value her opinion over everyone else’s. You know what naming a woman your Heir will cause. I will not risk Viserea becoming an object of the background.”

Viserys looks to Viserea, silently asking her if she wants what Rhaenyra has offered to her. When Viserea nods, Viserys speaks again,

“This is no trivial gesture, my Princesses. A dragon’s saddle is one thing, but the Iron Throne is the most dangerous seat in the realm.”

Viserea subconsciously stepped closer to Rhaenyra, now directly behind her right side, as if already prepared to protect Rhaenyra from whatever may come to harm her. Visery let a small smile cross his face at the sight though it quickly fades.

“I’m going to tell you both something now. It won’t be easy for you to understand, but you must hear it.” Viserys said, drawing both of their attention, “The histories tell us that Aegon looked across the Blackwater from Dragonstone and saw a rich land ripe for the capture. But ambition alone is not what drove him to conquest. It was a dream.”

Viserys allows both of them a moment to grasp what he has said and Viserea’s heart jumped in her chest. She doesn’t stop herself this time from gripping Rhaenyra’s hand.

“Viserea is not the first Dreamer since Daenys, who saw the end of Valyria. She is the first since Aegon, who foresaw the end of the world of men. It is to begin with a terrible winter dusting out of the distant north. Aegon saw absolute darkness riding on those winds, and whatever is within, will destroy the world of the living.”

“What is it? What’s in the darkness?” Rhaenyra voiced Viserea’s thoughts.

“If Aegon knew, he never said. But he saw that there would be a light brilliant enough to stand against it: the fire of dragons. Whenever the Great Winter comes, all of Westeros will have to stand against it. And if the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne. A king, or queen, strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and dark.” Viserys pulled his dagger from its hilt and held it in the light of the fire, allowing the flames to dance across the surface bring light to the engravings, “Aegon called his Dream ‘The Song of Ice and Fire.’”

Viserea feels Rhaenyra start to return the grip on her hand as if the two were drawing strength from each other in that moment.

“This secret has passed from king to heir since Aegon’s time. Jaehaerys was able to unite the realm as one again, but if any war is to happen again before the Song… I believe it is time that the king or queen has a trusted ally to help carry the secret. You two must both promise to carry this secret. Carry it and protect it. Promise me this, Rhaenyra. Promise me this, Viserea.”

Both of the Princesses respond as one,

“I promise.”

“Tomorrow the lords of the realm will gather in the throne room and pledge their loyalty to you as my named heir,” Viserys looks from Rhaenyra to Viserea, “and to you as the future Hand of the Queen. When Jaehaerys told me of the Song, I did not sleep that night. I ask that you two do not escape on dragonback or run through the city streets tonight. Find comfort within the walls of the keep, however you may need to.”

When both of them agree, Viserys dismisses himself, leaving the two standing alone and speechless for a long while. They both silently leave the alter room, their hands still intertwined, and it isn’t until they reach the privacy of Viserea’s chambers that Rhaenyra speaks.

“I apologize if I have spoken for you tonight. If you do not wish to be my hand, I understand.” She said, causing Viserea to turn to look at her.

“You have offered me the highest honor in the realm besides the throne itself. There is nothing to apologize for.” Viserea told her, sitting next to her and leaning her head on her shoulder.

“I assumed since I would value your opinion over anyone else’s, it seemed only right that you sit beside me and actually get to wield that power.”

“Better me than another cunt like Otto.” Viserea doesn’t realize what she has said until the words leave her mouth, but by then she and Rhaenyra have both turned to a fit of giggles.

Once they finally calm themselves, Rhaenyra sighs.

“I suppose tonight we will have to sleep in our own beds. I feel that tomorrow we will be awoken with a sense of urgency that would not be aided if we are having to be tracked down.” Rhaenyra’s words sadden Viserea, but she knows they are true.

“At least that’s one thing that can be changed once you are Queen. It will be much easier to see each other when I am moved to my own room within the Queen’s apartments.” Viserea pointing out this fact brought a smile to Rhaenyra’s face.

“I suppose you’re right.” Rhaenyra gently placed her lips on Viserea’s and stood.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Nyra.” Viserea said, kissing Rhaenyra’s hand before letting it fall.

Rhaenyra stood at the front of the throne room while Viserea stood at the front of the line of lords gathered to pledge an oath of fealty to Viserys and Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra was dressed in an intricate gown of red with golden embroidery and jewels dancing across the chest and arms. A golden cloak embroidered with dragon heads rested on her shoulders. Viserea wore a red gown of her own, though she wore no cloak and her embroidery was silver and danced across the torso and chest of her dress. Both wore the headpieces that Daemon had gifted them for Viserys’ coronation as children. While Rhaenyra could not wear the necklace he had gifted her, Viserea wore the earrings and had allowed Rhaenyra to borrow her ring for the ceremony.

“Viserea, the Winter Dragon, of House Targaryen, Princess of the Realm.” Grand Maester Mellos’ voice boomed over the crowd and shocked Viserea back to the present.

With each step closer to Rhaenyra, Viserea felt her anxiety and nerves melt away and allowed herself to look like every inch of the power she held, standing tall and keeping her face impassive. She would be the first to swear loyalty to Rhaenyra, and then the rest of the lords would swear their loyalty to both of the Princesses. Viserea did not need a dream to know that this was what was right. She was meant to be by Rhaenyra’s side, as both her wife and as her hand. While she may only be able to be by her side as one in the present, Viserea was willing to wait a hundred lifetimes to stand beside her as her wife. The day would come, and she knew it.

Kneeling, Viserea spoke the modified set of words that only she would speak that day,

“I, Viserea Targaryen, the Winter Dragon, swear my loyalty to King Viserys and his named heir, the Princess Rhaenyra. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. As Hand of the Queen, I will give my life to aiding her rule and helping to protect and better the Realm. I swear this by the old gods and the new. If I fail, may Tessarion take away the gift of Dreams.” Viserea had argued for her modified versions of the usual oath of fealty and promises of the Hand, and after an argument that the Grand Maester said would take five years off of his life, her version had been allowed.

Viserea stood and, as she walked to stand next to Rhaenyra, saw Viserys give a small nod to her. Turning to face the gathered lords, Viserea kept a face of confidence and power.

“Corlys of House Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark.” The maester said next.

Corlys walked up to the two and kneeled before them,

“I, Corlys Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark, promise to be faithful to King Viserys and his named heir, the Princess Rhaenyra, and her named Hand, the Princess Viserea. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

Viserea offers Corlys a nod of respect as he stands, having always admired the man.

“Lord Hobert Hightower, Beacon of the South, Defender of the Citadel, and Voice of Oldtown.”

Viserea had met Hobert only once and was utterly unimpressed. Perhaps it was Viserea’s unwillingness to say her faith was in the Seven and hers instead lied with the Gods and Goddesses of Old Valyria, but she knew the feeling was mutual.

“I, Lord Hobert Hightower, Beacon of the South, Defender of the Citadel, and Voice of the Oldtown, promise to be faithful to King Viserys and his named heir, the Princess Rhaenyra, and her named Hand, the Princess Viserea. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

Viserea offers no nod to the Hightower Lord or the next lords that pledge their loyalty, but she pays attention to which lords show their obvious distaste of the oath.

When she could, she would look around the throne room, hoping to see the familiar long, blonde hair that usually gave her comfort. Viserea was unsure if she was relieved to not see it, or if it only added to the sense of betrayal she felt.

“Boremund Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End.” The statement snapped Viserea back to the present and she locked eyes with the man.

He is one of the ones Viserea takes mental note of. His eyes flicker back and forth between Rhaenyra and Viserea and Viserea squints her eyes into a glare. The look on both hers and Rhaenyra’s face makes the lord kneel and recite the oath.

“Benjen Stark, Lord of Winterfell.” Grand Maester Mellos calls forward Viserea’s cousin and she wipes the angry look from her face, instead offering one of warmth and respect.

When Benjen approaches, he gives both of the princesses a small, but genuine, smile as he kneels.

“I, Benjen Stark, Lord of Winterfell, promise to be faithful to King Viserys and his named heir, the Princess Rhaenyra, and her named Hand, the Princess Viserea. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

When he stands, both Rhaenyra and Viserea give him the same small nods of respect Viserea had offered Corlys which the Lord returns.

“The Winter Dragon” was a name given to her by the Starks when she was still a babe in the womb. She had grown up hearing herself referred to as such, and it was when she was ten and three that she asked for the name to be used when she was announced. It was a way for Viserea to ensure that the memory of her mother or Winterfell’s loyalty to her was not erased.

When the last of the oaths were sworn, Viserys rose from behind the two and they turned towards him. He held eye contact with both of them as Rhaenyra nodded and then Viserea, promising again that they would carry and protect the secret. Both turned back to the room of lords and Viserea went to stand next to Benjen and his son Rickon as the Maester placed the golden collar around Rhaenyra’s shoulders.

Viserys voice carries over the room this time,

“I, Viserys Targaryen, first of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm do hereby name Rhaenyra Targaryen the Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne.”

Viserea held eye contact with Rhaenyra for a moment before following the lead of the rest of the nobles in the room and kneeling in front of her.

#rhaenyra x oc #rhaenyra x y/n #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targeryan #rhaenyra targaryen fanfic #daemon x rhaenyra #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon x y/n #daemyra x reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon x reader #daemyra #daemon targeryan #daemon x oc #Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #fire and blood #a song of ice and fire

[gojosatoruwifey]

ㅡ恭喜发财

✑ greeting everyone as lunar new year enters ♡(◕ᗜ◕✿)

✿ warning/s: fluff, jealousy, slight sexual insinuation, swearing, use of chinese terms, nothing much has changed it's just chung myung with a dragon tail, starts with pbss and ends with mhdd, let me know if i missed something!

✿ character/s: chung myung/cheong myeong, g/n! reader

✿ alt. title: telltale tail

📜🖋️🎀SUPPORT MY KO-FI🎀🖋️📜

straight and thumping on the ground impatiently. fast rhythm beat with 0.95-second intervals.

—and with that crease between his eyebrows, pout so evident in his lips, eyes boring through the side of your head. there’s no need to turn front to see the literal dragon of mount hua is displeased at the slow pace of his order shīzitóu. it’s not like you can afford to flat-out be rude to the half-huili jing server eagerly asking for more affirmations about their restaurant’s food. goodness, you’re not chung myung…

“the sauce? is it sweet enough? or perhaps you like it sticky…” the half huili jing server’s voice lowered in a purr. “..daozhang?”

you’re about to correct the server when a sarcastic, gruff voice enters the conversation. “no, they don’t like sweets that much and they prefer thin consistency sauce to sticky.”

speaking of, your companion finally spoke up. the entire time chung myung is either grunting or clicking his tongue to respond as you put out the orders on the menu. you wanted to let out a heavy sigh but held it in. he spoke up but at what cost?

chung myung tapped his palm on the table a little bit too hard. “put the shīzitóu down. that’s what i ordered.”

faced with the natural hierarchy’s top one, how could a huili jing fight against a dragon? even more to a half huili jing? with a graceful movement, the half huili jing set out the tray full of appetizing meals rich in different flavours and seasonings.

the silence was too loud despite the busy chatter heard outside the private room and so, once the sulky half huili jing strolled away, you picked up the chopstick, ready to eat. that’s how you and chung myung spent the rest of the evening with occasional banters, two unfilled cups holding beads of alcohol, and an abandoned bottle of peach baijiu in the side.

moves languidly

the elders and the youths alike have watched a certain senior-junior pair dance around with each other. be it when they are younger than they are now—the plum blossoms in winter’s seasonal bloom and summer’s jovial heat sighing at the young man finding himself to get the point across and you dodging every little thing almost nil. the terrified junior brothers betting on who will try to make a move first.

so far the winning score is on those who placed bets on chung myung’s side…

a group of junior brothers set aside their lunch once they saw the two together with the taller one carrying a box with decorative materials for the spring festival and the other having a ladder.

you propped the ladder to the wall and started climbing on it while chung myung set the box down.

“will the elder make a move?”

“shush.”

“come on, shixiong. he is right. how about we bet if the elder makes a move on them this time?” junior brother lu nodded to the oblivious pair. he pushed his lunch forward, “i’ll bet my lunch set a, elder chung myung will make a move.”

junior brother ming, the shixiong, responded dryly. “i’ll bet mine he will not.”

“i’m with brother lu!”

“shixiong, you can’t possibly think elder will not when you also saw him–”

“watch.”

“huh?” instinctively, junior brother lu inclined his head just to see you playing with the ends of the red lantern for the spring festival, let it brush to your senior’s nose as chung myung sneezed. sending you a harmless glare as you laugh loudly. elder chung myung may be directing witty remarks to you but this little junior brother lu can see the tail of the elder languidly swishing behind him.

he sighs and thinks, elder chung myung is almost never too honest and yet his tail is saying otherwise. 

wiggles in excitement

a new series of tomorrow awaits as the booming fireworks line up to the dark skies, below were the firecrackers noisy and frizzled. the sect adorned in red lanterns and spring couplets can be seen hanging on the doors. the disciples of mount hua gather all around in different places; some are in the dining hall, some are burning bamboo sticks and firecrackers, laughter fills up the festive mood, and some are watching the abundant glowing light flutters seen above to the lowered ground.

a single stick fell out from the fortune shaker.

you stare at it, losing interest in picking it up as each second passes by until the black-clad swordsman nudges you with his shoulder in a bump, snickering. “will you look at that.”

you can’t believe the gods had decided to be mean to you on the eve of the spring festival. the harmonious atmosphere feels like mocking you as the fortune stick reads ‘misfortune.’

then you shove the stick back into the cylinder, shake it violently, a stick falls out and you’re miniscule away throwing away the damn fortune shaker. tsk, should’ve known it’s a sham.

chung myung clutches his stomach from too much hysterical fits as he then grabs one of your hands that was choking the cylinder. surprised at his gentle touch, chung myung easily slides his fingers between the gaps of yours as his stare pins at you with a gaze swirling playful pink billows, night light kissed skin. suddenly, peering up into him through the shadows settled by the moon feels intimate as the two of you sit on the rooftop.

“there,” he whispered. “i’m sharing half of my great fortune with you.”

you swallowed thickly, wanting to squeeze your heart to shut up. 

a comical exclaim escapes out of you, shiny eyes admiring him, “gege!”

chung myung reacts to your address with a sudden burst of triumph. his tail wags frantically, displaying his excitement. hearing you calling him 'gege' has clearly delighted him, and he seems eager to engage whatever his mind is scheming.

#return of the mount hua sect #return of the blossoming blade #rotmhs #rotbb #chung myung #cheong myeong #cheongmyeong #return of the mount hua sect x reader #return of the blossoming blade x reader #rotmhs fluff #rotbb fluff #chung myung x reader #cheong myeong x reader #cheongmyeong x reader #rotmhs x reader #rotbb x reader #webtoon x reader #manhwa x reader #webtoon #manhwa

[luxtout]

Flames Unveiled (Chapter 11- Lyrax and Me) Aegon II Targaryen X (Bastard Velaryon) Reader X Aemond Targaryen

Summary: After six years living away from Kings Landing, you and your family are summoned back, for reasons unknown. Your mother, Rhaenyra, has different plans for you. You swore to always protect your family, but at what cost?

Warning: References to / sexual content (18+), injuries, cursing, drinking, fights, angst

Tagged: @faesspace @a-beaverhausen @heavenly1927 @watercolorskyy

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

When Y/N Velaryon came into the world, the realm rejoiced. Princess Rhaenyra, the Realm's Delight, had birthed a healthy baby girl. Alongside her birth, a dragon egg was nestled in her cradle, slowly pulsating until the day it finally cracked.

By the time Y/N could walk or speak, she begged her mother to visit her dragon, always inquiring about its size. Whenever Rhaenyra took her, the dragon keepers marveled at the unparalleled bond between rider and dragon. When asked for a name, young Y/N could only think of 'Lyrax,' reminiscent of her mother's dragon, Syrax.

At the age of seven, Y/N first mounted Lyrax, following in her mother's footsteps. Lyrax grew rapidly, towering over other dragons his age, surpassing even Sunfyre. When they soared, Rhaenyra thought they could have reached the Wall, remaining airborne for hours.

Lyrax mirrored Y/N's emotions. When she was joyful, he soared, but when her temper flared, all felt the repercussions. Following the events at Driftmark, Y/N's anger was felt across the Blackwater, prompting Lyrax to break free from his restraints and vanish for months.

Upon their departure for Dragonstone, Y/N grieved deeply; the loss of her father and her dragon weighed heavily. For months, she scanned the sky, hoping for her beloved dragon's return. One day, while walking the land, a colossal shadow loomed over her, far larger than she remembered. Lyrax had grown immensely, still with room to expand. She granted him freedom to roam the skies, as long as he returned to her side.

The bond between a dragon and its rider is unbreakable, and Lyrax would fiercely protect his rider, no matter the cost.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘

Lyrax roared as you adjusted your saddle, perched atop his colossal shoulder blade. His growth had brought such challenges as the expanding scales now scraped against the leathers.

"Lyrax, easy now. We'll fly soon, just... hold on." You panted slightly, the wind tousling your hair. Your insistence on tending to Lyrax yourself remained steadfast, but as he outgrew even your mother's dragon, Syrax, you realized the need for adjustments.

"Ah, ha! Got it! You've grown so much." You cheered, stroking his head affectionately.

"Sister, they're all waiting for us. Are you almost ready?" Jace's voice echoed from atop Vermax.

It was the night before your family's return to Dragonstone. Your grandsire's health had improved significantly, and Helaena convinced her brothers to showcase House Targaryen's strength by flying. Convincing Jace and Luke had been easy but hiding Aegon and Aemond's attendance proved more challenging.

"I'm done," you sighed, grasping the reins as Lyrax readied his shoulder for your ascent. Quickly slipping on your leather gloves, you shot a stern glance at Jace as Vermax soared into the sky.

You noticed all the dragons flying to the Keep, seeing as there was ample time for your approach. Vhagar glided leisurely, while Dreamfyre maintained a slow pace to accommodate Helaena. Aegon, arriving slightly tipsy, had Sunfyre trailing behind the other larger dragons. Vermax swiftly caught up with Arrax, and only then did Lyrax ascend from the ground. With a swift thrust, you soared hundreds of feet into the air, closing the distance to reach your brothers.

As Lyrax approached Arrax, he emitted a playful roar, causing the younger dragon to veer abruptly to the right.

"Easy, Arrax!" Luke's voice carried over the air, his hand soothing the dragon's scales. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

"I'd never dream of such a thing, brother. But it seems Arrax finds Lyrax rather intimidating," you quipped, caressing your dragon's head, eliciting a playful roll of Lyrax's neck. "Shall we have a race to the Keep?"

Jace didn't respond, instead leaning forward as Vermax surged ahead, followed by Arrax. Lyrax lingered, then surged forward, darting behind the younger dragons and streaking past them toward the Keep, where Vhagar, Dreamfyre, and Sunfyre awaited.

Circling the balcony, you noticed the King, Queen, Rhaenyra, and Daemon standing there, smiling as the dragons swooped around. Hovering near the balcony, the dragons awaited the next turn of events.

In the spirit of fairness, everyone unanimously settled on a race: from King's Landing to Dragonstone and back. No specific rules were established, leaving it wide open.

All of you anticipated the King's whistle, which would mark the beginning of the race. The gusts of wind were relentless, challenging your efforts to maintain balance as it pushed at you from the side. The low, carrying whistle reached your ears, and in an instant, Aemond and Jace shot forward. Aegon, somewhat distracted, prompted Sunfyre to lunge a few moments later, while Helaena chose a slower pace, accompanied by Luke, who flew by her side.

Navigating through the billowing clouds, your hair came undone, thrashing across your face like tiny lashes. Aemond flew to your left, a couple of hundred feet below, while Jace soared to your right, high above your head. The flight to Dragonstone was never extensive, taking merely half an hour. Lyrax deftly descended below the clouds, skimming close to the water, leaving a faint ripple in his wake. Despite the race, you relished the tranquility that came with riding a dragon.

Moments slipped away, and the looming shape of Dragonstone gradually emerged. "Alright, Lyrax. Go faster."

With a forceful push, Lyrax propelled upwards, splashing water into your face, darting ahead of Vhagar, closing in on the rocky coast. Victory seemed certain, and without a doubt, you turned to flash a triumphant smile before circling the beach and guiding Lyrax to land.

Aemond followed suit, but the rest were still a few minutes behind. An uncomfortable silence hung heavy as you sensed his gaze fixed on you. You dismounted from Lyrax, allowing the dragon a chance to unwind until it was time to head back.

"We haven't spoken since—"

"No, we haven't," you cut him off, your eyes scanning the sky, hoping for any other dragon to rescue you from this conversation.

"Don't try to ignore me," he snapped, stepping down from Vhagar. His footsteps drew closer, causing your body to instinctively tense. Before he could say more, a dragon's roar echoed above, heralding its landing.

Aegon descended from Sunfyre, his demeanor sobering slightly as he noticed the tension between you and Aemond. "Using this moment to get more... intimate?"

You shot him a glare and moved closer to the water's edge, awaiting the arrival of your brothers and Helaena. Jace landed shortly after, followed by Luke and Helaena. They all took a few moments to let their dragon's rest.

"Dreamfyre isn't too fond of me, truth be told," Helaena murmured in your ear. "I haven't flown her in ages, by the Gods."

You hummed, observing Aegon and Aemond engaged in conversation over Helaena's shoulder. Although you knew you shouldn't worry, a slight fear lingered that Aegon might divulge details of your nights together, how he had you wrapped around his finger, figuratively and literally.

"Don't worry. Perhaps we can fly more often, at least until you give birth," you offered, gently guiding her back toward her dragon and yours. "Shall we head back?"

Everyone slowly mounted their dragons. Buckling yourself into the saddle, you felt the force of the wind against you. Lyrax ascended first, hovering over as Helaena and Luke took off, followed by Jace, then Aegon and Aemond. You followed suit, not in the mood for another race.

"We won the first one. No need to win the second," you murmured to Lyrax. He rolled his shoulders, seemingly aware of Vhagar's unsettling presence, keeping his distance from her.

From above, you heard Jace slowing down, matching pace with your uncles. Although their words were inaudible, they flew together, almost forgetting it was a race. You pulled up slightly, trailing behind as they circled the Keep once more. The dragons roared so thunderously; it seemed as if they were to invade the city. As they circled, you noticed Jace's face, flushed with anger as he spoke to Aemond. Before you could intervene, Vhagar suddenly lashed out, snapping at Vermax.

Chaos erupted as Helaena's scream pierced the air. Luke turned his dragon toward Jace, but you yelled urgently, "Luke, Helaena, land now!"

On the balcony, horror gripped everyone as Vhagar defied her rider's commands, chasing after the young dragon. Aegon hovered on Sunfyre, utterly bewildered. Reacting swiftly, you turned Lyrax, following after Vhagar.

You attempted to gain Vhagar's attention, yet Aemond's attempts to control her seemed futile. Gritting your teeth, you resorted to the word you dreaded, "Dracarys."

Lyrax emitted a small flame toward Vhagar's neck, diverting her attention from your brother to you. Urging Lyrax ahead of Vhagar, you veered toward the dragon pit, knowing that the dragon keepers might be the only ones capable of reigning in any dragon.

While attempting to turn, Aemond's voice reached you just as Vhagar opened her mouth, a vibrant glow forming in the back of her throat. The warmth stretched across the air.

There was no time to evade or shift position. Hastily removing your hands from the reins to undo the buckles, it was too late. Covering your face with your arms, the flames engulfed your gloves and sleeves, leaving ash clinging to your skin as Lyrax dove down. Drawing in a deep breath, you examined your trembling hands, attempting to assess any injuries. Fortunately, there were none, but the gloves and sleeves of your riding leathers had burnt, along with the right shoulder where the fire had hit the most.

In an instant, your eyes darkened with anger, the fury coursing through your veins. But Lyrax's bloodcurdling roar snapped you out of your trance.

"Lyrax, Lyrax, Dohaeragon issa, rȳbagon, kostilus!" You bellowed, attempting to rein him in, but Lyrax ignored your commands. He bolted toward Vhagar, flames erupting from his jaws and singeing the hair on her underbelly. Serve me, Listen, please!

Vhagar roared, veering across the water as Aemond shouted something in her ear, causing her to wheel back toward Lyrax. Baring his teeth, Lyrax prepared to defend, driven by his instinct to protect you. Fumbling at your buckles, you knew Vhagar was only meters away. Managing to unclasp one buckle, you tried to coax Lyrax lower, but he remained resolute in his course. Wrestling with the other buckle, you prepared for the impending fall into the water below, praying for survival.

The descent felt different without Lyrax. Your gut twisted in a sickening way, fearing your heart might burst before the fall took you. Bracing yourself with straight legs and closed eyes, you hit the water with a chilling shock, involuntarily gasping for air.

Struggling back to the surface, you fought for breath, scanning for any sign of the dragons. Sunfyre finally appeared, Aegon guiding her toward you as Vhagar headed for the dragon pit. Your lips trembled with the lingering rage as you bobbed in the water, waves rippling around you. Suddenly, the water behind you erupted in splashes, and waves surrounded you as Lyrax surged upward. Gasping and coughing up water, you clung to anything within reach as Lyrax lifted you back into the sky.

"Dragon pit, Lyrax..." You gasped, struggling to sit upright as he flew past Sunfyre and the Keep. As Lyrax circled the pit, you spotted almost all the dragon keepers armed with spears. Two carriages were parked nearby, one carrying the Queen with Ser Criston, and the other holding Rhaenyra and Daemon.

Aemond dismounted from Vhagar, and the Queen hurried toward him. But all action stopped when Lyrax landed, and you disembarked, still partly soaked and your leathers singed.

"What were you thinking? She's your betrothed!" Alicent's voice pierced the air, tears welling in her eyes.

"Y/N, Y/N, are you alright?" Rhaenyra rushed to your side, her hands trembling as she touched your skin, expecting severe burns. All she received was a slow nod. The cacophony of dragons' wings, the shouts of dragon keepers, and the whipping wind muddled your thoughts. Aemond glanced in your direction, trying to quickly look away.

"You son of a..." Before you could finish, hands pushed you back as Aegon swung at his brother. His intentions were noble, but to Jace, it appeared as if Aegon had tossed you to the ground, sparking Jace to slam his fist into Aegon's jaw.

It escalated into a three-way brawl. Aegon, after recovering from the punch, retaliated, pummeling Jace repeatedly until Aemond tackled Aegon. Everyone stood frozen, watching as Ser Criston attempted to break up the fight, to no avail.

The ground trembled beneath Lyrax's feet as he hissed, prodded by a spear-wielding dragon keeper, attempting to coax him into the pit.

"No, stop! Stop!" You warned, scrambling to your feet. Despite your plea, another jab made Lyrax react fiercely. He spread his wings, crashing them down on the gravel with a deafening thud. His roar, a sound you'd never heard from your usually gentle Lyrax, echoed through the area. Brick crumbled, and everyone around held their ears, except for you. You stood there, watching as he finished, his eyes darkened, and smoke seethed from the back of his mouth.

"Jiōragon isse, Lyrax," you demanded through gritted teeth, pointing a finger toward the pit entrance. Get in.

Reluctantly, he complied, moving into the pit with the other dragons. Daemon skillfully used Lyrax's outburst to separate Jace from your uncles, while Ser Criston intervened to calm them.

"What's the meaning of this?" The Queen demanded, darting between her sons and your family. "Aemond?"

Aemond clenched his jaw, swallowing his anger. His jaw was red, and his lip was split, which he licked before responding, "It was just part of the race."

The Queen wasn't satisfied with his answer, and she smacked him on the head. "She's your betrothed. You're lucky no harm has come to her."

Rhaenyra grasped onto your shoulders, steadying you against the chilling wind that sent a shiver down your spine. "Even so, your son almost killed her and her brother. How can I be sure no harm will befall her when I'm not here?"

Your gaze flickered toward Aegon, who bore the worst of the beating. His left eye was bruised, his chin and forehead bloodied, and his lip split in two places. You didn't anticipate him looking your way, yet in that moment, amidst the conversation between the Queen and Rhaenyra, his gaze remained fixed on you.

"What should be done about that dragon? It nearly killed my son–"

"Lyrax didn't intend to harm anyone; he was protecting me!" you retorted, causing your mother to pull you back. "He didn't mean it."

Rhaenyra tugged at your arm. "Jace, Luke, get in the carriage with your sister. We'll be there shortly."

Jace headed towards the carriage, while Luke whispered a quiet goodbye to Helaena before joining his brother. You hesitated to turn, but the Queen interjected, "No, stay."

Your heart raced, pounding against your chest. You swallowed hard, shooting a fierce glare at your mother. She nudged you gently. "She's my daughter, she's not—"

"The Queen demands your presence, Princess," she uttered firmly, her lips pressing into a thin line, her gaze darting to her sons. "What are we to do about this?"

"I apologize for my actions," Aemond spoke slowly, his voice filled with contrition, "for almost harming my betrothed and her brother."

Aegon couldn't contain a throaty laugh, quickly twisting sideways in an attempt to conceal his smile from his mother.

Alicent turned sharply to her eldest. "And what of you?"

"Me?" Aegon snapped, turning on his heel. His eyes, dark and intense, shifted from his mother to you. "She almost got—"

Alicent marched up to him, attempting to whisper but her anger seeped through. "Do you take me for a fool? You leave us vulnerable to accusations repeatedly... When will it end? She's your brother's betrothed..."

Rhaenyra pulled you closer, her touch bringing a momentary calm, yet the wounded gaze Aegon directed at you fueled Alicent's anger. Aemond drew in a sharp breath, staring into the distance, while Helaena kept her head down, trying to block out the altercation. A lone tear trickled down Aegon's cheek as he tilted his head to the side after his mother's blow.

You hurriedly stepped forward, stumbling over your words. "His actions weren't... I mean, he did what he thought was right... Please don't punish him for trying to defend his niece."

Alicent swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "Let's return to the Keep..."

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Luke hugged you tightly, his arms enveloping you as he tried to shield you with his cloak. "Please write, Y/N."

You kissed his cheek, noticing how much taller he had grown. "I will. If you don't receive a letter, then you can worry."

Reluctantly, he released you, attempting to hold back his tears. Jace approached, offering a faint smile. "It's going to be so quiet without you..."

You stepped into his embrace, your flowing dress sleeves tangling with his blue cloak. "When you return, I expect to hear you speak more than a sentence in Valyrian."

"I will. Don't let them do anything to you... Remember who they are, what they are," Jace said firmly, pulling back and giving you a stern look.

"Who's supposed to be the older sibling?" you teased, nudging him gently.

Rhaenyra slowly approached, Joffrey at her side. "I think someone was too scared to say goodbye himself."

"Come here." You knelt down, opening your arms to Joffrey. He rushed into your embrace, expressing how much he'd miss you through tearful sobs. All you could do was comfort the boy until he finally let go, promising to look after Aegon and Viserys.

Fixing your skirts as you rose, Rhaenyra smiled down at you, tears glistening in her eyes. "Ao emagon grown ezīmagon such nykeā kostōba ābra," she said. You have grown into such a strong woman.

"Kirimvose. Nyke mērī hope bona issa jēda being kesīr, jāhor dohaeragon groom issa ezīmagon being nykeā sȳz future dāria," you replied with a smirk, holding your mother's hand as she chuckled. Thank you… I only hope that my time being here will help groom me into being a good future Queen.

"Unless ao kȳvanon va disposing issa, ao emagon olvie jēda," she teased, causing your face to flush slightly. Unless you plan on disposing of me, you have plenty of time.

Your lip quivered as you thought about the events of the day prior. "Will you take Lyrax?"

This caused your mother to tense. "Why would you want that? He is very drawn to you; he would only come back."

You dreaded her words, but you knew they were true. "I just do not wish for what happened yesterday... I don't want it to happen again."

Rhaenyra kissed your forehead. "What occurred yesterday... just proves you're a Targaryen..."

There were no known scriptures written by the Maesters about what happened to you. No known knowledge of a person being engulfed in flames and emerging unscathed, without burns or raw flesh. When the Maesters examined you, they remarked on how extraordinary it was—no wounds, just warm, almost hot flesh.

"Y/N," Daemon's voice startled you, making you jump. He approached, pulling something from his belt—an elegantly crafted dagger. "I know your mother would not rest unless she knew you were safe. I know you think you do not need it... but in these times, it's best for a princess to have this..."

You took the dagger, spinning it in your fingers. Valyrian steel, with a red and gold handle. It was simple yet formidable, a reassuring weight in your hand. "Thank you."

He hummed contentedly and walked away, heading toward the ship. The dock was slick, the water splashing against the bottom of your red dress, soaking your shoes. One by one, your family boarded the boat as sailors yelled, casting off. The vessel began its journey, swiftly carried by the wind, with Syrax, Caraxes, Vermax, and Arrax following suit.

"Shall we return, princess?" A guard's voice interrupted your thoughts, patiently awaiting your response.

"Just another moment..." you murmured into the wind, watching the boat gradually shrink into a tiny speck on the sea. Only then did you turn around, walking back with your guard.

The atmosphere shifted in the absence of your family. The halls seemed elongated, and the gaze upon you felt more intense than ever. It was late in the afternoon, and after leaving your grandsire's chambers, you wandered the halls thrice. He was in good health, insisting you enjoy the remainder of your day—an order you were both grateful for and burdened by.

As you walked absentmindedly, you found yourself traversing the same narrow hall where you had previously encountered Aemond and Helaena. Your fingers trailed against the cool stone walls, meandering close to a stack of wooden crates brimming with Dornish wine—unlikely to miss a single bottle.

You reached for your hip where your dagger rested, deftly prying open the top of the bottle. Once uncorked, you brought it to your lips, drinking with an urgency that sought to drown your sorrows in the sweet blend of wine. Alone in the corridor, you imbibed until the bottle was significantly drained.

"Y/N," a voice reverberated behind you, causing you to pause mid-sip. Footsteps approached your back, prompting you to slowly turn around. Aemond stood there, attempting to avoid your gaze, though your irritation was palpable.

"Uncle. What do you want?" your words slurred slightly, trying to deflect the brewing tension.

Aemond fell into a brief silence, observing your visibly inebriated state. "Are you drunk?"

Lifting the bottle towards his eye and then to your lips, you replied, "Perhaps. What do you want?"

He sighed at your attitude, swiftly taking the bottle from your grasp. "Listen. I'll make this quick..."

"Give that back—"

"I truly did not mean to harm you," Aemond started, putting the bottle of wine behind his back.

"But you would've liked it, wouldn't you? Seeing me burnt beyond recognition would have been more pleasurable than any other sick punishment you have in your head. Yet you faced no punishment, only Aegon did."

Aemond hummed in amusement. "You do care for my brother, but he is in no place to act the way he did, and you know it."

You remained tight-lipped, trying to keep your guard up. He was right; Aegon's actions exposed you both to serious accusations. Eyeing Aemond cautiously, you hesitated before sighing, "If we're to attempt civility, may I have the bottle back?"

His hand released the bottle, causing it to crash on the stone floor. His lips curled into a sly smile as he spoke, "I think you've had enough. Now tell me, why do you think Aegon acted as he did? Has he already gotten to you as I have? Or has he done something even worse?"

Your eyes darkened as you pushed him back harshly. "He has not! We are—"

"Fucking?" The word slipped from Aemond's lips like a snake hissing, a cruel smile forming as he watched your anger flare.

"You—"

The sound of shuffling interrupted your words, prompting Aemond to pull you back behind the crates. Your vision blurred as you collided with the wall, straining to see who was causing the commotion.

Aegon stumbled in, a handmaiden on his arm. She was striking, though older than him; her brown locks cascaded from their bun as his hands tugged at her neck. His hair was tousled, wine stains littered his lips and chin—details others might overlook, but not you. Their lips collided as he pinned her against the wall, and you sobered at the sound of their fervent passion, aware of Aemond's hand resting on the small of your back.

"Are you alright, niece? You seem shaken," Aemond said, his hand moving in a soothing gesture. The escalating sounds from Aegon and the handmaiden made your unease rise.

Quickly turning around, you muttered, "I think I'd like to return to my chambers."

You turned away, hastily retreating from the corridor and toward the main staircase. Your vision swayed as you attempted to climb the steps, but a guard called out from below, "Princess!"

He swiftly ascended the stairs, trying to ignore your unsteady gait. "What is it, Ser?"

The guard gulped, removing his helmet. "I regret to inform you at this late hour, princess. I've received word from the dragon keepers. A short while ago, Lyrax broke free from his chains and escaped the dragon pit..."

His words started to blur as he continued, detailing the guards dispatched to locate the dragon. A sinking feeling settled in your stomach, a sense that your situation was about to worsen.

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A/N: Thank you all for enjoying this story! I am so sorry for being absent, my life has been crazy with different events, but I want to write more often! I also have an idea for a new story that I might start working on...

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