#fire and blood smut
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Silk Ribbons
maegor x niece!reader
Summary: Maegor crashes Aenys name day tournament which turns into more blood. He shows up unannounced to the feast where he gives all of his attention to Y/n before taking her back to Dragonstone.
Warnings: 18+ death, blood, blades, swearing, wine, bondage, oral (f receiving), p in v, it’s a maegor the cruel fic like wtf else can i say
Authors Note: this was a request from my bestie 🫣😮💨, pls i’ve never really read maegor ff so i hope i did him justice
Word Count: 4.2k
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Servants rush around the Red Keep trying to get everything in order for the feast being held later this evening in celebration of my father’s name day. I’m whisked out of the castle followed by guards who escort me to my carriage. There’s three raps on the wood before we jolt forward venturing into the city.
My father insisted I come to the tourney even though I personally have no taste for it. Instead, I would have been content to host a great ball that lasted days. I sigh and look out the window watching the common folk slowly make their way to the tourney grounds. I don’t think I’ll ever understand what all these people see in such brazen acts of violence, and in the name of my father of all people.
The carriage slows as we push through the tourney grounds opening gates. We come to a stop near the entrance and my door opens. My guard escorts me through the doors and up the stairs to find my seat.
“Come, you’ll sit in front of me and your father.” my mother waves her hand to me.
I sigh as I make my way to the front row of chairs. I know these are the best seats but I have no idea why my parents would think I would want them. I look across the arena and see the seats quickly filling up. My father pats my shoulder on his arrival as he places his hands on the rails to begin making the opening announcement.
“Welcome and thank you all for joining the celebrations for my name day. Good luck to the brave knights, may you fight and win with honor!” my fathers raises his hands and the crowd begins to erupt.
As my father makes his way back to my mother the first two knights are called to the sands. After I hear him sigh and take his seat I allow myself to look off into the clouds and daydream. I lean back in my chair and to anyone else I look as if I’m enjoying the fight but instead I’m dreaming of flying through the clouds on dragonback.
The duels continue as I let my mind drift away. The clashes of swords are turned into dragon songs and the shouts form commands. The announcer calls two new knights to the sands and the crowd goes hushed as a third knight enters the sands.
“Is he mad for coming here?” my fathers voice breaks through as he speaks to his guard.
I shake my head and scan the sands in front of me. The only thing that seems to be happening is the announcer speaking to the third knight. I tilt my head studying them as my father hushes his quick words to the guard. I gasp and grab my chest as the knight strikes the announcer in the face, who falls to the sand not getting up. Guards rush to the announcer as the knight stalks over to us.
“Brother,” the knights deep voice carries up to us. “I will have a place at this tournament.” he points his sword up to the box.
“Go back to Dragonstone, Maegor.” my father calls down to him.
I scoot up to the edge of my seat to try and look upon my uncle. I haven’t seen him in ages but it seems if his temperament hasn’t changed. I lean forward and peek over the rails at him as he rips his helmet off and throws it up at my father. My father ducks barely escaping the flying metal but trips over me in the process.
“Guards, get Y/n out of here.” my father fumes as he rises once more.
I’m pulled up by my arms and I quickly turn to look down at Maegor before they hide me away. Our eyes lock on one another quickly before the guard harshly pulls my arm, jerking my body. Maegors eyes narrow on the guard who’s currently tugging me away from him.
“You let that man handle her like that?” Maegors voice rumbles against the walls.
The guard pulls me down the stairs and we hear continued shouts coming from the hall. Loud footsteps stomp down the stairs and the guard begins to pull me away even faster. I sigh in relief as my carriage makes its way into my sight and I practically sprint to it. The guards hand loosens as hear a slash of metal through bone.
For a moment my breathing stops as I think I’ve been struck as I felt the shutter of the blade. My eyes widen as I turn and take in the scene. Maegor is standing there holding Blackfyre with the guards blood dripping off of it. I look down to my arm as the guards dismembered arm falls to the ground. My eyes then travel to the guard who is on the ground in a state of panic and shock before he goes completely still.
“He should not have touched you like that.” Maegor sheaths his sword, looking to the body at his feet with disgust.
“Uncle,” my voice trembles as steps over the guard and comes to tower over me.
“You’ve become so beautiful, Y/n.” he brings fingers to ghost over my cheek.
My breathing intensifies at his gentle touch after he showed such violence. My eyes dart to the body behind him and he grabs my chin and forces me to look to him. His smile borderline predatory as he begins to lean down. My eyes go wide the closer his mouth comes to mine until he turns his head quickly to whisper something into my ear.
“Maegor you bull, what have you done?” my fathers voice booms behind us as he looks in horror at the guard.
“Did you not see the way your own guard was pulling her. She’ll have bruises come morning. Is this how a Princess should be treated?” he turns to my father tilting his head.
“Please do not use my daughter as an excuse for your wanton brutality.” my father storms over to him.
“Aenys, you don’t want this fight.” Maegors hands go to my father’s shoulders.
I don’t know what leads me to do it, but I place my hand on Maegors arm. He turns and looks down to me curiously as he allows me to remove his hands from my father. I turn to my father who looks from where my hand is placed on Maegor to me.
“Daughter, step away from him.” my father warns.
My hand slips from his armor as I slowly step back to my carriage. Maegor watches every step I take as my father watches him. I slip into the carriage and shut the doors behind me. I sigh out in relief and slide down into my pillowed seats.
The carriage begins to move and I look out my window to see Maegor watching as I’m pulled back through the city. I begin to fan myself off hoping the adrenaline will start to wash away. I find myself blushing at his words of calling me beautiful even though I shouldn’t. I’ve always secretly wished he would see me in that light instead of a child. His temper terrifies me, but Gods he is so handsome.
Once we make it through the gates of the Red Keep I’m escorted directly to my chambers. I huff claiming a chair not wanting to be sequestered here all day. After an hour I pick up a book to hopefully lose myself to another world until the feast begins.
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“Princess,” my mother’s soft voice lulls me out of my nap.
“No, did I miss the feast?” I quickly rise from the chair in a panic.
“I’ve come to check on you and to see if you still wanted to attend after today’s events.” she grabs my hand to rub soothing circles on it.
“Of course I want to go to the feast. They have been making my gown for almost a full moon.” I whine.
“I figured as much.” she chuckles as she goes to the doors to allow my handmaidens flood in.
I’m quickly stripped of my dress and lead over to the bath. Lavish oils and soaps are brought out and I hum in relaxation as I’m pampered to. My hair begins to be brushed and secured out of my face by a pale pink ribbon. I rise out of the tub when the water turns tepid and begin to dry off. I’m offered a new slip that seems to be made of the same silk as my ribbon.
I gasp as my gown is brought in for me to finally look upon. The gown is white but with all of the beading it looks as if it’s the soft pink of a morning sunrise. It fits closer to my body than I had originally thought but when looking in the mirror I admire it even more. The beads fade into crystals that flow up the neckline. They offer me a close fitting crystal necklace that brings out the rest of the details in the gown. After they place my earrings I’m guided out of my chambers and down to the dining hall.
“You look absolutely lovely.” my mother smiles as I join her on the dias.
“They outdid themselves with this gown.” I look down to admire it.
I take a sip of wine and take in the life and merriment around me. I look down to my father who seems happy enough but I can still see the lingering frustration. Servants come out and fill our plates once everyone has found their seats. The doors to the hall groan open and my father’s face turns red as Maegor saunters in.
“May I sit next to you, Y/n.” Maegor licks his lips looking down at me.
I nod my head as he pulls the chair out loudly next to me. Servants rush to fill his cup with wine as he continues to look at me. I feel my cheeks heat and I quickly turn back to my plate. I can feel my father’s eyes on me but I don’t have the courage to look anywhere besides my plate.
“You look ravishing in this dress.” Maegor purrs lowly.
“Thank you,” I murmur willing my cheeks not to tint as I take a sip of wine.
“Will you let me take it off of you later?” I cough at his low his words.
“Are you okay, Y/n?” my fathers voice laced with worry at my sudden coughing fit.
“Yes,” I nod clearing my throat attempted to offer him a smile.
My father huffs as we return to our meal. It seems as if the whole hall is blind to the tension radiating from our table. Laughter and toasts are shouted across the hall and all I can think of is Maegor who has slowly been inching his chair closer to mine. I try to ignore his closeness until his thigh is pressed against mine.
“Is there something you needed?” I turn and blink up at him.
“You,” his voice low as he looks down at me with dark eyes.
“Maegor-“
“Come, let’s dance.” he rises above me and offers me his hand and I can see my father turn to us with a scrunched brow.
I place my hand in his palm as his fingers engulf mine. He pulls me down to dance as a new song begins. He pulls me flush against his body and I squeak in surprise. His hand continues to hold mine while his other goes firmly to my lower back. My hand rises to his chest as I look up to him.
He holds me possessively as he stares down any man who looks too closely. My eyes land on my father who is currently seething next to my mother who looks worried. I squirm in Maegors arms as his fingers trail up my spine and bury themselves into my hair. He tilts my head so I’m looking up at him as a smirk spreads across his face.
“You’re going to ruin my hair.” I whine breathlessly.
“Apologies,” he chuckles as his hand slides down to rest on my neck.
We continue to sway to the music and I allow my hand to travel across the expanse of muscle that is his chest. I can feel the dips and definitions through his doublet and can’t begin to imagine what they look like in all their glory. I feel his laugh rumble in his chest before I hear it. I tilt my head as I look up to him.
“Do you enjoy my muscles?” he smiles down at me.
“You’re just so strong.” I whisper as I squeeze his bicep allowing my hands to travel the muscle hidden beneath his sleeves shamelessly.
I gasp as he lifts me into the air as my hands wrap around his neck. He begins to walk towards the main doors while I look over his shoulder and see my father shoot to his feet. He looks to us in confusion and doubt until he sees our path is to exit. He shouts to the guards but it’s too late. I can’t help the excitement and adrenaline that flows through me.
He gets us out of the Keep through a back way I’ve never seen or heard of. Before I know it he’s pulling us on a horse and racing us to the outskirts of the city. I feel the low grumbling of the ground before my feet even touch it as Maegor lifts me back to the ground. My breath escapes me as I behold Balerion.
“Maegor,” I look to him with wide eyes.
“You’ll always be safe when you’re with me.” his words are soft as he begins ushering me over to the rope to climb his massive dragon.
He climbs directly behind of me which offers me some semblance of comfort. As I reach the saddle my head spins as I look down. Maegor settles behind me and quickly grabs the reins. Balerion rises to his full height as I tremble in his arms. He begins to break into a run as we start to take flight.
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We are soon circling Dragonstone as Balerion lets out a fearsome growl. As he descends on the rocky shore some of them begin shaking in his presence. Once we settle I soon realize he wasn’t just shaking the ground, he was waking Vhagar. Gods these dragons make the Red Keep look like a cottage.
Once we make it to the sands he grabs my hand and we begin our walk into the castle. As we make it to the main doors I begin to make out the image of Visenya. She smiles to me but glares to Maegor.
“What have you done, you fool?” she looks to him.
“Found a bride. You told me I should marry and secure my line.” he shrugs as I gape at him.
“It seems as if this is the first time your bride is hearing of this.” he replies curtly.
“Well I planned to woo her with my tongue for a couple of hours before I asked.” his words cause a blush to creep up my neck.
“Must you be so foul?” Visenya scoffs at him. “What is your plan for when Aenys comes to get her?” he raises her eyebrows.
“He’d be a fool to face me. We will be wed on the morrow. He can’t take my wife away from me.” he pulls me closer to his side.
My head is spinning with this discussion. I feel as if I don’t have a say in the matter but I’m not upset at the outcome. I worry for what my father and mother will think but they’ve been asking me to marry for years. I shake my head trying to bring myself back to the present as Maegor begins pulling me into the castle.
He rushes us up the stairs and seals us behind a set of double doors. He turns and stalks over to me grabbing at my waist and pulling me to him. He looks down to me as his hands move to the back of my gown.
“Do not rip this gown Maegor. It took almost a moon to make.” I try to make my voice sound firm.
“Mm,” his fingers begin to slowly unlace the back of my gown.
His fingers ghost along my back as he loosens the gown. He steps back and pushes the gown down my shoulders causing it to pool around my feet. I’m left in my silk slip and I begin to feel as if I’m left in nothing by the way he’s looking at me. One of his hands goes to my hair and pulls the ribbon out causing my hair to cascade down my back.
“Do you always match your hair piece with your slip?” he asks lowly as he trails the ribbon along my arm.
I shake my head not trusting my words as I shiver under his touch. His hand travels back down to my waist and splays across my bare thigh. I look up to him with low lids as his hand begins to move to my inner thighs. I grab on tightly to his arm as he trails a finger along my slit. My breaths come out in pants as he continues his journey through my wetness.
“On the bed.” he looks down to me as he removes his hands.
I compose myself enough to turn and walk to the bed. I crawl to the middle of the bed and lay on my back as he begins to crawl over me. His hand trails up my body with my ribbon following. He dips down and when I think he’s finally about to kiss me he whispers into my ear.
“Hands above your head.” I whimper at his words and do as I’m told.
He brings my ribbon up to my wrists and secures them to the headboard before he rises above me. He looks at me with a sinister smirk and I clench my thighs in anticipation. He hums as he looks at me completely at his will. He stalks around the bed looking at me before he settles next to me.
His hands trail up my bare leg as he lifts my slip with his hands and bunches it up above my breasts. He groans as he takes in my body and his hands begin to travel over every inch of skin. My eyes shut as his hands continue to snake around my body pulling soft whines from me.
“Maegor,” his name falls from my mouth as he pinches one of my nipples between his rough fingers.
“Mm, you like a little pain?” he coos as his other hand cups my other breast roughly.
A moan tears through me as I squeeze my legs shut. He chuckles lowly as I begin to feel his beard across my chest as he sucks one of my nipples into his mouth. My chest arches up into his mouth as his teeth tease my sensitive bud.
“We’re going to have a lot of fun.” he says arrogantly as he blows on my nipple.
He trails sloppy kisses down my torso and begins to pepper kisses along my hips. My hips jerk up as his tongue begins to dance on my hot skin. He spreads my thighs and groans as he’s greeted by my wet core. He dives down and his tongue begins to lap at my clit. My hands tug at the headboard causing it to groan as he chuckles into me.
My hips grind against his face seeking more pleasure until his hands land on my hips stilling me. He attacks my clit with his tongue as a moan tears through me as pleasure bursts through my body. He looks up to me from between my thighs licking his lips.
My chest is rapidly rising and falling between us and he dips back down to my sensitive core. He offers soft licks at my clit sending jolts through my body as he teases a finger at my entrance. He slowly pushes a thick finger into me ripping a moan from my lips.
“Maegor, please,” I whine as he slowly starts to pump his finger slowly.
His tongue swirls against my clit as his finger starts a fast rhythm. My thighs try to close around his head again but this time he ignores it as he focuses on my pleasure. As my whimpers fall faster he slowly starts to add a second finger. I cry out as I clench around his fingers and allow him to pull pleasure from my body.
His name is the only word that falls from my lips as I come undone around his fingers. He continues pumping into me as my legs quake around him. He pulls back and hoovers above me with a wet beard. My legs shut once he rises off the bed and I look to him with low lids.
“You will be my wife.” It is a statement as he pulls off his shirt.
“Yes,” I nod still trying to catch my breath as I drink in his bare chest and the muscles that he’s showing off.
“Say it.” he says lowly as he begins to unlace his trousers.
“I will be your wife.” my voice unwavering.
He pushes his trousers the rest of the way down and crawls above me on the bed. His hands spread open my thighs once more as he settles between them. I gasp as I feel him glide through my wetness. He dips down and I crane my neck hoping to finally kiss him. He smiles and pulls back much to my frustration.
“Maegor,” I whine.
“Yes?” he chuckles as he kisses across my chest and makes his way to my neck.
“Untie me, please, I want to touch you.” my voice needy as I arch my body into his.
“Since you asked so nicely.” he sucks on my neck as he slowly unties my wrists.
My hands fly to his bare skin caressing and feeling every muscle I can reach. His hips slowly rock into mine causing him to slide against my clit. My nails dig into his shoulder as he bites down onto my neck. He raises his head above mine and I move my hands to his neck to hopefully pull him down into a kiss.
The second his lips touch mine I melt into him completely. My fingers travel to his short locks as I pull him closer to me. Maegor groans as he slowly begins to push into me as a sigh falls from my lips. I’ve never felt this full before. He looks down at me with a furrowed brow and I can tell he’s holding back until I can fully adjust. Once it becomes tolerable I move my hips and he snaps his back into mine.
His pace is brutal that has my eyes rolling into the back of my head. Moans and whimpers fall from my lips as he pounds into me seeking pleasure. His lips find mine again and his tongue begins to lash against mine. He pulls back and looks at my face as his fingers begin to circle my clit.
“Maegor, Maegor please,” I sob as I come around him while he continues to push into me.
His lips crash to mine roughly as his hips repeatedly snap into mine. His teeth catch my bottom lip as I cry out. My fingers claw at his arms for support as he continues to pull pleasure from me. His trusts become sloppy as his fingers make their way back to my clit again. My vision blurs as I explode around him once more. He settles deep in me as I feel him begin to fill me.
“So fucking good for me. My perfect Princess.” he grunts as he continues to grind his hips into mine.
“My husband,” my words barely audible as I continue to cling to him.
He flips us over remaining in me saying he wants to be as close as possible. My body and mind too tired, I simply let my eyes flutter shut as I drift off to sleep.
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masterlist 🔌
#maegor targaryen#maegor the cruel#maegor x reader#maegor smut#x reader smut#hotd smut#x reader#fire and blood smut#visenya targaryen#aenys targaryen#got smut#hotd imagine#hotd fic
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From Eden.

Chapter 8.
Smut Warning! Age Gap. P and V sex. Oral sex. Bath sex. Look, two people match each other's freak, and I can't give anymore warnings.
Also I'm tagging my moots @qyburnsghost because I took way too long with this.
He should’ve anticipated her dark eyes turning in his direction, yet they managed to shock him as easily as they found his. She was submerged in the water, suds and bubbles floating about with her hair tied back, all the warm light from he flames made her a reflection of gold and bronze. Never so surely had a glance won his worst interest back.
Her expression wasn’t one to be read, by the time she turned to get a wash cloth and continue without any acknowledgement towards his presence, he had no clue what she might feel towards him. For all he could call it, her silence wasn’t petty, it simply cared to be. He made his way to her side as he had all those times before glancing anywhere but her in the process. Half of it was his own arrogance , refusing to be ignored yet he felt he knew the next half was simply the desire to disrupt an impregnable silence.
Even if she ordered him to leave it would be a word towards him he thought absent-mindedly. Ever so unpredictable, she turned towards him, glistening from the water, knees to her chest.
“Welcome back. You weren’t gone for long at all.” Her tone held some malice in it, as it should be given the tone of his departure. Her face gave no covering to the disdain she felt towards him now. Her eyes were hooded with her mouth puckered together to prevent any warmth. She would make him work for her favor.
“Perhaps our next fight will deal a lesson in telling time.” To that he smiled, it was just a small insult yet his pride did not take it to heart. If she needed to yell and degrade, the least he could do was endure it.
“Did you eat?” He asked her out of concern, he could see from her reaction she was too caught up in this rehearsed conversation to think about herself. She scowled at him now, something he’d never seen her show before. His past thoughts felt like misjudgments to her character, a clear communication in how little he truly knew about her.
“Did I fucking eat!” There was a break in the air as she raised her voice taking an exasperated tone, another thing she had never done. It was the closest portrait to the idea he had of her from Jace’s letters. Her calves aided in her modesty as she turned herself to him, he tried his best not to look past them, never once leaving her angry eyes. Her brows furrowed towards him, almost like a parent to her disobedient child. She had no reason to know that look yet she did it well enough to the point he felt Alysanne’s eyes on his.
“Where were you?” She changed her tune again, taking what seemed to be remorseful approach towards their conversation. He wasn’t sure he could begin to understand her, in truth he needed her forgiveness more than she’d know. They were both too familiar to allow it to fester as it had. Her eyes welled with tears, unblinking, awaiting his response.
“A brothel.” There was an ease replaced by a returning anger now, a more violent one, as though if only for a moment she’d forget what little proprietary remained and curse and pummel him.
“You left me angry and spiteful because of a brothel. To fuck a whore.” There was a trembling in her voice that chilled him. Still he saw an ease in her expression that he fell into. As though it meant he was free from the torment of what he had left unsaid. Her body joined her voice as she started shaking, rocking into herself and laughing.
He stopped and watched her entire demeanor shift wondering if he had sent her mad. Her tears that followed added to his concern, if he had hurt her in that way, to threaten her sanity over his stupidity.
Her laughs grew until they were happy sounding, a belly laugh with tears of joy, as though she’d been to a bar the entire night. He was at a disbelief at how quickly her emotions changed, wondering if one person could feel that extent of emotions. He’d never seen anyone so bare before, unashamed about all she clearly felt, hurt, hatred, betrayal and whatever he couldn’t assume.
When she dulled her expression she returned to the rocking, a comfort in the silence as she decided what tone she could take the night in. Another version of madness as the scent of the room creeper around him to lose his thoughts in. A naked girl in front of him and yet the smell of her and oranges entranced him all the same. His body betrayed him as he focused his thoughts on anything but his growing hardness. She gazed at him still, her hands moved from wrapped around to tracing the edge of the tub, seemingly delighting in his lost train of thought.
“Say something.” She was hushed now, quietly gauging him as he had her all those moments ago, trying to see where his mind was. It was a clear madness that they created as he laughed before answering.
“I should’ve told you where I was going.” It was an easy confession, too easy for him to think it would she sufficient. Her body seemed to ease with his words, not as tightly wound as it had been, an attempt to believe him, open up perhaps.
“I truly would not have judged you. You are a man with needs. I’m a girl with them.”
The thought rushed into his mind, he knew the comparison she was drawing, some part of him knew it was based on her earlier stories of couples and her latest with a Tully, yet his mind gripped the possibility all the same that she could suggest a conclusion with them. He felt mad now.
“Daemon?” She looked at him with a quiet concern, trying to dictate if all could start to be well between them.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. You have my full honesty now.” He felt strange in a word. His head felt light with the scent around him, the light around them seemed to glow more than shine. A small cup of bar ale would not have him like this, yet he gave into it, a certain freedom he had not give into before around her seemed to be the only right conclusion.
His reaction was rushed, in truth he simply wished for them to reach a place of comfort. It was all he wished for from the start, a true insistence. She reached out for one of his hands, tracing over the tips and pads of his fingers with h her thumb, as though it was a regular occurrence. Neither of their hands held bandages from their night, he thought, it was an aimless vision to see.
“Full honesty?” She cocked her brow at him, immediately making his breath race as she leaned closer, as much as she could without compromising modesty.
“You smell horrible.” Her whisper was intoxicating yet he caught her message enough to pace his reaction. A small laugh met her wicked smile as she leaned back making the water splash against the walls of the bath.
“I should have the maids arrange one after you.” It was a heedless answer, one in which her response did not warrant.
“Join me.”
He felt his head jolt before his body decided that was the movement, if she was unaware of her statement, her nonchalance did little to communicate it. He could feel the shock through his body, in the tips of his fingers where her hand rested moments ago. The Gods were cruel masters yet he was still shocked by her insistence. Surely she didn’t mean it.
“Daemon?” Her voice was unwavering, almost monotone and drawing him back entirely, she had moved herself to one edge of the bath, only two feet away from where he sat now. The bath was large enough for them both yet, some part of them would touch, it was too small to prevent even the smallest touch between them, he was at a loss.
“We’ve done it before, My Lord.”
She said it as though she did not remember the craze it had caused, her confession, an unsustainable blood pact, a kiss between them, how she fueled his mind. Even the thought brought back the scent of sand, the feel of it on his skin.
“You need not as well. It is simply an option.” She was concerned now. A symptom of his chosen coping to her offer. He’d have to answer, even if it was to deter her, they were close enough now that she did not see any issue with it.
“Unlike then, we’d both be naked.” He was right, he was just in that declaration, his tone was strong. The Gods may not be done with him yet, the restraint of him now was the hardest test. Why did she make it so hard? He should say no outright, she wouldn’t make him by any means. The worst part of him knew that it was the best suggestion she could’ve made. Logic and lust would tear at him to his end.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before. Same with you.”
It was something about the end he did not care to facilitate. He could walk away and leave, her eyes seemed set on her victory now, to what end, he couldn’t begin to understand. She was warm surely. There was a heat in him she belonged to, a bath couldn’t just be a bath, if it was to her, he’d be misleading her. At what point was that warmth bigger than all the precedent he set to protect her. Did she care?
“I’ll close my eyes for half a minute, you can either join or leave without a word.”
She put her hands over her eyes, the sound of the water trickling was almost music to him. He removed his doublet first, hesitating only at the buttons as he contemplated himself. She gained nothing from this, he reminded himself. The girl simply grew into his company, she desired him only as a companion. His dress shirt and breeches coming off surely marked a minute, yet her hands refused to move it self. With his small clothes off, his cock met the night air, springing forward in her company. His head was light as he crossed over to the near edge, submerging himself in the warm water, shielding him from the night air.
The water pooled at his waist as it rose to just below her breast. He wondered how long it was she found herself in the tub to maintain the warmth. He was curious to if the maids would question him being clean. Her hands dropped with that thought, a sly smile covering her face.
“Do you wish for lavender or cinnamon?” She asked unabashedly, as though she had planned to bathe him herself. He reveled in the hope of the offer. Could he not give in?
“I wish not to smell like a country lord.” His tone was more direct than he could remember being with her, as though his old self had started to join them. It was strange, yet she continued smiling.
“Is dragon stink and street ale a preference, Your Grace?” She turned away to a small cot alongside the bath that held little bottles of oils, choosing for him as she grabbed her discarded cloth. She did mean to bathe him it seemed.
“Dragon stink is the smell of an empire.” He justified, he heard a soft chuckle escape her and he felt bruised for a moment. She would laugh at his half earnest confessions if he let her.
“Or the excuse of an old man.” She retorted . The air grew playful now, as though they were closer. He reminisced on the humor he shared with other girls like her. Mysaria was a dry wit and Rhaenyra would humor him. Only Laena had ever been any type of combative. He looked at her with that gaze, she was unlike them all in most ways. She was unlike anything before her to him. Entirely new.
He held his breath when she came closer with the oil soaked cloth, with her knees down he had full sight of her breast, she had allowed the air to leave the room with her sudden, wanted nakedness. It was wonton, yet he was a desperate beggar at the sight of them. Her breast stood firm and her nipples were pebbled out the water, she drew too near for him to care if she question his intentions while staring, he was in awe.
Her eyes met his, with a shy smile, a flattered one as she began to scrub his neck, focusing on whichever area she touched. He did not dare say a word to it. Her legs were crossed as she settled near him, her breast moved with the water at her tiniest movement as she moved down to his neck and back, scrubbing at scars older than her. His cock was quite visibly hard, if her hands moved to his chest she’d be aware, yet he kept a silent atmosphere. Without words and actions it could mean nothing.
“I’ve come to a conclusion.” She stooped at his chest, just before she could need to address the state he was in. He turned his attention to his eyes, peeling them away from her soaked body. She did not wait on his ask before stating it.
“I do not have dragon blood.” The pleasant silence turned into a thunderous one. The weight of it boomed across the room, more than a hundred bards could hope to. He wanted to know why, to what end.
“I know what you believe and think but I simply do not care. I know who and what I am.” He couldn’t make out the smell of the oil she chose, yet it was as intoxicating as the oranges. She could be part fish for all he cared now, she drew his desire out like blood. Her bold claim simply stayed in the air, simply unyielding to his own beliefs, she did not care.
“Then you are not. Simply put.” He believed it he realized. The understanding affirmed something deep in his unsettled spirit. It was impossible but if he had to believe something to that end, there was no louder voice to convince him. Her face seemed off put by his agreement, resting on an ease he himself could see, as though the answer took root in her. He was unsure he had that effect on her.
For the first time, he felt as though there was a clarity in how he saw her. She was young, bold and emotional. She would not, perhaps she could not, hide herself from him, it was unnerving as it clicked that he was the same for her. All his faults, she had heard in legend, she had yet to hold a rumor, the accusations of others against him. The place she held was one untied to politics and court life. Her words only brought her comfort, she meant nothing more.
His eyes shifted to her full lips. She noticed it and made no motion to deter him. He imagined the night before, how the moon looked, how he felt, how she flowed into him and he into her, a commitment towards deities past them, long neglected in the demise of Old Valyria. Only with the name Targaryen behind them. Was it so different? She could be many things, he need only ask.
His thoughts were scrambled beyond thoughts as he noticed the stretch marks that began to spider her body. She was growing, gaining weight around her arms and thighs, fulling out to a more womanly shape yet her lips drew him back to her.
“You promised there would be an after the war.” Her breath was hot and clinging to him. She truly was that close, her warmth compensating for the deteriorating heat of the bath. He felt boundless, in this state, so much could happen if he leaned in, if his fingers left the bounds of him to graze her thigh.
“I did.” She let go of the cloth and cupped the side of his face, aligning their eyes to entrap his eyes, he needed her.
“Still?” Leaning in closer as she whispered, a careless secret between them, he’d hold it forever if she wanted.
“Always.” It was a promise deeper than blood. She was a state of being for him. He’d earned her, he’d won her favor. Anything for her was a guarantee
“And you live?” Her breath raised ever so slightly, she was a gentle nudge away from him. Perhaps seduction had been her intention. He hoped to not deter it now. He was as honest as he should’ve been.
“I’m not sure anymore.” There was a liberation in it, and a reckoning as her lips found his.
It was a hurried affair, her pulled her face as quick as his loss of composure would allow. She seemed equally as frantic as she slid her tongue into his mouth. It was a cruel dance, a quick one as she pulled away, creating tension to push back into as she got on her knees. There was no anticipation with her movements, they were as sure as her expressions. The water created a symphony as he gripped on her, no remorse or contemplation as he pulled her on in. Her legs landed on either side of him as her body accepted their every motion.
“ We can stop.” He broke away to say. So many thoughts, he wished to say, so many words came to mind to let her know, but as quickly as he said his peace, she was back on his tongue. The scent of the bath seemed to fuel it. This great lust between them was unlike any he had before. It was devouring him from the inside out, digesting whatever constraint he held between her thighs like this.
Yet she refused to answer him. At any other time he’d withhold himself, ease his mind into toying with her, demanding her answer and drawing out her resolve. Now he was a mad man who nearly came as she let her hips grind against his. Their arousal filled the room as she moved against him. She broke away to his jaw as she continued with reckless abandon. He could feel her wetness, he couldn’t resist his moan as she continued her relentless teasing.
“ I like when you moan.” It was a cruel comment now. He craved to be inside her, yet at her rate and his age it would be too much for the thought. His hand slid between her thighs to her peak as he began a torturous retort without words.
Her back arched , pushing her into his chest as he fitted his fingers between her folds, he pressed his thumb against it as his two fingers descended into her slit. It drew the most erotic moan he’d ever care cared to earn. Her hips rolled into him. Her hand took up his cock from behind and began a similar pursuit.
With their crazed movements the water splashed out of the tub and drowned the floors until not enough water was left. In the haze of the lust he could barely see anything that wasn’t her, yet she was so clearly defined. Her now loose curls bounced with her chest at his every thrust, she was both wet and sweaty in an insatiable mix that cause her skin to glisten. She could gladly be the end of him.
Her moans were becoming clear indicator of how near her peak was, half selfishly, he stopped his fingering and waited for her to settle.
She focused, eyes half open, head slowly turning back to him instead of solely entrenched in the pleasure of the moment. He knew he needed to say nothing for her but he couldn’t help himself.
He took to her neglected chest and started his long awaited coupling towards the middle. He was slow and languished in the taste of her in his mouth. It was the salt of her sweat and the oil from the oranges that took over, impairing his ability to do much else.
Before he turned to the other, he found the clarity in his mind to continue their endeavor.
“I want you to take me inside you when you come.” He enticed her enough to return to his chosen pursuit as she rather shamelessly, wordlessly descended on his cock.
His own cries were muffled into her chest while she howled at the introduction. She simply began rolling her hips towards him, at her own pace while they drew nearer to the precipice. His tongue licked and nipped at every inch of her while she rode him. Her warm heat was unyielding atop him. He felt his restraint bleed out slowly into her warmth.
Many quips came to as thought and died on his tongue as she changed direction, bouncing now as he held her in place. He brought himself to move to meet her with his own thrusts. He grew into his climax, every time they met, until it was nothing more than a needy clawing at release. She tightened with each bounce, her cries became frantic until she lurched forward in a hazy fall, shuddered into her apex, his continued thrusting, joined by the addition of his hand, brought her to her peak with one last cry. He followed suit lost in his lust, neglecting to try to save some deniability later on as he came inside her, releasing his warm seed into her without a hint of worry as she felt out her climax.
There was something to be said for the aftershock of pleasure he felt. It was the weight of her, the way she had molded herself during it, her lack of composure that she tried now to gain. There was nothing that was like her in this world. He caught his breath, feeling his mind suddenly care of what had occurred between them. He felt more like himself than he had in a long while. He looked at her to be reaffirmed, yet she seemed still caught in the moment.
He took to rubbing his hands down her back, assuring comforting words, not sure if he had hurt her. He had softened inside her before she made any movement to show how she felt. Her face was uncommunicative to how she felt.
“I should go…”
Her first words to him trailed off as she prepared her absence, it felt like a part of him was carved out as she raised up off him, he was entirely uncertain about how she had felt after as she got out of the now cooled tub, without another word to say if she was offended, she left, taking some half of him as she left.
He was wordless has he cleaned himself fully in her absence, his mind racing with any possibility that she wasn’t well. Perhaps this was the cost of desire, the cost of getting to close, going to far with her. He felt himself developed a headache in the contemplation. The room felt damp and unwelcoming now, his eyes burned with the repetition of all that had happened, unblinking as though she would reappear on him. He was tired by the time he had gotten out of the tub, careful to mind the spilled water as the burden of the affair had set into his skin.
It wasn’t simply an affair, he had a duty to many things, to her was without question. He’d have to protect her from court life, the whispers would remain whispers, unless she grew with child, he reckoned. That thought set in as he opened the door. She’d need moon tea, without question.
He was startled by her waiting presence in the room, looking directly as he entered, she seemed bashful. He could cope with shyness, he’d delight if that was her only feeling.
Her eyes widened as she began to say words that would falter in a few attempted syllables . Eventually, he decided on the mercy of speaking first, sparing her introduction.
“Are you well?” He recalled it, such a simple question, yet it held a moment for them, so different from who they were now. She shook her head yes before standing, not entirely sure who she was meant to convince.
Making her way to him, he realized she was as unchanged as she had left, perhaps she was simply overwhelmed by the instance. He could help but think back to it, how much more he’d want to show her, how many ways he’d want to see her, yet she had not voiced anything akin to that being a conclusion she hadn’t said anything at all.
“I will not be your whore. I cannot return to court with a bastard. I would not do that to your children, to Her Grace.”
Her conviction made him sigh, perhaps he should feel guilty for it, he would not have her be that to him, she was all too important to be reduced to a pleasure. She was so much of him, encompassing him in everything he wanted. He’d dedicate his life to that. Whatever she needed, he hold on to life for her.
“I would never ask that of you.” He cupped her chin, pulling her sight to him, it was an earnest principle. She was so much more than he could make her know. It was an overwhelming sensation. He felt old, looking at her, she was simply so full of life. He felt stagnant as she worked her mind to figure out what she wanted to say. He felt a drunk high yet entirely sober in her light and warmth.
His hand slid to her cheek as she leaned into his touch, ever so slightly, yet it simply felt striking. He could feel himself growing into her again, he felt aroused by what she was attempting. She could say what she wanted, get anything she asked of him, he needed to know that she was sure in that.
“I’d need moon tea now.” There was the flash of shyness he saw, she almost seemed embarrassed at the mention of it. She wasn’t wrong, he would not wound her with a bastard, cruel as it may be, as wanting as the idea seemed to grow as it festered in her thoughts. To see her change because of him, due to their passions, it was a liberating idea entirely. It doomed her much worse.
“Of course.” He wouldn’t let it take hold of him. That hopefulness with her was nice in time, after granted her protection, he’d keep her safe by any means.
An ease seemed to take over them. Her eyes where more playful, perhaps it was his hopefulness reflected in her. Perhaps he had earned her comfort.
“You were quick.” She jested at him now. He wanted to return the favor. He could imagine it now. He craved her like the best thing he’d ever tasted, she could be, he mused, smiling at the thought of their indiscretion. She wished to play with him. He needed nothing more. He moved forward, after ensuring it moved her back.
“This is always better with time. There are so many things I want to learn about you.”
He grabbed out to her hand as they went deeper into the room, only stopping when her calves hit the edge of the bed. He took her hand to his lips , grazing it slowly, an affection their pace had deterred a few moments ago. He saw her breath hitch at the touch of him. He lavished in it. In her every reaction. He was hard again, yet the need to know her overtook his own sensibilities, any hesitation he still kept, dissolved at the noise she made when his lips finally reached neck. It was low, and guttural, giving him everything he knew he needed from her in one moment.
He took a confidence in these revelations, moving his tongue in small circles, up her tightened jaw, until his mouth found hers. She was eager. She practically feasted on him, making him question his every want in that moment before he returned to setting the pace. He pulled away for a bit, drawing out his return until a whimper fell from his lips. He smiled at it.
“You need to pace yourself, you’ll love it if you let it build.” She groaned as gently as one could, as he reintroduced their lips, slowly, letting his tongue make up for any lack of passion becoming of the pace. They had enough time. She had taunted his return with the query of the night being young, shouldn’t they revel in it?
She grew into his timing, pulling at his robe, not undressing him as he made up for his reveling with how he wished to experience her. His mind slowly faltered to her answer as he could not make up his mind, his pace slowed as he tried to draw words from her.
“Tell me what you want.” He drew himself to her ear, nipping at the lobe as he asked.
She simply moaned, yet it wouldn’t do, he undid the tie of her robe, having her scantily clothed in his presence. Not enough to lessen his question, just enough to stir her need to answer. His hands met her tender nipples, stroking them between his thumb and index, having her arch to meet him, without them connecting at their hips this time. He refused to stoke her lack of answer any more than he did, returning his kiss to her neck, intent on leaving a mark.
“You on top of me.” She stuttered out, turning her face to meet him, making her intentions clear as her lips crashed on his. He removed the lose layer of modestly from her, pulling her into a lift, not quite ready to relinquish her wants as easily.
He dropped her onto the bed, rumpling the sheets as he kept her in place, he was determined to draw it out as long as he could. Her legs spread she fell, giving him the perfect opportunity to sink his face between her.
He gripped at her thighs, inhaling the scent of her before starting his devouring. The tip of his tongue toyed with the bud that brought her such release before, sensitive at his previous actions he looked up at her, a carnal lust hiding his need to see her entirely undone. He turned his head back down to start his ministrations fully, removing any form of delay by lapping at her folds, dining on her, trying his best not to overstate his intentions.
Her moans were restrained, trying her best to keep some decorum between them and their hosts. To her credit, it was a valiant attempt, her only true misgiving being his need to hear her, he slowed his course in response, taking his time with spoiling her, every new, untouched place, the taste of his seed mixed with her arousal, the heat of her on him, was enough to drive him mad, he could live there, worship at the apex of her. The Gods should be envious of him.
In almost a direct return her cries grew strained, low and deep, louder than they had been. He refused to add any part of him into her just yet, wanting the accomplishment to be on his mouth alone. When she began to pant almost, grind against his face, he knew he had her where he wanted, and so he pulled away.
Her reaction to his denial was splendid. She tried to get him to stay, her moans almost clawing him back to her need yet he held his resolve to know better, to make her feel better. Lusty boys and ladies alike from what little he knew would not have taught her. He wanted a first from her as much as he wanted her.
Daemon stood up, dropping his robe near her and revealed his nakedness to them both before climbing along side her, kissing her hair as she descended as much as he wanted before he joined her.
“That was cruel.” She said against him, head to his chest, her hips still bucked as though he was there, he was happy to oblige as he turned her on her back, his length hitting her brown thigh. He kissed her and pulled away, repeating as he saw fit too, letting her indulge in her own taste, before aligning himself with her center. He unhurriedly entered her, taking the time to get her accustomed to him.
It was a new feeling, they way she tightened around him, her body and need all surrounding him, he felt light headed at the thought of it, thinking about the actions he had undertook, the liberties he had given in to. As soon has his hilt had reached her pulled out, pushing himself into her hurriedly, gaining and unfiltered and rather loud moan from his companion
He continued his rhythm, until she settled into it, them changed his pattern by lifting one of her legs, folding it as he continued to fill her anytime she grew too accustomed. His hands and body found its own worship of her, bathing in her moans, bracing for her peak as he felt his own build. It was so much of her, all of her at his welcome. He lost any pace by the end, slamming into her as though he were a green boy, welcoming her wetness and convulsions at his intuitions.
He felt it build and build until he joined her cries of passion. She was not as relishing, putting her hand on his throat, stopping his reach and making him erupt with his seed spilling into her. He dropped his weight rather unwillingly on her in the end. She followed suit as she relented, giving into waves of pleasure, riding it out until she felt herself content at her state, as loud as she had been.
It was bliss as his mind connected with his body in the aftermath, her legs wrapped around him, refusing his departure from her. He traced circles on her, in the silent epilogue of it, she fell asleep after, unmoving from her place, she simply descended into that oblivion. His hand circled her naked thigh, not entirely comprehending what had occurred, simply knowing it was her. He knew he should carry her to her own bed, put a robe on her newly, sweat drench embody but he couldn’t help himself at the need to fall asleep alongside her, as they were.
#hotd fanfic#nettles#nettles asoiaf#daemon targaryen#fanfic#from eden ff#daemon targeryan x nettles#daemon x nettles#fire and blood#dettles#nettles x daemon#smut#fire and blood smut
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Raised to Obey
omg hi guys!!
happy easter! this piece is based off this request from my dear friend, @uncoveredsun. she's an aemond girly through and through so ofc i had to make this one extra nasty. love you bye.
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Summary: You return to the court that shaped you, only to find the boy you once commanded grown into something dangerous. He follows you still, but not like he used to.
WC: 7.9k
Warnings: 18+, targcest, power imbalance, dubcon, (light) violcence, degradation, smut, oral (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, a little bit of brat!Aemond
Aemond Targaryen x OlderSister!Reader

They say nothing in the letter, but you know what it means.
The seal is plain. The wording neutral. Your presence is requested at the Red Keep, and your escort will arrive within the fortnight. There is no mention of the annulment. No word of House Tyrell or Ser Lyonel’s failure to bed his bride after seven long, silent years of marriage. No accusations. No apologies. Only a summons. Clean and simple and final.
The carriage ride feels longer than the voyage that first took you to Highgarden, but this time there is no veil, no lavender perfume, no bridal nerves tucked into your gloves. You wear your riding leathers beneath a heavy velvet cloak, the color too rich for a woman with no husband and no name. Your hands are bare. Your hair unadorned. Your mouth still set in that same quiet line, the one you learned to hold when the Reach looked at you like a storm they couldn’t contain.
The Red Keep has not changed since you left it. It rises above the city like a red god, towering and unyielding, its shadow spreading from the spiked towers to the streets below. The stones still glisten like blood when the sun hits them, casting an amber glow before dusk. The air still smells of oil and fire, a familiar tang of smoke and iron and promises burnt to ash. The guards still stiffen when you pass, their eyes bright with curiosity, unsure whether they should bow or look away and pretend they’ve not seen you. You catch your reflection in a shield as you walk through the gate, beneath the portcullis where you last saw the glint of sunlight on Aemond’s hair. You look like someone they thought was gone. A hush spreads in your wake, rippling through the corridors, a sweet echo of scandal that follows you like a shadow. Maids pause with linens half-folded. Courtiers shift and whisper as you pass, their conversations frozen. Your mother’s ladies offer faint, artificial smiles, the tilt of their heads betraying their impatience to be the first to tell her. You can hear the murmur before it reaches your ears. She’s back. She’s failed. She’s still childless. She was too proud, they say. Too cold. They say it in whispers, in glances, in silence that is more damning than words. They say the same things in King’s Landing that they said in Highgarden. Like a song passed from one musician to the next, they keep playing the same refrain. You recognize it all.
They know the match was political, a symbol more than a promise, a show of good faith as useless as a gilded parchment. That your wedding was a masterpiece of civility and nothing more. That Ser Lyonel Tyrell—gentle, golden, delicate—never once reached for you in the dark. That the garden never bloomed. That the Tyrells petitioned for annulment with grace and urgency, their letters riddled with concern for your soul. No heir. No bedding. No shame, only regret, tendered with the precision of an accountant’s ledger or a merchant’s bill of sale. And underneath it all, the unspoken truth: you were never meant to be someone’s wife. You were meant to be their burden. Their lesson. Their problem to solve.
When you left King’s Landing, you were Alicent’s daughter. Now you are something less and something more. The one who failed. The one who came back. The one who belongs nowhere except where others don’t want her.
You enter the throne room alone. No handmaid, no brother at your side, no welcoming line of lords eager to claim your favor. You walk with your spine straight, your chin lifted, each step purposeful. You expect to be ignored. Perhaps tolerated. Perhaps pitied.
You are not prepared for Aemond. Not for the way he commands the room like a lord, like a dragon, like something both regal and dangerous. The years have sculpted him into a stranger, one who stands just below the dais and a little apart from the others, his body angled toward the Iron Throne as if it belongs to him. His eye catches yours the moment you appear. You feel it—a burning and intrusive stare, hot and direct and deeply unfamiliar, as if he’s picking you apart, inspecting each piece polished or flawed. He is taller, much taller, than you remember. His shoulders broader, his stance lethal and still. The sapphire gleams cold and pitiless where his eye once was, a bright gem that seems to see everything, to miss nothing. His jaw is sharp now. His mouth cruel and knowing.
He wears the black of the court like armor, as if the velvet and silk could shield him from insurgents and assassins, and the longsword at his hip is heavy, solid, not for show. He watches you like a man appraising a threat, ready to draw blood, and when his lips curl, it is not in welcome.
You pause at the edge of the hall, and the years pause with you. Your gloves remain on. Your expression does not falter. But something inside you stills, freezes, like a river in winter.
Aemond doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t acknowledge you before others can see. He lets the others gather near, shields himself with their presence. Lord Beesbury greets you with a thin, perfunctory smile, obscured by his drooping white mustache. Ser Harrold offers a nod, polite and stiff as his back. The queen smiles and, with effort, makes it convincing. No one mentions the annulment. Not yet. Not in front of Aemond, who watches it all with quiet, simmering amusement.
Then, slowly, with intention and certainty, Aemond steps forward.
He does not bow. He does not smile. “Lady Maidenflower,” he says, just soft enough that only you hear it, enough that it stings.
You turn your head just slightly, exactly enough to make him feel the weight of your reply. “Still clever, I see.”
His eye sweeps over you like a blade. He is not hiding the weight of it, the roughness of the cut. “You returned untouched, then. I’d wondered.”
“Lyonel Tyrell was a poet,” you reply, because you have sharpened your own edges. “Not a fool.”
“Poets rarely have the stomach for conquest.”
You meet his gaze without blinking, without flinching, though your heart still remembers how to race. “And you’ve always had too much of it.”
“I was twelve when you left.”
You tilt your head, and the movement is easy, graceful, scornful. “You still are, most days.”
That earns you a smirk, slow and deliberate, a lord’s smirk. A dragon’s. “Not anymore.”
He takes a single step closer. You don’t move. You let him come.
The pause between you stretches, heavy and hot and alive with unspoken challenges and renegotiated terms. His eye dips to your mouth, and it is not quickly, not politely, not as a brother should. When it rises again, it lingers.
You turn before he can speak again, before he can make you doubt or remember. You offer him no parting glance, no farewell. But you feel it as you walk away—his stare on your back, weighty and hungry. Not a boy’s gaze. Not a brother’s.
Let him look. Let them all.
You did not come back for their sympathy or to stand around, shrinking, while they trample your pride. The thought of wilted and drooping pity is almost amusing, withered and limp like Highgarden’s banner when the wind dies, and you refuse to let it gather at your feet like a folder of discarded marriage contracts. You returned because the summons meant something. Because they wanted you here. Because the annulment meant nothing. Because they are beginning to remember who you are and what you are worth. The realm has no place for a woman like you—a woman with no husband and no duty and no shame to parade—except when it needs one. You are still a dragon’s daughter, flames running molten where other women leave room for fear, and it seems they’re starting to recall the heat of their own blood. They thought a marriage would change you. That the Reach would wear you smooth and pliable. That seven years of silence would make you weak, complacent, eager to return with their leash around your neck. They were fools. You have not softened. You have stripped away everything unnecessary. You have become what you always should have been: scaled, certain, and dangerous. Aemond would be a fool, too, if he still believes he knows the girl who left. If he thinks the same breathless, reckless fool of a girl stands before him, he is welcome to try and find her, to search and search and find nothing at all. He will not.
It’s a few days before you see him again. Long enough that the ache dulls, the whispers shift, the court forgets to look twice. You don’t. You feel him in every corridor. His stare in the back of your skull. The words he didn’t say sitting heavier than the ones he did. You don’t seek him out. Not really. But when the sound of clashing steel drifts through the windows one morning, sharp and furious, your feet carry you there before you can stop them.
The yard is already thick with the sound of clashing steel and barked commands by the time you arrive, drawn not by curiosity but by the unmistakable pitch of Aemond’s voice, rising above the rest. You round the corner and find him standing over a boy barely older than twelve, sword in hand, patience worn thin. The boy is sweating and panting, bleeding lightly from the lip. Aemond says something low enough you can’t catch, but the tone carries and your stomach knots.
"Enough."
Aemond doesn't turn right away. The boy does, blinking at you like he's been thrown a lifeline, desperate and unsure. You step down into the yard without pausing, hands still gloved, shoulders squared, a defiance in each step. You know Aemond sees you, but he remains fixed over the boy, as if your presence is a small interruption. As if you are the one who should wait. As if waiting for the exact moment when his controlled apathy strikes deepest. He finally shifts, looking over his shoulder with slow, deliberate disinterest.
"You are not his commander," you say, your voice sharp and unyielding.
"I am his prince."
You take another step. "And you're still picking fights with boys too small to fight back."
That gets his attention. His eye catches yours and holds. The cut is deep, unrelenting, meant to wound. A quiet breath passes through the onlookers. No one moves. The boy backs away quickly, too smart to stay where the lightning is about to strike. Aemond sheathes his sword, but only halfway. His smirk is faint but not amused, a taunt that is both familiar and new.
"Would you like to teach him, then?"
You tilt your head. "I'd rather teach you."
His smile sharpens. "Then show me."
The court knows you well enough not to question it when you shrug off your cloak and take the spare sword from the rack. Your tunic is laced tight, boots steady, sleeves rolled. You are ready before they realize it, before you realize it yourself. You know the forms, the weight of the steel, the cadence of Aemond's skill. But you don't know the way the court watches now, not with surprise but with certainty, as if expecting exactly this. As if you haven't been gone seven years. Aemond stretches his neck as you step to the center. He doesn't offer the usual salutation. You don't bow.
When you strike, it's without warning. It feels right. Quick. Merciless. He parries fast, steel hissing, and the first clash draws a ripple from the men watching. You dance around him, light on your feet, quicker than he expects. It is a dance you thought you'd forgotten. The rhythm is familiar but off. He's faster now. Stronger. You are sharper. Angry. His blade grazes your shoulder. Yours slices along his side. He doesn't flinch. You don't, either. The heat builds quickly, sweat blooming beneath your collar. He presses harder, with more force, more insistence, more precision than the boy you thought you remembered. You give ground only to take it again. You used to beat him with speed, with patience, with quick, calculated precision. Now he meets you at every turn, matching blow for blow, circling like a predator who knows exactly where to bite.
How much he’s changed. How much he hasn’t.
How much you have.
When he finally gets you on your back, it's not clean. You stumble on loose gravel. He takes advantage, a fierce flicker of triumph in his eye. Your sword hits the dirt. Everything that’s happened since you left King’s Landing—the whispers, the annulment, the letters filled with false concern, the look on his face when you returned—everything that should have made this easy pinches sharp inside your lungs, more painful than his grip. His boot lands between your legs, arm braced against your throat. Not choking. Just holding.
Too close. An echo you can’t outrun.
You expect him to move. He doesn't.
His breathing is rough. So is yours. You can feel the sweat on his wrist, the heat of his body over yours. You look up. His hair is wild. His eye is burning.
"Still think I'm just a boy?"
You don't answer. His grip tightens just slightly. His fingers brush your jaw. He leans in, slow and sure, gaze locked to your mouth like it means something.
You shove him. Hard. He stumbles back, laughter spilling from his chest, not loud but knowing, as if you just gave him the answer he wanted. You roll to your feet before anyone can help you. Your chest is heaving, cheeks flushed, skin hot. You don't look at anyone else as you retrieve your sword and your pride.
"Lesson over?" he calls.
The pause stretches between you. You don’t let it hold. You shrug on your cloak with deliberate ease, the same ease you’ve cultivated since you returned. The hush follows you back into the keep. You feel his eyes like fingers pressing into your skin, a touch that lingers and burns and doesn’t fade when you reach the corridor.
It’s still there at supper. Fresh, insistent. No one else notices the bread you don’t eat, the soup that cools in your bowl, the wine you drink without tasting. You’re the only one who hears the hollow ring of his boot against your sword, echoing through the hall with every half-heard whisper. It doesn’t soften when your mother asks if you’re well, when the maids bring the third course, when the candles burn low. When your mother tells you it was wise to come home, you nod, polite and unconvincing. You take your leave, and the walls feel closer, the halls longer, the air colder.
You don’t think of him. You don’t think of the weight of his body, the feel of his fingers on your jaw. You’re only thinking of the cold when you tighten your laces, only thinking of the chill when you pace the length of your room. The scratch of the quill in the chamber next to yours is louder than you’d like, and the letters on your desk are too frantic and familiar to answer. You are not restless. You are thoughtful.
You think so hard you don’t realize you’ve left your chambers until you find yourself walking without thinking, past the solar, up the stairs, down the hall to the wing where he sleeps. You don't plan it. You don't knock.
You push the door open without a plan, breath quick and shallow from the unguarded walk. He’s there, not surprised, not even questioning your intrusion. Shirtless, lounging in a chair by the hearth, legs spread, as comfortable and confident as if he owned the place. He might as well. The heat of the fire licks the dampness from his hair. A goblet of wine sits comfortably in his hand; his sword rests close by, in easy reach. He looks up at you with an expression that feels both new and old, the same practiced disregard you once swore would never cut you again. Like he expected this. Like he’s been waiting.
"Come to finish what we started?"
Your throat tightens. Something in your chest does, too. The echo of it ricochets in your bones, and you shut the door with more force than you mean to. The sound is too loud, too final, but not enough to break the smile on his face.
"You embarrassed me in the yard," you say. There's a catch in your voice you hope he doesn't hear. You step closer. He hums, not quite a laugh. Almost.
"You embarrassed yourself."
You bite back a retort. He watches you try, waiting for the hollow bite of it, waiting for something deeper.
"You put your hand on me." The words taste more bitter than you expect, and he hears it. You know he does. He shrugs, the carelessness deliberate, and finishes the rest of the wine in a single, slow swallow.
"You didn't tell me to stop."
Anger and something else lances through you, sharp and unmistakable. A flower blooming violent beneath your skin. "You're not a child anymore," you say. "Fine. But you are still beneath me." There's satisfaction in that. A small thrill. He sets the goblet down with a thin click, the faint trace of red staining the rim. His smile returns, slow and sharp, more a weapon than a jest.
"Not where it counts."
You don't think, just move, a breathless reckless fool, too sure and too hurt to stop yourself. Your palm cracks across his face and his head turns with the force of it. The wine sloshes in his goblet when you strike him, but he does not drop it. He sets it down on the table carefully, eyes glittering with something you don’t recognize. He looks back at you with a hunger you've never seen before. A hunger that burns like dragon’s blood, searing and inscrutable. Not in him. Not from anyone.
"Again," he says.
Your breath catches. There's no air in this room, this keep, this entire place. You stare at him. His smile flickers wider when you don't answer. You don’t have to. He knows. He knows. You step closer, and he rises from the chair as you do, caught on the same pull. The distance vanishes faster than you mean it to. Faster than you can stop. Fury frays and threads you together. The space between you disappears quick and final and damning.
"You think you've won something?"
He shrugs, every inch of his body unwound and lithe. "You came here."
"To remind you of your place."
"Remind me, then."
He moves too quickly. Or maybe you move too slow. His hands catch your waist and your spine hits the door hard enough to steal your breath. The night explodes in stars behind your eyes. He doesn't press. Doesn't hurt. Just holds you there with his body, chest against yours, breath hot on your cheek, the heat of him impossible to escape. You grab his wrist, digging in, nails biting soft skin. He holds the wince behind his teeth, gaze fixed on you like he'd die before looking away.
"Let go of me."
The words are hard.
"Lyonel never touched you, did he?"
Your hand tightens on his wrist, so hard it shakes. You slap him again, harder this time, and the crack of it splits in the air between you, a current setting stone to fracture.
He laughs.
"Again," he says.
You don't. But gods, you want to. You want to and you hate it and you hate him and you turn and leave before you remember how to breathe.
You leave him there with the taste of your own fury still on your tongue. Your hand aches. So does your chest. You don’t look back. You don’t sleep. Not really. You lie awake and stare at the ceiling, the canopy of your bed a cage you can’t escape, can’t untangle. His voice plays over and over in your mind. Lyonel never touched you, did he. The worst part is how softly he said it. Like a secret. Like a truth. Like he knew exactly where to cut, exactly where to let the worst of it bleed.
The candles burn low in your chambers. The chill nips at your windowpanes. You don’t feel it. You feel the ghost of Aemond’s fingers on your hips, his breath on your cheek, the tremor beneath his skin. Everything you thought you buried comes rushing back, rushing through you, rushing until it cleaves the air from your lungs. Why did you return? Why did you think you could stay away? You are not restless. You are not impatient. You are thoughtful, but that thought is wrapped around him like a noose. Like a bruise. Like a bright, sharp hope.
You came to win. You’ve already lost.
By morning, the bruises are already forming beneath the surface of your skin. The memory of Aemond's touch blooms purple and dark, echoes of his fingertips wrought in flesh. You wish the sensation of him would fade as fast. It doesn't. The court is louder now. You feel it in every corridor, every room, every shift in posture when you enter. It clings to you, an invisible murmur that grows teeth. No one says your name, but they don’t need to. You returned without a husband. Without a child. Without a claim worth anything except shame. You were sent to the Reach to secure the realm and came back with nothing but silence. So now they whisper.
She must have refused him.
She must have failed.
She must have been too difficult to want.
The echoes are just as loud as the words. Each clever jab works its way beneath your skin, seeds of doubt taking root and sprouting vines you can't cut through. Even your mother looks at you differently. Her voice is soft, but her eyes are measuring. The warmth she once kept for you has cooled into caution, as if your return might stain her skirts if you stand too close. Her questions come dressed as concern, but you know the shape of judgment. And the ladies at court, the ones who used to play cyvasse and braid your hair, now look through you like you’re made of smoke. They weave tales you can’t quite hear, tales that bleed from one mouth to another, tales whose edges are sharp and cutting.
They don’t ask, but their silence does. What did she do wrong? Was he kind? Did she cry? Did he ever touch her at all? Or did she come back just as she left, proud and unspoiled and completely alone?
You do not answer them. You do not give them the truth they seek, the truth that tugs too close to the center of you. You walk through the halls like nothing has changed, like you are still the same creature you were before. You are not. Aemond says nothing to you in court. He does not look your way unless others are watching, and even then, it is brief. Quick enough to pass as something else. But you can feel it. He lets the rumors curl around you like smoke, never once bothering to stop them. He could silence it. One word from him and the court would fall quiet. But he doesn't. He listens. He watches. He waits.
You find him in the yard again, a few days after the incident in his chambers. He's alone this time. No one dares train with him lately, not since the last sparring match left a knight concussed. He moves with that same quiet precision, that same lethal grace. The sun catches the sweat at his temple, his shirt already discarded and thrown to the side. Your skin prickles at the sight, at the memory of him even more unguarded, even more certain. You should leave. You don't.
You don’t know what you mean to say when you see him there, when you watch him move and remember the way he looked at you, the way he still looks at you. You don’t know what you mean to do when you feel the full weight of his indifference, of the stories he lets the court tell. But you are moving before you can talk yourself out of it. Before the bruises fade, before this second return becomes as hollow as the first. You are moving and it feels like a mistake, but you’ve already made that mistake before, already seen what comes of it. There's no going back. This time, you mean to win.
He sees you before you speak. Of course he does. He always does.
“You following me now?” he says without looking up.
“I could say the same.”
His blade drops slightly. “You never used to lurk.”
“You never used to be worth watching.”
He turns at that, slow and smooth. “Didn’t stop you before.”
You ignore the heat crawling up your neck. “I gave the orders. You followed them.”
“You think that’s still true?”
“You think it’s not?”
“You dragged me through the mud. Screamed at me in front of knights twice my size.”
“And you listened.”
He steps in close. “Try it now. See if I still do.”
Your breath catches. His voice drops, soft and deliberate.
“They say no man ever wanted you. That Tyrell barely looked at you. That you came back untouched because no one could stand the thought.”
You don’t answer. You don’t move.
He tilts his head, close enough to touch. “Is that why you hate me looking?”
“Because you’re not supposed to.”
He smiles, slow and awful. “I can’t stop.”
He steps closer, closing the gap with a slow, sure determination. You don’t move. You don’t even flinch. His face is inches from yours now, and everything about him pulls you in and splits you apart. You can smell the leather of his gloves, the salt on his skin, the faint scent of iron and heat. His hand lifts slowly. You feel the brush of his fingers at your jaw, soft, testing, like he’s taking measure of the space between breath and need and wanting. You could slap him again. You could turn and walk away. You don’t. Your breath is shallow. He watches your mouth.
You step back. You leave. You don’t speak. You don’t run. You walk away with your back straight and your heart hammering in your ribs like it’s trying to claw out.
That night, you dream of him. Of course you do. You dream of his mouth, the cut of his lips, the press of his body hot and unrelenting against yours. You dream of his hands, the rough drag of his fingers on your cheek, your skin, your throat. The way his voice dropped low, soft and deliberate. The way his voice dragged low when he said your name. You wake tangled in your sheets, flushed and furious and aching, and you cannot tell whether you want to kill him or keep him.
It starts with silence. It starts with rooms you pretend not to linger in, corridors you just happen to walk through, doors you pass more slowly than you should. It starts with you lying to yourself—small, careful lies you don’t quite believe. You don’t mean to look for him. That’s what you tell yourself. You don’t mean to, not at first. Not at first, but you find him anyway.
He’s in the yard. He’s in the hall. He’s at the table, two seats down, eating grapes one by one like they mean something. Every time you look up, he’s already watching.
You tell yourself it’s nothing. That you are only keeping an eye on him. That someone has to. That it might as well be you. But the lie doesn’t last. Not when the heat flares again behind your ribs every time he speaks. Not when you walk past the training yard and stop to watch. Not when your name comes from his mouth and you have to swallow hard before answering.
You avoid him. Until you don’t.
You find him at the edge of the godswood, on a day when the sun beats down like a curse and the wind is too warm, your thoughts too loud and insistent. He’s leaning against the old heart tree like it belongs to him, as if it's only there to hold him, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His head is tilted up to the canopy, eyes closed, jaw sharp. He hears you long before you mean to speak. Even from a distance, you feel the weight of his awareness. As you move closer, he turns slowly, the light catching on the scar beneath his eye, the gleam of the sapphire where it settles. He watches you like he’s been waiting.
"You’ve been restless," he says. "I can tell."
"You don’t know anything about me."
He pushes off the tree and takes a step forward. "I know you come looking for me and pretend you don’t."
You set your jaw. "You think too highly of yourself."
"No," he says, a crooked grin on his lips, closer now. "I think exactly enough."
You take a step back. He follows.
"What do you want?" he asks, voice low.
You hate the question. You hate that he asks it like he knows you don’t have the answer.
"Nothing from you."
He circles you now, slow and deliberate. "You used to look at me like I was a boy. Now you look at me like I might bite."
"Maybe I think you should be put down."
He laughs, a soft huff that barely leaves his throat.
"Do you know what it did to me?" he says. "You left. Married some wilted flower. Let him look at you like a prize he’d never unwrap."
You flinch. He sees it.
"He didn’t even try, did he?"
You snap before you can stop yourself. "No. He didn’t. He was afraid. They all are."
The words hang between you like smoke, pulled from the center of you, unplanned and brutal. You breathe them in and try not to choke. Aemond steps closer. His voice goes quiet.
"I’m not."
You shake your head. You want to run. You don’t. He lifts his hand, not touching you yet, just hovering near your cheek.
"Say the word," he says, "and I’ll make you forget every man who ever disappointed you."
You slap him. His head snaps to the side, but he doesn’t recoil. He lets out a sound that freezes you in place. A moan. A real one. Low and ragged like it was dragged from his chest. When he turns back to you, there’s a flush high on his cheekbone. His lips are parted. His eye burns.
"I knew you liked it rough," he murmurs. "I remember how you used to throw me down."
You stare at him, breath caught halfway between a curse and a gasp. He leans in closer, slow, measured. You don’t move.
"You used to knock the wind out of me. You’d say I was too soft. That I’d never survive the yard unless I learned to take a hit."
"You never did learn."
"That’s not true," he says. "I learned to like it."
You shake your head again, but your fists stay at your sides. Your feet don’t move.
"You think this is a game."
"No," he says. "I think this is exactly what we’ve both been waiting for."
Your pulse roars in your ears. The godswood is quiet, but everything feels too loud. Too close. His breath brushes your cheek.
"Tell me to stop."
You leave him standing in the godswood, breath shallow, palms hot, the trees watching like they know what you almost said. You don’t speak. You don’t run. But you can’t quite breathe either. You walk back through the Keep like you’re sleepwalking, like you might burn through the floor if you stay still.
Night sinks in around you. The walls feel tighter. The fire in your chamber roars too hot. You pace. You pour wine you don’t drink. You open the window and shut it again. You think about sleeping. You think about forgetting. You think about how he looked at you when he said I’m not.
You tell yourself not to go. And then you do.
The hall outside his door is empty. The candlelight flickers low. The door isn’t fully shut. As if he left it waiting.
You don’t knock. You don’t speak. You step inside, and he’s already there. Shirtless, again. Hair damp. Leaning against the table like he hadn’t moved since the godswood. His eye finds yours and doesn’t flinch. You close the door behind you. You don’t lock it. He watches you cross the room without saying a word. He doesn’t ask why you’re here. He knows.
“I didn’t come for this,” you say.
He nods, slow. “Then say no.”
You don’t. He pushes off the table and walks toward you like he already knows how this ends. Like he’s dreamed it a hundred times and every version ends the same. He doesn’t reach for you. Not yet. He waits.
You’re the one who moves. Your hand fists in the collar of his shirt and drags him closer. Your mouth hovers near his, your breath unsteady, your body already too warm. You don’t kiss him. Not yet.
“I hate you,” you whisper.
“I know.”
And then you break. You kiss him like you’re furious. Like he’s the only thing that’s ever made you feel anything and you’d rather drown in it than say it out loud. His hands are everywhere. Yours are worse. There’s nothing careful about it. Nothing sweet. You don’t want sweet. You want to be ruined.
You want to ruin him back. The table knocks over. His back hits the wall. Your boots scatter across the floor. You don’t stop. You don’t think. You don’t ask. When he lifts you up and carries you to the bed, you let him. When he lays you down and looks at you like you’re the first real thing he’s ever wanted, you don’t speak.
He peels back your clothes with a precision that makes you ache, each layer a secret he's uncovering. Your shift falls away, and he stares at you like you're sacred. Like you're something he shouldn't touch but will anyway. His hands are rough, calloused from years of swordplay, but they move across your skin with a reverence that makes your breath catch. You don't want reverence. You want him to hurt. You want to hurt him back.
You flip him beneath you, straddling his hips, hands pinning his wrists above his head. His eye widens, pupils blown, a smile curling at the edge of his mouth. You lean down, hair falling around your face like a curtain, and bite his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. The taste of copper fills your mouth. He moans, hips bucking up against yours.
"Is this what you wanted?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper. "To ruin me?"
His fingers dig into your hips, bruising and possessive. "I wanted to be the one who touched you first."
You laugh, bitter and sharp. "Not everything is yours to claim."
"No," he says, flipping you beneath him with a strength that makes your breath catch. His weight settles between your thighs, delicious and heavy. "But you are."
You should fight. You should push him away. But your body arches into his touch, craving the heat of him, the burn of his skin against yours. His mouth finds your throat, teeth scraping over your pulse, and you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt. He hisses against your skin, the sound vibrating through your bones.
"Tell me to stop," he says again, but this time it's different. It's not a challenge. It's a plea. You can hear the need beneath it, raw and desperate. It would be so easy to tell him no. To walk away. To leave him as broken as you've been. Instead, you pull him closer.
"Don't stop," you whisper against his mouth. "Don't you dare stop."
He trails kisses of fire down your body, spreading your thighs open and bringing his face close to your core. His breath is hot, his mouth everything you expected and nothing like you imagined. You choke on a sound that might be a sob, that might be his name, that might be something you’ve never said to anyone. There is a feeling of novelty between your legs. You don’t know what to do with it, what to call it. You don’t know how to stop it. His tongue traces a path that makes you gasp, your body shuddering beneath him, and every scrape of his teeth sends a shock to places you forgot you had. He pins your hips with his hands. Holds you there until you think you might scream, might call him something you’ll regret. You writhe, helpless and hungry, his mouth pushing you toward something you can't recognize but can't resist. It's new and wild and terrifying. It's more than you were ready for. You feel it building beyond your control, burning through you, breaking you down, and he's relentless. You’ve never been this close to shattering. You’ve never wanted to.
When it crests, it's like wildfire—unstoppable, consuming, spreading through your limbs until you're arching off the bed, his name torn from your throat. He holds you through it, mouth still working, drinking in every tremor until you push him away, too sensitive to bear it.
He moves up your body like he's been waiting his entire life for this moment. He's like a predator, but one who is starving, respectful, already intoxicated by your essence. His mouth is slick, his eyes are wild, and his hair is tousled from your touch. When he kisses you, you taste yourself on his lips, and it sends a wave of heat through you. It makes you want to hide. It makes you want to be consumed.
He pulls back just enough to truly see you, and something raw and broken flickers across his face. You watch it shatter within him. You feel it cracking beneath your ribs.
His hands tremble as they explore your body. They're not hurried now, not greedy. Just desperately seeking. He wants to discover what makes you gasp, what makes you tremble, what makes you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your nails into his shoulders, calling his name like a curse.
Both of you are frantic, lost in something that has been building since the moment you returned. Since before that. Since before you left. Since forever.
When he finally sinks into you, the sound that tears from your throat is something between a sob and a moan. It hurts. Of course it hurts. But it's the kind of pain that feels like salvation, like something breaking open inside you that's been locked too long. He watches your face as he moves, drinking in every reaction, every gasp, every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. His pace is relentless, punishing, exactly what you need and nothing like you imagined.
"Look at me," he growls, and you do. You meet his gaze and don't look away, even when it feels too intimate, too raw. His eye burns into yours, the sapphire gleaming in the firelight like a second witness to your surrender. "Say my name."
You bite your lip, refusing at first. His hand slides between your bodies, finding the place where you're most sensitive, and your resolve crumbles.
"Aemond," you gasp, the syllables breaking on your tongue like a prayer. "Aemond," you breathe again, and again, like a confession you can't keep hidden anymore.
His rhythm stutters at the sound of it, his name on your lips like a spell he never thought you’d cast. It tears through him, wild and fierce and reckless, like it can’t be contained. His pulse surges with the rush of possession, with a pride that borders on madness. The moment is electric, charged, impossibly taut. He crushes his mouth to yours, swallowing every moan, every gasp, as if your voice alone could undo him, as if all your protests only fuel him further. The pace is dizzying, the edge razor-sharp, and you’re close, so close to something you've never let yourself feel before. Not like this. Not this blinding. Your body arches into him, desperate and unguarded, and you cry out, nails scoring down his back, leaving trails that scream of violence, of passion, of the pain you both need and the pleasure you can’t tell apart. He hisses at the sting, but the sound is nothing like surrender.
"You're mine," he growls, branding you with his words, his teeth grazing your throat, the promise lethal and soft and everything you’ve ever wanted to deny. "Say it."
You choke out the word, shaking your head as you do, still defiant even as your body says otherwise. Even as it betrays you, traitorous and unrelenting, your resistance splintering like ash before a torch. "No." It's barely a whisper, a last stand against the fire, but even you don’t believe it. You clench around him, pulling him deeper, binding him to you with every shuddering breath. He tightens his grip in your hair, and the pull arches your back, exposing your neck, your pulse, the truth you're trying to hide.
"Lie to me again," he says, his voice fractured with desire, the edges rough, unsteady. "And see what happens."
His eye is locked on yours, shining full of hunger and something else. Something that makes you want to give in just to see what it would do to him. You meet his gaze with a challenge, despite the tremor in your voice, despite the pleasure that is slowly unraveling you. "I am not yours."
His lips curl into a smile that is nothing but teeth and intent. He slows his movements with devastating precision, pulling out so slowly it feels like a loss, thrusting back in to make you pay for every lie, for every second you didn’t admit you were his. The impact shatters your defenses, touching something deep inside that makes you want to come apart. Makes you want to break just so he can put you back together.
"Liar," he breathes, but the word is tangled with awe, with worship, with disbelief that he ever let you go. His hands are brands on your skin, holding you in place as he moves, marking you with fingers as determined as his heart, as his claim, as his promise.
You’re losing. You’re lost. Your resolve crumbles, rushing out of you so quickly you feel dizzy with it. The pleasure winds tight, impossibly tight, spreading through your body faster than you can stop it, faster than you can pretend you don’t want it. You’re on the brink, teetering at the edge, and you can’t pull back. Can’t stop it. Can’t stop any of it.
"Say it," he demands, pushing you to the point of no return, his rhythm pushed to the breaking point as his control slips. As he starts to fall apart with you. "Tell me who you belong to."
You want to fight him. You want him to bleed the way you did. You want to be empty of him. You want him to lose the same way you did. You want to give him nothing. You want to watch him break. You want him to hurt the way you did. You want to give him everything. You want him to know it. You want to ruin him as he's ruined you. And suddenly, you are. The word leaves your throat like it’s tearing you apart, like it’s putting you back together. The admission is pain and salvation. The confession is agony and release. "You." The silence shatters. Your resolve shatters. Something wild and desperate between you shatters. You come undone with it, unable to hold anything back. Your voice, your control, the last of your resistance. "You," you whisper, the sound already gone. "You, Aemond."
It breaks something in both of you. He kisses you then, deep and consuming, and you fall apart beneath him, waves of pleasure wracking through you, your release a storm breaking against the shore. He follows you over the edge, his own release a fierce, primal claim, his body tensing above you, inside you, around you. The sound he makes is raw, unguarded, nothing like the prince who holds his emotions in check. His forehead presses against yours as he shudders, as he spills himself inside you, marking you in the most primitive way. You think he might have forgotten how to breathe, how to hold back, how to be a dragon and not a man. You think you might have forgotten the same.
It leaves you both unmoored, wild and vulnerable, unable to hold anything back. Every moment is a fracture, a split-second proof of his soul laid bare. Every tremor a piece of you given in ways you never thought you could. Never thought you would. The heat of him, the weight of him, it should feel like too much. It should feel like surrender. You should feel conquered, defeated. But for the first time, it feels like exactly what you’ve been wanting. Exactly what you’ve been waiting for.
It takes an eternity for the storm to pass, for the world to settle around you, but you hold fast through it, to him, to each other. You feel it long after the shakes subside, after your bodies run out of breath and fury and will. The truth of it so potent you can’t suppress it. Can’t deny it. Not even to save yourself. For a moment, neither of you move. His breath mingles with yours, ragged and spent. His weight is heavy, but you don't push him away. You can't. Your fingers trace the scars on his back, mapping the history of a boy who became a man you didn't recognize. Who became a man you couldn't resist.
When he finally rolls to the side, you feel the chill of the room rush back, reminding you of where you are. Who you are. What you've done. You lie there, staring at the ceiling, your body humming with remnants of pleasure and something heavier. You should leave. You should get up, gather your clothes, and slip away before the castle wakes. Before reality returns. Before the weight of this settles fully on your shoulders. Instead, you stay.
His fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, following the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, like he's memorizing the map of you. Neither of you speak. The silence isn't uncomfortable, but it's heavy with things unsaid. With questions neither of you are ready to answer.
"They’ll know," you whisper, voice ragged from crying out his name.
He doesn’t flinch. Just looks at you—calm, unreadable—as if the words mean nothing at all.
"And?"
You swallow. "You don’t understand what they’ll say."
"I do." His voice is flat, unbothered. "They’ll say what they always do. It changes nothing."
You push his hand away, sitting up fast. "I’m not yours to claim."
His eye flicks to you, sharp and steady. "I never said you were."
That catches you off guard—but before you can speak, he adds, quieter this time:
"You chose this. Just like I did."
#house of the dragon#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf#hotd#aemond#aemond one eye#prince aemond#hotd aemond#aemond targaryen#aemond x reader#aemond fanfiction#prince aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x you#team green#team black#highgarden#lyonel tyrell#targtowers#queen alicent#hotd smut#alicent hightower#house hightower#house targaryen#fire and blood#asoiaf fanfic#therogueflame#olive writes#ewanverse
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By Fire, By Love
Daemon Targaryen x Reader.
Summary: Daemon Targaryen has known many lovers, but none have ever cracked him the way you do.
The court is watching him.
Daemon can feel it in the weight of their stares.
The hushed speculation follow him wherever he goes.
They think him reckless. Dangerous. Uncontrollable.
And they are right.
But for the first time in his life, it is not war or ambition that consumes him.
It is you.
You, with your sweet laughter and careful words, with the softness in your eyes and the warmth in your touch. You, who should be untouchable to a man like him. Untainted by the fire and blood that runs through his veins.
But the gods have never been kind.
And Daemon Targaryen has never been one to resist temptation.
"You watch me too much."
Your voice is quiet, filled with amusement.
Daemon smirks, tilting his goblet toward you from across the table. Unapologetic.
"And if I do?"
You meet his stare, unflinching. Bold.
It is that quiet defiance that has caught him from the start, the way you never shrink beneath his gaze, never recoil despite knowing exactly what he is.
"Then you might give people the wrong idea."
Daemon hums, setting his cup down. His voice drops, the words meant for you alone. "And what idea would that be, Sweet thing?"
You swallow.
He watches the movement of your throat, the way your fingers curl slightly against the table’s edge. You feel it too.
The pull between you, the silent dance you have been doing for weeks, months.
But you shake your head and look away. You always look away.
Daemon’s jaw tightens.
He has spent a lifetime taking what he wants, indulging in every carnal pleasure, never denied. And yet you, the one thing he wants above all else, refuse to let him have you.
It happens when the halls are empty when the night is dark, when there are no watching eyes to stop him from doing what he has longed for since the moment he first laid eyes upon you.
Daemon finds you in the gardens in the silver moonlight, staring out at the stars.
"Beautiful."
You startle slightly, turning to find him there, standing too close. His voice was low and framed with something dangerous.
Your breath catches when he reaches out, fingers brushing the bare skin of your wrist.
"Daemon-" you begin but he cuts you off.
"Why do you deny me?"
The words are whispered, there is something vulnerable in his voice.
You stare at him, at this man who is both feared and adored, who should not need to beg for anything.
But here he was, begging for you.
"You do not know what you ask of me," you murmur, though your voice is trembling now. "You could have any woman in this court, Daemon."
"I do not want any woman." His grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough that you feel the weight of his need. "I want you."
Silence.
The air is heavy and thick with something unspoken.
Daemon searches your face, waiting, pleading in a way he never would for anyone else. And then, you do the one thing he has been waiting for.
You stop running.
You reach for him, curling your fingers into the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer and closer until there is no space left at all. You can feel his breath against your lips, warm, expectant.
"Say it," he murmurs, he needs to hear it.
You exhale, trembling, before whispering the words that ruin him.
"I want you too."
Daemon breaks.
His mouth crashes against yours, stealing the words from your lips, swallowing your breath, your gasp, the small sound that makes something in his chest tighten.
You melt into him as his hands move to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. He kisses you deeply, hungrily, with all the fire he has been forced to restrain for so long.
And when he pulls away, just enough to look at you his lips curl into something wicked.
"Too late to run now, Sweet thing," he murmurs against your skin.
You smile. You do not want to run anymore.
Daemon does not let you go.
Not that night, not the next day, not ever.
The court talks, whispers of stolen moments and burning gazes, of the way Daemon Targaryen now walks the halls like a man possessed, like a dragon who has found his diamond and dares anyone to take it from him.
But you do not care for their words.
Because at night, when his arms are around you and his lips trace the curve of your shoulder, Daemon whispers something only for you.
"Mine," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. "You were always meant to be mine."
And when you turn in his arms and kiss him again, soft and slow, you know it to be true.
~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
Wattpad
/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/
#daemon targaryen#daemon targeryan#daemon x reader#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen x y/n#daemon targaryen smut#daemon targaryen fanfic#daemon targaryen x female reader#house of the dragon#hotd#fire and blood#dance of the dragons#daemon targaryen imagine#daemon targaryen imagines#daemon targaryen fanfiction#daemon targaryen x fem reader#x reader#fanfiction#x female reader#house of the dragon fanfiction#house of the dragon x reader#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon fic#house of the dragon imagine#house of the dragon imagines
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Burning Desire
Aemond x Older!sister Reader
Summary: You rush off to confront your brother Aemond after discovering he hurt your sister, only to find him crying. You are angry at him for what he has done, but you cannot stand to see your little brother suffer.
Warnings: Angst, Smut, Sibling incest
A/N: This was supposed to be an angsty comfort fic, but it very quickly got out of hand. All dialogue in italics means that the characters are speaking in High Valyrian. I was just too lazy to attempt to translate it. No beta, so I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes. (Gif is not mine!)

You stormed through the castle halls, ignoring the maids and knights who quickly stepped out of your way. Usually, you would give them some sign of acknowledgment, but tonight, you couldn’t— not when your anger was boiling over. Your hands trembled with repressed rage, and your fingers curled into fists as you tried desperately to refrain from lashing out. There was only one person who was deserving of your wrath, and you were headed to find him now.
When you arrived at his door, you entered the room, not bothering to knock. The loud sound of the wooden door slamming close behind you echoed in the air. The room was dark; only a few candles were lit, though they were burning dangerously low. You squint your eyes, searching until you find the silver-haired man hunched over in his chair. Your robe made a slight whooshing sound as you stormed over to his side.
“How dare you!” Your voice cut through the air like a sharpened blade, every word dripping with venom and contempt.
Aemond says nothing. His head is lowered, and his long silver tresses conceal his face.
“You dare to lay a hand on our sister?! Has she not suffered enough?! And now you wish to send her into battle?!” Your chest is heaving wildly as you lose what little composure remains to you.
Once again, you are met with a deafening silence that angers you even more.
“Have you nothing to say?!” you yell, each word cracking like a whip. Your brows furrow and your lips curl into a snarl.
Yet once again, your words go unanswered. You open your lips, prepared to berate him even more until quiet sobs reach your ears. Your blood runs cold, and you freeze. Aemond’s body jerked with every gasp that escaped his throat.
“I am alone,” he whispers . “As I always have been.”
His words move you to tears.
“Aemond,” you whisper, stepping closer.
You reach out a hand to touch his shoulder but pull it away just before reaching him. Your mind is suddenly conflicted. Your rage is quickly converting into sadness with every second that passes. The two of you rarely saw eye to eye these past few weeks. His actions above Shipbreaker Bay had left you horrified. The abhorrent murder of your nephew, Jaehaerys, happened not long after. You blamed Aemond for that and did not bother trying to hide it from him.
Then, Aegon returned from Rook’s Rest, burned and broken beyond repair. Your mother came to you shortly after, sharing her thoughts about what had happened. She believed Aemond to be responsible, but you could not bring yourself to believe it at the time. But as the days passed, you found yourself becoming increasingly unsure. Especially after today, when the horrific details of his actions at Sharp Point reached you. Most days, you could hardly even recognize him—this strange man who shares the face of your sweet little brother.
You take a deep breath before reaching out. Your hand trembles as you place it on his shoulder, but he does not flinch from your touch. He leans into it. Aemond raises his head just enough to look you in the eyes. His face is stained with tears, and his eye is red and gleaming with tears, ready to fall. His silver hair is unusually messy and unkempt. The leather eyepatch is gone, exposing the beautiful sapphire embedded into his eyesocket. It is a sight he has entrusted very few to see.
“I am sorry,” he cried. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“I know,” you whisper, pulling him close.
He buries his face into your stomach. His large hands gripped tightly at your sides, and you did your best not to wince. You lift a hand, brushing down his unkempt hair. You were angry at him. You had come here to yell at him, maybe even hit him, but you couldn’t. Not when it filled your heart with great sorrow to see your brother in so much pain. Your little brother. The boy you had always tried so hard to shield from the cruelty of this world. The boy who had always run to you for comfort after being humiliated by Aegon time and time again.
Aemond continued to sob. His tears made the thin fabric of your nightdress stick to your skin, and the cold wetness sent a chill down your spine. You gasp as you feel him pull you down, sitting you on his lap. He held you close, burying his face into the curve of your neck. Your hands rested against the warm, bare skin of his back as you held him. He must have been preparing for bed not long before you arrived as he was only dressed in a pair of black lambswool breeches.
“You are not alone,” you reassure him, gently kissing the scar that marred his brow. “I am here, as I always have been.”
There is a slight chill in the air, but the heat radiating from his skin keeps you warm. Aemond sniffles but says nothing. You can feel his tears sliding down your neck. You move a hand up to his head, toying with his hair. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, seemingly inhaling your scent. Aemond shifts in his seat, spreading his legs a little wider, making the position more comfortable for you. A quiet gasp escapes your throat as you feel the taut muscle of his thigh pressing into the most intimate part of your body.
The feeling sends a rush of heat through your veins. Your breath quickens as you try to push the sensation aside. Your face burns as shame begins to overwhelm you. He just wanted to be close to you, searching for comfort in your arms as he had done many times before. But your body is turning it into something perverse.
Aemond bounced his knee ever so slightly, almost like a tremble. You squirmed, trying to press your thighs closer together in hopes of stopping the heat growing in your stomach. One of Aemond’s large hands rests firmly against the small of your back. The other moves to grip the outside of your thigh.
“Aemond,” you gasp as you feel his lips grazing against our collarbones.
“What?” He asks, his voice so nonchalant.
“I think I should go,” you replied, trying to stand up.
But his hands hold onto you tight, refusing to let you go.
“Please stay,” he begged, burying his face into the curve of your neck once more.
“Alright,” you whisper, trying to calm him.
His hair tickles your nose. You lift your head a bit, resting your chin on the top of his head. You trail the tips of your fingers against the muscles of his back. Aemond nuzzles his face against your neck. He bounces his knee a bit harder. You wonder if he is doing this on purpose.
“Aemond, stop it,” you mumble, trying to ignore the fire sparking in the pit of your stomach.
“Stop what?” He asked, ghosting his lips over your jaw.
“You know what,” you whine.
He ignores you; his lips press soft kisses against your jaw. Aemond bunches the skirt of your dress into the hand that grips your thigh. He steadily inches it up higher. The cold air touching your now bare legs makes the hair on your body stand up. Suddenly coming to your senses, you gasp, slapping a hand over his as the skirt of your dress reaches just above your knees. He tries to continue, but you use all the strength you can muster to keep his hand still.
“We must stop,” you command, trying to stop yourself from giving in to him completely.
This was wrong. You were both betrothed to other people—him to some Baratheon girl and you to the Lord of the Arbor. They were political matches, as most marriages are. You held no love for Lord Redwyne, but you would do your duty as was expected of you.
Aemond easily pushed past your hand, slipping his hand between your thighs. You gasped, trying to squeeze them together to keep him at bay. Your stomach flutters as his thumb rubs across the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Your fingernails dig into his forearm. You pull back, and he lifts his head to look you in the eyes.
He removes his hand from between your thighs, moving it up to your face. You find yourself melting into the warmth of his palm. The pad of his thumb ghosts over your lips, but his eye never leaves yours.
“You were supposed to be mine,” he says in the gentlest tone.
“Aemond,” you whine, trying to push him away.
But he refuses to let you go. The hand on your back kept you from standing. His fingertips trail down the side of your neck down to the neckline of your nightdress. His touch on your skin leaves you feeling almost delirious. The fire in your stomach is fully ablaze now. You squirm in his lap as his fingers graze over the tops of your breasts. You cursed yourself for this, as the feeling of his tense muscles sends waves of heat straight to your cunt. The hairs on the back of your neck raise. Your eyes close, and you bite your lip to stop crying out.
“Look at me.”
It is a command that you are unable to ignore. Aemond is the prince regent. In this moment, he speaks with the king’s voice. His absolute authority leaves you fearful and painfully aroused. Once again, your eyes meet his. He says nothing, simply watching you like a predator stalking its prey as his hand moves over your nightdress, cupping your breast. You gasp, slapping a hand over his. You know you should push him away, but you don’t.
A chill runs down your spine. Under his gaze, you feel completely exposed, almost powerless—a feeling you usually dislike greatly. You were a princess of the realm and a dragon rider. You were anything but helpless. Yet you find yourself wanting nothing more than to surrender yourself to him, to escape from your worries and sorrows, to be free from all the tiring expectations that have been placed upon you since your birth.
“Am I so hard to love?”
His voice trembled, as he struggled to hold back tears. The authority is gone, replaced with something much more vulnerable. The sight broke your heart in two. You had always worried about Aemond, your sweet, sensitive little brother. Since he had come of age, he had changed. He was colder and more distant, not just from you but from everyone, even your mother, whom you know he cared for greatly. It was like he believed he had to be this... pillar of strength, or all would crumble.
You remove your hand from his, moving it up to cup the scarred side of his face. You lean down, pressing a gentle kiss on his brow. You have done this so many times over the years, yet it has never felt as intimate as it did now. Aemond closed his eye, leaning into your touch. A sharp pain stabs at your heart as you watch how desperate he is for your comfort.
The hand on your breast slid back down to your thigh. Aemond’s fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt. Your thumb traced down the deep scar that marked his cheek. You lean down, peppering kisses from his cheek to his jaw, where the scar stops. He turns his head slightly, so that your lips hover above his, almost touching. You rest your head against his. His violet eye stared into your own.
“What of Floris? She is to be your wife.” You say, hoping he may come to his senses, as yours have fled from you completely.
“You will be my wife... for tonight.” A single tear drops from his eye as the words leave his lips.
It is such a beautiful, harrowing sight. One that leads you to shedding tears of your own. Aemond’s hands grip you by the waist, hoisting you up just enough for you to straddle him. Your knees rest on both sides of his legs, trapping him between your thighs. A wave of heat runs through your veins as your bare cunt presses against his clothed bulge. He leans forward, capturing your gasp with his mouth. One of your hands cups his face while the other pushes his hair away from his face.
The two of you shared passionate, frantic kisses. You had not been prepared from when Aemond’s tongue slid into your mouth. You whine, caught off guard, but do your best to follow along with him. You had no experience with such things. The only kisses you had ever experienced came from tall, handsome knights in your dreams. But even then, those kisses were nothing like this. They were short and sweet. A quick peck on the cheek or lips, but this was much different. Aemond kissed you with such urgency, such deep burning desire.
Aemond lifts his hips, pressing himself against you. The feeling of his hard cock pressing against your aching cunt makes you cry out, though your noises are muffled against his lips. The feeling is so foreign, yet exciting, that you can’t stop yourself from reaching down to palm him through his trousers. His hardened cock is thick and throbbing beneath your touch. A newfound confidence blooms in your chest.
A sound rumbled in his chest; his large hands gripped your ample hips. Your hands moved to grip his shoulders as you rocked yourself back and forth, your bare cunt grinding against his clothed bulge. He hissed, knitting his brows together. You watch as his face contorts into one of pleasure. Your own burning desire is growing too much. Your desperate, heavy breaths fill the air as you grind yourself against him even faster, desperate to reach your peak. He looked up at you; his mouth hung open slightly as he watched you use him for your own selfish gratification.
It’s exhilarating- him watching you- seeing you in a way no other ever has, touching you in a way no other ever has.
“You’re doing so good,” he praises.
His praise sends another wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. The room suddenly feels unbearably hot. You’re so close; you can feel it. The pressure building up in your stomach is eager to be released. You roll your hips even faster, harder. But it is not enough. The throbbing in your cunt is almost painful. You are nearly sobbing at this point.
“I want more,” you whine. “I need more. Please, brother.”
“I am at your mercy, sister,” he smirks. “Take what you want.”
You reach down, huffing as you struggle to untie the laces of his trousers. You can feel his chest vibrate against you as he chuckles.
“Don’t laugh at me,” you grumble.
“My apologizes-” he shudders as your hand wraps around his thick cock. Finally freeing him from the confines of his trousers.
A triumphant smile crosses your face. You give his cock a few strokes, admiring the way it stands so prettily for you, so thick and full. Suddenly, you begin to fear the thought of having to fit it inside of you. Aemond seems to sense your worry. His hand cups the back of your neck, making you look at him.
“Take it slow,” he warns.
You nod, lifting yourself on your knees a bit. Your wetness coats your fingers and his cock as you press the tip into your aching cunt. You whine as the head breaches your walls, and you clamp tightly around him. The stretch is a bit uncomfortable but not painful. You may be a maiden, but you still had desires. Many nights, you have had to satiate your hunger with your fingers.
You lower yourself on him slowly. Thankfully, your wetness makes it easier to take him. You take a deep breath as you take him to the hilt. It takes you a moment to adjust to his size.
“Are you okay?” Aemond asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.
“Yes, I just ... need a moment,” you breathlessly laugh as he lifts a hand to trail his fingers against your jaw.
He nods, raising his chin to kiss gently against the corner of your mouth. You turn your head, pressing your lips to his. A soft tongue gently licks at the swell of your bottom lip, and you grant him entry. The gentleness comes to an end. He licks into you with a fervor that steals your breath away. Your thoughts fade, and you melt into his arms.
Aemond kisses you like he wants to devour you, and you want nothing more. You lift your hips before lowering yourself. Aemond finally breaks the kiss, and his hands move to your waist.
“Ah-h,” he whines against the corner of your lips.
You begin to move slowly, easing yourself into up and down on his cock. Your eyes never leave him, watching as he presses his head to the back of the chair. His chest moves with his deep breaths, his eye is closed, and his mouth is partially open. He shudders, and a desperate, eager moan emits from his throat. It is a sight to behold.
He lifts his hips, pressing deeper into you, making you cry out.
“Aemond!” You whimper, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades.
His eye fluttered open as he watched you struggle to find the right pace. He gripped your waist tighter, his fingers digging into your fleshy sides. He guided you, raising you up and down on him. The newfound pace made you mewl pathetically, but you were too desperate to reach your peak to care. He called out your name. It sounded almost sinful coming from his lips.
You drop your head, resting it against his. Your mouth hangs open as you gasp and moan. The faint scent of pine and smoke fills your nose. It’s him, his scent. The smell is almost intoxicating. Your mind is swimming, dizzy from the pleasure of him bucking up into you.
You feel one of his palms cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer. He lifts his chin, closing the small distance between you pressing his lips to yours. You try your best to follow the frantic rhythm he sets. He swallows every sound you make as he holds the back of your neck, refusing to let you pull away—not that you want to.
Aemond plants his feet on the ground for leverage as he pumps into you. His thrusts are more erratic now as he approaches his end. The air in your lungs is incinerated, and a shameful, high-pitched moan escapes from your lips. You move your hips, rocking against him, dangerously close to finally reaching your peak.
He doesn’t stop, bucking into you with a force that would be strong enough to toss you off of him if not for the hand holding onto your waist. Your hot cunt clenched around him, the muscles in your legs burned from remaining in this position for so long.
It’s not fair- how good he is at this- how good he is making you feel. It’s all too much. Your poor wet cunt is overwhelmed with pleasure. The hand on your neck moves down, and the pad of his thumb rubs circles around that sensitive button between your legs.
“That's it,” he coaxed, his hot breath fans on your mouth. “Let go, give it to me.”
You don’t stand a chance. Not when his cock makes you feel so full, reaching that one spot that makes you throw your head back. One of your hands tangles in his hair, tugging. Your chests’ are flushed against each other as you both rock against each other. You clench around his cock as you finally reach your release, hard and blinding. The world around you seems to disappear. It’s only you and him who matter.
“Ha-ah ... ah,” he sputtered, becoming more desperate.
You cry out as you fill his hot mouth, which latches into one of your breasts. He suckles at your breast like a starving babe. His tongue lashes back and forth around your hardened nipple. The sensation is strange but has you clenching around him even tighter.
His teeth graze against your nipple. Every grunt and moan that leaves him vibrates against your breast. You can feel his thrusts becoming sloppy and uncoordinated. His cock pulses inside of you, it feels too good. Aemond releases your nipple, resting his forehead on your breast. Choked gasps and grunts slip past his lips as he reaches his peak, releasing inside of you, filling you with his seed.
The two of you stay pressed against each other as you come down for your highs. Aemond’s hips relax, his body melting into the chair. Your body sinks into him, boneless and spent. You lay your head on his shoulder, resting your chin on his collarbone. His fingertips trail over the curve of your back. Your eyes feel heavy as you struggle to keep them open.
“I am sorry for what I’ve done,” he apologized.
“I know,” you reply weakly.
You can feel his warm breath against your ear. His scent, mixed with his sweat, fills your nose, bringing you comfort.
“Our sister has too much of our mother in her. I see that now.”
You frown but say nothing, letting him continue. His lips press against your ear. He nudges your face with his shoulder, making you pull away. He grasps your chin between his thumb and index fingers. Your eyes flicker between the sapphire and his violet iris. You lift a hand to trail your fingers along his sharp jaw.
“But you and I,” he says, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip. “We are two flames kindled from the same fire. We were always meant to burn as one.”
“Aemond,” you sigh.
“I am afraid,” he admits, rendering you speechless. “I cannot fight this war alone, sister.”
“You are not alone,” you argued. “You have Daeron.”
“Tsk,” he turns his head. “He is still young, as is his dragon.”
“Young or not, Tessarion is still a dragon.”
Aemond says nothing. His eye stared at the plain stone wall of his bedchamber. You watch him silently, trying to read him.
“Come with me,” he asked, turning his head back to you.
“What?” You gasp.
“Mount your dragon and go with me to Harrenhal.”
“Mother would never allow it,” you shake your head.
“Our mother has made it clear that she does not hold our best interest at heart.”
“She means well,” you protested, trying to defend your mother, no matter how true his words seemed.
“If we do not fight, we will die. Rhaenyra may spare you and Helaena, but she will not be so merciful to the rest of us. She will have to take Aegon’s head, mine, and Daerons's as well. So long as our father has a living son, she will never be able to rule in peace.”
“You don’t know that-”
“I do,” he insisted. “Is that not what our mother has told us our entire lives?”
You blink, and memories of your childhood flood your mind. He was right. Over the years, your mother had repeatedly stressed the dangers that would follow should your sister ascend to the throne.
“Come with me,” he whispered.
Your eyes flickered from his trembling lips to his tear-filled eye. It was not an order but a plea. He was afraid and desperate for aid. You were afraid as well—you had been since Ser Criston placed that crown upon Aegon’s head. It has only been a few weeks, and already, your life has been turned completely upside down.
You had no desire to fight this war. Many times, you have had to stop yourself from climbing on your dragon and leaving. But you could not abandon your family, just as you could not abandon Aemond now.
You nod your head. He smiled, a look of relief crossing his face. One of his hands finds yours, lacing your fingers together before bringing his lips to yours, giving you one last sweet and adoring kiss. Once he pulls away, you lay your head back down on his shoulder.
“Can I go to sleep now?” You mumble against his skin.
“Yes,” he lets out a breathy laugh. “You can sleep now.”
#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#aemond#prince aemond#aemond x reader#prince aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen imagine#x reader#x fem!reader#house of the dragon imagine#house of the dragon#house targaryen#fire and blood#hotd#house of the dragon x reader#hotd s2 spoilers#house of the dragon fanfic#aemond smut#aemond targaryen smut#aemond one eye smut#aemond x you#aemond needs a hug#targcest
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intrusion
jacaerys velaryon x wife!reader
warnings; assault, blood and fighting, break in, cursing, pretty typical for canon universe level of violence, no use of y/n or character description, men being creeps summary; from this request. two intruders, sent by the greens, stumble upon you in their search for rhaenyra and decide to take you as their prize instead a/n; i love this request sm and wrote this kinda fast so apologies for any mistakes. please do not read if any of the above is triggering to you. i put *** on either end of the physical attack on reader if you want to avoid it
The night has been restless for you. A storm lashes at the island Dragonstone towers over; rain and lightning and thunder tearing at the walls of the keep, wind howling against the window pains. Your husband, Jacaerys, is still gone after being sent to treat with some ally. He has yet to return, and you cannot help the worry that has wormed its way into your chest. The storm has held him up, you repeat to yourself, sighing as you toss in bed to lay on your back. Even though you’ve only been married for a few moons, the bed feels too large without his warmth next to you.
Lighting illuminates the room, and the door to your chambers bursts open as thunder claps, covering the sound of the wood banging against the stone. You bolt up, hoping to see Jacaerys, but instead, you are met with two pairs of unfamiliar eyes.
Two men stand in the doorway of your chambers, one tall and skinny, a white scar across his face shining in the torchlight, and the other short with muscles pushing against the seams of his clothing. Fear seizes your heart as they examine the room. “Who are you?” you demand sharply, attempting to cover the fear in your voice with the commanding tone you hear Queen Rhaenyra use so often.
“That’s not the bloody Whore Queen,” the stout man grumbles in a Flea Bottom accent, lowering the torch slightly. Whore Queen, they called your mother-by-law. The Greens sent them, you realize, your heartbeat increasing its pace.
“That’s the bastard prince’s bitch,” the taller one sneers, kicking the door closed and stalking forward.
“Where’s your princeling at, girly?” the other coos, placing the torch in the sconce near the door. As they come closer, you scoot away on the bed, their eyes like rabid animals circling prey.
“The library,” you lie, “He’s due to come to bed any minute.” Your hand slowly moves under the pillow behind you, searching for the small dagger Jacaerys insisted you sleep with since the attack on his mother by Ser Arryk. The men look at each other, evil smiles splitting their faces.
“Just came from the library,” the shorter man sneers, stepping up onto the platform the bed sits on.
“No bastards there. Seems like you’re all alone,” the tall man coos, biting his lip as he stands at the foot of the bed. Your fingers close around the cool hilt of the dagger as the blankets of the bed are ripped off you. You don’t move, keeping the dagger hidden under the pillows, even as the men scan your figure, only clad in a silk nightdress.
***
“Leave now, and the Queen and the Prince will reward you; I’ll ensure it,” you say, your voice beginning to quiver slightly in fear.
“Oh, the Queen and Prince will reward us, alright, just not your lot,” the man at the foot of the bed smiles menacingly. “Hold her down.” The man at your side reaches out for you, and you slash at him with the dagger, managing a deep cut on his arm. The man stumbles back, a raging yell from his lips.
“GUARDS! HELP!” You scream, trying to move to the left side of the bed, but your leg is pulled back, and your arm that holds the dagger is pinned down to your side by a heavy boot, a rough hand covering your mouth and muffling your screams.
“Shut up, idiot,” the taller man grumbles to the other, who still wails, before turning back to you, “I heard you were a feisty one,” he laughs as he hovers above you, wrenching the dagger free and bringing it up to your face.
“Little cunt, more like,” the man you cut grumbles, glaring at you as tears of fear blur your vision.
“You’ll be fine. Help me with her, would ya?” The two men grab your arms and legs, dragging you from the bed. You cry out as you land on the hard stone floor.
“Shut up!” One of them growls behind you, pulling you up by your hair and covering your mouth. You squirm and fight as best as you can, but the men have the advantage and chuckle at your feeble attempts as they shove you up against the wall. You cry out again as your head connects with the wall and they begin tying your hands with rough rope as you pray silently to any god who will listen.
***
Before they can secure the ropes completely, blood sprays out of the taller man’s chest as a sword splits him in two. The hands on your limbs relent as the man is pulled off you, revealing Jacaerys, sword dripping with blood, face dark with rage and hair wet with rain.
Jace tosses the man to the floor before his eyes turn predatorily to the stockier man who draws a short sword from his belt. You watch in shock as your husband engages with the man, attacking him with more vigor and bloodlust than you thought possible for the sweet man you know. You back away hurriedly and crouch in the corner of the room, desperately trying to get as far away from the fight as possible.
A hand pulls your attention from the fight, and you flinch away before turning to see the Queen, your mother-by-law, reaching for you. Her face is soft but urgent. She goes again for your hand, pulling you to her and helping you stand. She pulls you into her, taking care the shield you as gentle arms wrap around your shaking body, not caring that the blood on your front will stain her gown. You cling to her desperately, listening to her whispers of comfort, and turn your head to see Ser Lorrent pushing the intruder to his knees in front of the Prince, his blade to the man’s throat as more guards rush into the room. Jacaerys stands over the man menacingly, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breath, blood pooling from a gash on the intruder’s leg onto the stone floor.
“Your friend is lucky I gave him a quick death,” Jacaerys growls, glaring at the man on the floor as he crouches down in front of him like a predator, “You won’t be so. I’ll be sure to send The Usurper a message with your head, once I’ve made you pay for touching my wife.” You’ve never seen such rage in your husband before; his usually so soft and sweet amber eyes now contorted with hatred, the flames from the torchlight reflecting in his eyes as if the fire is inside him. His sword drips with blood, mixing with the blood pool on the floor and yet there’s not a scratch on him. Rhaenyra squeezes you tightly for a moment before releasing you and stepping forward.
“Take him to the dungeons, have two guards on duty at all times, and summon the maids,” commands the Queen to Ser Lorrent, who nods and drags the man from your chambers, a trail of blood in their wake. You watch, without moving from your corner, as Rhaenyra cups her son’s face before taking her leave and the guards, and Jacaerys turns to you; all the hardness in his gaze melted away and replaced by wide eyes full of concern. He speaks your name, his voice cracking slightly at the sight of you, and you throw yourself to him. His sword clatters to the ground as his muscular arms catch you, a hand cradling your head against his chest and the other wrapped around your waist tightly. Your knees give out as the shock leaves your veins, and the pair of you drop to the floor.
“How did-”
“The storm made the flight back harder than I expected. I was on my way up when I found a dead guard. They’d pushed the body behind a pillar, but I still saw it. I thought they’d come for Mother again, so I ran to her chambers first. When I saw her undisturbed, I just knew,” Jace explains softly, brushing your hair soothingly, his thumb wiping away tears and blood spatters from your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, my love. I should’ve been here. I should have come here first, I-I’m going to kill them all for laying a hand on you.”
Jacaerys’ mind is reeling and he’s sure he has never been so scared as he was when he found those men attacking his wife, his love, his heart. His more violent side, one he pushes down for the sake of decency, itches to storm down to the dungeons and torture the man who dared hurt you, to make him pay for every second of pain he caused you, to fly to King’s Landing himself to find those responsible for this night and add their blood to his blade. But you need him more in this moment and he is ever at your will.
“S’not your fault,” you say softly, your voice weaker than you’d like. Jace opens his mouth, but two maids enter the room, clearly having just been woken, eyes wide at the state of your chambers.
“Pardon, my prince, my lady,” the elder of the two says softly, dark blue eyes full of sympathy. Your husband helps you stand, his arm staying protectively around your shoulder.
"Let us wash and try to find sleep," he says softly to you before turning to ask one of the maids to make the bed in your old chambers and run you a bath. Jacaerys wraps his dark red and still-damp cape around your shoulders before leading you down the halls to the chambers you lived in before your marriage. The familiar surroundings comfort you as Jace leads you to the couch before starting a fire in the hearth.
Soon, the bed has been made up and a hot bath drawn and your husband dismisses the maids, thanking them for their help at such late hours. Jacaerys gently helps you undress and step into the bath. Kneeling outside, he helps wash away the night's evidence, softly sponging the blood from your skin and wringing it from your hair. You lean into his soft touch, finding comfort in his presence and care. Few words are spoken between you as he cares for you but in this moment, his presence is all you want. You can sense the anger in Jace lingering under his skin, needling at his mind, but he stays by your side, whispering promises that he won’t leave you, that he’ll always protect you; your wellbeing more important to him than anything else in the world.
Once you are dressed in a clean nightgown and all blood cleansed from both of you, the pair of you crawl into bed together, your head on his broad chest, allowing his heartbeat to lull you back into a sense of safety. It is not until the first rays of light begin to shine through the curtains that you both find sleep, but you do eventually, wrapped in the loving embrace of each other.
#jacaerys strong#jace velaryon#jace targaryen#Jacaerys velaryon#jacaerys velaryon fluff#jacaerys targaryen x reader#jacaerys velaryon x reader#jacaerys valaryon#jacaerys#jacaerys x reader#prince jacaerys#jacaerys targaryen#jacaerys velaryon smut#hotd jacaerys#jacaerys velaryon angst#jacaerys x you#jacaerys valaryon x reader#hotd#hotd fanfic#hotd season 2#asoif/got#fire and blood
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I was all over her.
my other works :)

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female! reader
warnings: angst, sad Aemond, minor spoilers from hotd s2 ep 2, 3, and 4, not much smut but MDNI!!
WC: 4517
summary: when the world turned their back on him, she didn’t.
Don't know what I wanted, I have a memory
Throughout Aemond’s life, he remembers how much he wanted to be seen.
By his father,
by his mother,
by his brother,
by the whole world.
He wasn’t the heir to the throne, he didn’t have a dragon like his brothers or sister. He was weak and nothing. He spend his days being teased and bullied relentlessly by his brother and nephews. They had venomous tongues and big sharp teeth. He hated the way he is.
But when the world turned their back on him, one person remained.
She was a Tyrell, born not long after his mother gave birth to his youngest brother Daeron. His grandsire and mother are close to her parents since the Tyrells and Hightowers are two houses that are closely related.
When he first met her back in oldtown, he saw her as a meek and shy young girl. He hated it. Because it reminded him of himself. But his hatred grew when he saw how well she gets along with Aegon, Daeron, even Helaena. Maybe he doesn’t hate her, maybe he just hates how he’s nothing like her.
Likeable.
Then it all changed in one summer evening.
He was reading at the great library of oldtown, away from the world as he read about his great ancestors of old valyria and dragons. Dragons he longed to have. Like Aegon with sunfyre, Helaena with Dreamfyre, even Daeron with Tessarion. Then he heard a thud.
Looking back from his seat, he saw no one was in the empty library but him.
When he returned to his book, he heard another thud.
Shutting the book with frustration, he began to look for the source of the sound that disturbed his peace. Walking deeper between old tall shelves, he took a turn to the left and saw…her.
Younger and smaller than him, but the Tyrell girl grunts as she climbs the bookshelf. Strong but mighty. The way her silly tongue sticks out as she’s so persistent to reach a book at the tallest shelf. He cleared his throat as he looked down, noticing many books had been scattered around the floor for her to climb.
She turned to him with a surprise stare.
“Prince Aemond!”
As a child, she squeaks like a squirrel
Aemond thought to himself.
“What are you doing up there?” Aemond asks curiously. “I..I’ve been trying to reach that book!” She says as she still tries to reach the book at the highest shelf.
“You will hurt yourself,” Young Aemond sighs.
“Can you help me, my prince?” she asks as she jumps down from the shelf.
“No-“
“Please!”
“Absolutely not-“
“You’re far much taller than me!” She says pointing at his height.
Even as children, he has always been taller than her.
Aemond sighs, knowing what he’s about to do.
And he did it.
Not for his own pride, but for her.
“Oh thank you!” She thanked him with a smile when he easily reached and took the book she’s looking for. The girl hugged the huge book in her arms. “It wasn’t a big deal, whatever,” Aemond says, acting nonchalant while he dusts off his clothes. “It is though, I wouldn’t have been able to reach that book if you weren’t here!” She says with a bright smile.
Heat rose up to his cheeks. No one ever ‘relied’ on him before.
“Biarvose,” he muttered under his breath, not wanting her to know. But she heard him and tilted her head with curiosity. “Are you speaking high valyrian? It sounds lovely! Can you teach me?!” She asks cheerfully.
“What, no I’m not-“
“Please! I want to at least learn something new!” The girl says excitedly. Before he could answer, she grabbed his arm and dragged him to their seats in front of the fireplace. “I’m a fast learner, I promise!” She says as she sits down beside him with a smile.
Can’t believe he’s doing this.
But…it felt nice. The way she wanted him to teach her. She could’ve asked Aegon or Daeron…yet she chose him.
“It’s…”
He mentioned her name. He liked how her name rolled off his tongue.
“…Tyrell, right?”
She nods.
And since that day, and for the whole summer he taught her high valyrian in the library. Word by word, he was patient to teach her. He hates to admit it but she actually was a fast learner.
She was his first true friend.
She was the first person who makes him feel like he has a purpose in life.
Until they took his eye.
Just a year after he knew her, by the time he turned 10 he had claimed Vhagar, the largest and oldest dragon in Westeros. But for a price, which was his eye.
He became the same boy who hated the world.
Never came back to oldtown or any places except the red keep. Afraid what the world might say about him. How ugly he looked with his scar, one of his eye missing, but most of all he was afraid of what SHE might say about him. Afraid of rejection, how she’ll stop spending time with him.
His thoughts were interrupted when his mother came inside his chambers. Bringing in the young Tyrell.
“Aemond, she’s here to see you,” Alicent says, in a slight pleading tone. For he has shut himself out from the world when the maester stitched him. It hurts and it will hurt even more if he knew that all that people will see in him was a monster.
“Go away,” he says coldly, his chair facing away from the door.
“Are you feeling any better?” Her sweet gentle voice asks as Alicent has her arm around the little girl.
Sometimes he just wants to run and hug her for comfort. For she was his escape from this cruel world. Her optimism makes him alive. He didn’t want to lose that.
“I said go away,” his hands gripped the arms of the chair.
“I brought you-,”
“I SAID GO AWAY!” He shrieks, stepping down from his chair and throwing his cup at her direction as he turns around, accidentally showing her his scar. His true self.
Alicent quickly tried to shield the young girl as she screamed. Shielding her from him.
From him.
“Aemond!” Alicent scolded her son.
Yet his mother’s scolding didn’t matter to him. He saw his friend’s…his only friend terrified expression. He scared her. He hurt her. Just like how the world hurt him.
He took a step back.
“I…I’m sorry,” he says lowly before returning to his chair.
He wanted to cry. But it hurts if he does.
Then he heard slow and tiny footsteps.
And she…she placed a toy dragon at the table. As her hands tremble.
“I carved Vhagar for you…father taught me how to carve.”
The young girl says bravely. Yet Aemond wasn’t brave enough to meet her eyes. Not after he hurt her. So he says nothing.
“Get well soon, my prince,” she curtsied and hurriedly returned to the Queen. Leaving him alone in his cold and empty room. Only the sound of crackling fire filled the room. Aemond loved silence but this time…he hated it.
So he reached out, taking the wooden figure of his dragon into his hands. And by the time Queen Alicent returned to his chambers, she found her son asleep in his chair.
Holding the little dragon in his hands, close to his chest.
-
Back at that party, I was all over her
The death of Prince Lucerys Velaryon was at his fault and he couldn’t deny it any more.
Kinslayer. Thats what they call him now.
His betrothal to one of Borris Baratheon’s daughter came to an end once Vhagar snapped her sharp teeth onto Vermax’s body. No one wanted to marry a Kinslayer.
A crippled and a kinslayer.
What a fucking combo.
But he firmly believed that everything that has happened to him was meant to be. Because if it weren’t for it, he wouldn’t be shaped as he is now. And he has to be better. Every sword training, every lessons, and at every war..he must be the best.
But that little boy inside of him still clings onto him till this very day.
Especially when his mother mentioned her name.
For he shall now marry her to strengthen the allieagance between their house and the Tyrells. They needed this. And he shall do it for them.
He convinced himself it wasn’t personal and he doesn’t wish to meet her and just arrange the marriage ceremony. Secretly afraid for what she’ll think of him now.
A kinslayer, a cripple…a monster.
For they have not met again since that very night in his chambers.
And when he saw her gain at the grand sept for their wedding, may the gods help him.
She has grown into a woman. Not a young child anymore.
She smiled to her family, giving them a nervous thin smile.
Does he makes her nervous?
Does he scare her?
The ceremony was done in the sept. Not a grand wedding like any royal ceremony would be for they are at war and it’s ignorant if they host a grand wedding in the midst at war.
He couldn’t help but to stare how different she is now. How reserved and mature her body language is as she gracefully walks around with her long dress dragging through the cold stones of the sept. She was…beautiful.
“My prince,” she says as she curtsied. Even her voice has changed. Now it felt as if honey were dripping down her tongue.
“My Lady,” he greets back stoically. Not wanting her or anyone to read his mind.
“How are you, my prince?” she whispers as the ceremony begins. Still making small talk as always, yet he yearns for it. He’s deeply grateful that she still wants to talk to him. Yet it has been awhile since he properly talked to her, it made him nervous. “I am well,” he whispers back. His healthy eye looked into hers as they were pronounced husband and wife. He finds nothing but nostalgia in her eyes. She is just how he remembered her.
-
We didn't make out or do anything
I just remember I was lonely
He didn’t like the idea of a bedding ceremony.
Where people would see him…and her.
It’s unnatural…and unfitting.
So he ordered for the bedding ceremony not to be done. But he promised that he shall take her that night and they can inspect the bedsheets in the morning.
When he stepped into her chambers, he found her anxiously standing beside the bed. A weird tense atmosphere swept the room.
“I..,” she wants to speak.
“I would like to say thank you for…not letting the bedding ceremony to happen-“
What is this? Does she not want everyone to see us together?
His anxious mind and overthinking took power over him.
“Who said it was done for you?” He snapped at her as he closed the door.
Shit. He did it again.
And she was quiet once more.
I scared her again.
“But…still…I still want to thank you…my pr-“
“Husband,” he sternly says walking past her.
“Pardon?”
He took a jug filled with wine and poured it onto his empty cup. He at least needed a cup of wine if he wanted to bed her right.
“I am your husband now, am I not?” He asks, not looking at her.
“Oh yes…husband,” she says with a nod, fiddling her skirt.
Aemond turned around and took off his attire and was left with his tunic, yet she just stood there beside the bed, not being able to move.
She was nervous.
He looked at her, unsure what he should do. Should he comfort her? Should he take her quickly so they didn’t have to endure this pain together? No- no no no he didn’t want to hurt her.
Then he saw her slowly opening her nightgown. Her hands trembling like when he hurt her as a child. She slips her nightgown over his chest-.
It’s been awhile since he saw a woman’s body.
The last time was…..was…
“Stop.”
She curiously looked up to him, only halfway through from being naked. “I-is there something wrong?-.”
“No,” he quickly answered, looking down with shame.
Yes. There is something wrong.
When Aegon took him to that brothel…at the age of 13..he…he couldn’t- it scarred him.
She’s not like them. She’s not like that whore.
It’s only her, it’s just her!
His mind battling inside his head as he stood at the other side of the bed. He blamed Aegon for ruining something that should be meaningful for a man and woman. Ruining something that should’ve been meaningful for him and her. He blamed the brothel, he blamed his brother, and foremost he blamed himself.
He can’t bed her.
Not like this.
“We must…do our duty,” he says, trying to mask his insecurity and vulnerability in front of her. Trying to mask the same 13 year old boy who was terrified when he stepped into the brothel for the first time.
He didn’t dare to look up. He didn’t want to see her being disgusted by hi-
“Yet you don’t want to,” her voice was gentle and kind. Not a hint of mockery at sight.
“I-“
“I don’t want to do this either.”
He looks up, finding her shielding her chest with her nightgown. That sight aroused him terribly. He wanted to touch her, wanted to make her happy and satisfied. He wanted to make her smile. Yet he saw the same little girl that admired him as a child. He didn’t want to fuck her, he wanted to make love with her.
But he didn’t know how to.
So he just…stood there. The two of them stood there and said nothing.
Just as he thought all hope was lost, she puts on her nightgown and stepped away from the bed.
She’s leaving.
She’s disgusted by me.
“What are you-.”
She took a butter knife and roughly slits her palm, letting blood drip to the bed.
He stared at her.
“There. They’ll think I lost my maidenhead,” she says with a little smile plastered on her face. “No one will know.”
His eye drifts into her still bleeding palm. He groaned walking towards her, ripping a cloth and wrapped her bleeding palm with it. “Mittys,” he muttered under his breath. She chuckles, “You haven’t taught me that word yet.”
And for the first time in a lifetime, a genuine amused smirk was plastered across his face. “Stay still,” he ordered, tightening the cloth on her palm.
When he was done, she gazed up at him for a moment. “How long has it been?” She suddenly asked. “I have not been counting,” Aemond replied, still holding her scarred hand. She slowly then pulled him to bed, sitting down. “You must stay for awhile. Or else they’d be suspicious.”
Gods be good.
She was too kind for him.
And he joined her, laying on the bed side by side. He wonders if she’s still afraid of him as their hands brushed against each other. He never realized how much he craved for her touch. Wondering what it feels like to be held by her. Would she be gentle? Or would she push him away?
“Usōven,” he muttered, looking at her. Apologizing for that night.
She turned her head to look at him. And smiled.
“I forgive you.”
-
I guess I am always, it's not a problem
It's just something, I got used to it
It got worse.
His yearning for her.
He was afraid to touch her, for he did not want to touch her like a whore. She was his equal. He didn’t want to hurt her.
So he lets all of his frustration to Madame Sylvie. He was attached to her even before his wife returned to his life, yet her presence made him worse. With the war…and his guilt for the death of Lucerys…and now the presence of her…it frustrates him. Every single time he fucks that whore, he thinks of her. He imagined that it was her in bed.
Imagined that it was her holding him.
At Least he could keep her safe from him.
He didn’t mean for it to happen. He never meant for it to happen in the first place.
But when he returned from his sins back to his sacred sanctuary, he finds nothing but horror in the keep.
They murdered his nephew.
Prince Jaehaerys.
A son for a son.
It was his fault his nephews were dead.
It was supposed to be him who’s dead. Whose head should be beheaded. Not his nephew. Not anyone.
After inspecting his chambers, he rushed to his wife’s room. Finding her in bed, holding Helaena and Jaehaera as the three girls cried. He saw how terrified the three of them were, but he noticed how she cradled his sister and his niece. Whispering nothing but reassurance to them. “It’s okay, they’re gone now…you’re both safe,” he heard her. She has always taken care of Helaena and the kids well.
Noticing his presence, his wife looked up, finding him unable to move from the doorway. She lets go of her grieving sister in law and niece as she walks to him. Her eyes were teary and red.
Oh how he hates to see her cry.
He looks down at her, cupping her cheek with one hand.
“Where were you?” Her question rang through his ear as her voice cracked on the last word she spoke. Guilt consumed him- no. Guilt starts to eat him slowly but surely. Eating him alive as her wife, her sister, his niece, and his brother grieve for the death of the young innocent prince. He couldn’t say a word, instead hugging his wife tight as she cried into his chest. Sobbing loudly as the castle was filled with darkness. Not a light of hope in sight.
“No one will hurt you. I swear it to you. I’m here..i’m here,” he whispers to his wife as she cried.
He might’ve gotten used to the pain people put on him, but he realized that he would never ever get used to seeing her cry.
He would never let anyone hurt her.
He would protect her from the cruel world.
Even from himself.
-
Every stranger makes me feel safer
And every person seems more beautiful
“I do regret that business with Luke, I lost my temper that day. I am sorry for it.”
“They used to tease me, y’know? Because I was different.”
He knew he should be seeking comfort from his wife, but he couldn’t. As much as she makes him feel like him…he was still afraid his wife would see right through him. To judge him. So he couldn’t. Not to her.
He feels safer in the arms of a whore, who has no power over him. While his wife, she had all the power to control him if she could.
Nights went on and he sneaked out secretly. And no one knew. He was safe. His secret was safe.
Until Aegon…had to ruin everything like he always did.
Humiliating him was always his brother’s hobby.
Blinded with anger, he stomps and storms back to the keep. Wanting his brother and the world to disappear. He wanted to be alone. He hated everything. Yet he didn’t realize that a certain someone was still awake.
Closing Helaena’s bedroom door, lady Tyrell exits the queen’s bedroom for Helaena finds comfort from her sister in law. Just as she wanted to call it a night, she’s standing face to face with no other than her husband.
“Aemond,” she says in surprise.
He froze. He didn’t know what to say. All the rage and humiliation were gone in an instant. His face was covered with guilt and fear. “Wife,” he answered with a hint of anxiety dripping down his tongue.
“Where have you been?” She chuckled, thinking that he was just out for a walk or something. In her mind, she would never ever even think that Aemond would be doing things like that behind her back.
Aemond stiffened, unable to answer. Before his brother always had to ruin the show.
“Look who it is!” Aegon says as his kingsguard follows behind him. “Your husband here…well, how do I say it..ah yes, was in the whore house, dear sister,” Aegon cackles, nudging Aemond’s arm before earning a hard punch from Aemond.
He saw red. He saw red in his eyes. He hated his brother. He hates him. He should’ve shut up. He never should’ve brought him to that place in the first place, he should’ve never returned to that place!-
“What..?” His wife’s voice slightly trembled.
Even when Aegon was in pain on the ground, he cackled. Obviously still drunk. “You heard me! He was fucking that whore like a hound!” Aegon continues to say and starts to make howling sounds.
Aemond saw how she started to grip her nightgown, her hands trembling. Her eyes were teary, not wanting to cry.
He disappointed her.
Disappointing the only person who has faith in him.
“I…I must go…sleep well your grace and….husband,” she says nervously as she curtsied at the two brothers before walking away.
He watched her walk away. Not daring to chase after her or call out her name. He wouldn’t dare, for he knew he disappointed her deeply. He hurt her again. Like how he did as a child. And now he’s sure she won't come back to him. This was the start of him losing her.
-
She hasn't talked to him since then. What used to be civil and peaceful. Her small talks and smiles weren’t present at his presence. She avoided him at all times. To the point where enough was enough. He couldn’t live like this. He needed her to talk to him. He doesn’t want his marriage to end like his father and his mother. He cares for her…he…he…he loves her.
And when he blinks, he finds himself standing in front of her chamber doors one morning.
He knocked gently.
“Come in,” he heard her sweet voice that he missed from her room.
When he enters, he received her sad and surprised expression.
“Husband,” she greeted stoically, looking away.
He then realized how her closet was wide open and empty. Her clothes scattered on the bed as he saw her stuffing her dresses onto her..
“What’s this?!” He protested.
“Mother said it’s not safe for me to be in kings landing. War is coming and…I must go home,” she says in a sad tone.
His heart sank deep hearing her words.
She’s leaving.
She’s leaving him.
“You are not going anywhere,” he insisted, roughly taking dresses out of her hands.
“Aemond-“
“Not on my sight!-“
“But Aemond-!”
“You are safe here! With me! With Vhagar!” He exclaims roughly, taking out of her dresses from her trunk.
“Aemond, stop it!”
Yet Aemond does not answer.
“I will keep you safe. Vhagar will keep you safe, no one will never hurt you-“
“But you did!”
Silence.
Gods, he hated the silence between them.
“You don’t understand,” he grunts as he grips the bedsheets. “How can I understand if you never let me in?!” She protested, tears streaming down from her eyes. He doesn’t even want to look at her. He didn’t want to see her cry.
“See? You wouldn’t even look at me! You wouldn’t touch me, you wouldn’t kiss me, you…,” she points out.
Aemond sighs in defeat.
It was all his fault.
But then he roughly took off his eyepatch, towering over her, gripping her wrist as he showed his sapphire eye to her. “And would you? Would you touch this monster, hm? Kiss this husband of yours who’s the reason why two innocent boys are killed? The reason why this war STARTED IN THE FIRST PLACE?!”
She flinched.
She closed her eyes, scared…waiting for him to do something to her.
It broke him.
“I…I..forgive me, I..,” Aemond lowers down his voice and hand, releasing her. Now guilt and shame has finally eaten him whole. He hurt her. Again and again. She deserved better.
Then came a knock on the door.
“Sorry for interrupting, my prince but..the council awaits your presence,” A guard said to him.
“I’ll be there.”
-
Aemond took his time and walked out of her chambers with her as her trunks were carried out from her room. It was present how there’s a gap between them. He wanted to hold her hand terribly, but he couldn’t. Not after what he did to her.
He felt how people were looking. Eyes on them as they walked through the halls of the red keep. He tried one more time to reach his pinky finger to hers but when they touched, she pulled her hand away to rub her other arm.
He lost her.
He probably never had her in the first place.
When they reached her carriage, he didn’t want to tear his eyes from her.
“I would, y’know?” She suddenly says with her gentle voice.
“Pardon?”
“I would…kiss and touch you,” she repeats. “The monster you said of…is still my husband. You’re still my husband,” she emphasizes.
Her words touched him somewhere in the deepest parts of his heart that no one has touched before. It made him frozen and unable to move a single muscle or bone in his body.
“I know that I am not what you needed, and I know that I’m nothing to you-.”
She was terribly wrong. How wrong she was. She meant the world to him.
She was…everything to him.
“I hope you will find what you’re looking for in the future.”
He didn’t want anyone but her.
They looked back and saw people watching.
They’re waiting.
They’re watching.
She has always been far much braver than him. So she walked back to him, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek, just beneath his eye patch. Beneath his scar.
“Geros ilas, my love…avy jorrāelan,” she whispered to him before pulling away and stepping into her carriage without looking back.
And little did Aemond know, that will be the last time he would ever get to see her.
In his heart, he blamed the world again.
He blamed his brother.
He blamed everyone and everything that took her away from him.
Maybe in another life, the war wouldn’t have happened, Aegon wouldn’t have took him to the brothel, Lucerys didn’t take his eye, and maybe.. he could hold her like a normal person would. Maybe they’d have children…and maybe…maybe she’d stay.
But right now, he walks back to the keep to assemble their army. To rook’s rest. To prove his brother and the whole world. To win this war.
For her.
a/n: Hello everyone! I’m Alice and thank you so much for reading! Fyi I used to write on tumblr but my old account was like semi suspended? Idk I couldn’t interact with people, I couldn’t comment on people’s post so now I’m here and uhh hi🥹I hope you enjoy this one shot and I’m only gonna write fics mainly about the Ewanverse so you’re in for a ride🫶🏻🤗 I’m gonna write more in the future and thank you for sticking around until the end of this fic! Thank you once againnn💞💞
#aemond targaryen#ewan mitchell#house of the dragon#house targaryen#phia saban#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen angst#aemond one eye#ewan mitchell x reader#ewan mitchell fanfic#ewan mitchell imagine#aemond targaryen imagine#house of the dragon fanfiction#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon s2#hotd spoilers#hotd season 2#aegon ii targaryen#haelena targaryen#hotd aemond#hotd fanfic#hotd s2#fire and blood#damce of the dragons#asoiaf#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x you#hotd
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Fire and blood - Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader

Author’s note: Before I got into my usual summary, this fic is part of a collab with a bunch of my lovely moots! @lady-phasma came to us with an ask about period sex and Daemon and being as lovely as she is, she offered us all the chance to collab on it. Choosing our own characters and how to play the story.
Please find the masterlist of everyone's fics here.
English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:
Summary: You haven't been married to your husband Daemon Targaryen for very long - but you've learnt to enjoy your marriage to the Rogue Prince. But unlike normality, you haven't sought out Daemon for a few affectionate visits throughout the day, and that makes him suspicious…
Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader
Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Period smut; fingering (f in v), p in v sex - implied
Word count: 2.2 k
Other stories of mine
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Daemon opens the door, but only darkness reveals itself to him. He raises his eyebrows slightly, but steps into your shared chambers. He is looking for his wife, who has been by his side for several moons now.
During this time, he has already become accustomed to you seeking him out throughout the day, sometimes just to get a little peck and sometimes because you want to tell him something - but today you have not sought him out.
His heavy footsteps sound in your chambers as he walks further inside.
"Are you hiding from me, woman?" he murmurs.
He walks over to a small table with fruit and sweet dishes on it. He takes a bunch of grapes between his fingers before letting them disappear into his mouth.
"Has another moon gone by?" he asks into the room and turns to your bed, where he recognises the outline of a figure under the covers. A slight grin plays around his lips before he walks towards the bed.
But as he gets closer, he picks up an unusual scent.
"What's that smell?" he asks.
And suddenly your voice rings out, "It's oak bark tea... My abdomen is a cramp," you mumble from under the covers.
He's still smiling and comes closer to the bed.
"What have we got here? I wonder what trouble could be brewing under here," he says, reaching lightly for the blanket.
"No... Go away," you say quietly and try to hold the blanket tight.
But Daemon pulls the blanket down further and kneels on the bed with one knee.
"Ah... there you are... what a view," he says sarcastically as the blanket reveals your face. Your hair lies dishevelled on the pillow, your face a little sleepily puffy as your annoyed gaze meets his. "Yes....my beautiful wife," he says and smiles. He pulls the blanket down further and a "Go away," sounds from you again.
He smiles at your words, "Why would I do that when I have such a sight in front of me?" he says, a hint of sarcasm still in his voice again.
You sigh and try to turn away, but you feel Daemon kneel down further on the bed and his hand grips you gently.
"Ah, ah, ah," he says and lies down next to you, his arm wrapped around your middle.
His warm breath brushes the back of your neck as he presses his face into yours, "What's wrong," he whispers.
You sigh again and already feel his large, surprisingly warm hand on your abdomen... a warm touch of your dragon.
"I'm bleeding..." you say almost inaudibly, but Daemon hears your words and smiles slightly. He knows how you feel during your period. You're vulnerable and sleepy. The cramps force you to lie down and only warmth and strange teas from the maesters give you some relief... well, and other things.
But you're his wife and according to him, you should always feel carefree - but he can't refrain from teasing you a little.
"Pardon?" he whispers, smiling slightly, while you sigh lightly again.
"I'm bleeding..." you repeat your words and mumble into your pillow.
"Love..." he whispers again.
You close your eyes and feel this inner tension that tickles your fingertips.
"I'm on my period," you say a little louder into the pillow.
"Love... Sorry, I don't understand," Daemon replies and his lips graze your neck.
His behaviour makes you seethe, why can't he leave you alone?
"Daemon! Seven hells! I'm on my period! I'm in pain and I'm bleeding!", you call out and raise your head slightly.
He chuckles, "It's fine... no need to shout like that..."
You shake your head slightly, wanting to push his arm away, but he has a firm grip on you. His hand slides slowly downwards, his fingers make light, circular movements and you stiffen slightly.
"Daemon, what are you doing," you suddenly whisper.
"I want you to feel good, love... It'll help you relax..." he murmurs into your ear, nibbling lightly.
You gasp and hold his hand back, "Daemon... there's blood... a lot... it's the first day..." you say hesitantly.
He continues to nibble on your earlobe, his fingers sliding along your thigh, not in the least impressed by your words.
"You know there's nothing to be ashamed of. A woman's body is a natural, beautiful thing.... It's beautiful because it's you," he kisses your cheek and lets his nose glide gently along it. His hand strokes along your thigh and you feel a slight throbbing between your thighs alongside the numbing pain in your abdomen.
"Do you want me to take care of you?" he whispers, kissing the soft skin behind your ear.
You bite your lip lightly, but you shake your head slightly.
"Daemon... There really is a lot of blood..." you repeat your words quietly.
He chuckles softly again, another kiss landing on your neck, "Love... a true warrior isn't afraid of a little blood..." he murmurs.
His hand slides further, "Just relax..." he whispers and you try. Slowly, you close your eyes and try to concentrate on his touch as a heavy breath leaves your lips.
Gently, he kisses your neck and shoulder as he holds you close."It's nothing to be ashamed of either. Especially not my wife. It's natural," he whispers in your ear.
His fingers pull your nightgown up, very slowly. His fingers leave a fiery trail on your thigh and you try to ignore the dull ache that runs through your abdomen.
You can't suppress it, your hips begin to move in slight circular motions as his fingers glide through your pubic hair, caressing you. You gasp as you can already feel his arousal from behind as he presses himself lightly against you.
His fingers reach their destination, slowly running along your folds, and you gasp again – your legs spread slightly.
"That's it... I'll take care of you..." he whispers in your ear and you nod slightly.
The sweetest moan escapes your lips as his fingers find your pearl and apply light pressure. Your legs spread wider and a smile graces his lips.
"Daemon..." you gasp.
"I know..." he whispers, nibbling on your earlobe again as his fingers rub gently over your clit.
"Your body is natural and beautiful. Even in all its bloody glory," he whispers and you nod, your breathing quickening.
He kisses you on the cheek again as his fingers tease over your glistening entrance, gently spreading your folds.
You feel the familiar stretch as his fingers slide inside you. But not all the way in, he teases you a little and you exhale heavily, your hips moving towards his fingers, longing for his touch. And then he fulfils your craving – his fingers stretch your walls, trying to find a good angle, pushing deeper. He revels in the slickness that coats his fingers, the evidence of your arousal mingling with the blood that flows.
"Feel how wet you are for me," he whispers teasingly, his smile pressing against the back of your neck.
"Daemon!" you gasp, but also a small moan leaves your lips.
He chuckles briefly, but your concentration is once again fully on his movements as his fingers penetrate deeper.
"Gods..." you gasp and he grins. Slowly, but firmly, his fingers push forward. He can feel your walls clench, longing for release.
"You know I love all the sounds you make, but I love your moans the most. I can feel your walls tighten around my fingers as if your body wants to hold me inside you while I make you tremble..." he whispers in your ear.
You moan again as his thumb grazes your pearl. He continues his expert ministrations, he is determined to make you forget the discomfort, to lose yourself in a wave of pleasure that only he can provide.
His fingers curl inside you, beckoning you as his thumb presses against your clit again. You press your arse against his hardness and he moans into your neck. As he feels your hips moving towards his fingers, urging for more, he complies, increasing the intensity of his movements. He curls his fingers, angling them to hit that sweet spot within you, knowing exactly how to drive you wild with desire.
"Moan for me…" he commands, his voice laced with dominance, "Let me hear your pleasure, let it echo through these chambers."
And you obey as his fingers thrust deeper. He bites into your neck as his fingers tease your walls. His fingers continue their exploration, delving deeper inside you, seeking out the spots that make you writhe with pleasure. He maintains a steady rhythm, his touch skilled and attentive to your body's responses.
Smacking noises echo in your chambers as his fingers pump in and out faster. His fingers sliding in and out of your wetness with ease. With each thrust of his fingers, he can feel the slickness and warmth of your arousal, heightening his own desire.
He starts to apply more pressure and lets a third finger slide in. He knows what you like and he gives it to you the way you need it. He stretches your walls while they continue to clench around his fingers. Daemon's eyes gleam with a mixture of desire and possessiveness as he feels your response to his touch. He revels in the power he holds over your pleasure, his fingers moving with a practiced precision.
"Oh, my sweet wife," he murmurs, the words laced with a mixture of possessiveness and anticipation. "You are so responsive, so eager for my touch."
His body presses against yours, his hard length grinding against your backside as he continues to pleasure you with his fingers. His lips find your ear, his breath hot against your skin. Your fear of smearing him with your blood is forgotten, you need more.
"Daemon... Daemon," you whimper again and again, your arm reaching back, to the back of his head. Your fingers reach into his silky hair and he grunts. As he continues to drive you towards the peak of pleasure, Daemon's own desire grows, his need for release becoming undeniable. But at this moment, he's focused solely on your pleasure, on taking you to the edge and beyond, on helping you forget your discomfort.
"Yes... my love... Come on, come on my fingers, milk them like you always milk my cock when I fuck that delicious cunt," he growls into your neck.
And that pushes you over the edge. You cry out, your walls tightening around his fingers and Daemon grunts out.
You whimper, your hand gripping his hair tighter as he kisses your neck. Your eyes are closed, your breathing rapid as he pulls his fingers out when your walls stop clenching. A pleasant warmth flows through your abdomen, soothing away the pain more effectively than every maester's tea could.
As you catch your breath, you glance slightly over your shoulder and look at Daemon. He chuckles as he looks at his fingers, they're covered in blood.
"This is a sight I couldn't have imagined at the beginning of the day..", he kisses your neck again, "But I'm going to enjoy it“, he whispers into your ear.
"Daemon, no!" you say with wide eyes.
He just grins as you avert your eyes and blush. You hear the smacking sound as he licks his fingers.
But now you have to laugh as you stare at him again – his eyes are closed and he seems to be enjoying it.
"You're impossible..." you say softly as he still licks his fingers.
"Daemon, stop it!" you say and giggle, but he just grins and pulls you closer to him again.
"Delicious," he murmurs.
He starts stroking and caressing your belly again.
His breathing slows down as he holds you close. The sounds and smell of you, your little body in his embrace, it's almost more than he can bear at this moment.
He gently grabs your chin, as if he were holding something fragile and precious, and gently pulls your head upwards. When you return his gaze, it is gentle and tender.
"And you are my wife. You may feel sick, you may bleed, sometimes I may even be the cause of your anger. But that's all part of your body's natural rhythm. So please, my sweet girl, never hide from the pain, never keep your misery a secret. Otherwise, I promise you, it will cause me more grief than your blood..." he says gently. These moments with him are rare, but you savour them – your lovely husband. You lean towards him and let your lips slide onto his. He growls slightly and you feel his hand on your arse. You giggle slightly and feel his smile on your lips.
But the grip on your arse tightens and he pulls you towards him, positioning you perfectly against his crotch. He still can't hide his excitement and you gasp slightly. Your lips are still dancing around each other, you can feel the coppery taste on his tongue as he starts to undo his trousers. He growls again as his hand spreads your cheeks slightly and presses his hardness between your thighs from behind. You whimper as his cock slides along your folds.
"Let's see if we can give you a little more relief, shall we?" he growls against your lips and you moan as the tip of his cock presses against your slick entrance.
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#prince daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen smut#daemon targaryen x you#daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen x female reader#daemon targaryen x y/n#daemon targaryen x reader#the rogue prince#house of the dragon#daemon targaryen oneshot#matt smith#hotd#hotd imagine#hotd smut#hotd fanfic#daemon targaryen fanfic#daemon targaryen fanfiction#daemon targaryen imagine#fire and blood#daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader#daemon targaryen x fem!reader#daemon targaryen x oc#hotd fan fiction#daemon smut#uncle daddy daemon
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Blood on Fire ~ pt. 1 | LHS

A/N: this is part 1 of the BOF series! I have decided to divide this story up by who's sex scene is in it, but in order to fully understand the story, you must start with part 1 and finish (if you want). they are plot driven, and context will not make sense if you start with part 2, etc...
genre/tags ✶ MDNI reverse harem!hyung line x afab!reader, angst, smut, gore and violence, supernatural themes, (sirens, werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, phoenixes, frost elves, dragons, witches, and more…), underground betting, alcohol use, blood, verbal and physical violence, murder, manipulation, death (no major characters, lol kinda), government themes (not political), fight club au, ot7
synopsis ✶ In a city where the supernatural are arrested on sight, the only refuge for their pent-up rage is “The Enha Arena”- an exclusive, hidden venue where creatures engage in brutal, blood-soaked battles with one another. Concealed beneath the unassuming exterior of “Dusk and Dawn,” a gym that serves as the front of a totally legal business, this underground fight club acts as the epicenter for this violent world where supernatural beings not only fight for dominance and pride but for the sheer thrill of it all. In dire need of some money, you find yourself drawn into the fight club when you come across a black market job posting- an offer for a new trainer at the gym. Desperate for new ways to keep your own abilities under wraps and even learn about other supernatural beings, you accept the position, completely unaware of the dangers and complicated relationships that await you
WC ✶ 16.9k
Part 2
smut warnings under the cut
smut warnings ✶ monster erotica (obviously), blood play/kink, love bites, spanking, dubcon, bondage, unprotected sex, aphrodisiac usage (kinda), degradation, pet names, oral fem!receiving, vaginal fingering
Luxta was different from other cities; it was neither big nor small- large enough that not everyone knew each other by name, but small enough that you didn’t need to make it a day trip to get to the grocery store. What set apart Luxta from other cities was the thriving population of supernatural beings living in the shadows, though their existence was only known by the government and select humans. The rest of the world, including the unsuspecting citizens of Luxta, had no idea that they walked on the same streets as did you so-called ‘monsters’, the ones that should have only ever existed in stories.
Being supernatural was illegal in Luxta and if you were to be caught by those hand-held scanners the government officials in the enforcement division wore around their belt, you’d be arrested on site. They weren’t as far-reaching or accurate as the large, reinforced scanners that were mounted in the back of their trucks or brought to building inspections, but they were enough to ruin your life. So, like everyone else who had the misfortune of being ‘different’, you stayed hidden.
There was one solution to these scanners: suppressants. A sort of perfume that you could use to spray on yourself that would make you undetectable to their scanners. But they were difficult to come by, the production being regulated by one man and their distribution being restricted to underground networks that sold them at sky-high prices. And they were experimental at best, coming with an abundance of long-lasting side effects and malfunctions that didn’t guarantee 100% effectiveness. For the few people that could afford one, they were used as an emergency fall-back.
And for the majority few that didn’t have that luxury, they stayed in The Veil, the black market’s so-called ‘base’ for the supernatural. For you personally, you lived there until you turned three, when a blue-collar couple took you in a few days after your birthday. “Adopted” wouldn’t be the right word- “purchased” would fit the situation better. Given only a handful of humans knew about the supernatural, these types of ‘transactions’ came with a strict clause that if broken, were punishable by death. Even so, 90% of supernatural children grew up as orphans, relying on The Veil for support.
Being adopted in the supernatural community was supposed to be some sort of grand escape from poverty, and in a way, it was. But since meeting your parents, you never stepped foot outside of your home. From the moment you met your parents, you never left your parents’ 800 square foot apartment and its measly excuse for a patio that overlooked the area where people took out their trash.
You existed only to service your human parents- like some sort of bloody commodity. At first, you didn’t know any better. A few healing touches here, a bit of supernatural magic there- it was harmless. But as you grew older, smarter, it didn’t take a genius to know why you were really there. You were just a piece of capital to them, a tool to be used.
As a phoenix, you were an expensively rare commodity. Your regenerative and healing abilities made you invaluable, and many people sought after those traits- but few possessed those characteristics. Your parents, both construction workers, were no stranger to danger in the field. Injuries were a part of their daily lives, and having you around to heal their wounds was an advantage they never hesitated to use.
It was routine- your mother’s strained back from lifting heavy materials and your father’s broken bones from working with heavy machinery. It was the perfect system, your healing touches allowing them to return to their jobs faster than most could manage, like a money making pig. But their injuries were extensive, more than just a mere cut or bruise. Every wound you healed required a certain amount of energy, the more severe wounds drained you of energy for days. As time went on, you felt your body getting weaker and weaker until eventually, you just couldn’t do it anymore.
Whether it was because your body was drained of its own powers or you just couldn’t find it in you to help them anymore, you stopped healing them. So at 14 years old, they kicked you out of their home when they realized they couldn’t extort you of your powers anymore. The realization that you parents had only used you for your abilities hits you hard now, but at the time, it was like a huge burden had been lifted off of your shoulders. And now, for the last six years you’ve been living alone in a poorly lit apartment that’s been funded by The Veil; two years out of highschool and working part time jobs at home all while remaining disconnected from the world outside. Since being kicked out, you hadn’t physically interacted with anyone aside from the person that delivers your groceries to your door. At this point, you’re starting to think you have a deeper connection with your delivery driver than anyone else in your life.
But now, even that little security was slipping away from you. The Veil was making room for the next generation of supernatural kids, which meant only one thing- you were getting kicked out. You still had a few more months to get your shit together, find a new place and make sure you had a stable enough job to maintain yourself in this economy. Your side hustles weren’t going to be enough to cover a first and last month's rent deposit anywhere. So that’s how you ended up here, pulling on some workout gear for some gym training job you found on the dark web for a place called “Dusk and Dawn,” a supernaturally owned gym that operated within the shadows of the black market. The wage was kind, almost too kind and it had you second-guessing the legitimacy of the job- but you were in no position to play it safe right now.
There wasn’t much of an interview process, just some email telling you that your first day would involve being shadowed by a staff member to see how well you interact with their clients. It sounded doable, despite your half empty resume and lack of any formal qualifications. But surely, your years of self-defense training during your free time through a computer screen counted for something, right?
When night finally settles over the city, you leave your cramped studio apartment, watching garbage sweep across the broken cracks in the sidewalk as you hastily make your way down the alleyways. It always took a bit longer to get to where you wanted when you took the back alleys over the main roads, but it was a safety net you had no choice but to rely on whenever you went out. The shadows of the alleys felt safer anyways, more familiar to you than the brightly lit streets that crawled with government officials late at night.
Luxta was always scarce at night, save for the few men in blue that scoured the streets looking for the supernatural under the guise that they were just keeping watch over the neighborhood. When the supernatural had first invaded the city, it was more of a slow encroachment than a sudden flood. It started with a few whispers at first, shadows passing by in the night. Then rumors began to stretch across the city as sightings of these fleeting figures moving faster than the human eye could imagine became more and more frequent. It was never officially confirmed what they were, but the government responded swiftly and labelled the mysterious occurrences as nothing more than a mere increase in criminal activity.
The men in blue- members of the government’s enforcement division- were sent out in droves after that, scouring the streets while armed with silver scanners clipped to their belts. Their devices would emit a piercing alarm at around 90 decibels whenever it detected a supernatural presence, irritatingly announcing their capture to anyone nearby. It’s game over once you hear that alarm, immediate handcuffs specifically designed to detain the supernatural. What happened after was anyone’s guess.
There’s speculation in the supernatural community about what they do with you after you’re arrested: years of brutal testing, harsh interrogations, maybe even torture only to conclude it with a senseless execution. But no one outside of that division knew what happened beyond the arrests made in public. And no one knew why they were even populating Luxta in the first place. The only thing you did know was that your only ally was The Veil.
Arriving in front of a dimly lit building that is squished between a post office and a laundromat, you’re pulled from your thoughts when you see a flickering “Dusk and Dawn” sign hanging above the entrance. You look at the windows, but you can’t see past the dirt and scratches that decorate the glass, obscuring any view of inside. With a nervous breath, you push open the door to the entrance, its rusty bell ringing above you as you enter.
Your eyes fall on the counter before you, its fading white paint peeling at the sides from years of wear and tear. Behind the counter sits a woman with sleek black hair and rectangular framed glasses that accentuate her sharp jawline, “Hello?” you call, glancing around the small waiting room.
The woman glances up, her brown eyes zeroing in on you as you step closer, “And you are?” she asks with disinterest in her tone.
“I’m Y/n, I’m here for orientation as the new gym trainer?” you respond. Up close, you can see that she’s around your age, maybe a few years older with smooth skin and dark eyes that shine at you despite the deadbeat tone she uses to address you with.
She gives you a curt nod, her expression slightly brightening, “My name is Yuqi, I’m the manager here,” she slides off of her stool, the old wood creaking beneath her. “Were you able to see well in the dark, I know the hours of your orientation seem a bit odd, but we’re a 24/7 gym.”
Your mind hesitates as you recall the unspoken question to recognizing a fellow supernatural: asking about the darkness of the sky, “It was glimmering enough for me to see clearly, thanks.”
Yuqi narrows her eyes before offering you a smile, flicking her tongue at you. You watch as her eyes transition from a dark brown to a piercing yellow, her pupils narrowing into a slit. A subtle hiss comes from her as the forked tip darts out at you in a dangerous frenzy. You freeze, mesmerized by the way her thin tongue moves in an unsettling precision, like she’s trying to reel you in, “I’m a serpent, but if you really wanted to get technical, I’m a basilisk,” she explains, observing your wide eyes, “You don’t seem to know many supernatural, do you?”
You blink at her, shoulders slumping as you shake your head.
“Well, if orientation goes ok, you’ll be meeting a lot more supernatural people here. Things can get… intense,” she says, her eyes glinting with pride. “Come,” she gestures for you to follow her, guiding you through a large room filled with old gym equipment that look like they’re about ready to break. You don’t stop there though as she continues to lead you into a dim hallway where a heavy iron door clad with locks and chains at the end of the hall is. You hear a thrum of things clanging on the ground and low murmurs behind the door, and an uneasy tension begins to coil in your chest.
“So, how much do you know about our gym?”
“The ad only told me I’d be helping people work out, nothing more.”
Yuqi raises her eyebrow as she reaches into her pocket, pulling out a silver key. When she begins to unlock the chains, she turns to you, “Don’t be alarmed, things are just different here,” she says calmly, undoing the last lock.
With a rough push of her shoulder, the door opens with a heavy click, unveiling a space that feels worlds apart from the one you just saw minutes ago. The polished bamboo floors shine under the cool lighting of the gym, the industrial light fixtures hanging 6 feet in the air. Each area of the gym is meticulously organized, groups of machines clustered by function on top of black rubber gym tiles. There’s even motivational black and white posters hanging on the walls, accompanied by black plates that adorn the walls near the benches and squat racks. It all feels so overwhelming, the sheer volume of equipment just waiting to be used.
But the most striking feature of the auditorium had to be the imposing boxing ring that sat to the left of everything, its rubber barriers worn and fraying in a way that commanded authority. Encircling three out of four sides of the ring was a bunch of bleachers that looked as though they had been spray-painted black to match the aesthetic of the black and white theme the rest of the gym was following, giving it a high-end yet gritty finish.
“Welcome to the Dusk Gym,” Yuqi says with pride laced in her voice, her gaze sweeping over the space in front of you, “What you saw outside was our Dawn Gym. I know the ad said you’d be helping people work out,” she continues by gesturing at a few of the members working out on some of the equipment, “but that’s only a fraction of what you’ll be doing.”
You turn to her, confusion evident in the way you tilt your head and furrow your brows, “What do you mean?” your voice carries a mixture of wariness and intrigue as Yuqi’s thin lips curve upwards into a smirk.
“Nestled within Dusk Gym is the Enha Arena,” she reveals, her voice dropping a few decibels as she points to the boxing ring, “This is where supernatural beings come to fight one another, to test their limits and use their powers without worrying about the legal repercussions,” She matches your gaze with her own and presses her lips together, “We are technically an underground fight club, Dawn Gym is just a front. There’s an official match with spectators once a month. And yes, this is extremely illegal.”
Listening to her words, you swallow a string of saliva building up in your throat. As she continues, an uneasy wave washes over you and a coil begins to tighten in your stomach.
“Your job isn’t just to guide them through their workouts, but to prepare them to fight one another, to teach them how to harness their abilities and control them. One mistake in public, and they jeopardize not only themselves, but the entire underground community.”
Her words hang in the air like an impending storm, the heavy weight of them waiting to strike. A nauseating tension settles in your stomach as you begin to question your capabilities for the job, your confidence waning by the minute. Uncertainty swirls through your mind, your lacking qualifications pressing against your forehead like a swollen thought. “You’ll be given a journal that was started by our old trainer- it’s got notes on every member in the gym, so don’t feel like you’re going into this blindly.”
You press your lips together, “Ok, anything else?”
“You’ll also need to make sure they’re pushing themselves to be their best without losing control. It’s on you to make sure they’re ready to fight, mentally and physically. At the end of the day, we’re a fight club and that’s how we make most of our money.”
You hold her gaze, finally feeling her words settle like lead. “Ok, but why a fight club? Why all the violence?” You feel your words catch in your throat as you ask, feeling as though this may be too much to take on. But you couldn’t turn it down, the pay was good and there weren’t many other supernatural jobs that were hiring.
Yuqi looks around the gym, nodding towards a few of the patrons that were already working up a sweat before answering your question, “I’m sure you’re well aware of this already, but the majority of us have spent our lives isolated from the real world. A lot of us don’t know how to regulate ourselves. Not being brought up properly didn’t give us the chance to learn how to cope with big emotions. The Veil helped create this place for us, a space for the supernatural to confront their inner demons and let their anger out in a safe environment” her voice softens for a moment, the slit of her pupils expanding briefly, “In a place like this, they don’t have to hide.”
Her words hit harder than you expect, cutting through a part of your heart that still aches for your past. Despite leaving the community, you had still hidden yourself. Even after being taken in and offered what you were forced to call a home, it felt more like a prison than living without a roof over your head. Forced to hide away what was an extension of yourself and acknowledged only when it benefited the two people who were supposed to love and cherish you, you never thought you’d see the day where you could embrace your entire being. Yet here you are, standing in a place where you weren’t a secret anymore but rather a strength. It’s foreign, and if it weren’t for Yuqi’s words holding up a mirror to your own past, you never would’ve questioned what life was like where you weren’t discriminated against for being different. You would be an idiot to not take this job up now.
“Now, be a good girl and introduce yourself to one of our patrons. I’ll be right behind you.” She shoves you along a bit, following after you with a soft laugh. “You’ll be working with Heeseung, Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon. They’re four of our seven regulars here.”
You bite your lip out of nervousness and find the nearest patron, only getting a view of his back as you watch him push through a set of squats. You can see his muscles strain beneath the weight, each striae bulging beneath the tight compression of his black long-sleeve. His focus is nearly palpable as he executes each movement with a haunting precision and you almost hesitate to introduce yourself, but Yuqi pushes you forward again and into his peripheral vision. When you stumble in front of him, you see that his skin is a striking porcelain white and you feel a sub zero chill run through your spine as you step into his presence. Noticing your feet awkwardly shuffling from one weight to the other, he pulls his earbuds out and gives you a strikingly cold stare.
“Hi, I’m Y/n,” your voice trembles a bit, your confidence wavering as an icy chill travels through your veins. Your next words catch in your throat as you begin to find it harder to focus, the temperature of your body becoming colder by the second. “I’m a new trainer here… at Dusk and Dawn. I’m just getting to know everyone.” You kick yourself internally for fucking up your intro, but your mind falters when your muscles begin to stiffen, the coldness gripping you like an iron vice.
Frozen in place, you opt to stare into Sunghoon’s eyes, a storm of frost and grief storming behind them. There’s a mysterious depth to them that draws you in despite the arctic freeze that’s creeping through your body, an irrational pull to figure him out.
When Yuqi notices your frozen state, she moves to deliver a sharp smack to the back of Sunghoon’s head, “Knock it off, Sunghoon,” She scolds, throwing him a venomous glare. “You’re not a walking AC unit,”
The boy has an air of arrogance to him that floats around him like a cloud, thundering when she gets too close. Rolling his eyes, his lips curve into a mocking smirk before he slides his earbuds back in as if dismissing you. You’re about to scoff when Yuqi slips her arm through yours, pulling you away before he can catch a glance at your flushed out cheeks. “Please excuse him. He’s a frost elf, so don’t expect much empathy from him.”
“Is that why I nearly died of hypothermia all of a sudden?” you ask, rubbing your arms despite your core temperature returning back to normal almost immediately.
She sighs, shaking her head as she drags you over to the next patron. “Probably, it’s a defense mechanism of his. When he feels negative emotions like annoyance or just wants to push someone away, his body temperature significantly drops, as well as whoever else he wants to affect.”
“So he did it on purpose?”
“I’m not sure,” she answers, tapping her foot on the floor, “It’s integrated into his sympathetic nervous system, so it normally activates when his fight or flight gets triggered. But if he really wanted to, he could control it. But I’ve noticed he just lets it happen whenever, like it’s his way of telling people you’re pissing him off.”
You give her a simple nod, filing the information away in the back of your brain to jot down for later. When you gather yourself, your gaze falls onto the next patron- a tall, lean guy who was too busy re-racking his weights on the bench press to notice your presence. His taut muscles flex under his white compression shirt as he handles the bar, each side stacked with more weight than you could imagine. “Fresh blood?” he asks without even sparing you a glance.
Before you can respond, Yuqi leans over, “He’s a vampire. He can smell your blood from miles away. Just don’t stare into Heeseung’s eyes for too long.”
You give the woman a nod of confirmation, playing it off as if meeting a vampire was just a regular occurrence. Turning to the vampire, you offer him a short but polite greeting, looking anywhere except his crimson gaze. Just like with Sunghoon, you find an invisible tug pulling you towards him that has you craving more, an unknown urge in your belly asking you to uncover whatever it was this person was hiding from you.
He shoots you a knowing smile, his pearly white fangs peeking out while he narrows his red eyes on you, as if testing your resolve. His stare pierces through you, slickening your core with a striking heat that has you instinctively pressing your thighs against each other. You feel a warmth begin to pool in your stomach as your composure starts to crumble, his gaze melting you like frost in the morning sun, “Yeah, that’s enough of that,” Yuqi says, pulling you away from his heat induced fixation.
Her grip on you is uncomfortably tight as she pulls you over to a corner where another person is working hard at a punching bag, each one of his strikes sending a powerful ripple through the tough canvas. The rhythm is hypnotic as he paces around the bag, his muscles surging with every hit. You stay back and watch for a moment, flinching as he assaults the bag with an unspoken aggression, years of pent up anger charged with each punch. Without even turning to address you, he snarls in an aggravated tone with his lips curled up, “Don’t bother, I already heard all the introductions.”
You raise an eyebrow and turn to Yuqi, finding yourself increasingly annoyed at the little respect you’ve been offered from the boys. “That’s Jake, another one of your trainees. Don’t mind him either… he’s a werewolf, so his hearing is enhanced, as well as all his other senses.” Yuqi looks around momentarily before connecting her hands together, turning to give you a small smile.
“Alright, I think you can find the last member assigned to you by yourself, but there is one more thing I’d like to show you,” she places a hand on your shoulder and guides you back over to the entrance. Gesturing upwards with her hand, she points to a glass booth that was suspended above the gym floor, facing the Enha Arena on the other side of the gym. “That’s our staff room. We have access to it 24/7, letting us control who enters and exits the Dusk Gym. Patrons will use the same entrance we came through with a staff to unlock the chains and everything, and we all leave through this one-way exit,” she points to a smaller door a few feet away from the entrance.
Looking over to where she points, you feel a sense of finality wash over you. The gym was starting to feel more and more like a fortress by the second, all the security features overwhelming your mind. “This isn’t just a gym, Y/n,” she says as if reading your mind, “It’s a sanctuary, and we take security here very seriously. Come find me in a few hours once you’re done, ok? I’ll be in the booth.”
With a final wave, Yuqi disappears up a staircase, leaving you by yourself with the few patrons that were still training. There were only four men in the gym, which meant the last one had to be Jay. Looking around, you spot him at the pull up bars, a grunt escaping him with each rep.
Sweat slickens your hands, and before moving, you hastily rub your hands up and down your leggings. “Hey,” you say, waving your hand. The boy hops off the pull up bar and looks at you expectantly with an eyebrow raised exceptionally high, “My name’s Y/n, I’m just introduced myself as the new gym trainer here.”
“The name is Jay, though I don’t think I’ll need much help…” he looks you up and down, his gaze terribly imposing as he takes you in, “... from you.”
You scoff at that, swallow the urge to get to know him better like a bitter pill. Like a switch, you narrow your golden eyes at the boy, refusing to let him brush you off like that, “If you want to fix that poor pull up form, you’ll want it,” your voice is rich with annoyance as you feel a deep sense of aggravation draw from within you.
He lets out an airy laugh, a breath of fire escaping his mouth as he does, “I don’t take advice from people who think ‘chin ups’ count as a real up.”
“Keep saying that when your protein shakes start tasting like the salt from your tears,” you shoot back, forcibly shoving him to the side, “And I don’t do chin ups,” Jay stumbles into the bar as his eyes begin to glow with an orange hue, an amused annoyance radiating off his warm body while a smirk creeps onto his face.
You jump onto the bar with ease, gripping the iron structure firmly before pulling yourself up in one fluid motion. With an almost annoying ease, you begin to pump out as many reps as possible, each one silently taunting him. Eventually, you drop back down to the floor once you find yourself losing count, letting your chest rise and fall with a feigned exertion.
“That’s cute, but half reps don’t count,” he declares, straightening his posture as the smirk on his face dies out like an old flame, “Now move, I’ll give you something to fucking count.”
You roll your eyes as you step back, letting him line up below the bar, “Did you need a spot, or can you get up there by yourself?” you tease, but he shuts you up with an angry grunt.
As he powers through each movement, every motion as fluid as your own, you catch a glimpse of red as his tank top moves with the speed of his reps. Red scales decorate a part of his lats and shoulders, shimmering like molten embers embedded in his skin, catching underneath the glint of the harsh lights hanging from the gym ceiling.
“Good job, Jay. Maybe you’ll graduate to a real pull up,” you say, a smirk playing its way onto your lips as you turn around. Without waiting for his response, you make your way towards the sound of metal banging on metal.
In another area of the gym is Heeseung, sitting at one of the high-end rowing machines, working up a sweat as his muscles flex under the synthetic material of his shirt. When you fall into his line of vision, he drops the grip to the row, “Can I help you?” he asks, his voice dripping with an allure as he eyes you up and down.
“I noticed your right shoulder was sagging, did you recently strain your rotator cuff?” you say, pointing at his shoulder.
He rubs the shoulder in question, feeling for the pain and nods his head, “Some bitch twisted me into the ring ropes of the arena, fucked up my shoulder and everything,” he grunts, moving it around as if to show he was still in pain, “I was just going to let it heal itself.” He moves to pick the grip back up, wincing as he pulls backwards on the heavy weight attached to it.
Without thinking, you reach out to him and place your hand over his, pulling back when he flinches away from your touch. “Sorry, but you’re just going to make it worse if you keep going,” you tell him, “Can I touch your shoulder?”
He drops the grip again, letting it hit the metal bar in the middle of the machine with a loud clang before looking at you with a coy smile, “Be my guest.”
You ignore the obvious tease in his voice and step closer to him, reaching your palm out to cover the curve of his shoulder. A quiet hush falls between the two of you as warmth diffuses from your hand while a soft orange glow emanates from your palm. The warmth intensifies as it spreads over his shoulders like liquid fire, seeping into his muscle until you feel the tautness melt away.
Heeseung’s red eyes widen slightly as he pulls away from your touch, rolling his shoulders back, “What the hell was that?”
“I’m a phoenix,” you say simply, amusement flickering across your face as you watch astonishment cross his features, his stoic mask dropping for a brief moment.
“Shit, didn’t think I’d ever meet one,” he mutters under his breath, quickly resuming his workout to test out his newfound repairment.
A twinge of sadness tugs on your heart as his words settle over you like a heavy weight pressing you to acknowledge the sad truth of the fact. You force a smile, despite his focus being elsewhere, “Yeah, we’re quite rare now,” you say more to yourself than him, an affirmation of the loneliness written into the stars. Your thoughts are burdened by the inescapable truth: you’ll never encounter another phoenix as there can only ever be one solitary ember burning in this world, destined to rise and fall until their purpose is fulfilled. At least that’s what Google says.
Heeseung finishes his set as you stand back awkwardly, unsure of what to do, “You should spend some time with Niki, he tends to hurt himself a lot during training. Usually Minnie helps, but she can only do so much with a sports medicine degree.”
“Who is Minnie?”
Heeseung stands up from the machine, seemingly done with rowing, “She’s just another trainer here. She works with Sunoo, Jungwon, and Niki.” He explains, using a towel to clean the seat on the row machine, “There are some other trainers, like Yuqi, who work with the casuals, but the seven of us are Dusk and Dawn regulars. We kind of hold the fort down here.”
“Good to know, thanks,” you say with a quick nod. When he starts to move to another machine, you don’t follow him and instead offer him a quick wave goodbye, “I’ll see you around, Heeseung.” When he nods you off, you leave the gym, ascending the same staircase Yuqi had used earlier to head up to the office. Reaching the top, you’re met with a short hallway. At the end, a single door on the left catches your eye- the staff room. With a quick knock, you enter the room to find Yuqi sitting at a large desk with several monitors in front of her, security camera footage running across each screen.
Hearing you enter, she swivels her chair around, a large smile on her face as her snake eyes long and you, “Just the person I wanted to see!” she exclaims, waving her hand for you to come over, “Looks like you’re getting along quite well with the boys, so I’ll go ahead and email you the schedule for their training sessions and the journal I was telling you about earlier. Their next match is in two weeks, so you’ll be preparing for that.” She turns to grab something from her desk, reading for a worn out leather journal, “You did more than enough today, so study this journal and I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, placing the item in your arms with a satisfied nod. You take the tattered journal from her, the weight of its content acting as a tangible reminder of the crazy few hours you just had.
When you exit the building, the early morning air hits you like a slap, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. The streets were devoid of any governmental presence now, too much of a commitment for them to maintain any vigilance past 3 a.m. You knew they’d be back on the streets around 12 p.m., and that the neighborhood would soon be populated with moms and their strollers and people walking to work by 7 a.m. the earliest. So this four hour period in which the streets were abandoned was something the supernatural community knew well, a time slot in which the supernatural could leave their homes and stretch their legs without having to worry so much about being caught.
As you walk home, you see figures blur by you at an unnatural speed while others propel themselves dozens of feet into the air, skipping across roofs. It was a testament to what the human eye could only deem as a fantasy, but to you, it was an unspoken reality that only thrived in the quietness of the early morning. Even during this time, though, there were still limits. Elemental abilities were still kept at bay- no one dared to bend water or fire in public so openly, no matter the hour of the day. Those who did wield such powers stuck to minute things like changing the temperature of their body or whispering the flicker of heat into an angry flame.
And you knew there was still a whole other realm of abilities you weren’t aware of, tucked away beyond layers of secrecy the supernatural world was too scared to show. There was only so much research you could scour online before it became repetitive and almost theorized by rumors. The shame of living in a universe where it was illegal to exist gnawed at you everyday, and you were becoming desperate for life beyond scratching the surface of freedom. Each moment spent outside of your home left you with an aching curiosity, questions unanswered indefinitely.
But with the journal Yuqi gave you, clutched tightly in your grasp, you had a sliver of hope. Maybe it wouldn't grant you the freedom you’ve wanted for the supernatural all these years, but you hoped it could answer some of the questions that have been burning at the back of your head since your parents kicked you out.
When you arrive at the steps of your rundown apartment complex, you slowly make your way up the creaky stairs until you slip inside the dimly lit studio. Flicking the light switch on, you watch as a single bulb pathetically sputters to life, casting a faint glow across the room. There’s a lack of light in the hours where the sun doesn’t shine through your one window that acts as a source of constant frustration for you, making it nearly impossible for you to see without the flashlight from your phone or the fire from your fingers. But with your new job and new paychecks, you’re starting to hope you’ll be able to find a place that has bulbs stronger than a meager 40 watts.
With an exasperated sigh, you throw your belongings onto your patchwork couch and change into an old shirt and panties. As much as you wanted to dive into the journal that Yuqi had so generously given you, the dim lighting of your apartment made it almost impossible to read. You could’ve used the flashlight on your phone, but the lack of a working outlet left you unable to charge it if it died. And as much as you would’ve liked to cast a pretty flame from your fingertips, they were far too much of a fire hazard inside the old wooden walls of your studio apartment. Instead, you decide it’d be best to just wait until the early afternoon when the sunlight enters your window naturally.
When the sun rays do filter through your window, you spring upwards in bed, your body restless despite the pitiful amount of hours you managed to snag. For the first time in years, your night wasn’t consumed with a monotonous amount of homework or the glow of online workout videos in a lonely room. Instead- no matter how chaotic- you had a new purpose. You were exhilarated to keep going, fuelled by only a few hours of sleep yet ready to take on the next few days coursing with energy- a trait Phoenixes prided themselves upon: resilience.
With a precise stretch, you reach over to your desk and grab the journal you set aside from earlier. Nestling back into bed, you open the first page to reveal a comprehensive list of all the supernatural beings that had ever attended Dusk and Dawn over the years. Your eyes scan through the list of names, a mess of words that bleed onto the next page. Some are expected, familiar even- werewolves, vampires, dragons, griffins- but there are some that catch you off guard: valkyries, kitsunes, fairies, centaurs, and many more. Yet, you notice that not a single phoenix appears on the list, and it leaves an invisible weight sitting on your shoulders.
Moving through the next few pages, the entries become more and more detailed as they start to divulge into each patron, starting with Heeseung. His name is scrawled out on the top of the page in fancy letters, and underneath it readers ‘Vampire.’ A barely legible sketch of his face is drawn next to his name and you let out a soft laugh as you trace your finger over the old led before drawing your eyes down to Heeseung’s written description.
Heeseung came to Dusk and Dawn seven years ago, seeking for a way to cope with the anger of his parents abandoning him at the age of 16. He has been a general joy to have, often participating diligently in activities and putting his best foot forward in matches. Throughout his years at Dusk and Dawn, staff has observed that when pushed too far, Heeseung enters a state known as vampiric rage. Symptoms include: severe blood lust, glowing red eyes, feeding compulsion, disturbed/over enhanced senses, uncontrollable aggression, and predatory behavior. It is recommended he be taken into isolation when this occurs until he calms down
Power descriptions: hypnotic gaze, enhanced senses (strength, smell, sight, hearing), night vision, super speed. Please revise if necessary
You swallow the lump in your throat when you finish reading his entry, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach as you turn to the next page. Jongseong is the next name you see, and in parentheses the name Jay is written next to it with a large ‘Dragon’ scrawled underneath it. There’s another half-hearted sketch drawn next to it, and you notice the birth mark added to his neck, a darker patch on the left side of his neck.
Jay first came to Dusk and Dawn a few months after Heeseung, bringing a similar energy as the latter. Shaped by the self-resilient upbringing he developed under The Veil’s guidance, he has showcased a few profound characteristics that stand out during training. His past cultivates a very competitive spirit that is landmarked by a web of complex trust issues, resulting in a volatile temperature which resembles that of a pressure cooker.
Power descriptions: scale armor, pyrokinesis, enhanced strength. Please revise if necessary
On the next two pages are profiles for Jake and Sunghoon, the last two members Yuqi said you would be training. Beneath Sunghoon’s name are the words ‘Frost Elf’, and ‘Werewolf’ beneath Jakes.
Jake joined Dusk and Dawn shortly after Jay and Heeseung with a unique backstory, coming from a lineage of other werewolves, he sought out this place after losing his family during an attack. His personality fluctuates heavily between being quite friendly and open to acting quite aggressive and aloof. During full moons and times of overstimulation, he struggles with the primal side of his werewolf blood coming into full effect: excessive aggression, overprotection of his packmates, animalistic instincts, and loss of rationality. Jake should be carefully monitored for any signs of depression d/t history of family loss
Power descriptions: enhanced senses (smell, hearing, speed, strength), healing saliva (minor wounds), scent tracker, lethal bites and scratches. Please revise if necessary
Below Jake’s profile is Sunghoon’s.
Sunghoon joined a day after Jake with the primary goal of fighting people. Like Jay, he has navigated the challenges of all life stages by himself and upon joining Dusk and Dawn, he openly admitted to struggling with recognizing emotional cues and controlling his powers. It has become evident over the years that Sunghoon has made significant progress in developing his abilities, yet he often chooses to not exercise control unless absolutely necessary. Rather, he tends to resort to violence when provoked, that he just “doesn’t care” as stated by Sunghoon himself.
Power descriptions: cryokinesis, frost armor, temperature manipulation/aura. Please revise if necessary
Upon finishing Sunghoon’s entry, an overwhelming sense of responsibility descends over your shoulders, prompting you to close the book and reflect. The solemn history of these four members has you reconsidering your qualifications, debating whether you’re just in over your head and blinded by the hourly wage of your new job. Did you have the societal experience to connect with them and guide them in the way that Yuqi was expecting you to? Really, they too grew up alone or abandoned at some point in their life, isolated from the real world- but they had more time to learn about the real world through Dusk and Dawn than you did. What right did you have to go ordering them around and telling them what to do?
Heeseung had previously mentioned that there were three other regulars that attended the gym, but because they weren’t training with you, you decided it’d be best to wait until you met them before reading their entries. Right now, your immediate focus was on sharpening your own skills.
So with your renewed determination, you divulge into a whirlwind of rigorous training. The next few hours leading up to your second training shift is filled with a relentless cycle of speed drills and high-intensity circuits designed to test your endurance. Your goal wasn’t to just be stronger- you already had that. Instead, you aimed to outlast the boys. Stamina would be your greatest asset working at Dusk and Dawn.
After who knows how many hours, your phone alarm goes off indicating you had one hour left before your next shift started. You take that time to shower and clean up, taking an especially hot shower. Clad in a new pair of leggings and tank top, you walk back to the gym, retracing the same alleyways and backroads as you did the night before.
“Hi, Yuqi.” you say, greeting the serpent hybrid supernatural sitting behind the front desk. She's got her head tilted down with some magazine in her hands, her black framed glasses perched low on her nose as she reads.
She acknowledges you with a low hiss, her forked tongue flicking up and down in the air. “Here are some keys,” she says, tossing a set of keys at you to which you catch mid-air. “Take the boys into the elemental training room when they get here, you’ll learn about their abilities there. It’s just Niki in there right now”
With the keys in one hand and your backpack strap tucked in the other, you make your way down the familiarly dim hallway where that same iron door stands at the end, wrapped in a chain of metal. Laying against the rusting door were at least three padlocks, and after a minute of figuring out which key goes where, you push open the door to reveal the glory of the Dusk gym once again.
The familiar clang of weights hitting against one another fills the air, echoing through the large auditorium as you walk in. Setting your bag down against a long black bench beside one of the cement pillars, your eyes draw in on a tall, unfamiliar boy whom you presume to be Niki, working out in front of the numerous mirrors lining the gym. As you approach him, you can’t help but let your focus fall on the way the vein in his bicep bulges with every rep, straining when the dumbbells press against his chest. You lean against a machine nearby, momentarily forgetting your intent to introduce yourself to him. “Looking for something?” he says, glancing at you through the mirror. Your attention snaps back up to respond, but he’s not there.
“I’m right here, sweetie.” the voice continues to tease, this time coming from behind. You spin around, your gaze travelling the area as you look for the source but to no avail.
A dark laugh that seems to only fill your thoughts starts overwhelming you, the absurdness of the voices in your head making you spin. Shutting your eyes, you will the laughter to go away. Suddenly, a tap on your shoulder jolts you out of your thoughts and the laughter comes to a stop. Opening your eyes, your gaze finally lands on the boy you saw in the mirror, his sharp eyes glaring down on you with a mischievous glint, “So you’re the infamous trainer I’ve heard so much about.” He says, leaning down to match your height.
You clear your throat, “That’s correct. And I’m assuming you’re Niki?” Stepping back, you attempt to create some distance from the relatively tall boy standing before you.
He nods his head, letting the fringe of his black hair fall into his eyes. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says, stepping into your space despite your previous attempt to distance yourself. He bites his lip as his mouth curves into a devious smile, eyes darkening. Reaching for your hand, he interlocks his fingers in yours, “So you’re a phoenix…”
He brings your hands up to your vision so that the both of you can see, his large hand almost devouring yours completely, “I can play with fire too.” He says, squeezing your hand harshly. Suddenly, a glow of embers envelopes your hands completely, a scalding heat spreading between you both as his powers force yours out as well.
But as quickly as the fire emits, it extinguishes, a flash of blue striking the flame and leaving only a cloud of smoke in its wake. “Cut it out, Niki,” a voice calls from a distance. Turning to the sound, you see a boy with ashy brown hair approaching you with graceful strides, “We’re not supposed to use our elements in the gym, there’s a specific place for that.”
“Alright, Katara.”
“It’s Sunoo, not Katara.” The boy corrects, bowing to you.
“Could’ve fooled me with that water bending of yours,” Niki pesters, squeezing Sunoo’s ears after letting go of your hand.
Sunoo gives Niki a face as he swats the taller boy’s hand away from him, shooting him a darkened glare that leaves Niki in a slight daze. “Are you guys ever gonna act like your age, or are we stuck with the mental capacity of a 10 year old?” a voice calls from behind. Sunghoon’s chilling voice pierces through the air as he comes into view, casually dressed in a pair of gray sweats and white tank, a disturbing contrast to his arrogance. He shoves his hands into his pockets before adding, “You guys are fucking children.”
An arctic freeze radiates off of his otherwise relaxed body and Niki begins to tremble, angrily flicking his arm to emit a glow of fire that crawls up his arm and down his torso. “Stop using your temperature manipulation on us, Yuqi said you’re supposed to control that shit,” Sunoo scolds, moving closer to Niki to feel his fire.
You roll your eyes, feeling bored of their tense exchange. “Enough, just get into the training room before you rip each other’s heads off.” you demand, your voice laced with annoyance. The boys grumble in response, muttering things that you don’t bother to decipher as they walk into a dark room tucked away in the back of the auditorium. When you enter, you flick the light on to reveal a large gray room, both its floor and walls adorned with the same glossy stone material- though they’re marked up by what you assume is years of burn marks and blunt force. The room is a quarter the size of the gym, holding an abundance of training dummies and bullseyes; amongst other things.
“Line up here,” you say, pointing to the back of the room. They kick their shoes off before stepping onto the black gym mats, moving in silence. “I’ll have you guys each target train on a dummy so I can get a gauge of your guys’ skills. If you don’t have an ability that requires target training, just don’t line up.” You say as you kick your own shoes off.
Before you can continue, an out of breath voice interrupts you, “Am I late?”
You turn around to see the silhouette of a boy who seems to have run all the way here. Rather than answering, you nod your head to the mat in annoyance, “Who are you?”
“Jungwon,” he offers, presenting you with a smile to which the pits of his dimples show. For a second, your shield of authority falters for a brief second when your eyes pass over his grin, but you’re quick to pick it back up as you address Sunghoon.
“Sunghoon, can you tell me what each of these boys are?” He opens his mouth to complain, but you catch on to the change in his demeanor rather quickly, “Without complaining.”
He bites his lip, grumbling something under his breath before proceeding. “Niki is a kitsune- a childish one at that. Sunoo is a siren, and Jungwon is a shapeshifter. And I’m a frost elf, but I’m hoping you already knew that.”
Looking down at your watch, you frown when you realize that more than half of your own group is missing and you were supposed to start ten minutes ago. “Ok, let’s start,” you annoy, stepping off to the side.
“Shouldn’t we spar? We already know how to target train,” Sunghoon tests, cinching his eyebrows together in annoyance.
“Did I ask?” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow at him. “Sunoo, go first.”
Sunoo grins, dramatically flicking away a strand of hair from his face before stepping forward. He steadies himself, planting his feet firmly on the floor before narrowing his fox-like eyes at the dummy across the room. In one graceful motion, a stream of water burst from his hands, gradually growing in volume before he thrusts his hands forward, sending a jet of water towards the target. The liquid splits down the middle as it moves through the air, weaving around itself before slamming into the target.
When it hits, Sunoo begins to sing- his voice a piercing yet soothing high that seems to resonate with the movement of the water. The liquid responds, wrapping around the target like a mermaid’s tail, constricting the target more and more with every second. When Sunoo’s voice fades, the water falls, limp of any life it once had.
“Well done,” you say, giving him a nod of acknowledgement, “But I’m worried about your singing. You become quite vulnerable when you sing, though your water becomes very powerful when you do, so come up with a way to make yourself safe before performing something like that.”
Sunoo smiles at you as he accepts your critiques, stepping aside. He brushes past Sunghoon with a smirk you don’t quite catch and the responding boy pushes him into the wall. You nod to Sunghoon next, who steps forward to take his spot, his confidence radiating in a piercing chill around him. He doesn’t wait for further instruction before he’s raising his hand to eye level, creating a razor-sharp shard of ice that cuts through the air and tears straight into the dummy’s chest with cunning precision. Upon impact, the ice splinters, shattering the dummy beyond repair.
Before you can offer your commentary, Sunghoon’s launching himself into a side-flip, a long blade of ice forming in his hands mid-air. When he lands, the floor beneath him transforms into a sheet of ice. With amazing ease, he glides towards the other dummies and wields the blade of ice into each target with a lethalness that has you flinching.
His chest heaves up and down as the ice underneath him dissipates, returning the floor back to its original material. He carries himself with a cold arrogance, his head thrown back as he walks back to the line. “What the hell…” you whisper, not catching the way your eyes ravage his body, his veins bulging out of his arms. Sweat glistens down his porcelain skin and you subconsciously rub your thighs together to quell the unnatural feeling in your core.
“He’s hot, right?” a voice from behind you whispers, loud enough for only you to hear. You turn around only to see Jake standing beside you, just inches away from.
“When the hell did you get here?”
“When Sunoo finished, but you were too busy ogling at Sunghoon to notice.”
“I was not ogling, I was evaluating,” you correct, taking a step away. Jake is quick to compensate for the pathetic distance you try to put between you and him, bringing his body even closer than it was before until you can feel the heat of his body radiate off onto yours. He’s taller than you, not as much as the others, but enough to make you want to crawl inside of yourself and disappear as he breathes in your exhales.
“I may just be a werewolf, a mutt as some of the boys like to call me, but I’m just as strong as Sunghoon,” he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Maybe even stronger.”
His voice sends a rush of heat down to your core, only adding on to the slick that’s coated the seat of your panties. Fueled by a mix of arousal and anger, you force yourself to choose the latter to control your next decisions. Stomping on his foot, hard, you give Jake a throaty snarl, “Get in the damn line.”
Jake smirks, ignoring the pain that shoots up his foot, “I just know you’re gonna be begging for me soon,” he whispers once more before sauntering off to stand next to Jungwon.
“Well?” Sunghoon’s voice pulls you out of your own mental storm and you look up at him, “Any comments, Ms. Y/n?”
“Dial it back a bit,” is all you say, nodding at Niki next. Sunghoon rolls his eyes, biting back a smirk as he plays oblivious to the fact that he didn’t just catch the way you watched his every move as he walked back into the line, staring at him like a bitch in heat. Just like all the others, he thinks to himself as he watches Niki step up to the spot he was in originally.
Niki is your focus of attention now, steadying himself into a ready position before allowing his body to engulf in a rage of flames. He strides towards the group of targets, flaming embers dripping off of him like a molten sweat as he approaches. As he moves closer, a swirl of fire surrounds the targets and fills the air with an eerie, high-pitched laughter that echoes off the walls. The swarm of fire morphs into a crowd of sinister faces that leer at the targets, hauntingly paralyzing if you were to look them in the eye. It’s disorienting, even to watch as a spectator on the sidelines as the faces transform into flaming spears that shoot into the dummies- a copycat of Sunghoon’s ice shards.
The room immediately fills with smoke as the targets burst into flames, smoke stinging your eyes. Sunoo jumps into action then, dousing the fiery targets with a storm of water, clearing out the smoke. The room is silent except for the soft sizzling of the dummies rematerializing in front of you as brand new, like some sort of magic. “Alright, Jake is useless with elements and Jungwon would rather spar than copy our powers, so can we finally start hitting each other?” Sunghoon asks, breaking the tension in the room.
Jake lets out a growl, slamming his fist into Sunghoon’s unsuspecting body, “Suck my cock.”
In a matter of seconds, Sunghoon’s dark brown eyes transition into a furiously bright blue, his hand materializing a razor-sharp ice blade. He lunges towards Jake, raising his arm up at the boy to attack but you step in immediately, a burst of flames surrounding you as you teleport to Sunghoon’s side. “Enough!” you yell out, Sunghoon’s arm held tightly in your hand. “No more of these stupid fights unless it’s during an official match or sparring. And Sunghoon,” you twist his shoulder until he’s wincing, “I will not have you slicing Jake open with your blades of ice.”
You bring your hand down to grip the girth of his ice-blade before looking at the others, “Go to the damn ring and put your wraps on. Now.”
As the group begins to exit, you catch Sunghoon’s arm with a sharp glare. “Not so fast.,” you mutter. A surge of heat pulses through your palm and immediately melts his blade, the crystalline weapon quickly losing its shape and dripping onto the padded floor. With a final shove, you send him stumbling to the ground.
“What the fuck, Y/n?” He hisses, shooting you a blue-eyed glare.
“Out.” You hiss with finality, watching with your eyes as he stomps out of the room. The door slams behind him, echoing with the anger he harbors towards your actions. You could care less- finally alone for a brief moment. You draw in a deep breath, an attempt at steadying your racing pulse. The air is thick with apprehension and you feel a knot developing in your shoulders, one that likely wouldn’t have developed if it weren’t for the boys’ constant bickering. There’s a frustration that bubbles beneath your authoritative facade, one that’s bordering the lines of blowing up.
You lean against the wall and close your eyes for a brief moment, taking that second to let the darkness consume you. In that moment of peaceful blindness, you seek solace in the unknown- almost yearning for your life in isolation to come back. “It’s nice to see someone keep the boys in line,” the voice has you opening your eyes, focusing in on a girl that steps out from the shadows of the training room. Her pink eyes sparkle with warmth as she approaches you, a broad smile painting her face.
“Are you Minnie?”
“What gave it away?” she giggles, “Sorry, something came up yesterday during your orientation so I couldn’t meet with you, but I’ll be able to spend some time with you today.” She takes a hold of your hand, humming softly as a warm glow radiates between the connections.
Her gesture sends a wave of relaxation through your tense body, easing the knot in your shoulders as the light travels through your veins. “I’m a light fairy,” she explains, “one of my powers is to calm people down through touch.”
You smile into her touch, placing your free hand atop your connected ones, “I may need you around me indefinitely,” you prod at the tense air gently, though deep down you both know it’s not entirely a joke. The weight of everything despite it only being your second day was already feeling like too much. Her warmth was like a much needed respite.
Minnie laughs again, infecting you with a joy you didn’t think was possible. When the light between your hands fades, she pulls you out of the room. “Boys!” she exclaims as she approaches the ring, waving at the group of boys who have started warming up. You notice Jay and Heeseung are already there.
Sunoo and Jungwon are the only ones that bother to look up, waving back excitedly before rushing to the edge of the arena, leaning on the rope rings to peer down at the two of you. “Hi noona!” Jungwon says, reaching his hand out toward Minnie.
Minnie connects her hand with his and closes her eyes, a ball of light transferring between their intertwined fingers, “Are you gonna calm them down?” she whispers, a soft melody that could make you fall asleep. Jungwon nods, letting the light dance along his skin before it dissolves when he disconnects their hands and bounds back to the boys to tussle around with them. With his back turned, Minnie looks at you with a melancholic gaze, one that doesn’t really match her vibrant energy from earlier, “The older boys don’t let me touch them, they’re a bit closed off like that, but I get it,” her voice drops off as her gaze drifts back to the older members, a longing sadness in her eyes. Though it doesn’t last long before she turns back to face you, “When they get riled up, Jungwon copies my powers temporarily and does the same thing I did with you. They seem to trust him the most.”
You turn to watch Jungwon, his hands subtly climbing the backs of the older boys as a soft luminescent glow of light identical to Minnie’s pulses from his fingertips and transcends through their bodies. He continues to mess around with them, shadow boxing with the elders as each one of them slowly let their defenses fall.
“My boys don’t get as angry as yours,” Minnie continues, running a hand through her blonde hair. “I think that’s why Yuqi paired me with them. She knows I can only handle so much negativity as a fairy.” She pauses to glance over at the boys once more, smiling when she sees Jungwon’s head stuck in between Sunghoon’s arms- a sisterly affection radiating off of her body. “I think their outbursts are what made the old gym trainer quit. If I’m being honest, they’re quite dangerous when their emotions get the best of them. They’re rough around the edges, but they’re good people on the inside.”
Her words spark a curiosity deep inside of you, and you press on for more info as you continue to watch them from outside of the arena. “Have they known each other for a long time?” You ask, noticing their sibling like energy, despite the tension from earlier.
“I think some of the boys have known each other since they were in the community, and others have just met a year ago when they joined the gym. But they all get along differently, some are really close while others aren’t.” She gives you a grim smile, “I think Sunghoon’s got the most complicated relationships out of all of them. Frost elves aren’t exactly known to be friendly, but he’s different with these boys. I dont think he’d ever really hurt them- at least not seriously. He really cares for them, he just lets his emotions get the best of him.”
Her candid assessment of Sunghoon roots you to the spot, prompting you to process her words right then. You had noticed something too- he was especially closed off when you first met him. There was a storm in his eyes when his gaze landed on yours, one that seemed to cloud his judgement. It was raw and unfiltered, hiding what you felt was a war of control in the back of his mind behind a fog of indifference.
Shaking your head, you give Minnie a grateful nod and gesture to the ring, “Should we get started?” Her face lights up and she slips into the arena, lifting the ropes up for you as you follow after her. You bounce against the padded cushion of the ring, adjusting to the flooring before addressing the group of boys before you. “Let’s start off with Jake and Jay, no powers. Just pure strength and skill.”
Jake and Jay separate from their impromptu shadow boxing match, leaving the other boys to move off to the side, leaning against the ropes like its routine; varying levels of interest on their faces. Sunghoon’s got his arms crossed with a bored expression across his face, like he could be doing anything else than watch other people fight. Next to him, Niki looks intrigued, his head slightly tilted like a little puppy as he awaits the match. The rest of the boys seem indifferent, neither bored nor interested as if they’ve seen this a million times.
In the center of the ring now is Jay and Jake, facing each other as they steady themselves in their own personal ready positions. Jake has his right foot forward, his hands up to his face in a rather tense position as he narrows his eyes at Jay. The latter is more calm, his posture relaxed while his hands are held loosely at his face. “Go.”
Jake is the first to move, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet as he sizes up Jay, initiating an unspoken agreement to move counter-clockwise in the arena. The two boys circle around one another for a few seconds, each step heavy with tension as their gazes become predatory. Jay throws the first punch, lunging forward with a fast left jab, but Jake anticipates his movement and strides to the side, allowing Jay to graze his ear. Jay overcompensates and passes Jake, barely stumbling forward while Jake’s lip curls into a grin, laughter erupting from his belly.
Rolling his eyes, Jay kicks his foot back, connecting with the back of Jake’s knee. In an instant, Jake is on the ground, dead-legged by his opponent. “Dumbass,” Jay mutters, smirking to himself when he turns around. He steps back, allowing Jake to get back up.
Jake regains his composure quickly, rolling his shoulders back and stretching his neck. Jay moves in one more time- using his right arm this time as he aims for Jake’s jaw, but he ducks out of the way again, throwing a left hook into Jay’s side. The force of his punch has Jay gasping for air, hunching over from the velocity as he staggers back to catch his breath. It doesn’t hurt, but rather knocks the wind out of him. There’s a brief silence as Jay quickly catches his breath, steadying himself as he gives Jake the chance to go on the offense this time.
Sweat is beading on both of their foreheads now as the tension in the air thickens. You watch as Jake begins to circle around Jay again like a predator stalking his prey, locking eyes on him once more. With lightning speed, Jake flies forward to uppercut Jay’s jaw, blood flying in the air as Jay bites down on his tongue- hard. Jay doesn’t falter though, immediately responding with a jab and two crosses to Jake’s face. They stumble away from each other for a brief second before going at it again, throwing a mess of punches and kicks at each other until they can barely hold themselves up.
You get a good look at their faces once they separate- a thick stream of blood spills from Jay’s chin, the familiar taste of metallic filling his mouth. He smiles, teeth bloodied as he’s reminded of the adrenaline from fighting- a chemical surge of power. He brings a wrist to his lip, pulling back to see bright red staining his skin. When he looks at Jake, he observes his best friend in a similar state, a jagged cut across his eyebrow and blood gushing from his left nostril. You don’t even want to imagine the bruises developing beneath their clothes where they clutch at themselves like a kicked puppy.
You step forward, wincing at the blood staining their faces. “Alright, that’s enough,” you say, looking over at their hunched over figures. Jake and Jay, flushed out and breathing heavily begin to unwrap their boxing wraps. Limping to the middle of the ring, they exchange a quick handshake and slap on the back before slipping out of the ring to clean themselves up at the benches. The pungent mixture of sweat and iron has you cringing when it slams into your senses, causing you to wrinkle your nose up in disgust. “We’ll take a quick break and then I’ll have Sunghoon and Heeseung spar next.”
Before you can turn away, a voice- unfamiliar and brooding- slices through the murmur of conversation amongst the group. “Mind if I hop in?” You whirl around to the source of the voice, your gaze landing on a figure taller than everyone in the room standing just a few feet away from the arena. He’s clad in a black zip up jacket and white sweats that hang loosely around his lean, athletic build, “My name’s K. Just signed up at the front desk.”
You tilt your head to the side as you take in his presence. There’s something unsettling about him. The air around him seems dark, hanging off of his frame like a suicide gone wrong. There’s a ringing in your ears as you debate whether or not to let him spar, and without realizing it, Jake steps in front of you. Glancing over at Heeseung, he nods, a look of challenge lighting up in his eyes. “Alright, you can go up against Heeseung. Just give them a few minutes.”
Ten minutes go by quickly and Heeseung is back in the ring along with the others. He’s quick to get into position, hands raised to the front of his face as he plants his feet firmly into the mat of the ring. K lines himself up across from Heeseung in a similar position, ready to start but you hold your hand out. “K, I want to know who you are before starting.”
A wicked grin spreads across his face as he keeps his eyes locked on Heeseung, “You’ll figure it out soon enough, sweetheart.” He taunts, and before you can press further, he lunges.
Heeseung doesn’t hesitate, sidestepping out of K’s trajectory at an almost inhumane speed. As K’s fist whistles past Heeseung’s face, he counters the attack with a right hook aimed towards K’s gut. It doesn’t work as K snaps his body around to catch Heeseung’s punch with an iron-like grip. Heeseung’s eyes widen momentarily but he recovers quickly as he twists his arm out, driving a knee into the taller boy’s stomach.
Again, K blocks the attack and with a violent twist, throws Heeseung to the edge of the ring that you’re standing at. You along with Jungwon, Niki, and Jake quickly separate to make room for Heeseung’s body before he slams against the rubber ropes, landing on the ground with a loud thud. He’s quick to recover, his vampiric speed allowing him to regain his composure within milliseconds. With a new anger raging through him, Heeseung bares his fangs at K as sweat drips down his temple.
K’s smirk never fades as he runs at Heeseung, his fist flying through the air as he closes in on him, but Heeseung dodges. A mirage of relentless punches and kicks are thrown at Heeseung, but he dodges each one by a hair. Quickly fatigued by the sporadic movement, K’s motions become slower and in a moment of weakness, Heeseung delivers a swift uppercut to K’s jaw followed by a sequence of jabs that are delivered with a savage intensity that only a vampire at full strength could display. The force of his blows sends blood gushing from K’s face, his features splitting open in an unattractive display.
K staggers back, suddenly caught off guard by the sheer force of Heeseung’s assault. In a heartbeat, the air shifts and K’s demeanor changes from that of a playfully oppressive gaze to one of a lethal intent. When Heeseung throws one more punch, K catches his fist in his palm mid-air and uses his momentum to slam him into the ground with a bone-cracking force, the impact knocking all of the wind out of Heeseung.
A guttural sound rips from Heeseung’s mouth when his back hits the pad, the impact leaving him clawing for air as you take a step forward out of instinct. Niki’s hand grips your shoulder and he pulls you back, holding you there firmly as he drops his hand down to your forearm. “You worthless vampire,” K whispers, a black tendril stretching out from K’s hand. When you see the shadows unfurl from K’s palm, your breath catches and you move to intervene right as Heeseung’s own red tendrils flare to life, his red eyes glowing with rage. He kicks under K’s hold, their shadows a mess of anger as they collide against each other.
“Enough!” you shout, cutting through the brutal stalemate they seem to be locked into.
K releases Heeseung from his hold, his sinister shadows immediately flowing back into his slender hands while Heeseung rolls away from under him, his chest heaving up and down. “What the hell was that?” you shout, fury boiling under the surface as you clench your fists.
K leans down to match your height, his gaze locking on yours as his eyes cloud over with a black haze, “I’m a necromancer.” He says, his voice dripping with challenge.
A snarl erupts from your throat, barely restrained by the thread of resolve you hold for yourself as you throw a deadly glare at K, “That doesn’t give you the fucking right to try and kill him during practice!” You accuse, the heaviness in your voice punctuated by the chilling tension in the air. You let out a long, shaky sight and rush over to reach for Heeseung, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” You murmur, trying to gauge his emotions.
He flinches under your touch, roughly pulling away from you before giving you a barely noticeable nod, lips held in a tight line as he refuses to meet your concerned gaze. You tongue your cheek with worry as you watch him slip out of the ring and head into the changing rooms, leaving you standing there in the middle of the ring while the rest of the boys pretend to not have watched the whole exchange. A complicated knot of guilt settles in your stomach as you think about what to do, torn between following after him and just staying put.
You’ve only known the boy for a day- barely enough time for you to feel entitled to his trust or to chase after him. In fact, you’ve only known the gym for a day- but there was something sharp that twisted inside of you after seeing him like that.
With a shaky sigh, you turn around but you’re caught off guard when you see Sunoo’s eyes wash over you, but his eyes are vacant, as if he’s looking right through you. His expression is dulled by a glassy sheen, holding a deeper understanding that you can’t quite grasp and it makes the knife in your stomach twist just that much more.
“I think we’re done for today,” You look back at K before slipping out of the ring, ““K, I don’t want to ever see you pulling that shit again.” The atmosphere is thick with hostility as you start to clean up, thick enough you could choke on it. Throwing a bloodied rag into a nearby laundry bin, you spot Yuqi entering the gym, her snake eyes narrowed on K.
You watch as she zips towards him in quick, determined strides. Within seconds, she’s face to face with K, thrusting her hand at his neck. She grabs onto his long neck with a vice-like grip, strangling him. With her serpent-like strength, she slams him into a nearby pillar, the impact echoing through the gym loud enough to have the boys flicking their heads up. K’s eyes widen in shock as he claws at her arm, his arrogant facade breaking as his back slides against the concrete pillar.
“If you ever hurt one of my patrons like that again, I will have you blacklisted from Dusk and Dawn in an instant,” she hisses, her forked tongue flicking out to spray a mist of black venom on his face. The effect is instant, liquid smoke curling up from his skin as the venom sizzles into his flesh, leaving red blisters on his face. She tightens her fingers around his throat for just a second before letting go, letting her threat hang in the air like old laundry.
When she leaves, your mouth hangs open in shock, “You’re catching flies.” Sunghoon says, nudging your chin closed.
You purse your lips, ignoring him as you clasp your hands in an attempt to regain some composure. “Alright…” you trail off, still reeling from the confrontation between Yuqi and K. “Before you guys leave, I’d like to have a one-on-one conversation with each of you. I’ll be over by the benches when you’re ready.”
Despite being able to feel the pounding of your own heartbeat in your damn throat, you stride over to where the benches are, forcing your steps to remain steady and confident. You refuse to show the boys any hints of fear or inferiority, not like the first day.
As you sit down on the benches, you notice Jake is the first one to approach, his presence commanding as ever when he enters your space. “Jake,” you say, patting the spot beside you.
He doesn’t move, rather adjusts the strap on his gym bag that’s slung over his shoulder as he continues to stand in front of you.
“You really should sit. This isn’t supposed to be a quick chat.” You respond, noticing his restraint. “I’m not asking.”
Sighing, he drops onto the bench, letting his bag fall to the floor with a loud thud. “Alright, what’d you need?”
Cutting straight to the point, you ask your first question, “Are you friends with all the boys?”
Jake lets out a deep laugh, his canines flashing at you when he does. “Really? That’s what you want to know?” You roll your eyes, smacking him. “Ok, well I guess you could say we’re all pretty tight. But Sunghoon, he’s a dick through and through, but I know him well enough. I’ve been at this gym for six years now?”
You’re not surprised to hear about his comments towards Sunghoon, his earlier bickering with him being evidence enough that they often butted heads. But your mind thinks back to the journal entry you read about Jake’s past, about his family being torn apart prior to coming here. You shift in your spot, choosing your words with careful precision. “I came across something while I was reading the old trainer’s journal. It said you had supernatural parents. That’s quite rare in Luxta, most of us are found and taken in by The Veil.”
Your question hangs in the air with unspoken emotion as Jake’s entire body tenses at the mention of his late parents, his laughter dying in his throat as he thinks of a response. “Well yeah, I’m a werewolf. We live in packs, but that’s all gone now.” His jaw clenches as the browns of his eyes darken into something deeper. At his sides, his fists repeatedly clench and unclench, his knuckles blanching with each movement. “It’s none of your damn business anyways. Are we done here?”
His voice drips with anger as he stands up, snatching his gym bag in one quick motion. He doesn’t wait for you to answer, instead curling his lips at you, a silent warning for you to stop talking. “Watch your fucking mouth, Y/n. You don’t know anything.” He says before walking off, shoulders tense and you swear you can almost smell the angry pheromones lingering in his absence.
“Don’t mind him, he tends to have extreme mood swings.” Jay says from behind. You turn around to face him, unintentionally letting him catch a glimpse of your sad eyes, mourning the ghost of his presence. His own gaze softens in response when he sees your reaction, and he finds himself fighting this flicker of empathy clawing its way up his throat. “You said you wanted to talk to us?” He says instead, sitting at a comfortable distance from you.
“Right, I just wanted to see how you guys get along, that sort of thing.” You clarify, pausing in order to let him fill in the gaps.
“Ah, I guess you could say I’m pretty close with everyone. Jungwon and I go way back though, I guess I took him under my wing in the community since neither of us were adopted.” He offers you a half-smile as he speaks, but you notice the way he rushes through the word ‘adopted’, as if it’ll hurt him if he lingers on the word too long.
“What was it like growing up in The Veil?”
“It sucked, but I’m not sure the alternative was any better,” he steals a glance at you to which you look down at the floor in a hurry, guilt eating away at you for being one of the few children that were ‘adopted.’ “We were in and out of shelters until we were 16, then Jungwon and I got housed together and then eventually, we were forced to find our own place once we turned 20.”
“And what about Sunghoon?”
“What about me?” That familiar wave of coldness shocks your nervous system and you freeze, feeling it work its way up your veins. Sunghoon’s voice cuts through the chilling temperature, and you steal a glance at the boy standing behind you, his eyes sending daggers into your back. “If you have something to say, say it to my face.”
Jay only laughs, finding the situation amusing. “I think that’s my cue to leave.” He stands up quickly, throwing Sunghoon a hesitant glance before parting.
You meet Sunghoon’s glare, a touch of guilt coursing through you as your core temperature continues to drop. “I’m sorry, Sunghoon,” You say, your voice evident with a mix of frustration and defeat. “Please, can you stop trying to give me hypothermia?”
Your pathetic apology seems to strike a chord in Sunghoon, and for a moment, his usually hard expression falls. Though as quickly as it falls, it tenses right back up as your body bounces back to its original temperature. “I didn’t mean to talk about you behind your back, I just want to know how I can support you.”
Sunghoon crosses his arms, offering you an unamused smile. “I don’t know why you’re so desperate to support me. You’re just a gym trainer.”
His words are like a slap to your face, and you flinch, feeling its harsh sting. He’s right- you’re just a trainer, hired to make sure they don’t kill each other and out themselves to the real world. You know you should keep your distance, but you can’t. That pull you felt yesterday when you met them all, it’s only grown stronger. You weren’t going to let Sunghoon’s attitude freeze you out, not if you could help it.
“Well unfortunately, that’s not up to you.” You counter. “So, can you explain to me why you feel the need to use your temperature manipulation so casually? Why do you choose not to control it around your friends?”
Sunghoon remains indifferent to your question, but you think a small part of him reacts to you saying the word ‘friend.’ “Cuts down on the amount of talking I need to do. Gets the message across that they’re pissing me off when I freeze them, and when they back off, I dial it back.” He pauses for a second before continuing. “And they’re not my friends.”
“Ok, except it doesn’t.” You challenge him, “This isn’t just some simple power where you can use negative reinforcement to condition other people’s behaviors. You can’t punish people into compliance, it’s not ethical.” You hang your head, trying to think of a way to speak to him like you aren’t talking down on him. “I would really appreciate it if you’d put in more effort on keeping it in check. I get it- in a world like this, we can’t trust anyone. But these boys care about you, so it’d be nice for you to reciprocate it.”
When you raise your head, you hold his gaze with your own and notice that the storm in his eyes has cleared. It reappears as quickly as it left, but you saw; his vulnerability melting away that frost and it makes you wonder if there were more layers underneath his cold indifference. It’s clear that this is about as much as Sunghoon is going to give you before he starts to snap at you, so you decide to hold back on prodding any further.
“Anyways, can you tell me if Heeseung is still around?”
“Heeseung should be out of the changing rooms by now,” Sunghoon says, standing up.
“Thanks,” you mutter, following his lead. When he disappears from your vision, you make your way over to the changing rooms, a tired drag in your step. “Heeseung?” You say into the tiled hallway, your voice bouncing off the walls- but no response. You wonder if he had already left, but you don’t recall ever seeing him leave, so you decide to wait a little longer, the quietness of the gym almost suffocating as time drags on.
As you lean against the concrete, you watch as the younger boys wave bye to you, smiling joyfully as they head out. The minutes pass by slowly and you’re almost worried that Heeseung slipped out without you noticing, you were really hoping to talk to him before the end of your shift. The weight of your concern had only grown heavier in his absence. When you’re about to push off the wall and leave, Heeseung emerges.
You almost forget the list of things you want to address with Heeseung by the time he comes out, but it slips your mind anyways when you see his eyes glowing an unnatural red. “Heeseung?”
“Move.” He snarls, baring his fangs at you. You notice his skin has turned into a pale white, drained of its energy as he pushes past you with an abrupt shove, practically forcing you into the wall but you catch yourself, grabbing him by the collar of his leather jacket.
“Don’t talk to me that way.” You snap, shoving him back.
“I’m not going to tell you again, Y/n. I said, move.” His voice carries the weight of a thousand suns as he stares hard into your eyes- and for a moment, you almost waiver, feeling a hypnotic force to obey his order. It’s strong, and it almost pains you to reject this invisible beckoning, but you have to. Despite his intense stare, you grit your teeth and clench your fists, ignoring the uncomfortable ache in your core.
Your eyes lock onto his, acutely aware of the bright orange hue that has now plagued your irises as you struggle to maintain control. “Heeseung…” You gasp just before he crashes his mouth against yours.
With his lips on yours, the grip on your throat falters and he moves his hands to clutch at the sides of your face while shoving his knee between your legs. His fangs plunge into your bottom lip, puncturing the soft tissue until a stream of blood flows down your chin. You groan into his mouth as he begins to suck on your lip, tasting the warmth of your blood with a savage intensity. His tongue draws up and down your chin, soaking up each drop of blood that pulses out of your lip all while grinding his knee into your core, picking up on the scent of your essence leaking out of your cunt. His tongue plunges into your mouth and you taste the iron of your own blood on your tongue. It’s disgusting really, but the desperation of his kisses has you weak and reeling for more. You can’t help but get off on the taste of your own blood seeping through his tongue.
Shock and arousal have you drunk on Heeseung, but you summon every once of strength in you to shove him off of you with the strength of a phoenix. He stumbles backwards, flying into the edge of one of the sinks. “What the fuck!” he shouts, his voice dripping with fury and hunger. Heeseung clutches at his side, the impact likely adding on to the bruises from earlier.
“What the hell, Heeseung!” You shout, panting as you reach your hand to your lips, a drop of blood staining the microscopic divots of your fingers.
“I told you to fucking move!” He shouts back, massaging his side.
Your mind races as you think back to his journal entry. Glowing red eyes, disturbed senses, compulsive what? You wrack your brain for the rest of his vampiric rage symptoms, but the adrenaline of it all has your mind scrambled of any rationality. What was it that you had to do when he became like this? You’re so busy caught up in your own mind that you don’t notice Heeseung approaching you again, each of his steps dripping with savage lust.
He reaches out a hand, grabbing your arm and with unnatural speed and force, he pulls you into him. Your body abruptly presses against his, and the unmistakable feeling of his cock presses against your hip. “Focus on me,” he growls, forcing your eyes on him, “Only me.” The glowing intensity of his eyes ensnares your mind like a trap, leaving you gasping for air. A surge of slick gushes out of your cunt, pooling at the seat of your panties and leaving you with a desperate ache in your core. There’s a striking need to keep your eyes locked on his, a primal urge to surrender yourself to him entirely as his glowing red eyes pierce the amber haze of your own- igniting a part of your heart that you didn’t realize was dormant.
In one swift motion, Heeseung rips apart your top and latches his mouth onto your nipple while his hands massage your ass, pulling you plush against him. “Damnit, Y/n,” he moans, his fangs digging into the flesh of your breasts. “Couldn’t fucking listen… Just had to get in my fucking way.” He pulls you in by the ass, grinding his cock against you as he sucks on your nipple, his fangs nipping at the delicate flesh. His hand slaps your ass harshly, the sound of his palm landing against your cheek echoing in the chambers of the locker room. The sting of his hand against your ass only sends another gush of slickness through you, earning a dark chuckle from Heeseung. “I can fucking smell how turned on you are. You like it when I slap you?”
Blinded by an overwhelming wave of lust, you throw your head back and comb your fingers through his hair, relishing in the way his tongue flicks over your bud. “Hee, m-more.” You beg, feeling the trickle of something wet fall from where he’s sucking.
You look down only to see a shiny line of red trailing down your bare stomach, staining your leggings next. Heeseung licks a stripe up your stomach, catching the flow of red onto his tongue, groaning in delight as the taste of your blood soaks into his taste buds. In one sudden movement, Heeseung hoists you up and moves you to the counter, ripping your leggings off along with your panties. You lay bare before him now, back pressed on the counter, but you don’t even care. Your body is on fire, every nerve of yours flaring like a wildfire. You feel so overwhelmed with the desire to fill your pussy with something, anything- that you’re clawing at the air. “Please- I need you.”
“Use that fucking mouth of yours, baby. What do you need?” You mewl out a response as Heeseung dives headfirst into your cunt, pressing a rough kiss on your heat. The warmth of his tongue against her bundle of nerves leaves you shaking, moans erupting from your throat. He practically growls as he slides his tongue between your folds, getting a taste of your sopping pussy. “So fucking wet, you like disobeying me?”
You don’t say anything, instead opting to cry out and moan as he continues his assault on your cunt. “I asked you a fucking question,” he demands, slapping a hand down on your pussy.
The slap sends shockwaves through your body, the sting of his hand only offering you brief stimulation. “N-no, Heeseung! I’ll be good!” You shout, dragging your hands through his hair to pull him towards you while you buck your hips up. He brings his face down to kiss at your pussy again, rocking up and down so his nose rubs against your clit while he eats away at your core. You let your eyes wander down to his face, catching the sultry stare he gives you as he flicks his tongue in and out of your entrance.
Eventually, Heeseung slides three fingers in at once, not bothering to prep you as he deems the amount of slick pooling on the counter enough. “Fuck!” You scream, feeling the stretch of your walls adjust to the girth of his fingers. He pumps his digits in and out of you at a savage pace, ghosting his lips over your thighs as he does.
“Keep screaming, baby. Let me hear you.” He moans, biting down on your thigh suddenly. You scream out, a mixture of pain and pleasure shooting through you when you feel his fangs piercing your skin once again. The sound of his lips sucking around the wound sends another gush of arousal out of your cunt and you can feel a warmth building up in your lower abdomen. He sucks vigorously on the wound, wrapping his arm around your other thigh and massaging it generously.
“H-Heeseung-” You whine, squirming in his hold. “I-I’m close!”
“Cum on my mouth, let me taste you,” he encourages, moving around your thighs to press more bites into. A particular spot, closer to your pelvis, is bitten and that’s all you need to let go, the coil releasing as your pussy begins to clench around Heeseung’s fingers indefinitely. “Fuck, good girl, Y/n.” He says, moving his mouth back to your pussy, lapping at your folds. He sucks on your bud, drinking up your arousal as pleasure washes through your body like a tsunami. “So sweet,”
You shudder under his touch as his tongue stays extra diligent in swirling around your clit while he finishes you off. “Turn around,” he demands, helping you slide off the counter.
You struggle to stand up, entirely relying on Heeseung as he presses you against the counter, your breasts rubbing against the coldness of the counter. Behind you, Heeseung shoves his jeans and briefs down, allowing his cock to spring free, the tip an angry red from his neglect. “Give me your hands,” he says, catching them in the air as you throw your arms back. “Good girl,” he coos.
With his one free hand, he flicks it forward and a red tendril forms, ghosting from his palm like liquid smoke. “You’re gonna be good for me, right?” he asks, smirking as the red wisps move to coil around your wrists like a makeshift handcuff.
You nod anxiously, tears pricking your eyes as the strain of your hands behind your back begins to pull on your muscles. “My good fucking girl.” He says before plunging his cock into your soaking pussy, immediately followed by the snap of his hips. You scream as his cock fills you up, the girth stretching you out all at once. With the coil of his tendrils holding your arms captive behind your back, he lets his hands wander to your hips until they’re bruising you, using them as leverage to piston his cock in and out of you.
You have no idea for how long he continues, but you know he goes long enough to fuck you through two more orgasms before he begins to slow down. When he does, he reaches forward to grab you by your throat, pulling you to his chest. His lips ghosts over your pulse point as he continues to snap his cock into your pussy, the drag of his cock having you reel with pleasure. “I can taste your fucking pulse,” he whispers, licking your neck. You shiver under his touch, the warmth of his breath causing you to unintentionally clench around his member. “Don’t fucking squeeze like that,”
“Heeseung, I- I’m gonna cum again,” you cry, biting your lip as you close your eyes, too tired to keep them open.
He stays silent as he drags his mouth further down your neck, puncturing a few more spots as he soaks up the red liquid quickly. “So sweet, you taste so good.” He snaps his hips into you even deeper than before, the tip of his cock brushing against your G-spot now.
“Hee,” you beg, focusing on the stretch of his cock. You open your eyes just in time to see a collection of red tendrils surrounding you, some crawling up your body and you suddenly become acutely aware of the ghostly feeling of them roaming your bruising skin. They tickle the fine hairs of your body, leaving you a shaking mess before Heeseung as he continues to ravage your pussy.
The added stimulation sends you over the edge and you’re coming for the fourth time, crying out as you wrap your walls around Heeseung’s member tightly. “Fuck, I’m coming Y/n!” Heeseung shouts, shoving his cock up to the hilt of your pelvis.
With a few more thrusts, he stills, allowing his cum to bury itself deep within your womb. Spurts of cum shoot into you at such a force you feel each rope hit your walls, clenching around him as his dick pulses inside of you. Heeseung lets go of you once he starts to soften, his rosy mist disappearing into thin air as you collapse onto the cold surface of the counter. Without warning, he slides out of you and you wince, listening to him zip himself back into his jeans.
Your body is still shaking from the aftermath of your release when you hear Heeseung’s footsteps echo out of the changing room. When it fades, you’re left alone and bare, laying against the cool surface of the counter. In the absence of his presence, a wave of clarity rushes through you, replacing any lingering heat you once had. You can’t help but let out a string or curse words as you fumble around to put your clothes back on, each movement a cold reminder of your impulsive endeavors, your muscles already feeling the dull ache.
As you pull your leggings on, you feel the unwelcome sensation of his cum slowly leaking down, slick and cold now. At this point, you’re too focused on getting home to care- letting it trickle down your thigh as you head back home into the rising daylight. When you finally reach the temporary sanctuary of your studio apartment, you reach for your journal first. Shadow manipulation, you write that besides the writer’s notes on Heeseung’s page before collapsing face-first onto your bed, letting sleep consume you immediately.
read part 2 here
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My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys
This was requested by no one
Summary: you are his beloved Sister, the one thing he swore he would never ruin. But what if desire takes over, what if in the end Maegor was only made to corrupt and destroy?
Word Count: 4160
Warnings: Targaryen Reader, Naive Reader, Mentions Of Murder, Mentions Of Attempted Sexual Assult, Mentions Of Parental Abuse, Maegor Is Only Soft For Reader, P In V, Smut, Fingering, Loss Of Virgenity, Blood Kink, Purity Kink, let me know if I missed anything
TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @mmogurl @sachaa-ff @athzhowakar @themoonlitquill @thelastemzy @baybaybear1 @technicallylegendaryenemy @talknerdytome5391
Maegor watched, he always did. He watched the way you stepped back from the Lords who tried too hard to gain your affection. He watched how you would look down when your Ladies In Waiting's gossiped about court slowly pushing you out of the conversation. But more importantly he watched how your innocent frown ridden face lit up when your guard came up to you.
Ser Lyonal Florent.
He was a man battle ridden and scared, face cold as the ice beyond the wall and body as stiff as the steel of his sword. But he only softened for you, the young Targaryen Princess who would rather talk to the rabbit in the gardens than ever speak to a knight or lady of court.
And you? The shy daughter of Visenya and Aegon the conqueror, the little sister to the cruel King, you seemed to relax with him. Maegor thinks it must be this fact neither of you pry to know more than you're willing to give. Both quiet and observant. Both too close for his comfort.
You always relied on him, your older brother, your protector. But now that you saw what he's capable of, saw what he did to that Lord who dared ask for a second dance with you, you've been keeping your distance.
He sees the way you glance up at him with apprehension in those amethyst eyes that used to be filled with joy and a sense of safety.
He hates it, hates watching you cling to your guard instead of him. Hates that it's his third wife Tyanna at his feet and not you. Hates that she speaks of future children and not of the flowers that bloomed or the way Balerion and Moonfyre seemed to play.
“Your sister seems quite taken with her Guard, that's a good sign is it not?” Tyanna says as her finger swirls along his knee and slowly makes its way higher.
Maegor gripped his wine chalice tighter at those words, but his wife must've thought it meant she was breaking his restraint. Deft fingers barely grazing his trousers cords, and a smirk of victory along those crimson painted lips.
“And tell me, how is that a good thing?” He all but growls out a look of warning in his violet eyes.
For what it's worth Tyanna does know when a threat is near, even if she is persistent for his affection. Though that doesn't mean she doesn't try her luck more often than she should.
“I only meant it would be awful for her to be uncomfortable with him like she was with the last one. House Piper still hasn't shown their faces at feasts since that day.”
Maegor can tell from the way her hands tremble slightly that she knows she is on thin ice. Probably even suspects he knows how she ruined your dress for tonight, the one you so excitedly crafted with your own hands.
“Well if their son wasn't such a womanizer maybe he would still be taking breath instead of having his eyes poked out by crows.”
The memory of seeing you looking up at your guard, the person who was supposed to protect you from the hands of men, pinning you to the wall as he linked at your neck still burns into his mind. Maegor can still hear the way you begged him to let you go, begged him to stop. Gods you even fought against his grip but you were always so frail that even a squire could over power you.
But what truly stays with him, even in his dreams are your screams when Maegor cut his head clean off. He didn't wait to accuse the Knight, didn't wait for him to let you go. His rage was too far gone for that. And it's his deepest regret, for you were never supposed to see this side of him. The side that kills and burns. You were only supposed to see the kind older brother, the one who held your hand as you walked through the gardens little tot hands clutching your favorite flowers of the day, cherub cheeks rosy from joy and the sun. The one protected you as you grew into a beautiful woman any man would desire.
But now you know, you've felt the blood he spills. It even ruined your favorite rose gold dress.
He was the only one you ever needed ever since you were born.
He was only a boy when you were born, not even double digits. An only child unless you counted Aenys which he never did. Why should their Father never truly acknowledge him as his son? He was always Visenya's son, always the Queen's son. Never their son. But Aenys? He was Father's son, he was his and Rhaenys boy, he was bright and kind while Maegor was cold and dark.
But that changed when you came along. He wasn't the one left behind only to feel comfort in his mother's grasp that always seemed to cut too deep, always seemed to scar and bruise. He had someone who could understand what he went through. Understand why he hated Aenys. Understand why he never looked Father in the eyes for all he would find was disappointment no matter how hard he worked at the sword, no matter if he made his hands bloody from his efforts or his vision blurry from all the studying. Be was never enough, and he knew you would understand.
But he was wrong.
Father adored you, the little girl he always wanted. No, the little girl Rhaenys always wanted. You were pure and kind, helping the gardeners pick weeds and plant new flowers. You thrived in the sun, thrived in the light. And yet you clung to him, the person who was all hatred and darkness. The person people write ghost stories about to scare children into behaving.
You never wanted Father, saying he talked too much about someone you didn't know. It didn't take Maegor more than a second to realize he must have been talking about the late Queen Rhaenys.
You didn't want Mother, saying she was too scary. He didn't blame you, Mother wanted perfection and for a little toddler who craved the sun and light you were always a mess of scraped knees and mud stained dresses.
But it was Aenys you avoided the most. You always said he never seemed to enjoy it when you were around. And Maegor knew why. Aenys wasn't Father's world anymore. For all the speeches of always loving one another no matter what, of always being there for one another, he didn't seem too keen to it when Father started obsessing over you.
No it was Maegor, the one whose hands were scarred with the need to be loved, that held you when you cried. The one who's eyes seemed cold as ice but to you seemed like a warm campfire. The one who could snap you in half with no more force than it took him to climb into a horse's saddle. You picked him. But not anymore that honor for that Florent bastard.
You see him for what he is now. A murderer who will never stop until he has everything he wants, and even he doesn't know when it'll be enough, if it'll ever be enough.
“Lord Penrose asked me to dance, my love.” Tyanna says in that tone that means she wants a reaction from him. Usually he'd give it to her, let her have her little game and satisfaction of thinking she's all he truly needs. Let her believe that lie she always told herself. But not tonight, not when you talked to that foreign lord. The one who tho8ght it would be alright to whisper something in your ear. Something that made your eyes shine like the purest amethysts.
Maegor didn't grant Tyanna a reaction, only a wave of a hand dismissing her as if she was no different from the maids who fed him.
He knew she would hate it, hate that he didn't care if she danced with a lord or two. Thought he wanted her all to himself, but you can't truly be the full owner of something if it's been used by others. And with Tyanna it's more than Maegor wants to ever find out.
But he was done letting her have her fantasy. Letting her think she was anything more than a means to an end.
All of his wives were. They were only here and called Queen's because he allowed it, and if he had it his way none of them would hold the title. It would only go to one person, and one person alone.
But his Mother denied him. Said you could be used for more political use than being his wife. But when he asked who you would be wed to she would only lift her head and look at him with that scornful look she used since he was a child. The one that even now makes him stand stiff and watch her warily waiting for her willow stick to snap his knuckles. Or worse his back.
He swore when you were born he would never let you feel that pain. The sting met with the stench of blood. Thankfully he didn't have to take it for you, Father refused to let Mother use such disciplines on you. Saying how it would steer good men away if your knuckles were calloused and scared, or if your back was welted with the remnants of her demand for respect.
Though Maegor had to admit it hurt that Father didn't care that his knuckles were cracked and stiff, or that his back was scarred to the point it was mostly numb.
Maegor couldn't help but stretch his shoulders, reminding himself he had to be perfect. Had to be strong. But he was brought out of his thoughts but the sound of your laughter.
Unrestrained and filled with joy. Just as it should be, how it was always meant to be.
He watched as you danced with some Lord from the Reach if the brown almost auburn hair and chubby build was any indicator.
He fought against himself to walk down there. Gripping the throne and letting the metal of the swords bite his flesh, not enough to bleed but enough to remember his role.
He didn't even notice the way Ceyrse danced with her Guard. Body too close to be proper, and eyes filled with love and trust. He didn't notice how Tyanna practically toyed with Lord Penrose, whispering in his ear before guiding his hand towards his breasts.
No none of that mattered, not when you smiled like that for some forgettable Lord from an even more forgettable house. Not when all Maegor could do was glare at him as he shamelessly flirted with you. Not that you noticed, too naive and trusting to realize a man's true intentions.
The rest of the ball went by in a blur of silent rage and gritted teeth.
Maegor stood up from the throne once it was time to depart, but not before noticing that foreign lord handed you a box. He wanted to know what he gave you, wanted to ask, no, demand to know why you blushed scarlet as you left. But just as he was about to leave another Lord and his halfway decent daughter came up with flattery hoping beyond hope he would take favor with her.
He never did, not unless he was truly bored.
So he stood there, taking their flattery about his rein and what a wonderful ball he threw. All lies, he knew it, everyone did. He was seen as a tyrant, and the ball was rushed after Tyanna demanded a celebration for some holiday from her homeland.
But Maegor took the praise, allowing them to believe he cared what they thought of him. All while wishing to go to you, to find you.
By the time he left he was sure you would be asleep, but he didn't care he would see what was in that gift. He had to, to protect you, there was no other reason.
Maegor knew where he was going, he didn't care about the maids who made themselves small as he passed. Didn't care about the sound of drunken laughter followed by moans in the seemingly empty halls. Not when your chambers were right there, not when all he had to do was enter.
And he did, with more force than he expected, and for the first time in a long time he was stunned at what stood before him.
Maegor blinked once, twice, even rubbed his eyes to see if this image before him would change. But of course it didn't, he couldn't even dream of this.
There you stood, in a traditional Volanti dancer outfit. Gold and rubies adorned your bodice and stomach like chains. Sheer sparkling fabric of rich crimson draped over your arms. And the skirt, if he could even call it that. Was a scrap of fabric of deep burgundy, your legs were showing through the slits. Chains of gold and diamonds dance as you swiftly turn to look at him. And to top it all over, a small chain crown with a golden dragon emblem rests upon your brow.
“Wh– what are you doing here?” You stammer out. Your arms wrap around your middle as if covering yourself will take away the image of your soft milky skin from his mind.
“I wanted to speak with you, but it seems you're busy.” He says closing the door just as Ser Lyonal Florent moves forward after hearing the commotion.
Maegor moves forward, he feels like a man starved with each flicker of flame dancing along your flesh.
Before he knows it he's in front of you taking your arms in his hands and moving them out of the way. Nothing will impede this moment, not even the gods will stop him from drinking in the sight of you.
“Is this the gift that, Volanti lord gave you?” He all but whispers, mind too focused on the sight before him.
He watched as you nod your head meekly, eyes oh so trusting for a woman who came from the blood of the dragon.
“Words, Little Dragon.” He said tilting your head up with his index forcing you to look him in the eyes.
“Yes, he said a beautiful woman like me deserved to express herself. I didn't realize it would be this.”
Maegor could tell you were telling the truth. It was always easy to tell when you were lying. A bite of the lip, it was your tell. Just like his was when he tapped his finger against his chin.
“And yet you put it on? Such vulgar attire seemed fitting to wear in your eyes?” He challenged, he wanted to know why she put it on. Was it curiosity, or something more closely related to desire?
You looked away, and from the way you blushed he knew it was pure curiosity.
“I was curious, it's a whole other world over there. I wanted to know what it was like, even if it was just through their attire.”
He hummed as his thumb slowly brushed your lips. He could feel his cock demanding release, the fabric of his trousers biting into the delicate flesh. And it didn't help the way you looked at him like he would never hurt you, and he wouldn't. Not even in his dreams.
“You know if anyone else came in, they would've thought you a whore. They would've wondered how they were fooled by their sweet, innocent Princess.” Maegor stated matter of factly, he wanted a reaction from you and he ain't disappointed.
You let out a gasp, embarrassment crossing your features as tears brimmed in your eyes. Maegor wanted to lick them from your cheeks. Wanted to know if they would taste as divine as he thought they would.
He watched as you tried to speak, to find anything to say, but he didn't want to hear it, not when your soft plump lips were in his reach. Not when all he had to do was lean down to seal your fate. And he did, and it was better than he ever imagined.
You let out a silent and startled gasp when his lips met yours. The taste of honeyed wine and innocence coating his tongue as your delicate hands gripped his jerkin.
He showed you what to do and slowly your lips moved against his. Inexperienced and clumsy and yet the most perfect miss he'd ever had.
He lived for the way your lips trembled, hands tightening against his clothes. He could see it. Feel it. The mix of fear and desire flowing through you as he slowly moved you towards your bed. Not once letting your lips leave his.
“Do you know how long I've wanted to do this? How many years I have begged Mother to betroth us?” He asked lips railing down your cheek and jaw towards your soft and delicate neck. But he didn't expect a response from you, didn't really want one either.
No he was taking what was his, what should've been given to him long ago.
“Lay down.” He said, voice clear and authoritative, yet gentle, always gentle with you.
“Why?” You asked all while obeying. You layer flat on your back legs slightly dangling off the edge of the couch.
“I'm going to do what I should've done for a while now. Your twenty summers, Little Dragon. It's time you learned what desire and pleasure is.”
He gently raised your legs, hands holding plush thighs in his calloused hands. He moved between your legs with predatory grace taking both your wrists into one hand as the other slowly inched towards your core.
“If you ever want me to stop all you have to do is tell me.” He said after catching the fear in her eyes. But to his shock she settled into the bed with a look of trust and apprehension replacing the fear.
He lets his finger barely brush against your cunt, seeing your reaction, and he wasn't disappointed.
Your brows furrowed in confusion, eyes watching him, and your hands tremble with need you have yet to understand.
You were a vision of purity wrapped in a seductive bow, and he was going to be the one to unwrap it.
“Stay relaxed, it'll feel better that way.” He whispers in your ear, breath fanning over your lobe. He reveled in the shudder of your shoulders and the tremble in your breath.
When he finally let himself touch you, he thought it a holy experience. Your cunt was soaked with need and trust. Trust for a man who was willing to destroy you. To ruin you. To break you so you would be his and his alone.
He let his index slowly sink into your tight wink. It gripped him tight, pulling him in all while trying to force him out.
He couldn't help but chuckle at how you gasped at the intrusion. Doe eyes wide and teary as little whimpers of pleasure leave your pretty petal lips.
He let himself feel you, commit you to memory. Your soft gummy walls grip his finger like a vice and he can only imagine what it will be like around his cock.
He curled his finger and smirked at the moan that left you, back arching and eyes wide with shock.
There it is. He thinks before bullying to spot.
“Maegor.” You whimper hands gripped into fists but he can see you just need to hold onto something, anything.
“What is it, Little Dragon? Do you want me to stop?” He teases his finger coming to a halt before he slowly starts to retreat from your warm confines.
“No!” You all but wail, hips lifting trying to drag him back in.
“Then what do you want?” He all but hums, all while lust floods his blood.
“I– I want to touch you.” You whisper, shame crossing your soft innocent features.
He pretends to think about it before guiding your hands to his shoulders. You seem to relax at the contact only for him to add another finger and move them faster and harder within your soft walls.
He watched everything you did. The way your back arched when his fingers grazed the spot that makes your eyes roll. The way your fingers grip his leather jerkin with a strength and need he never knew you had. But what he loved to watch most was your tears, the ones from this all being too much.
Too much pleasure, too much confusion, too much of him.
He felt the ways your legs trembled, he knew you were close. Your moans came more frequently, more needy and desperate. Your body knew what was going to happen, but the look in your eyes. The confusion that riddled those amethyst pools made his cock jump in his pants. He was sure a stain was forming around his pelvis, and if he was completely honest, he didn't care. Not when he had you in his arms.
“Go on, let go.” He whispered in your ear and within seconds you did as he said. Your cunt clenched around his fingers and your body shuddered as wave after wave of pleasure wracked through you.
He worked you through it, fingers gently moving as your body trembled around him. He made sure to whisper praise to you, and he meant them unlike when he takes a maid, whore, or even his wives.
Once your body stilled he let his slicked fingers leave your warmth before putting them in his mouth to lick your essence. He couldn't stop the groan of pleasure that left his traits at the taste. Tangy, innocent, and unholy, the perfect mixture.
You looked up at him, watching in horror as he licked his fingers clean of you.
“Now this may hurt, but you trust me don't you.” He said, and he made sure to make it clear this wasn't a question. It was a demand.
You nodded meekly as he undressed. First his jerkin and undershirt, and then his boots along with his socks. And finally he started untiring his trousers.
And you? You watched each one leave his body, eyes tracking his scarred flesh. You even reach up to run your fingers along his stomach, your nails tickling the flesh.
Maegor leaned down and took your thighs into his hands. He moved like a tiger after its prey. Slow, silent, deadly.
“Relax, I've got you.” He whispered in your ear before grasping his hard cock and pushing into your tight little cunt.
He groaned at the feel of you, how tight and pure. He reveled in the way you bit down onto his shoulder and clawed at his back.
“Shh, I've got you.” He soothed all while pushing through you. His hands stroked your hair as blood trickled down your chin. The smell of copper and lust filled the room, and he was sure your guard knew what was happening. And like the good dog he is, kept his nose out of the dragons business.
He was slow with his thrusts at first. Letting your body relax and accept the intrusion. And before long your hips were meeting his, and your head was thrown back against the sheets as ruby tinted lips moaned his name.
He looked down at where you met and had to bite his lip to stop from coming at the sight. His silver curls were stained red from you. A clear sign of your innocence. That he was the first to touch you, to take you. And now he'd be the only one. He'd make sure of that.
“You see this, Little Dragon, it means your mine. That I've taken you as mine and mine alone.” He said as he gripped your hair and forced you to see the mess where you two met.
You cried out in pleasure, walls fluttering faster at the sight, at the claim he has on you.
“Let go, come for me.” He all but growled out before kissing and nipping at your pale slender neck. And you did with a cry of pain and pleasure.
He soon followed you, balls tightening and seed spilling into a pure womb willing to take his seed.
Maegor watched as you lay limp, body covered in sweat, tears and that unholy attire. You were his, even if your two's Mother wanted to deny it.
“Go to sleep, Little Dragon. Me, you and Mother will have an important discussion tomorrow.” He said as he turned you on your side and slipped behind you holding you close.
He didn't care if Mother denied him again, this time he'd kill her. Because you don't take a starved man's meal without consequences.
#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd fanfic#fanfic#fanfiction#maegor targaryen x reader#maegor fanfic#maegor smut#maegor targaryen x reader smut#king maegor#maegor the cruel#maegor targaryen#maegor x reader#x reader smut#x reader#fire and blood#fire and blood fanfic#angst#smut#targaryen reader#ashblooddragons fanfics#ashblooddragons oneshots
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BETWEEN THE LINES.
Maegor Targaryen x female Harroway!Reader
WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MDNI; p in v, doggy sex, power imbalance, size kink, degrading, idk.
WORDS: 2.4 K
NOTES: This has been rotting in my docs for so long, I had to finish and post it. It's missing big tiddy daddy hours, and I want you all to suffer with me. Thank you @thought--bubble for proofreading this! <3
The Red Keep is much more homely and friendly than your Houses’ seat, Harrenhal, that much is true. Yet you have never longed more to be back at that gloomy castle than you’ve done since your sister has taken you to court with her.
Not that you’ll ever have the choice to stay or to leave. Not unless your sister, or rather the queen, says so.
For one summer you’ve lived in the keep by now, summoned the moment your sister came back from Pentos to aid her husband after the demise of King Aenys Targaryen. The talks of Maegor taking Tyanna of the Tower as his third wife had arisen not long after, and did little to quell your jealousy.
He's seen you before. You were at your sister’s side during their short courtship, their wedding, and had visited them regularly until she chose to accompany Maegor in his exile in Pentos.
And yet he’s never paid any attention to you, has never even considered taking you to wife instead – rather opting to go for your dull sister and a sorceress from Pentos.
Sitting on the chaise lounge in your chambers, flames crackling in the fireplace, you read over a book you’ve procured from the library on your stroll through the castle. It very much borders the Hour of the Owl, and you’ve yet to take the bath the maids have prepared for you quite some time ago.
A knock on the door pulls you out of your reverie, and you’re quick to rise to your feet, covering the loose nightdress that clings to your curves with a plain robe. Caught off guard, you waste no thought on the fact that you don’t expect any visitors this late.
“Yes?” you ask loudly.
A gruff voice comes from behind the door, and, despite the impatience laced within, you know very well who it belongs to. “Open the door. I would like to have a word with you.”
His words make you frown, but you follow his orders, unlocking the door and opening it for him. Immediately craning your neck to meet his stern gaze, the eye contact ignites a fire within you. “Your Grace, I– what is the matter?”
He shoulders his way past you into your chambers, briefly taking in your attire and loose hair. A small smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Reading, at this hour?” he asks, nodding towards the book still clutched in your hand.
Warmth spreads to your cheeks at his question, intensified by his low and dangerous tone. You can feel his gaze despite your back still facing him, like a weight that has settled on your shoulders. “I could not sleep,” you answer simply, closing the door and turning around. “So I thought I’d read for a bit before I bathe and retire. But is that truly the matter you wish to talk to me about, Your Grace?”
He prowls closer to you, his steps slow and deliberate; a hunter closing in on its prey. “No, that’s not why I came here,” he says, his gaze never leaving yours. As he comes to a stop in front of you, his bulky frame towers over yours. Reaching a hand out, he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear – a gesture that makes you shiver. “It’s your behavior towards your sister… I shall not tolerate it any longer.”
A frisson of heat races down your spine at the touch, and you do not dare pull away from him. She must have obviously talked to him about you slowly removing yourself out of her life, getting out of her way and clearly avoiding her at times. “I… I do not know what you mean, Your Grace,” you stutter. “Alys… my sister… I have no quarrel with her.” Your eyes flicker to the ground, just briefly, but long enough for him to know that you’re not saying the truth.
Taking another step closer, Maegor captures you between his body and the door, a sneer evident on his features. “Don’t insult my intelligence,” he growls. “I know of your jealousy. Your envy. You long for what she has, to be a queen at the side of a man of my power and strength, but that day shall never come.”
Your heart lurches at his words, hitting you like arrows, and striking a wound that you have refused to acknowledge. Your breath escapes in a sharp gasp. “That is not…” you deny weakly, but even to your own ears your voice lacks conviction. You can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, but his mere proximity makes you feel hot all over. “You… You are misunderstanding my feelings, Your Grace.”
“Am I?” he asks, his voice a mocking drawl. He pinches your chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting your head back up and forcing you to look at him. “Then look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t want what your sister has. Admit it.”
Gooseflesh ripples over your skin as his warm breath fans over it, your eyes fluttering. “I…” you begin, but your voice fails you as something dark and sinful stirs deep within you, dampening the linen of your smallclothes. You try to look away, but can’t. Instead, you find yourself reciprocating his intense stare, the words spilling out before you can stop them: “I loathe her.”
A cold triumph fills his features as you speak, giving him exactly what he wanted to hear. He lets out a low rumble of laughter, a mocking sound without any trace of humor that sends a shiver through your body.
His other hand grips your hip, squeezing tightly. “Good,” he hums, leaning in close enough for his breath to fan over your face. “There is no need to hide your true feelings from me, sweetling. I see right through you. Your hate, your desire for power… your desire for me.”
Gasping softly at his words, your heart races in your chest. You’re trapped between his sturdy frame and the door, and his nearness causes heat to pool in your stomach. “That is… not true,” you deny weakly, although your voice lacks conviction. You can feel the heat emanating from him, the strength of his hands on your body – and yet, you do not pull away. “I… I don’t…”
The conflict that wars in your eyes is obvious, and he all but devours the fight your body puts up against the desire that’s slowly burning through your body. “You don’t?” he challenges, and your breath hitches in your throat the moment his lips find your exposed throat. The tip of his nose brushes your jaw as he pulls back, lips all but a whisper apart. “Lie to me again. The sight of these beautiful lips of yours speaking falsehoods is almost as arousing as the truth.”
His words send a jolt of heat to your core, your body and skin growing hot while your pulse quickens. Fighting stubbornly against the urge to surrender to his touch, you take a shaky breath. “You… You’re wrong,” you whisper, your voice choked by your own traitorous arousal.
“Then prove me wrong,” he laughs, low and dark, “push me away. Fight me.” Shame and excitement alike flood your veins at his words. Your hands come up to grip the front of his loose tunic as if you mean to push him away, but instead you pull him tightly against you.
With a swift flick of his wrist, Maegor’s nimble fingers undo the tie in the front of your robe.
You bite your lip, staring up at him with wide eyes. The robe comes loose against your body and falls partially open, exposing the skin of your chest and shoulders. Your body is responding to him in ways it shouldn’t, and you’re helpless to stop it.
“I…” you pant, voice ragged, “I can’t…”
With his fingers tracing patterns on your body like a burning brand, you can’t bring yourself to push him away, and instead charge at him, wrapping your arms around his thick neck and connecting your lips in a passionate embrace.
Maegor grunts at the impact, but returns the kiss with equal fervor. His grip on you tightens even more, using it to push you back against the door. Breaking the kiss, he peels your arms off of him, which allows your robe to slide off your shoulders and fall to the ground, and flips you around, pressing your chest flush against the wood.
Although you try to catch a glimpse of him from over your shoulder, you miss the dark, possessive look that’s etched onto his features, far too distracted by him easily ripping apart your nightdress from the collar to the hem.
You can all but feel his dark blown eyes roam over your exposed skin, practically devouring the sight of you standing completely bare and pliant right in front of him. His fingers trail over your curves, gripping a fistful of your arse.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this,” he mutters, voice guttural and possessive. He leans in to bury his face in the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin.
The sensations have you arch your back against his sturdy frame while soft gasps and moans spill past your lips. You feel him shuffle slightly behind you, yet your mind is far too occupied by the weight of his body against yours, the heat from his lips on your neck, and the harshness of his one hand on your hip to notice what he’s doing.
But then you feel something dragging through your soaked and swollen folds, and while you’re certain it’s two of his fingers, you’re quickly proved wrong as something even thicker breeches your tight cunt. The groan he releases is strained but loud, fanning right over your damp skin, and drowns out the moan that slips past your lips.
It’s not the first time you lay with a man, yet the last encounter took place quite some time ago, hence your need to adjust to the size of his cock. But Maegor is not in a generous mood this night, and hardly allows your body to accommodate him before he sets up a reckless pace that has you whining and whimpering.
Maegor towers over your small frame, pushing you up against the door with every snap of his hips. One of his paw-like hands is still holding onto your hip, while the other has disappeared into your hair, tugging on it and forcing your head back against his shoulder to make sure you keep your back arched for him.
He continues to lavish attention on your body with his lips and tongue, just barely pulling away to take a breath. “You shall never be queen like your dear sister is,” he groans in between some kisses, his voice ragged. Under different circumstances, his words would have made your stomach drop – but not when he’s fucking you so good, and speaking again after a short breather. “But she could never give me what you do. She could never make me feel the way you make me feel. You drive me mad with desire.”
You tremble under his frame, and pressure builds within you as he brings his hand between your legs. It seems as though he’s suddenly taken on an urgency he hasn’t displayed before, adamant to finish it quickly so that his disappearance does not attract any attention.
“The… Then take what you want… Your Grace,” you stutter, words hiccuped by his harsh thrusts. He’s sent you into a frenzy by now. “Take me.”
The coil in your stomach is ready to snap at any given moment with how precisely his deft fingers rub your pearl, and your peak washes over you even before you can tell him. Your lips fall apart in a breathy whimper while you relish in the overwhelming pleasure of your peak coursing through your veins as Maegor chases his own.
Regardless of how badly you want to reach behind you to touch whatever part of him is within your reach, your hands have to be propped against the door to support your small frame, keeping you upright.
His thrusts already have become more and more erratic at this point, and the tight clenching of your walls around his cock is the last bit that eventually triggers his own release.
Shuddered breaths and strained groans topple over his parted lips, mixing with your whimpers and moans. His twitching cock spills his seed deep inside of your cunt, and you squeeze him ever so tightly in response, milking him for every drop.
He doesn’t give himself much time to revel in the pure bliss before he lifts his head off of your shoulder and untangles himself from you. His breathing is ragged and his gaze still darkened with desire as he gazes down at your disheveled form, taking in the marks he’s left. He silently buckles his belt and adjusts his clothing, appearing as though nothing has happened while your mind and body are basically in shambles.
There’s little time for you to come back to your senses after he’s pulled out, and even less time until he’s inconsiderately nudging you away from the door, taking the handle into one hand.
“And sweetling,” he says, his brusque demeanor coming right back with a dangerous tone to his voice, “I will not tolerate any further interference from you in my affairs, and I will not tolerate any envy towards your sister. You ought best to remember your place. You are nothing but a toy for me, and I will not hesitate to put you in your place if you get in my way.”
The sharpness in his tone makes you shiver. You watch him silently, body still trembling with the aftershocks of your encounter. His words ring in your ears, and you swallow hard, the reality of your situation only now sinking in.
As he turns away and opens the door, he throws one final look at you from over his shoulder.
“Yes… Your Grace,” you mumble with a nod of your head, and only then does he take his leave, albeit it does not last for too long, because as the following day passes and the Hour of the Owl strikes, it’s him who’s knocking on your door again, coming to take what he’s successfully claimed.

Maegor Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @k4marina @foxyanon @nats-whore
@palmer-hjp @sinarainbows @luvdella
General Taglist: @watercolorskyy @darylandbethfanforever9 @croatianprincess @snowystark @moonlightfoxx
@melsunshine @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fan-goddess @at-a-rax-ia @tsujifreya
@bbgmonsay @doublesparrows @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101
@multyfangirl @dixie-elocin @zaldritzosrose @userhotd @delulumhaggy @urfavnoirette
@iloveallmyboys @beautbuck @rose-brulante @aerangi @aoi-targaryen
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A Promise In Flames - Jacaerys Velaryon
Jacaerys Velaryon x Stark.Fem Reader
No family war, Rhaenyra is Queen
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Genre : Romance, Smut, arranged marriage, cold husband
Warnings: Smut, Minors DNI, kissing, penetrative sex, oral fem receiving, virginity, slight angst in the beginning
---------------------------------
The hall was adorned with the finest tapestries of House Velaryon and the dragon-sigil banners of House Targaryen. Every detail of the wedding had been planned to perfection, each element a reminder of the union between the eldest son of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and the noble daughter of House Stark, Lady Y/N. Yet, amidst the grandeur, a deep-seated coldness lingered in Jacaerys Velaryon’s heart.
Y/N had heard the whispers among the courtiers, the talk of her husband’s resentment towards this marriage, a union born of political necessity rather than love. She had tried to show kindness, to be patient and understanding, but her efforts seemed to meet an unyielding wall of indifference.
On the night of their wedding, Y/N stood in the dimly lit bedchamber, her heart heavy with uncertainty. The gown she wore felt too ornate, too foreign against her skin, a symbol of the life she had entered into—a life where her husband did not yet see her as his wife.
Jacaerys entered the room, his steps heavy with the weight of duty. His dark curls fell messily around his face, his expression unreadable. He looked at Y/N with a distant gaze, one that pierced her heart more than any harsh words could.
“I will not consummate this marriage tonight,” he said, his voice cold and detached.
Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, but she managed a small nod, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “As you wish, my prince.”
Without another word, Jacaerys turned away, retreating to a separate chamber. The door closed with a resounding finality, leaving Y/N alone in the silence of the room. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the flickering flames in the hearth, tears welling in her eyes.
Days passed, and the distance between them remained, a chasm that seemed impossible to bridge. Y/N continued to show him kindness in every small way she could—placing flowers from the garden on his table, ensuring his favorite dishes were served at meals, and offering him gentle smiles whenever their paths crossed. But Jacaerys, consumed by his own anger and frustration, remained aloof.
One evening, after a particularly tense day in the court, Jacaerys found Y/N sitting by the fire in their shared chambers, her needlework resting on her lap. She looked up as he entered, her eyes soft and welcoming, despite the coldness he had shown her.
He hesitated at the threshold, a wave of guilt washing over him. “Lady Y/N…”
Y/N set aside her needlework, her hands trembling slightly as she rose to her feet. “Yes, Jacaerys?”
He crossed the room, his steps slow and uncertain. “I owe you an apology,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been unfair to you, and for that, I am truly sorry.”
Y/N’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she stepped closer to him, her heart aching at the sincerity in his words. “I know it must be hard for you, Jacaerys,” she said softly, her hand reaching out to gently touch his cheek. “I understand the frustration you must feel, but I want you to know that your mother did this out of love for you. She wants the best for you, as any mother would.”
Jacaerys closed his eyes at the warmth of her touch, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting away. “I… I’ve been so blind, so wrapped up in my own anger that I didn’t see how much this must have hurt you.”
Y/N shook her head gently, her thumb brushing against his cheek. “You resemble her so much, you know. You’re strong, determined, and you carry the weight of your responsibilities with such grace. I see so much of her in you, Jacaerys.”
Her words struck a chord deep within him, unraveling the layers of bitterness he had clung to. “I don’t deserve your kindness, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.
“Jacaerys,” she whispered, her voice filled with a sweetness that tugged at his heartstrings. “I won’t rush you into anything. Take your time… I’ll wait for you, Jacaerys.”
She leaned in, pressing a soft, innocent kiss to his cheek, her lips lingering for just a moment before she pulled away. Her gesture was simple, yet it carried the weight of her unwavering patience and understanding.
Jacaerys opened his eyes, meeting her gaze with a newfound respect and admiration. The tears that glistened in her eyes mirrored the emotions swirling within him—regret, sorrow, and a burgeoning affection that he had been too blind to see.
Weeks passed, and the tension between them slowly began to thaw. Jacaerys found himself noticing the small things Y/N did for him-the way she always made sure his favorite cloak was laid out on colder mornings, or how she would leave little notes for him on his desk, offering words of encouragement or gentle reminders to take care of himself.
Y/N's presence became a comforting balm to his troubled mind. He found solace in her quiet strength, in the way she never pushed him but was always there, a steady and unwavering force in his life. He began to seek her out more, not out of obligation, but because he genuinely enjoyed her company.
Yet, despite their growing closeness, there was still a part of him that held back. The wounds of his resentment were slow to heal, and while he had apologized, he knew there was still much he needed to make amends for.
One day, during a particularly heated council meeting, Jacaerys found himself at odds with several of the lords. A dispute had arisen over the borders of their lands, with some of the noble houses threatening to withdraw their support from Rhaenyra if their demands were not met. The situation was tense, with tempers flaring and no clear solution in sight.
Jacaerys felt the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him, the burden of leadership heavy on his shoulders. As the meeting adjourned, he remained in the council chamber, lost in thought and frustration. He knew he had to find a way to resolve the issue, but the path forward seemed fraught with obstacles.
It wasn't until later that evening, when he returned to his chambers, that he learned the dispute had been resolved. His steward, a loyal servant who had been with the family for many years, informed him that the situation had been handled swiftly and effectively.
"How?" Jacaerys asked, surprise evident in his voice. "Who intervened?"
The steward smiled gently, a twinkle of pride in his eyes. "It was your lady wife, my prince. She met with the lords personally and convinced them to reconsider their positions. She spoke with such wisdom and grace that they could not refuse her."
Jacaerys was stunned. "Y/N... she did this?"
The steward nodded. "Indeed, my prince. She risked much to ensure the peace, she risked her life and the future of house Stark, and she did it all for you."
Jacaerys felt a wave of emotions crash over him - gratitude, admiration, and a deep sense of guilt. He had underestimated her and failed to see the strength and courage she possessed. And now, she had risked her and her house'e safety, all for his sake.
Without another word, Jacaerys turned and sprinted towards their chambers, his heart pounding in his chest. He needed to see her, to thank her, to apologize for all the ways he had wronged her.
As he approached their chambers, he slowed his pace, his eyes catching sight of Y/N standing on the balcony, her figure bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. She was looking out at the evening sky, her expression serene and peaceful, unaware of the turmoil raging within him.
Jacaerys took a moment to drink in the sight of her, his heart swelling with a newfound admiration and love. He had been a fool, blind to the treasure he had been given in her. But no more. He would make it right.
He entered the chambers quietly, dismissing the servants with a quick wave of his hand. As Y/N turned to face him, surprise flickered across her features. "Jacaerys, is everything alright?" she asked, concern lacing her voice.
Jacaerys didn't answer her with words. Instead, he closed the distance between them in a few quick strides, his hands reaching out to cup her face as he crashed his lips against hers. The kiss was urgent, filled with all the pent-up emotions he had been holding back-his guilt, his regret, and the growing love he could no longer deny.
Y/N gasped against his lips, her hands instinctively clutching at his tunic as she tried to steady herself. The intensity of his kiss took her by surprise, but she responded in kind, her heart racing as she melted into his embrace.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other's as they tried to catch their breath.
"Why?" Y/N whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "Why now?"
Jacaerys closed his eyes, his hands still cradling her face. "Because I've been a fool, Y/N. I've been blind to the love you've shown me, to the sacrifices you've made. I've failed you as a husband, and I'm so, so sorry."
Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes as she listened to his words, her heart aching at the sincerity in his voice. "You don't have to apologize, Jacaerys," she whispered, her thumbs gently brushing away the tears that had begun to fall from his eyes. "I understand why you were angry. I never held it against you."
"But I should have been better," he insisted, his voice cracking with emotion. "I should have seen what was right in front of me all along. You are everything I never knew I needed, and I've been too blind to see it."
Y/N smiled softly, her hands moving to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palms. "I'm here, Jacaerys. I've always been here, waiting for you to see that."
Jacaerys leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, his heart swelling with love and gratitude. "And I see it now, my love. I see you, and I'll never let you go."
With those words, he captured her lips in another kiss, this one softer, sweeter, yet filled with a depth of emotion that took her breath away. As their lips moved together, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, bound together by the love that had finally blossomed between them.
Without breaking the kiss, Jacaerys lifted her into his arms, carrying her into the room. He moved with purpose, the weight of his earlier fears and doubts melting away as he focused solely on her.
They made their way to the bed, their hands roaming each other's bodies, their touches both tender and urgent. As they finally broke apart to catch their breath, Jacaerys gazed down at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and desire. His hands trembled slightly as he set her down softly on the soft bed.
He paused for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest as he looked at her, drinking in every detail of her face. She was everything he had ever wanted, everything he had never known he needed.
As he began to remove her gown, he noticed the way her hands trembled, the way her breath quickened with nerves. Her wide eyes, usually so filled with kindness and warmth, now held a flicker of fear.
Jacaerys stopped immediately, his hands coming up to gently cup her face, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks in a soothing gesture.
"Y/N..." he began softly, his voice tender as he searched her eyes. "Do you know what is to happen between us now?"
She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "Um... Consummation?"
"Yes, my love," Jacaerys confirmed with a soft smile, "but do you know what we are about to do? Are you okay with it?"
Y/N looked down, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I don't... Jacaerys, I have never been taught what I am to do on a consummation night... I have never been touched..."
Jacaerys's heart ached at her confession, his hands moving to gently hold hers. "It's alright, my love," he assured her, his voice filled with understanding. "I have never touched a woman either... But I have picked up a few instructions from my nuisance uncles and brothers..."
Y/N let out a nervous laugh, her tension easing slightly at his attempt to lighten the mood. "Y/N," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. "I've never done this before either."
Jacaerys leaned in closer, his forehead resting against hers as he whispered, "Don't be nervous, Y/N. We'll learn this together, alright?"
She nodded slowly, her trust in him evident in the way she looked up at him, her eyes softening as she took comfort in his presence.
Jacaerys smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before moving to undress her, his movements slow and deliberate, giving her time to adjust. With each layer that fell away, he could feel her nervousness returning, but he kept his touch light, his kisses gentle, murmuring reassurances as he went.
When she was finally bare before him, Jacaerys took a moment to admire her, his eyes roaming over her body with a mix of awe and reverence. She was beautiful, more beautiful than he had ever imagined, and he felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him, a deep desire to cherish and worship every part of her.
He undressed himself next, his movements unhurried, giving her time to take him in as well. When he was finally naked, he moved to join her on the bed, his body hovering over hers as he leaned down to kiss her, their lips meeting in a slow, tender embrace.
Jacaerys deepened the kiss, his hands beginning to explore her body with a newfound confidence. He started at her neck, pressing soft kisses along her collarbone, moving lower with each breath. His hands followed suit, tracing the curves of her body, caressing her with a gentleness that made her shiver.
As his hands traveled lower, Y/N let out a small gasp, her body tensing slightly at the unfamiliar sensation. Jacaerys paused, lifting his head to look at her, his eyes filled with concern.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
She nodded, though her breathing was uneven, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "I'm just... I'm just nervous," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly.
Jacaerys smiled softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips. "You're doing so well, my love," he murmured against her mouth. "Just let me take care of you. We'll take it slow."
Y/N nodded again, her body relaxing slightly as she gave herself over to him, trusting him completely. Jacaerys continued his exploration, his hands moving lower until they found the heat between her thighs.
He hesitated for a moment, his eyes meeting hers in silent question. When she nodded, giving him permission, he gently parted her legs, his fingers finding the slickness there. He began to stroke her slowly, his touch light and teasing, his eyes never leaving hers.
Y/N gasped at the sensation, her hips bucking involuntarily as pleasure began to build within her. Jacaerys watched her closely, his own arousal growing as he saw the way her body responded to his touch.
He leaned down to kiss her again, his fingers continuing their slow, deliberate movements, coaxing more moans from her lips.
Jacaerys trailed soft kisses down her body, his lips worshiping every inch of her skin as he descended lower, his heart pounding in his chest. When he finally reached the apex of her thighs, he paused, his breath hitching as he took in the sight of her fully exposed to him.
For a moment, he simply stared, captivated by her beauty. His eyes traced the delicate folds of her heat, his fingers covered in her slick, his admiration evident in the way his gaze lingered. His heart swelled with a mixture of awe and desire, and he knew he wanted to worship her in every way possible.
He slowly lifted his eyes to meet hers, his hand gently brushing against her inner thigh. "Can I kiss you," he asked, his voice a low murmur filled with reverence. His gaze flicked back down to her heat, his fingers gently brushing over her petals as he added, "Here?"
Y/N's breath caught in her throat, her face flushing a deep shade of red at his request. She hesitated for a brief moment, the unfamiliarity of the situation making her heart race. But when she saw the tenderness in his eyes, the genuine care in his voice, she nodded, her consent given with a shy smile.
Jacaerys didn't hesitate. He dipped his head lower, his lips pressing a soft, exploratory kiss to her most intimate place. He could feel her body tense beneath him, her nerves evident, but he continued his ministrations with a gentleness that put her at ease.
He parted her folds with his tongue, tasting her for the first time, and the experience sent a surge of arousal through him. Her taste was intoxicating, sweet and heady, and he found himself eager to please her, to draw more of those delicious sounds from her lips.
As his tongue explored her, he kept his movements slow and deliberate, paying close attention to her reactions. When he found the sensitive bundle of nerves at her core, he circled it with his tongue, his movements steady and rhythmic.
Y/N let out a soft moan, her body arching slightly in response to the pleasure that began to build within her. Jacaerys smiled against her, the sound of her pleasure fueling his own desire as he continued his oral ministrations.
He alternated between teasing flicks of his tongue and gentle sucking, his hands holding her hips in place as she writhed beneath him. He was determined to bring her to the peak of pleasure, to show her just how much he cared for her, how much he wanted to make this experience unforgettable for both of them.
When he felt her thighs begin to tremble, her moans growing louder, he knew she was close. He doubled down on his efforts, his tongue working her with an urgency that matched the need in his own body.
With a final, firm stroke of his tongue, he sent her tumbling over the edge, her body convulsing as she cried out his name, her hands clutching at the sheets beneath her. Jacaerys continued to lave her with his tongue, drawing out her pleasure until she was a quivering, breathless mess beneath him.
Only then did he pull away, his lips glistening with her arousal as he moved back up her body, his eyes filled with love and admiration as he took in the sight of her, flushed and panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
He leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, sharing her taste with her as he murmured, "You're so beautiful, Y/N. I want to make you feel like this every day."
His voice was gentle, yet lust full. Getting her warmed up for the most intense part was his intention.
When he felt she was ready, he moved to position himself between her legs, his heart pounding with anticipation and nerves.
"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.
Y/N nodded, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and trust. "Yes, Jacaerys... I'm ready."
He nodded, taking a deep breath as he guided himself to her entrance. He moved slowly, inching forward with careful precision, his eyes locked on hers as he watched for any sign of discomfort.
When he finally began to push inside, Y/N let out a small cry, her body tensing as she felt the unfamiliar stretch. Jacaerys paused immediately, his hands coming up to cradle her face as he kissed her gently, murmuring soothing words against her lips.
"You're doing so well, my love," he whispered. "Just relax. I'll go slow."
He resumed his movements, inching forward until he was fully seated inside her. He stilled for a moment, giving her time to adjust, his hands stroking her hair and face as he whispered words of comfort and love.
When he felt her body begin to relax around him, he started to move, his thrusts slow and gentle at first, allowing her to get used to the sensation. He could feel her tightness around him, her body clenching in response to his every movement, and it took all of his self-control not to lose himself completely.
Y/N moaned softly, her hands clutching at his shoulders as she began to move with him, her body responding to the pleasure he was giving her. Jacaerys leaned down to kiss her again, his lips moving against hers as he began to increase the pace, his thrusts becoming more forceful as he lost himself in the sensation of being inside her.
As their bodies moved together, the room filled with the sounds of their pleasure-soft moans, gasps, and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin. Jacaerys's hands roamed her body, caressing her in all the right places, eliciting more moans from her lips.
He could feel the tension building within him, the tight coil of pleasure ready to snap at any moment. But he held back, wanting to bring her to the brink with him, wanting them to reach the pinnacle of their passion together.
"Jacaerys..." Y/N moaned, her voice breathless and filled with need.
Jacaerys's heart swelled at the sound of his name on her lips, the way she said it sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his core. "Say it again," he urged her, his voice husky with desire.
"Jacaerys..." she repeated, her voice trembling with the intensity of the moment.
Jacaerys groaned, his movements becoming more urgent as he felt himself nearing the edge. He reached down between them, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at her core, stroking her in time with his thrusts.
The combination of his movements and his touch sent Y/N spiralling, her body tensing as she teetered on the edge of release. "Jacaerys... I... I'm..." she gasped, her voice catching in her throat as she struggled to form words.
"Let go, my love," Jacaerys urged her, his own voice strained as he fought to hold back his own release. "I'm right here with you. Just let go."
With his words, Y/N finally fell over the edge, her body convulsing as pleasure washed over her in waves. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she cried out his name, her body clenching tightly around him as she came undone.
Jacaerys followed moments later, his own release crashing over him with an intensity that left him breathless. He buried his face in her neck, his body shuddering as he spilled inside her, their bodies still moving together in the aftermath of their passion.
They stayed like that for a long time, their bodies entwined, their breathing slowly returning to normal. Jacaerys pressed soft kisses to her skin, murmuring words of love and adoration against her ear.
When he finally pulled away, he looked down at her, his heart swelling with love and gratitude. "You're everything to me, Y/N," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I promise I will spend the rest of my life showing you how much you mean to me."
Y/N smiled up at him, her eyes filled with tears of happiness. "And I will spend the rest of mine loving you, Jacaerys," she replied, her voice soft and filled with love.
Jacaerys leaned down to kiss her again, their lips meeting in a slow, tender embrace, a promise of the future they would face together, hand in hand, heart to heart.
..............................
#house of the dragon#hotd#jacaerys velaryon#jacaerys velaryon x reader#jacaerys x reader#hotd jacaerys#hotd x reader#hotd smut#hotd fanfic#hotd season 2#minors dni#smut#prince jacaerys#jace velaryon x reader#jace velaryon#jace smut#jacaerys targaryen#jacaerys smut#hotd x y/n#house of the dragon smut#jacaerys velaryon x you#jacaerys x y/n#jacaerys imagine#hotd s2#fire and blood#jace velaryon x you#harry collett#harry collett x reader
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omg,
hi sweet baby angels!!! look who finally wrote a new piece and isnt relying on queueueueueuing chapters she wrote seven million years ago!!!!! based on this ask. enjoy.
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Summary: They can look all they like, but only you carry the proof of what he is to you and what you are to him.
Warnings: 18+, rough sex (p in v), fingering, targcest, multiple orgasms, creampies, breeding, multiple positions, dirty talk, bratty reader (lmk if i missed anything!)
Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader

The hall glows with firelight and heat, the smell of roasted meats clinging to silk and skin as laughter swells beneath the Red Keep’s high rafters. You sit lower at the feasting table, far enough from the center that no one expects you to speak, close enough that you can see him. Daemon. Draped in dark velvet, silver hair loose over his shoulders, a wine cup cradled in one hand like it was made for him. He looks bored, or maybe pleased, or maybe both. You can never quite tell with him when he smiles like that.
He is not alone. The court never lets him be. Ladies linger around him like wasps drawn to ripe fruit, sharp-eyed and silk-wrapped, fluttering fans and lashes with feigned restraint. One of them, a girl from House Velaryon with pale skin and storm-colored eyes, reaches out and lays her hand on his forearm as she speaks. It is not a casual touch. Her fingers slide, her thumb grazes the inside of his wrist. She leans in as she laughs, just a little too close.
He lets her.
He does not touch her back, not quite, but he also does not stop her. His expression does not shift, his body does not tense. He just tilts his head slightly, wine catching the light as he takes another sip, and listens. You see the way the girl watches his mouth as he drinks. You see the way her gaze slips down to his neck and lingers there. It makes something ugly twist low in your belly.
You have not touched your wine. You have not said a word in several minutes. The man beside you, some knight’s son with a lion-stitched doublet and soft, forgettable features, has been trying to speak with you since the second course. You barely hear him. He asks if you liked the music. You do not answer. He tries again, offering a gentle smile and a question about dancing. You turn your head slightly and say no, quiet but cold. He does not ask a third time.
All your attention is fixed on Daemon.
He knows. Of course he knows. He has not looked at you, not even once, but he can feel your gaze like a tether pulled tight. You know he can. That smile of his has curved sharper. He lifts his cup just slightly, as if in silent toast, and laughs at something the Velaryon girl says, even though you doubt he was listening. His whole body is a performance, and tonight you are not in the front row. You are not even part of the act.
You hate it.
You hate the way she looks at him. You hate that she is allowed to. You hate that she touches him in front of everyone and no one says a word. You hate that she might think she could keep him, even for a moment, even for a night. You are not his wife. You have no claim. You are not even promised. You cannot stop her. You cannot reach across the table and slap her hand away. You cannot stand and declare what he is to you, what you are to him, because no such thing has ever been said aloud.
Still, your body remembers the shape of his hands. Your skin still bears the bruises he left. You remember the way his breath felt against your throat when he called you sweet girl, when he told you to stay still, when he said yours like it meant something. But none of that matters here. Not in front of the court. Not in front of her.
She leans in closer again. Her hair brushes his shoulder. Her laugh rises like bells. Daemon lifts his goblet once more, sips slow, then finally moves his gaze.
He looks at you. Only for a moment. No more than a breath. But it is enough.
His eyes meet yours across the chaos and gold of the feasting hall. He does not blink. He does not look away. And then he smiles. Not for her. Not for the room. For you.
You do not smile back.
You hold his gaze a moment longer than you should, until it burns. Then you rise. Quietly. Deliberately. The scrape of your chair is barely heard beneath the swell of music and wine-soaked laughter, but it cuts through you clean.
You leave before the final toast is raised. Before the singers begin their third round. Before she can lean in again and whisper something sweet and simpering into his ear.
You do not storm out. You do not make a scene. You walk with your chin high and your silence sharp, knowing it will follow you more loudly than any words would have.
Your chambers are too warm when you enter. The fire crackles too loudly. The wine on the table sits untouched.
You do not pace, but you feel like you might. Your skin itches with something too close to rage, too close to want. It sits behind your ribs and twists, slow and tight, until you can’t bear to sit still.
You feel him before you hear him. The door does not creak, but it opens. He does not knock. Of course he doesn’t.
Daemon steps inside like the room belongs to him. Like you do.
“You left early,” he says.
“You noticed,” you reply.
“I notice when someone stares at me for half the feast,” he says, voice smooth. “And then vanishes before the sweets.”
You turn to face him. “I suppose I lost my appetite.”
He smiles. “A shame. The roasted pears were delightful. But not quite as sweet as the Velaryon girl’s lips.”
Your face does not change. “You kissed her?”
“No,” he says. “But she wanted me to.”
“And you were tempted.”
“I am always tempted,” he says, stepping further into the room. “That is what makes it fun.”
You lift your chin. “Fun.”
He shrugs. “You must know by now how I enjoy being watched.”
“I saw you,” you say. “I saw the way she looked at you.”
“I let her.”
“You let her put her hand on you.”
“She has hands. What was I meant to do, hack them off at the wrist?”
“You could have said no.”
“I never say no to harmless attention,” he says, smiling. “It keeps the court guessing.”
“It keeps the court thinking you are theirs to take.”
He takes a step closer. “Let them think what they will. They are wrong.”
“Are they?” you ask, sharp. “You did not look particularly unavailable tonight.”
“And yet here I am,” he says, spreading his hands slightly, “in your chambers, not hers.”
You cross your arms. “That proves little.”
He cocks his head. “Does it?”
“You belong to no one,” you say.
He doesn’t argue. “True enough.”
“You are not mine.”
“No,” he says again. “But gods, how you want me to be.”
You exhale slowly through your nose. “You are full of yourself.”
“I have good reason to be.”
You stare at him. He stares back.
“You think I should have made a show of rejecting her?” he asks. “That I ought to have stood in the middle of the hall and shouted that my cock is already spoken for?”
“Is it?” you say, soft yet cold.
He steps close enough for his voice to drop. “You would know.”
You tilt your head. “Would I?”
He smiles. “Don’t be coy. It doesn’t suit you.”
You step around him, slow, measured, the air between you too warm now, too thick. “You act as though you enjoy the idea of women fighting over you.”
“I enjoy being wanted.”
“And you enjoyed being wanted by her.”
He looks at you for a moment. “I enjoyed knowing you were watching.”
You stop.
He watches the way you still.
“I could have let another man walk me back tonight,” you say.
“You did not.”
“No. But I could have.”
He smiles, faint and dangerous. “And I could have taken her to bed.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because she’s not you.”
There it is. Said simply, said plainly, with that flash of teeth just beneath the charm. He doesn’t soften when he says it. He doesn’t look ashamed. He offers it like a challenge.
You stare at him, chest rising.
“You let them think they have a chance,” you say, quieter now.
“I let them look,” he replies. “That’s all they get. A glimpse. A taste of something they’ll never touch. That is the game, little cousin. Let them ache for it.”
“And what of me?” you ask.
His expression changes just slightly. “What of you?”
“If I want more than a game,” you say, voice like ice beneath flame. “If I am not content with glimpses and riddles. What then?”
He takes a step toward you, close enough that you feel his breath against your cheek when he speaks. “Then you are not like them.”
You do not flinch. “But you want me to feel like I am.”
“No,” he says, voice low. “I want you to feel the difference.”
You look up at him. “Then make it.”
He studies you.
“I have no claim,” you say. “No ring. No promise. Nothing but your word and the marks you leave behind.”
He lifts his hand to your jaw, gentle, dangerous, not quite touching. “That should be enough.”
“It isn’t.”
There is no space left between you. You feel his restraint like the crackle before lightning. You want him to snap. You want him to beg. You want him to yield—but you don’t want him weak.
“You test me,” he says.
“And you let me.”
He smiles, slow and wolfish. “Because I want to see how far you’ll go.”
“And what happens when I go too far?”
His lips hover near your throat. “Then I will drag you down with me.”
The silence that follows hums like a live wire. Nothing breaks it. Not the wind, not the fire, not the pounding of your heart. You don’t flinch. You don’t breathe. You wait.
When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, but no less dangerous.
“If I am yours,” he says, “say it.”
You meet his gaze, steady. “If you are mine, act like it.”
He watches you for a beat longer. A breath. Two.
Then he moves.
His mouth finds yours before the words are cold in the air. No warning, no restraint. Just heat, hard and immediate. His hand knots in your hair and drags, angling your mouth to his, and he kisses you like you’ve both already lost. Like this was always going to happen. His teeth graze your lip, catch, pull. Not hard. Just enough to make you gasp.
You press into him, chest to chest, hips already shifting like your body wants something before your mind can catch up. You kiss him like you mean to punish him for every smirk, every flirtation, every woman who looked too long. He kisses you like he’s daring you to try.
His hands drop to your waist. He lifts you without asking.
You feel the edge of the table dig into the backs of your thighs as he sets you down atop it, dragging you forward until your hips meet the wood. The same table where you sometimes take meals. Where letters wait unopened. Where you sit like a lady when others are watching.
Not now.
His body crowds yours, knees parting your legs as he leans in, mouth brushing your throat, breath hot.
"Mine," he says against your skin, the word like fire.
Your hands find his shoulders, digging into the velvet of his doublet, feeling the solid muscle beneath. You want to rip it away, to see him bare and wanting, to mark him as he's marked you.
"Prove it," you challenge, voice barely steady.
His laugh is dark, dangerous. "So demanding." His teeth graze your pulse point. "So greedy."
One hand slides up your thigh, bunching the silk of your gown, finding the heat between your legs. You're already wet for him—have been since you watched him across the hall, since you imagined tearing him away from her. His fingers press against you through the thin fabric of your smallclothes, and you can't help the sound that escapes you.
"There," he murmurs against your throat, fingers stroking slow, deliberate circles. "That's what I wanted to hear."
You bite back another moan, head falling back as he works you with practiced ease. The silk of your gown pools around your hips, and his free hand traces the line of your collarbone, down to the laces of your bodice.
"She could never make sounds like that," he says, voice rough with want. "Could never arch like you do. Could never—"
"Stop talking about her," you gasp, nails digging crescents into his shoulders.
His fingers still. "Jealous?"
You meet his gaze, breathless but defiant. "Possessive."
The shift in his gaze is subtle, but you see it: a spark of something molten behind the glinting violet, some chemical recognition of your challenge that makes his breath hitch and his jaw tense. His lips curve, not in mockery this time but in anticipation, as if your defiance is the final ingredient he’s been waiting for.
“Good,” he says, and the word is roughened by want—almost hoarse as it breaks against your mouth.
He crushes you back into the table with his body and kisses you fiercely, teeth clashing, lips bruising, tongue sliding in with a claim so absolute it erases the memory of anything softer. The taste of him is as intoxicating as the wine left untouched on your table; smoke and salt and something sweeter beneath, a promise of indulgence laced with threat. He kisses you like he means to possess you from the inside out.
His hands move without mercy. One closes tight around the nape of your neck, holding you exactly where he wants you as he devours your mouth. The other slips beneath the generous folds of your gown—an impatient sweep up bare thigh, knuckles grazing sensitive skin until he finds your smallclothes and drags them aside. You feel cool air against fevered flesh just before his fingers make contact: two at once, slick with intent, pushing inside you so abruptly that you gasp against his lips.
He swallows the sound whole, then pulls back just enough to let you see how much it pleases him.
“So wet already,” Daemon murmurs, voice gone almost guttural with hunger. His thumb circles lazily over that aching bundle of nerves—just brush after cruel brush—while his fingers press deeper within, stretching and curling until your body trembles around him. “Were you thinking about this while you watched me across the room? While she touched my arm? While she batted her lashes and hoped I’d take her to my bed instead?”
You open your mouth to speak but all that comes out is a whimper—the humiliation sharp as pleasure when he smirks down at you.
“Mm,” he says. “Just as I thought.”
He works your body with an expert’s patience: slow thrusts punctuated by sudden twists of his hand that jolt pleasure up your spine. Each time he brings you close to release, he slows again—deliberately stalling, denying what’s already within reach. You realize too late that this is a different kind of game: not the one played for courtly advantage or public display, but one meant solely for this room and this hour and both your undoings.
Your hips buck against him—helpless now—and heat floods your cheeks as you realize how shamelessly you’re moving for him. Every time he retreats just enough to make you ache for more, every teasing circle of his thumb or shallow dip of his fingers makes you crave it more desperately.
He bends low until his lips are at your ear.
“I want to hear you say it,” he whispers—a demand hidden behind velvet softness. “Say what you wanted while you watched me.”
You can barely form words; your pride wars with need and loses every round. Still, when he crooks two fingers just right within you—pulling a shudder from somewhere deep and secret—you stifle a cry behind bitten lips.
He does not tolerate silence for long.
"Answer me," he commands, stilling his movements.
"Yes," you gasp, desperate. "Yes, I was thinking of this," you admit, voice catching as his fingers resume their torment. "I was thinking of how only I know what you sound like when you're inside me."
His smile is all teeth, all triumph. "And what sound is that?"
You reach between your bodies, finding the hard length of him straining against his breeches. He hisses when you palm him, squeezing just firmly enough to make his rhythm falter.
"Show me again," you challenge. "I seem to have forgotten."
In one fluid motion, he withdraws his fingers and brings them to his mouth, tasting you with deliberate slowness. His eyes never leave yours as he sucks them clean, and the sight makes heat pool low in your belly, makes your thighs tremble.
“Stand up,” he says, and his voice is not a request—it’s the leash or the whip, it’s the ring of steel on stone. You obey before you’ve even processed that you’re moving, legs trembling beneath you, skin burning with shame or anticipation. He shifts your body, handling you like he owns every inch: guiding your hips so they nudge the edge of the table, palms flat to its surface, head bent. For a heartbeat, he just stands behind you—close enough that you feel his heat but not touching. You become aware in that pause just how badly you want him, how hollowed out and untethered he’s made you with nothing but words and steady pressure.
Then the air changes; he moves in. His chest presses to your back with an intimacy that feels almost tender—almost. The illusion of gentleness lasts only long enough for him to seize hold of your wrist and pin it beside your head against the wood. He leans in until his breath ghosts over your ear, hot and deliberate, and lets his other hand slide up beneath your hair to encircle your throat—not choking, just holding. Just reminding.
You hear rather than see him undo the laces at his waist. There’s a moment when nothing happens except the double thunder of both your pulses.
“I want you to remember this,” Daemon says, voice pitched for your ear alone. “When you sit with your ladies tomorrow, gossiping over sweetmeats. When you stroll through the godswood with them and pretend not to look at me from beneath your lashes.” His hand abandons your throat and travels down the length of your back, slow as syrup, until it slides under your skirts and traces along your inner thigh. “I want you to feel this between your legs all day. I want every step to remind you who did this to you.”
He gathers up your gown in one practiced motion—no pretense left—and bunches it above your waist. The air on skin should be cooling but instead it stings, as if every nerve has risen up in revolt. You can hear him breathe in when he looks at you: a soft inhale through clenched teeth. He presses into you then—hot flesh against wetness—and positions himself at your entrance but does not push forward yet.
“Say it,” he murmurs into the shell of your ear.
You bite down hard on defiance, it tastes metallic on your tongue. “Say what?” Your answer is another challenge—a glint of rebellion even now.
His fingers tangle tight in your hair and haul back gently—just enough for pain to mingle with pleasure and send a jolt down your spine. “Say who owns you.”
The question hangs in the air like ash after fire. You can hear voices from deeper in the keep—a man laughing drunkenly two floors below, bells tolling midnight—but here there is only the question and his body pressed against yours.
You let yourself breathe once before answering. “Yours,” you say, barely more than a whisper.
“Louder,” Daemon commands.
You swallow pride and gasp, “I’m yours.”
He rewards honesty with violence—a single thrust that buries him inside you so deep that stars explode behind your eyes and all sense of poetry deserts you in favor of white-hot sensation. The sound torn from you is less than human.
The world shrinks down to hips slamming into yours, his cock splitting you open again and again until nothing exists except those points of connection—his hand cinched around yours on the table’s edge, his teeth scraping behind your ear when he bites down hard enough to mark skin for days. One arm comes around to flatten across your sternum, he holds both hands prisoner now so all you can do is brace yourself against each punishing stroke.
You lose count of how many times he pulls out nearly all the way before sheathing himself again with a violence that seems meant as punishment or reward—or maybe just necessity. The table protests under each impact, somewhere in another life you'd be worried about splinters or bruises or whether anyone will hear but here all that matters is keeping pace with him as he drives into you harder each time.
He does not stop talking throughout—not once—but now his words are reduced to grunts and groans mixed with filthy encouragements.
“Good girl…that’s it…take all of me…” Each command lodges itself deeper until finally every ounce of dignity crumbles into need.
You come apart once, convulsing around him so intensely even Daemon grunts in surprise, but he does not let go or slow down, if anything he fucks through it harder while holding tight so none of those shudders escape without being felt by both parties. When wave after wave hits until tears dampen the wood beneath where your cheek is pressed flat, he softens fractionally—his hand stroking soothing circles over where his other pins yours down—but then resumes pace as if determined to wring out every last drop from what remains.
There is something breaking loose inside him, too. By now each thrust comes paired with a half-choked curse or plea, voice more ragged than before, less certain even as body moves relentlessly forward.
He growls low in his throat when climax approaches—you can feel him swelling inside just before release—and for one last instant everything sharpens into unbearable clarity.
The taste of sweat running salty from his jaw onto yours. The burn where nails gouge crescent moons into wood. The way neither one will ever be forgiven for what comes next.
His release comes in violent pulses, hot and pulsing deep inside you. He makes no attempt to withdraw, pinning you harder against the table as he empties himself with a growl that vibrates through your joined bodies. His hips stutter, then press flush against you, holding there as if to seal what he's done. To mark you from within.
You feel him throb inside you, feel the wetness of his seed as it fills you. His breathing is ragged against your neck, his weight nearly crushing as he drapes over you, spent but unwilling to separate.
For several heartbeats, neither of you speaks. The only sound is shared breathing and the distant echoes of the feast continuing without you.
When he finally pulls away, you feel the loss of him like a physical ache. His seed runs warm down your thighs, and you remain bent over the table, trembling, unable to trust your legs to hold you upright. The silk of your gown falls back into place, but it feels foreign now—like a costume you've forgotten how to wear.
Behind you, you hear him adjusting his clothing, the soft rustle of fabric and leather. When you finally turn, he's watching you with an expression you can't read. His hair is disheveled, his doublet wrinkled, but he looks entirely too composed for what just transpired.
"Look at you," he says, voice softer now but no less intense. "Thoroughly ruined."
You straighten slowly, wincing at the pleasant ache between your legs, at the wetness still cooling on your thighs. You should feel shame. You should feel used. Instead, you feel claimed in a way that satisfies something primal inside you.
"Is that what you wanted?" you ask, smoothing your gown with hands that still tremble slightly. "To ruin me?"
His smile is slow, almost tender. "I wanted to remind you."
"Of what?" You meet his gaze steadily, refusing to be the first to look away.
"That she may touch my arm, but you..." He steps closer, one hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face. "You have parts of me no one else will ever know."
The gentleness is almost more unsettling than his roughness. You lean into his touch despite yourself, your body still singing with the aftershocks of what he's done to you.
"And tomorrow?" you ask. "When the court gathers again? When other ladies bat their lashes and reach for you?"
His thumb traces along your cheekbone. "Tomorrow you'll sit at that table knowing my seed is still inside you. Knowing these bruises came from my mouth." His voice drops to a whisper. "Knowing that while they dream of having me, you already do."
The arrogance should infuriate you. Instead, it sends another pulse of heat through your core. You can feel him there still—the stretch, the fullness, the evidence of his claim slowly seeping from your body.
"You're insufferable," you tell him, but there's no venom in it.
“Nyke āōhon,” he says.
I am yours.
Not teasing. Not smug. Just truth, laid bare between your breaths.
The words settle like ash on your skin, weightless and hot. Your pulse stirs again, though you are already wrecked. You study his face—how the usual sharpness has faded from his eyes, how the heat still coils beneath it, steady and sure.
"You say that now," you murmur. "But what happens when another lady reaches for you tomorrow night?"
He doesn’t look away. "She won’t."
"And if she does?"
"Then she'll lose her hand."
You blink once.
He says it like a fact. Like a weather report. Like something he's already decided.
There is no jest in his voice. No grin. Just quiet certainty, as if the notion of any other woman touching him is not only offensive but punishable. Permanently.
You should find it absurd. You don’t.
Not when your body still aches from how he claimed you. Not when his seed is still inside you, warm and thick and unmistakably his. Not when the bruises blooming along your hips match the span of his hands. Evidence, all of it. Proof you don’t need to ask for.
His hand rests on your hip, fingers slow, possessive.
“Let them look,” he says. “Let them wonder. You’ll already know.”
You don’t answer him.
Not with words.
Instead, your fingers trail down to where his hand rests on your hip. You curl yours around his wrist and pull it away—not roughly, just firmly. A silent correction.
His eyes flick up. Curious. Intrigued. He doesn’t resist.
You rise from the table, slowly, your skirts settling uneven around your legs, the fabric rumpled and half-undone from what he already did to you. Your body aches in places only he knows, but you stand tall anyway.
You take two steps back, crossing the chamber without looking at him. You don’t need to. You can feel his eyes on you like a second skin.
You stop at the edge of the couch. Pause. Let the quiet thicken.
Then you look back over your shoulder.
“Well?” you say. “Will you sit, or must I make you?”
His mouth twitches. That flicker of a smile. He crosses the room without a word and lets you push him back into the cushions, one palm on his chest.
You climb onto his lap before he can settle. Hike your skirts up. Settle your weight on him slow, deliberate, like you’re daring him to move.
He exhales through his nose, sharp and amused.
“Is this a game to you?” he murmurs.
You lean in until your mouth brushes his ear.
“No,” you whisper. “This is a reminder.”
Then you rock your hips against his, and whatever clever thing he was about to say dies on his tongue.
He hardens beneath you almost instantly, his body responding even as his breath catches. You feel him through the fabric of his breeches—thick and wanting already, as if what happened moments ago was merely an appetizer.
"Again?" His voice is rougher now, strained. "So soon?"
You don't answer with words. Instead you grind down against him, slow and deliberate, letting him feel the heat of you through the layers between. His hands come up to grip your waist, fingers digging into silk and flesh.
"Greedy little thing," he breathes, but there's admiration in it. Hunger.
You can feel his seed still slick between your thighs as you move against him, the evidence of his earlier claim making each roll of your hips smoother, more provocative. The knowledge that you're marked by him, filled by him, sends fresh heat spiraling through your belly.
"You like knowing you've marked me," you say, hands sliding up his chest to rest against his throat. "That I'll carry part of you inside me for days."
His pupils dilate at your words, at the press of your fingers against his pulse. "Yes," he admits without shame.
You lean closer, lips brushing his jaw. "Then you'll understand why I need to mark you too."
Before he can respond, you bite down on the tender skin just below his ear—not gently, not teasingly, but with enough force to leave an impression. He jerks beneath you, a sharp intake of breath, and you feel him grow harder still.
"The court will see that," he says, but there's no protest in his voice. If anything, he sounds pleased.
"Good." You pull back to meet his gaze. "Let them wonder who gave it to you."
His hands flex against your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft hollows above bone. "You think I'll let you brand me so easily?" There's challenge in his tone, but his body betrays him—the rigid length beneath you pulses with each heartbeat.
"I think you already have," you murmur, tracing the mark blooming red against his throat. "I think you want everyone to see it."
He watches you through half-lidded eyes, the violet of his irises nearly swallowed by black. "Perhaps I do."
You work at the laces of his breeches, fingers nimble despite the tremor of desire running through them. He lifts his hips slightly to help you, a silent acquiescence that makes your power over him feel both fragile and absolute.
When you free him, he's already fully hard again, the head glistening with evidence of his arousal.
His breath stutters when you wrap your fingers around him, stroking once from base to tip with deliberate slowness. The sound he makes is half growl, half plea—a crack in that carefully maintained composure that makes satisfaction bloom warm in your chest.
"Look at me," you command softly.
His eyes snap to yours, violet fire and desperate hunger. You hold his gaze as you position yourself above him, feeling him hot and hard against your entrance. The wetness between your thighs—his seed mixed with your own arousal—makes the first brush of contact electric.
You sink down onto him slowly, taking him inch by torturous inch until you're fully seated in his lap. The stretch burns sweetly, your body still tender from before, but the feeling of being filled by him again makes you moan despite yourself.
"Seven hells," he breathes, head falling back against the cushions. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, but he doesn't try to control your pace. Not yet.
You begin to move, rolling your hips in slow, deliberate circles that make him twitch inside you. Each movement sends sparks of pleasure racing up your spine, but you keep your rhythm measured, controlled.
You begin to move, rising up until only the tip of him remains inside before sinking back down with agonizing slowness. Each motion draws fresh sounds from him—quiet gasps and bitten-off curses that make your own arousal spike higher. The power is intoxicating, watching the Rogue Prince reduced to trembling need beneath you.
His breathing grows ragged as you continue your torturous pace, lifting yourself almost completely off him before sinking back down with maddening slowness. You can see the effort it takes him not to thrust up into you, the way his jaw clenches with restraint.
His jaw clenches as you take your time, hands fisting in the silk of your skirts where they pool around his waist. You can see the effort it costs him to remain still, to let you dictate the rhythm when every line of his body screams for more.
"Patient, aren't you?" you murmur, trailing your fingertips down his chest. "I never thought I'd see the day."
His laugh is strained, breathless. "Don't mistake restraint for patience, sweet girl."
You lean forward, letting your lips hover just above his. "And what should I mistake it for?"
"Strategy," he says, voice rough. His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your gown. "I'm letting you have your moment."
You raise an eyebrow, rocking your hips just enough to make his breath catch. "My moment?"
His smile is sharp-edged even as pleasure makes his voice thick. "You think you're in control because you're on top. Because I'm letting you set the pace." His thumbs trace higher, finding your nipples through the silk and circling them with maddening lightness. "But we both know who taught you to move like this."
The touch sends heat spiraling through you, but you don't let it break your rhythm. If anything, you slow further, until each rise and fall of your hips becomes an exercise in torture for you both.
"Perhaps," you breathe, "but you're still the one begging."
"Am I begging?" His hands slide to cup your breasts fully now, kneading the soft flesh as his hips finally jerk upward—just once, just enough to bury himself deeper and make you gasp. "Or am I simply enjoying the view?"
His thumb brushes across your nipple again, more firmly this time, and the sensation shoots straight to your core. You can't help the small sound that escapes you, the way your inner muscles clench around him in response. His smile widens, knowing.
"There," he murmurs, "that's what I wanted."
You lean down until your lips brush his ear. "And what about what I want?"
"Tell me," he breathes, his hands sliding to your hips again, fingers digging into flesh.
Instead of dignifying his question with a response, you anchor both palms flat against the solid muscle of his chest and bear down. You ride him in earnest now—none of the earlier coyness or measured pace, nothing calculated in your thrusts save raw hunger. Each downward stroke impales you on his cock, driving him impossibly deeper, until every inch of you is stretched and claimed and rendered wholly, ruthlessly his. The sensation is ferocious. It wrings sharp little cries from your lips that you cannot stifle, a symphony of surrender and defiance all at once.
The sound as your hips meet is obscene. Wet, rhythmic, an endless collision punctuated by the slap of flesh and the rasp of your breath. Somewhere below you the velvet cushions squawk and creak in protest beneath the violence of your movements, somewhere above you is only the hot blur of your own need and the violet fire of his gaze. He stares up at you as if he wants to memorize every twitch and tremor, as if your pleasure is the only thing in the world that matters—even as his own self-control unravels by degrees beneath your hands.
Then that control snaps altogether.
With a guttural sound, Daemon surges upward without warning. He wraps one arm around your waist, hard and unyielding as a steel band, crushing your body flush against his. The other hand slides into your hair at the nape and fists it tight, yanking your head back to bare the column of your neck. Before you can so much as gasp, his mouth is on your throat, hot and seeking.
“Mine,” he rasps against skin gone feverish beneath his tongue. Then he bites—not playfully but with primal intent—at the place where neck meets shoulder. It’s a sharp burst of pain that vaults straight into pleasure, he worries at it with teeth and tongue until you feel blood surely just beneath the surface, until tears spring to your eyes and you have to clutch at his shoulders to hold yourself together.
You dig your fingernails through his doublet with such force that you’re surprised not to draw blood yourself. The pressure only goads him onward. Beneath you, Daemon takes command of both rhythm and tempo. He thrusts up into you with brutal precision, using every ounce of strength in those infamous rider’s hips to drive himself deeper still. The new angle makes something inside you catch fire—each movement slamming into that sweet spot inside, making lights flare at the edges of your vision.
You try to keep up with him but it’s hopeless. There’s no pacing this, only helpless submission to sensation so intense it borders on agony. You want to slow down but he won’t let you—he holds you right where he wants you and fucks into you relentlessly until pleasure becomes something desperate and frightening.
He marks you everywhere he can reach—the curve of jaw, hollow of throat, even along collarbone where bruises will flower purple-black by morning—but always returns to that first spot behind your ear. He tongues it between words when he pauses for breath, occasionally he licks at the sweat pooling there as though tasting proof of conquest.
There is no space for pretense or courtly games here now—not when ecstasy burns through both of you like wildfire.
He slows briefly just long enough to slide a hand between your legs again, thumb slicking over where you're joined. Sensation detonates outward from each rough circle until you're gasping nonsense words into his hair—beseeching or cursing him or simply wailing because it’s too much—but still he doesn’t relent.
You never thought yourself capable of begging until now.
"You think you can take control from me?" His voice is a rasp against your ear, his breath hot and damp. "You think I don't see what you're doing?"
Your answer is a moan as he hits that perfect spot again, your body clenching around him involuntarily. His laugh is dark, triumphant.
"There it is," he murmurs.
He shifts beneath you, adjusting your position without breaking his rhythm. The new angle sends sparks shooting up your spine, makes your thighs tremble with the effort to maintain even the illusion of control.
One hand leaves your hip to slide between your bodies, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and circling it with the precise pressure he knows will undo you. The dual assault—his cock driving deep inside while his fingers work their magic—makes your control slip further.
"Daemon," you gasp, the name torn from your throat.
"Say it again," he commands, voice tight with his own building pleasure. "Let me hear you."
"Daemon," you repeat, louder this time, not caring who might hear beyond these walls. His name becomes a chant, a prayer, falling from your lips with each thrust.
The tension coils tighter in your core, your movements growing erratic as you chase your release. He feels it coming—the way your inner walls flutter around him, the catch in your breathing—and doubles his efforts, fingers working faster against your swollen flesh.
"Come for me," he growls, the words vibrating against your skin. "Let me feel you break around me."
It's not the command that sends you over the edge but the raw need in his voice—the way he sounds as desperate for your pleasure as you are. Your release crashes through you with such force that your vision blurs at the edges, your body convulsing around him as wave after wave of ecstasy washes over you. You cry out his name one final time, loud enough that it echoes off the stone walls, a sound that would scandalize the entire court if they heard.
Daemon holds you through it, his rhythm faltering only slightly as your inner walls clench and pulse around him. When you slump against him, trembling and spent, he cradles the back of your head with unexpected tenderness, his lips brushing your temple.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, and for once there's no calculation in the word—just awe, rough and honest against your skin.
But he's not finished. Even as aftershocks still ripple through you, you feel him growing impossibly harder inside your oversensitive flesh. His hands grip your hips again, lifting and positioning you despite your boneless state.
"Not yet," he breathes, and begins to move again—slower now but no less intense, each thrust deliberate and deep. "I'm not done with you."
You whimper at the overstimulation, your body still singing from your release, but you don't pull away. Instead you let him use you, let him chase his own pleasure while you tremble in his arms. The sensation borders on too much, pleasure and pain blurring together until you can't tell where one ends and the other begins.
His breathing grows ragged against your neck, his movements more urgent. You can feel him swelling inside you as his own release approaches. His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging deep enough to leave marks that will mirror the ones already blooming across your skin.
"Look at me," he demands, voice strained with the effort of holding back. When you lift your head, your eyes are glazed with pleasure and exhaustion, but you meet his gaze.
The raw possession in his words sends an unexpected pulse of heat through your oversensitive body. You're still trembling from your own climax, but something deep inside you responds to the hunger in his eyes, the way he watches you like you're the only thing that exists.
His thrusts become erratic, desperate. You feel him pulse inside you once, twice, then his release tears through him with a violence that makes his whole body go rigid beneath you. He pulls you down hard against him as he empties himself, his seed flooding you with liquid heat. A guttural sound escapes his throat—half growl, half prayer—as he holds you motionless, letting every pulse of his release fill you completely once more.
You feel the warmth of him spreading inside you, mixing with what remains from before, marking you in the most primal way possible. His grip on your hips is bruising, desperate, as if he's afraid you might disappear if he loosens his hold even slightly.
When the last tremors fade, you both remain still, breathing hard against each other's skin. The fire has burned lower while you were lost in each other, casting dancing shadows across the walls. Your body feels liquid, boneless, thoroughly claimed in ways that go far deeper than flesh.
"The feast," you murmur eventually, though neither of you makes any move to separate. "They'll notice we're gone."
His laugh rumbles through his chest where you're pressed against him. "Let them notice." His fingers trace lazy patterns along your spine, possessive even in gentleness. "Let them wonder what kept the Rogue Prince from their tedious company."
You shift slightly in his lap, feeling him still buried deep inside you, and he hisses at the sensation. The movement sends a fresh trickle of his seed down your thighs, a reminder of how thoroughly he's claimed you tonight.
"They'll talk," you say, though you make no effort to move away from him.
"They always talk." His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, thumb stroking the tender skin he marked earlier. "The question is whether you care what they say."
You consider this, studying his face in the flickering firelight. His hair is disheveled, silver strands clinging to his damp forehead, and there's a smugness in his expression that should irritate you. Instead, it makes something warm curl in your chest—satisfaction at being the one to unravel his usual composure.
"I stopped caring what they say the moment you first touched me," you admit quietly.
Something shifts in his gaze at your confession—a flicker of surprise, perhaps, or recognition. His thumb continues its gentle stroking along your nape, and for a moment the silence between you feels different. Less charged with conflict, more weighted with understanding.
"Good," he says finally. "Because after tonight, there will be no hiding what you are to me."
You raise an eyebrow. "And what am I to you?"
He looks at you like he can’t believe you’re still asking. Like he’s already told you—flesh to flesh, word to word, again and again until the whole room reeks of it.
His hand curls at your neck, thumb brushing just behind your ear. Slower now. Steadier.
"You’re mine," he says.
The words are simple. Unearned, if they came from anyone else. But they don't. They come from him.
And gods, after tonight, you feel it. In your throat. In your bones. Between your thighs. In the mess you’ll carry with you to the bath tomorrow, and in the way you already dread having to share a room with anyone who dares look at him like they don’t already know.
You breathe in deep and let it out against his shoulder.
His hand stays at your nape. Your body aches in the best way a body can ache. His legs are half spread beneath yours, and he hasn’t moved to pull away. You think he won’t for a while.
You close your eyes.
Let them look.
Let them talk.
You are his, and he is yours.
#house of the dragon#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire#hotd#daemon targaryen#matt smith#hotd smut#rhaenyra targaryen#aegon ii targaryen#cregan stark#hotd daemon#daemon au#daemon smut#daemon targeryen x reader#daemon x reader#daemon x you#daemon targeryan#daemon x rhaenyra#daemon prince#daemon targaryen x wife!reader#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen smut#team black#fire and blood#hotd spoilers#therogueflame#olive writes
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Favorite Brother duo
#newt scamander smut#newt smut#newt scamander#fantastic beasts and the secret of dumbledore#fantastic beats the crimes of grindelwald#fantastic beats and where to find them#fantastic beasts#harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban#harry potter and the goblet of fire#harry potter and the half blood prince#harry potter and the order of the phoenix#harry potter smut#harry potter#theseus scamander#theseus#Theseus Scamander × reader
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His Queen
Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader
Summary: You and Aegon are trapped in an arranged marriage, but you've both done your best to deal with it. Aegon admits to you that he has his doubts about being king. You do your best to offer him comfort despite having your reservations.
Warnings: Smut, Oral (fem receiving), Slight angst, mentions of arranged marriage, mentions of infidelity
A/n: No beta, so I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes.
You groan, fluffing your pillow as you turn onto your side. Your eyes beg you to go back to sleep, but your mind seems intent on keeping you awake. You slide a hand over to the left side of the bed. The sheets where Aegon rested had grown cold. You frowned, longing for his warmth. He had been here when you went to sleep, just as he has been every night for the past week.
Since becoming king, Aegon has been different. He is taking a more active and involved role, not just as king but also as a husband and father.
A great wave of weariness washes over you, taking your energy along with it. It leaves nothing but a sting of melancholy and humiliation in its wake. Perhaps you were a fool to think Aegon had changed. Had he slipped back into his old ways so soon? Where was he now, you wondered. In some brothel on the street of silk or in some filthy flea-bottom rat pit? You shake your head, trying to stop being so pessimistic.
Slowly, you got out of bed and pulled your robe over your nightgown. You pull your hair to the side as you slide on a pair of slippers. The castle was quiet and dark, though that was no surprise considering how late it was. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to fight off the chill in the air. Maester Orwyle believed the summer was finally coming to an end.
Your eyes wander around, lazily observing the same walls you have seen a thousand times before. Your mind turns back to your husband. The marriage had been arranged by your father and the late King Viserys. Your mother had wished you to marry the Lord of Seagard, Lord Jorah Mallister, but your father refused. What is a lord compared to a prince, he said.
Neither you nor Aegon had been happy about it. But somehow, you managed to coexist; you had little choice otherwise. Over the years, you had found yourself growing quite fond of him. He was charismatic and very easy on the eyes without even trying. Though you were unsure if he shared your feelings, it was so hard to tell. He was always off doing whatever he did with his spare time.
The sound of clinking metal echoed in the air. Your eyes land upon an alert Ser Arryk. Though the tense knight relaxed when he realized it was you. He removed his hand from the hilt of his sword and bowed his head.
“Your grace.”
“Ser Arryk,” you greet him courteously.
“Is he alone?” You asked, gesturing towards the giant closed doors that concealed the throne room.
You could see how the king guard tensed up again; a look of pity flickered in his eyes. It was a look you had grown accustomed to over the years. Your husband's indiscretions were well known throughout the city.
Ser Arryk nodded, “Yes, your grace.”
You take a step forward, and the knight quickly takes the hint. He pushed open one of the doors just enough for you to slip past it before pulling it closed again. The room was so quiet. Even the soft thuds your feet made against the stone floor echoed. The walk to the throne felt like it stretched on for hours.
You could see Aegon in the distance. His silver-gold hair contrasted beautifully against the grim, gray walls of the throne room. The man stands at the foot of the steps, dressed down in his nightwear.
The iron throne was said to be made of the thousand swords of the conqueror’s enemies. Regardless of whether that was true, the throne was certainly a ghastly thing to look at.
The iron throne casts a large shadow that stops at the bottom of the steps, right at Aegon’s feet, threatening to engulf him.
“You disappeared. I was worried something had happened,” you said, breaking the silence in the room.
Aegon turned his head to look at you. He had a startled look on his face. Had he not heard you coming?
”I apologize, my queen. I did not wish to disturb you with my restlessness.”
You fiddle with the sleeves of your robe. The title of queen was something you hadn’t entirely warmed up to yet. In truth, you weren’t sure what you thought of all of this.
“I wouldn’t have minded. It’s better than waking up alone.”
A look of hurt and guilt washed over his face. You quickly came to regret your words.
“I'm sorry. Just forget I said anything,” you added nervously. “I shall leave you be.”
You quickly turn to leave, but before you can take a step, a voice calls out, “Don’t go!”
The urgency and desperation in his tone make you freeze. You crane your neck to look back at him. His dark eyes are wide and glossy.
“I mean,” he cleared his throat. “I would enjoy your company.”
You remain frozen, at a loss for words. He had never actively sought your company before. Aegon’s cheeks grow red, and he quickly adds, “Though you’re free to go if you wish.”
He quickly turns back around, facing the throne. You stare at the back of his head, your eyes following the waves of his hair. It had grown out quite a bit. That was also something you were not used to. He usually preferred to keep it short.
The soft thuds of your slippers hitting the ground echo in the air once more. You slowly move to stand by his side.
“Do you think I can do it?” He asked suddenly.
Aegon’s voice wavers as the question leaves his lips. You turn your head to look at him. His body is tense, and he keeps his eyes forward, not looking at you.
In a way, he reminds you of a child, your child, your sweet little Jaehaerys. He is your husband's heir now. One day, he will stand in this very spot. You wonder if he will have the same doubts.
Your eyes follow his gaze to the throne. You had wondered the same thing many times before. A deep, weary sigh escaped from your lips.
“I don’t know,” you answer honestly.
From the corner of your eyes, you can see him wince at your words.
“I do not wish to lie to you, husband. I cannot say for certain if you will be a good king. But I do believe,” you take his hand into yours. “that you have a kind heart. And if you try, really try , you may surprise us all.”
He offers your hand a little squeeze. “I want to try. I just- I don’t know how. My father never prepared me for this.”
“No one prepared him either, yet he found his path. In time, you will too.”
An uneasy smile stretched across his lips. He shook his head slightly before lowering it. His eyes trained on the ground. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Hey,” you coax as you move to stand before him.
Your free hand gently cups his face, urging him to look up at you. His eyes are vast and glossier than you’ve ever seen them. You can see the slight tremble in his bottom lip. He leans into the warmth of your palm. You run your thumb up and down his cheekbone.
“You are not alone in this, Aegon. You have your small council and your grandfather, who has advised two kings bef-”
“And you?” He queried.
Aegon’s violet eyes shift back and forth between your eyes as if he were searching for something.
“Yes,” you nodded. “You have me.”
His hands rest on your hips, pulling you closer. Soon, your chest is pressed against his. You can feel his warm breath on your face. You catch a whiff of the sweet arbor red that lingers on his tongue. Aegon lowers his head, nudging his nose against yours. Your lips just barely graze each other.
A heat climbed up your face, making it feel like your skin was on fire. Unable to handle the growing need in your stomach, you lift yourself onto your toes, pressing your lips to his. Aegon responds immediately, moving his soft lips against yours.
This kiss was different. Different from the chaste kiss you shared on your wedding day or the sloppy drunk kisses you shared during the few times he joined you in your marital bed.
Aegon kissed you with a desperation and hunger that you had never experienced before. Your arms wound around his neck, needing him even closer to you if possible. You let him lead you through the kiss, primarily due to your lack of experience but also because you find yourself becoming lightheaded.
You feel dizzy like the world is spinning. You're running out of breath, lungs burning from the lack of air, but no part of you wants to stop this.
Aegon takes the initiative to pull away first. A pathetic whine passes through your lips. You lean forward, eager to feel his lips on yours again, but he doesn’t let you. He grabs your arms, pulling them away from his neck.
“Come with me,” he said, taking one of your hands into his.
You struggled to keep up with him as he pulled you behind him. Your feet sluggishly climbed up the stairs to the iron throne.
“What are you doing?” You asked as you reached the top.
“Take a seat,” he replied, not answering your question.
You eyed him suspiciously, unsure of what he was planning to do. Your eyes scanned the empty throne room, ensuring no one was watching you. A devilish smile rested on his lips as he gestured towards the throne. You hold onto his hand as you lower yourself onto the throne made of swords.
Your body is tense, and you struggle not to let the fear of being pricked overwhelm you.
“How does it feel?”
You struggle to come up with an answer. You were frightened, but you could not deny the sense of power and strength that filled your chest. Suddenly, you could understand why so many people lusted after the throne.
“It’s ... nice.”
Aegon lets out a hearty laugh, and you turn your head away, mortified.
“My sweet little wife,” he mused, leaning down to kiss your head.
You stay silent, reeling with embarrassment. You close your eyes, wishing this was all a dream and that you would soon be back in the comfort of your own bed.
Warm hands slipping under your nightgown make you gasp. Your head snaps forward to find your husband kneeling before you. Aegon’s warm hands rest on your calves. You squeeze your legs together as tightly as you can.
“What are you doing?!” You whispered harshly, taken aback by his audaciousness.
His eyes flickered up towards yours, staring at you. “I want to try something.”
The gleam in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine.
“What?” You asked, though you believe you have some understanding of what he means.
Some of the more... bolder ladies at court loved to gossip and share stories of their late-night trysts with their husbands and paramours. You have heard a few stories about men who enjoy... feasting on their lovers. It was something you had never heard of before, let alone experienced. A part of you wondered if it was even true.
You had thought of asking Aegon about it, as he was quite... familiar with the ways of lovemaking, but you could not bring yourself to repeat what you had heard.
“Trust me,” he said, a grin reaching his lips. “I believe you will enjoy it.”
You stare at him, taking a deep breath before nodding. His warm hands slid up high, caressing your knees as he pushed them apart. You gasped, knees immediately trying to clamp shut to preserve some of your dignity. But Aegon doesn’t let you.
He keeps a firm grip on your knees, keeping you spread open for him. Your nightgown is hitched up above your knees. The cold night air makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. The heat that was climbing up your face earlier spreads throughout your entire body. You want to close your eyes and turn away, but you cannot bring yourself to look away from him.
His eyes no longer stare into yours. Instead, his violet eyes remained focused between your legs. He glides his hands up your thighs, inching your dress higher until, finally, your cunt is exposed. But he doesn’t touch it. Instead, he moves his palms down, rubbing circles on your outer thighs.
The way Aegon touches you now differs from his usual impatient and rough approach. His hands seem almost reverent as they fondle your soft, plush thighs.
“Aegon,” you gasped as he lowered his head, pressing his lips to your right inner thigh.
His hair fell forward, covering his face, but you believed you could feel him smirking against your skin. Suddenly, you felt him nip at the sensitive skin of your thigh. A sharp cry leaves your lips.
“‘m sorry,” he murmured against your skin as he kissed the bite.
His lips move up higher to the crook of your thigh. Your mouth hung slightly open, and a shaky breath passed through your lips. Being naked and exposed to him was nothing new, but having him so close like this was. Having his eyes and lips so close to your most intimate area was very new.
“Can you open them a bit more?” He asked, looking up at you.
You swiped your tongue across your lips before nodding. You were finally able to shut your eyes as you spread your legs wider, hoping it was enough.
“You’re perfect,” he said in awe.
A hot wetness glides over your aching cunt, making your entire body jolt. You let out a noise that is somewhere between a gasp and a cry as you try to draw your legs closed, but you're unable to, not with Aegon nestled between your thighs. His shoulders keep you spread open for his view and pleasure.
Aegon’s tongue was delivering the most exquisite pleasure you had ever experienced. He lapped up and down your folds, savoring your taste, before caressing your clit, alternating movements from up and down and side to side.
You look down, finding him peering up at you. His violet eyes locked onto you, watching your every expression, listening to every sound as he unraveled you beneath him. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, from the top of your head all the way down to your toes. All the air that fills your lungs is gone in an instant.
“Aegon- mmm,” his name leaves you like a meager whine.
His tongue works ardently between your splayed thighs, feasting upon you like a man starved. You find yourself enamored by the soft, tantalizing, wet sound his mouth is producing. One of your hands reached down, entangling itself in his messy silver waves. He moans against you, and the feeling has you arching your back.
Your eyes rolled back as the pleasure quickly began to overwhelm you. Your chest rose and fell repeatedly, your hard nipples rubbing against the fabric of your nightgown. You did not know how much more you would be able to take.
Sinful cries and whimpers echoed throughout the throne room, but you could not bring yourself to care. How could you possibly think of anything else when your husband was sending wave after wave of pleasure through your body?
Then, he slips a finger inside of you.
“Aegon!” You cried out, so close to reaching your peak, yet not wanting this to end.
He easily adds another. His fingers move at a torturous, methodical pace. The pads of his fingers rub against your spongy walls, favoring that spot that makes you gasp and squeal. He catches your clit between his lips, suckling on it as if it were a treat. You gripped his head, rocking into his mouth.
You could feel a familiar heat building up in your lower stomach. The tension was almost unbearable. The world around you seemed to blur; all your senses honed in on Aegon and the pleasure only he could give you.
You panted out curses and his name, shuddering at the warm pleasure that filled your entire body.
A groan erupts from the back of his throat, so guttural, it makes you weak. You glanced down and found him still watching you. His dark eyes entranced you, not allowing you to look away.
Your legs and back stiffened, your stomach tightened, and your breath halted. You clamped your eyes shut and moaned out his name as you finally reached your peak.
You remove your hand from his hair and tap his shoulder. Thankfully he pulled away with little protest, allowing your senses to calm down as your peak reached its end. Your back is aching from sitting upright for so long. You lean back a little, hoping to find relief, but the iron throne offers none.
You're unsure how much time passes before you can properly catch your breath again. Soft fingers interlace with yours, bringing you back to the present. You blink, trying to fight off the drowsiness that is steadily creeping up on you. Aegon is still kneeling before you, with a self-satisfying look on his face.
“I told you you’d like it.”
You let out a breathy laugh and tried to push him away. However, you lacked the strength to do so.
“Just... give me a moment. Then I shall help you.”
“Mmh,” he hummed. “That won’t be necessary, my queen.”
You frowned. “What do you mean?”
He smirked and glanced down at his lap before looking back at you. You sat up and looked down to find a dark wet spot that covered the front of his trousers. Your face heated up again, and a coy smile made its way onto your lips.
“That’s too bad,” you sigh. “I was hoping we could play some more.”
Aegon’s smirk is gone, replaced with a more serious look. “I just need a moment. Then I’ll take you right here.”
You laugh at his enthusiasm. “I’m more than willing to go again, but not here. I prefer the comfort of our bed.”
Aegon nods and quickly stands to his feet. He helps you stand and holds you close to his side as the two of you leave the throne room.
“Your grace,” Ser Arryk bows as the two of you make it out of the room.
You gulped, mortified, realizing what the poor white cloak had just endured.
“Ser Arryk,” Aegon smiled. “The Queen and I shall be returning to our bedchamber now.”
The knight’s eyes flickered toward you before quickly averting his gaze. It was not hard to tell that the man was flustered. You shot him an apologetic smile even though he would not look at you.
“Yes, your grace.” He replied, dutifully following behind the two of you as you returned to your bedchamber. You’ll have to convince Aegon to find some way to make it up to him.
#aegon targaryen ii#king aegon ii targaryen#king aegon#aegon the elder#aegon the second#aegon x reader#Aegon II Targaryen x reader#aegon ii imagine#Aegon II Targaryen imagine#fire and blood#hotd#house of the dragon fanfic#hotd aegon#house targaryen#aegon ii targaryen#aegon ii#fem!reader#aegon ii smut#aegon targaryen x reader#hotd smut#Aegon isn't a great person but he's trying#aegon ii fanfic
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let me be yours. | part I

ao3 | masterlist | part II >
Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x F!Martell!Reader
Word count: 3.1K
Summary: You, a Martell princess who was recently brought into Rhaenyra's courtyard as a sign of goodwill to ensure the unification of the Seven Kingdoms. With time passing on, you feel trapped under the enticing aura of the Dragon Queen and sees yourself desiring her more and more. However, in a delicate situation, is it worth the yearn for your Queen? Would you give in to your needs to have your way with her and find some indulgence?
Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), afab reader, bisexual rhaenyra, canon divergence, longing, age gap (you early 20s rhae mid 30s), fingering, masturbation, oral sex, sub/dom dynamics (rhae dom you sub), overstimulation, scissoring, queen rhaenyra targaryen, nipple play, possessive rhaenyra
Ever since you left your homeland to be a ward in King’s Landing, life has become a journey of too many changes and mixed feelings. The sense of homesickness and fear of the unknown was present and huge within your heart.
You were a princess of Dorne, the second in line to inherit Sunspear after your brother. After the rise of Rhaenyra Targaryen as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she successfully united the relations with Dorne and finally brought it into the feud and unifying the realm once and for all. You, after all, were presented at her courtyard as a sign of good will from the Martells and forge a prominent marital alliance between you and the heir to the Iron Throne, Prince Jacaerys, in order to legitimise the coming of the dornish to the courtyard.
You obviously missed the sultry dunes of sand, the sweeteness of Dornish Red, the incandescent sky, with a fiery burning sun crashing your skin and the sense of community amongst your siblings and the freedom your country provided. You felt less lonely in Dorne, for the life in King’s Landing could prove to be challenging under the judgemental and prejudicial nature of the rest of the Westerosi. Some became outraged by your presence, others just spoke in whispers around the corners of the Red Keep, yet, it was undeniable that as soon as you stepped into the city, you became the centre of attention, always remembered by the courtyard for your mysterious peek, luscious, long hair and exquisite beauty or your luxurious sense of fashion. It distanced yourself from the standard beauty of the other ladies in the realm, putting yourself easily as the fairest maiden of your time.
You had no idea if this title came over the fact that you hold a big status as future consort and people wanted to fuss around you or if you were indeed the most beautiful lady in Westeros. However, you knew well that ever since the Queen has met you, she had been enchanted by you and held you in high regard, always complimenting you and your astonishing beauty. Her Grace enjoys calling you by terms of endearment, being “sweet girl” her favourite name for you, showering you with jewellery and plenty of expensive gifts or simply having your company along the day, to have long walks throughout the royal gardens and even show you the Dragonpit became a regular routine when she arranged time between her royal duties. You barely had time to bond with Prince Jacaerys, given the fact you became her loyal companion.
Speaking from the back of your mind, you cared not much, once you found yourself drowning into the alluring beauty of Rhaenyra. The Westerosi average accent for you was dull and ugly on everyone else; on her, it was perfection. Her touch was gentle and her violet eyes were rather attentive, careful of you. You spent your nights having supper with her and her other sons or simply sharing a good conversation. She made you feel less lonely in that castle.
You questioned yourself if what you were feeling was no more than a delusion, a projection over your neediness for attention. But you could swear you caught yourself in a moment with her where your gazes locked on each other and she lightly pinched your chin, getting too close to your face. Queen Rhaenyra was a daydream. You never indulged in kissing or having any romantic interaction with other ladies but Rhaenyra lit a fire within you - a liability only Her Grace could solve.
And now there you were, another night where she requested your company for supper. You wore an orange dress with silky cuts giving a slight volume to the gown, although it was a more simplistic dress, more adequate to the occasion. Her Queensguard announced you at the door and she received you with a polite smile before you gave her a courtesy.
“Good evening, Your Grace.” You speak, bending your body on a polite greeting gesture to Rhaenyra.
“It has been a far cry since we are done with courtesies, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra said, silently commanding her servants and guards to leave her with you. Her peek examined your features and smiled softly at you.
“It is a costume I would rather not lose, Your Gra-… Rhaenyra.” You corrected yourself, remembering she wanted you to address her by her name only, as a sign of how much she enjoyed your presence. She giggled and guided you through her chambers, ever so caring and jolly.
“I should warn you,” Rhaenyra began, walking through her private apartments. “I commanded the cook to prepare you something special.” Her Grace spoke to you, graciously raising her eyebrows and excited, yet contained beam. Your eyes lit up, already knowing what she was talking about.
You sat after her on the small table fetched for the two of you and a set of plates strategically placed for the duo to have dinner. Even before you would open it, you already knew. “The dornish recipe of roasted lamb.”
Rhaenyra grinned and joined her hands once she realised how much you enjoyed the said surprise. “I had the cook searching for this recipe for days, sweet girl. I hope it is of your liking.”
And then, after waiting for Your Grace to start eating, you hummed in satisfaction eating your meal. The spicy flavour exploded in your mouth, invading your taste and drooling your mouth by the slightest of satisfaction. “I take for your expression that you enjoy it a great deal.” Rhaenyra told you, after taking a bite of her own dinner. You nodded eagerly tasting it and had to contain yourself to not lose your composure in front of the Queen.
“Thank you, Your Grace. It tastes delicious, I have missed this.” You reply to her and involuntarily touches her hand, squeezing it delicately. Once you tried to take it away, Rhaenyra held it tighter, forbidding you to take it away and stared at you, silently reassuring you it was acceptable. Her hands entangling on yours was almost electrifying, causing goosebumps on your skin just with a simple touch or an exchange of looks. Her face, however, was tender and calm, with a soft smile whilst looking at you.
Rhaenyra put her hand over the table once again and her fingertips traced patterns over your soft skin. “My pleasure, sweet girl.” She muttered at you and tension was thick in the air. “Do you miss Dorne, my dear?” Rhaenyra asked you and her other hand grasped the cold metal of her cup of wine, taking it to her mouth to drink it, but her gaze never left yours.
You craved her attention, thirsting for more of Rhaenyra. Her presence sparked questions in your mind about her prowess as a lover; with so many sons, it seemed plausible her husbands found her passionate and fulfilling in bed, particularly Daemon. Could she bring that same intensity and allure to you? As Rhaenyra doted on you in your future role as a daughter-in-law, you could not help but ponder how she might express her affection in a more intimate relationship. Her gestures and glances, filled with warmth and intrigue, hinted at depths of passion waiting to be explored. The thought of her as a lover stirred your curiosity and desire, wondering how her charm and grace would translate into romantic moments.
"I do," you replied, your voice tinged with anticipation and full of honesty, grappling with the allure and uncertainty of what lay ahead. Would she meet your expectations, exceed them, or perhaps offer something entirely unexpected? The prospect both thrilled and unsettled you, as you navigated the complex emotions and possibilities that Rhaenyra's presence brought into your life.
“Well, darling, this is your home now. Your Queen will make sure you feel enoughly accommodated in my court,” Rhaenyra replied, breaking the contact between them to cut the tension shortly after it. The Valyrian Queen cuts a piece of her meat and fidget her fingers on her cup, tracing the boards as her eyes rested on your features. You, on the other hand, smiled gently at her words, deeply touched by her kindness towards you. It was not supposed to feel right to yearn for a full desire of Rhaenyra, you had to get rid these ruminations from your mind and replace them with Jacaerys. But how could it ever be possible when she is just in front of you, cornering you to fully focus on you and your relationship with her?
“I should hope you’re preparing your cloak with your ladies-in-waiting.” Your marriage, however, was a sensitive subject. Jacaerys was a dutiful boy and the interactions you had with him were more than pleasant, still, he was not what you were looking for. His long, brown curls had its appeal, but his mother unveiled things she wished she felt for Prince Jace. “I was done with the embroidery yesterday. I can bring it and show you on our next encounter, Your Grace.”
Rhaenyra lifted her eyebrows and lowered her eyes, smirking at her food as she ate it, seemingly thinking about something. You laughed, nervously drinking your wine. Your hands felt sweaty and heart beating just as it was about to rip open your chest out. “I would be most glad, sweet girl. Are you nervous about your wedding?”
You nodded, with your eyes sly and cautious while lingering on the Queen and she smiled at you again, on an attempted shared empathy. “I was a little thing like you when I married my first husband, Ser Laenor Velaryon, Jace’s father,” Rhaenyra began. “He was not my choice of husband, earnestly.” She giggled and drank a sip of her wine. “But we had a good marriage. Laenor was a good man and provided me with children and good company. We loved each other in our own ways. Jace will treat you well too, sweet girl.”
“Thank you, Your Gr-...” The Queen lifted an eyebrow, reminding you of her request. “Rhaenyra.” You corrected yourself again and she mumbled something as ‘much better’. You giggled alongside her as she shook her head in amusement.
“A marriage is just a piece of paper,” Rhaenyra began. “You and Jace will understand you both can perform a duty and still find your happiness.”
Her words sounded suggestive, was the Queen motivating you to commit treason before your marriage? Was Rhaenyra testing you? You raised your eyebrows and Rhaenyra smiled mischievously again, her eyes gazing at you intensely and in quietude. You rummined what was going on within her mind. Rhaenyra's violet eyes held a depth that made you feel seen and understood in ways that no one else ever had. The silence stretched between you, charged with unspoken words and possibilities. Rhaenyra's touch was a lifeline in the vast sea of desires you were feeling. Her thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, sending shivers down your spine. You wanted to ask her so many things, but the words seemed to fail you in the face of her overwhelming presence.
"Sweet girl," Rhaenyra began softly, her voice a soothing melody, "My first marriage was also born out of duty. I can relate to the worry in your eyes. I want you to know that your happiness means a great deal to me, equally as my son’s. Your marriage to Jacaerys is a duty, yes, but it does not have to be the entirety of your existence."
By this point, you both had finished your plates and no desire for dessert rose for any of you. Rhaenyra had her wine by a window, feeling the cold breeze blow on her face with you by her side. The moonlight casted a silver glow, contrasting with her fair skin and silvery locks. Her words were a lifeline, pulling you from the deep core of your anxiety. The way she looked at you, with such intensity and sincerity, made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered.
"Rhaenyra, I..." You hesitated, unsure of how to articulate the storm of emotions swirling inside you. She squeezed your hand reassuringly, her eyes never leaving yours. “Are you testing me?”
Rhaenyra stared at you, grinning and confused. “Why would I test you, sweet girl?”
The proximity of her and the warmth of her breath on your skin, was intoxicating. You found yourself leaning closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Her nearness was both a comfort and a temptation, stirring feelings within you that you had never dared to acknowledge before.
“Rhaenyra, what are you asking of me?” You finally managed to whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.
A slow, knowing smile curved her lips. “I am asking you to trust me, to let me guide you through this. Do you trust me, sweet girl?”
“I trust you.” You simply replied, sighing heavily. You should not desire her this much. However, being this close made you want to touch her, kiss her perfect lips and beg for her to claim you as his. She smiled at you, relieved and her fingertips stroked your hair, pulling it behind your ear. Her scent was a blend of lavender and something uniquely her. You felt the pull towards her, a magnetic force that you couldn't resist. Tentatively, you leaned in, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure she could hear it.
“Good.” She mumbled against your skin as Rhaenyra came closer. You never had been this close to her before. Her fingers reached your chin, lifting it to bring it closer to her lips, but her kiss was redirected to your cheek, so gently and delicate, yet so intense and slightly lustful. “Will you visit me next evening, my sweet?” Her Grace asked you, whispering words softly and close to your ear. It was a dangerous game you two were engaging in and you knew it well. But what is duty compared to what you are feeling now? You nodded in silence, quietly responding to her question as her hands embraced you slowly, bringing you closer, like a viper defeats its prey.
“I shall leave you to rest now.” You whispered at her, trying not to look into her eyes. Rhaenyra did not deviate her eyes from you, caressing your hair and staying close enough to feel her breath close to your face. “If you excuse me, Your… Rhaenyra.” You corrected yourself for a last moment and she giggled briefly to your face and finally let you go.
You were right in front of a windy window and your body was catching fire after having that moment with Rhaenyra. The cold breeze contrasted sharply with the heat that had built up inside you. As you left her chambers, your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.
Making your way back to your quarters, the corridors felt longer, each step echoing with the memory of Rhaenyra’s touch and her whispered words. You couldn’t shake the feeling of her fingers against your skin, the promise and peril in her gaze. It was a heady mix of excitement and apprehension, knowing that you were treading a fine line between duty and desire.
Once in the privacy of your room, you closed the door behind you and leaned against it, taking a moment to catch your breath. The room felt different, almost foreign, as if it no longer fit the person you were becoming. You moved to the window, looking out into the night, the stars twinkling like a thousand silent witnesses to the secrets you now held.
You changed your clothing for a simple nightgown and decided it was time for your slumber, laying on the mattress and allowing you to rest. However, your mind recalled the way Rhaenyra was too close to you, the way her hands had touched you, her soothing voice in your ear felt as the prettiest of melodies, made just for you. It was by far, the most erotic encounter you ever had and you found yourself silently begging for more. Her words echoed in your ears, a constant reminder that your happiness was just as important as your duty. Your hands wandered throughout your body, pinching your nipples, squeezing your breasts and closing your eyes to imagine it is her touch on them. Your hand then passed down on your clothed belly and thighs, teasing yourself before actually going all the way to your pleasure. A soft moan left your lips as you played with your nipples, fantasising about Rhaenyra taking over that liability.
When her body was enoughly worked up and her cunt ached, your hand had encountered your centre over the thin fabric of your dress and when you could feel a small trace of wetness staining on the undergarment, you hummed slightly. Your hand was not a regular tool, you tried it a few times only, but her touch was so recent and her scent was well alive in your nostrils, it felt logical for your body to demeanour in that manner, begging to be touched. You moaned lightly when your fingers pressed against your swollen clit, causing your body to shudder under your own touch. You reminded her sweet talk so close to you, how soft her lips were kissing your cheek and your mind screamed, pleading for those lips to kiss your lips, your chest, your cunt…
As you moved your hand south, your fingers circled around your clit in a slow, tortuous motion and caused your body to arch your back, mumbling words of ‘please, Rhaenyra’ , begging to release for her. Alternating between circles and light taps on your sweet spot, you drove yourself to madness, humping your crotch in the air. Traces of sweat fell down your face as heat grew inside your body. Your breathing was quick to become erratic, just as the pace of your hand became more urgent on your sweet spot. Soon enough, your moans were a bit louder and the pleading became more insistent, desperate. When you least expect it, your body convulsed violently, and orgasm hits you, making your legs quiver, spread wider, hips bouncing against nothing and lungs breathing heavily, your entrance clenched around nothing. You never came this strongly before, and all thanks to your Queen. Trying to gain consciousness, you stared at the ceiling, reflecting about what you just did. Not even a single trace of guilt had reached your body and you considered doing it again if your eyes were insistent to be closed and put your body to sleep.
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a/n: missed writing and hell yeah i got inspired by THAT scene. please consider leaving likes, comments and reblogs. it’s very important for the writer! <3
Taglist: @princessanglophile @hiroikegawa @hiraethrhapsody @pet1t3
#ao3#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf fanfiction#fanfic asoiaf#martell#house martell#martell oc#rhaenyra targaryen fanfic#rhaenyra targaryen#bisexual rhaenyra targaryen#hotd smut#fire and blood#asoiaf fanfic#asoiaf fic#rhaenyra x reader#rhaenyra x you#rhaenyra x y/n#rhaenyra targaryen fic#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fanfic#rhaenyra imagine#rhaenyra fic
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