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cinnamorollcrybaby · 3 days

Note

I really loved your career day fic and I was wondering if you could do a Shut up mom fic with the same lineup with nanami tho if you write for him🥺 👉👈

Shut up, Mom!

Tags: teeth rotting fluff, mostly crack, cursing, jjk men as dads / fem!reader

An: I would be delighted to write this anon :) my requests are open, loves. If you want me to write a specific idea, definitely ask and I’ll try to deliver on it! also, if anyone wants to be on a taglist please let me know. So, I gave Sukuna a kid in this one because I didn’t really see Yuji calling you mom or him dad. Yuji calls you two unc and auntie :)

SATORU • SUGURU • TOJI • SUKUNA • NANAMI

SATORU

“Aoi, did you take out the trash?” You ask your nine-year-old son while trying not to giggle. Aoi has recently discovered pranks, and he suggested playing one on Satoru. You couldn’t help but think that was an amazing idea.

Your husband was leisurely sitting on the couch, playing a game on the console he and your son shared. He was able to see you from his peripheral vision while you and Aoi were in the dining room. He didn’t seem to be too intrigued by the conversation, but Satoru is a chronic eavesdropper. He can’t help it with his technique and all.

“No, mom. Why can’t you do it?” Aoi plays his role perfectly, even throwing in an annoyed groan at you. Gojo cut his eyes towards you two, but he stayed silent for a moment. He knew this was your battle to face, and he wasn’t usually the disciplinary parent anyways.

“Because I told you to do it, Aoi. It’s your chore.” You say, putting on a serious voice as you would if he had really been sassing off to you.

“Ugh. Shut up, mom!” Aoi yells with a dramatic eye roll.

Immediately, you hear the game console cut off. It seems like you two had garnered Satoru’s attention. Footsteps carry into the dining room, and your all too tall husband leans against the doorframe.

Aoi sees his father, and his eyes widen. Your little actor. He then tries to walk off, but Satoru easily put his hand out against Aoi’s chest, preventing him from going anywhere.

“Woah, woah, woah, there little man. Who do you think you’re talking to there?” He interjects as his hands slowly unwrap his bindings from around his eyes, letting you know that he’s about to get serious.

“She’s getting on my nerves, dad!” Aoi continues to play the role, even though you can tell that he’s scared shitless.

“Hey, look at me.” Satoru says as he bends his knees to be eye level with Aoi. Your son complies with his dad’s order. “I don’t give a shit, okay? Never, and I mean, never tell your mother to shut up unless you intend on fighting me afterwards. She says to take out the trash, you say yes and take out the trash. Do you understand me?” Satoru says as he holds his son’s shoulders, squeezing them a bit so Aoi knows he’s not fooling around.

“Because I don’t think you want to fight me, do you?” Satoru questions. His blue eyes beam in the light, making your son nervously sweat.

“Baby, it’s just a prank.” You quickly interject with a laugh as you gently nudge your husband away from your son.

“Yeah dad, I was just acting!!” Aoi’s nervous gaze flutters into an adorable smile.

Satoru rolls his eyes and playfully laughs along. “You two are too silly, makin’ me turn off my game for this.” He shakes his head as he wraps his eyes back up.

“You were like gonna hollow purple me!” Aoi shouts with an excited laugh, and he reenacts Satoru’s cursed technique.

“Yeah, I love your mom a little too much.” Satoru responds with a grin up towards your direction.

SUGURU

Mimiko and Nanako are coming into their teen years, and recently, they’ve been obsessed with the idea of TikTok. After seeing the “shut up mom” prank all over, they knew that they had to play it on Suguru.

You, of course, agreed to help them pull off their little shenanigan.

“You two are not going out. It’s a school night.” You chide at the twin girls, giving them a small wink as Suguru was enjoying a cup of tea while sitting at the breakfast bar. He was scrolling mindlessly on his phone, reading the news or something like that.

“Mom, please. Everyone’s going.” Nanako pled and even threw in a small pout.

“Yeah, who cares if it’s a school night?” Mimiko chimed in.

“Girls.” Suguru warned as he normally did when you were having to deal with the twins. He didn’t like the idea of the girls ganging up on you.

“I said no. I bet you two didn’t even do your homework yet either.” You carry on, eyeing the two girls as if they were really in trouble.

“Ugh! Mom, shut up!” The girls somehow managed to say in sync. The two had obviously practiced their lines.

The tea glass hit the counter, and Suguru a stood up from his seat on the stool. “Hey. I don’t ever want to hear that kind of language in this house, especially not to your mother. Got that?” He said as he eyed your daughters.

Your husband was a bit of a strict father to the girls. He really just wanted them to turn out good, so he was the main disciplinary figure in the house.

“Dad! She’s-“

“Aht.” He cuts Mimiko off, and starts to walk up to the girls. “I didn’t ask. Apologize to your mother this instant. Then, go upstairs and do your homework. You two are grounded from going out for at least a month.”

“Sugu, it’s a prank.” You say as you can’t hold back a laugh from how angry he got that quickly. “It’s a prank, sweetie.”

Your two girls were nodding quickly, holding their hands out in surrender. “We saw it on TikTok!”

Suguru rolls his eyes at the three of you. “That app is no good for you.” He quietly chides. “Did you two do your homework?”

Mimiko and Nanako exchange nervous glances, and they both run up to their rooms to get it done.

Your husband laughs quietly and shakes his head before sitting back down on his stool. You walk over towards him and card your fingers through his long hair. He lets out a long exhale of contentment while leaning his head into your touch. “What are we gonna do with those two, hm?”

“Love them and try our best to teach them.” You softly respond before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

TOJI

Toji is a pretty laid back dad. He lets you take the lead on a lot of the parenting aspects, since it comes to you more naturally than it does with him. However.. he has his moments.

“Megumi, come help me do the dishes.” You say to your 13-year-old son. He’s in that weird stage of puberty where you’re his best friend one day and his worst enemy the next, which means he sometimes agreed to play pranks with you.

“Busy, mom.” He mumbles at the table as he’s trying to learn the hand signs for one of his shikigami. He was left learning this stuff on his own since Toji wasn’t a sorcerer, and you weren’t apart of the Zenin clan. You had no idea how to do the hand gestures.

“You can do that after you’re done helping me, Gumi.” You say as you turn on the kitchen sink. Your son doesn’t even acknowledge that you said anything.

Toji eyes him from his seat at the dining table, waiting for his son to comply.

“Gumi. Get in here.” You finally say after a minute of him not responding to you.

“Shut up, Mom!” He raises his voice at you, and immediately, Toji is on him quicker than you could respond.

“What did you just say to your mother, brat?” Toji grits as he stares down at his teenage son. Megumi looked back up at him mortified. “I brought you in this world, and I will take your ass out of it if I hear you speak to your mom like that again.”

“Baby, baby, baby, it’s a prank!” You say as you rush over to Toji. Megumi cracks a nervous smile, and you gently nudge Toji back.

“It’s a prank!” Megumi shouts as he leans back away from Toji slightly.

Your husband lets out an annoyed grunt. “You two play too much. Gonna make me kill my own son.” He says as he releases Megumi’s shoulder. He walks back over to his seat at the dining table and smacks your ass on the way back.

SUKUNA

“Ryu, come take out the trash!” You yell to your son. He recently brought up the idea of pranking Sukuna by yelling at you to shut up in front of him. You had urged your son that this was a bad idea, but he was persistent.

Sukuna was sat at the dining table, eating whatever Uraume had prepared for him. Usually, Uraume handled the trash as well, but you distinctly told them to leave it.

There’s no response.

“Ryu! Trash now!” You call out again in a more frustrated tone.

Sukuna is biting his tongue at this point. There is nothing that he hates more than insolence, especially towards you. You’re his queen, and he demands for all to respect you, including his son.

No response.

“Ryu!”

“Okay mom! Shut the fuck up!”

All four of Sukuna’s eyes widened, and he put down his fork. “Domain expansion. Malevolent-“

“It’s a prank!” You shout as you spin to look at Sukuna quickly. Your son is standing behind you, quite literally trembling in fear.

“Yeah- it’s a p-prank, dad.” Ryu stutters out.

Sukuna narrows his gaze, and he looks between the two of you. “Foolish.” He grunts. “Boy, come have a seat.” He commands, and your son reluctantly complies.

“If you ever pull some shit like that seriously, I’m not afraid to start over and make a new kid. I got nothing but time on my hands.” Your husband says while eyeing your son.

“Ryu’s a good kid, Kuna.” You assure him as you walk over to your husband and rub on his shoulders a bit.

“Mmm, for now.” He mumbles, and he nods his head to the trashcan. “Take the trash out.”

NANAMI

Your husband was sitting in the living room, enjoying his “lazy Sunday” as he called it. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other. He couldn’t help but feel incredibly grateful for the life he was living right now.

He had everything he ever dreamed of: a stable job, an amazing wife, a small family in a loving home.

You were sitting next to him, casually rubbing on his thigh through his pajama pants. You and your daughter had been texting about playing a prank on your dear husband, and it was finally going to happen.

“Hana, did you fold the clothes like I told you to?” You call out to your daughter as she’s in her bedroom. Nanami turns a page in his book, still not paying too much attention.

“Mom, I’m doing something!” Your daughter yells back.

“Hana, get in here and fold those clothes!” You shout back, getting a bit more serious. Nanami lets out a small sigh as he places his mug on the coffee table. He’s normally quick to nip Hana’s attitude in the bud.

“I’m busy!”

“Hana!”

“Okay mom! Just shut up already!” She finally yells as she storms into the living room. Nanami shuts his book and immediately stares down your daughter.

“What did you just say?” He asks as he sits up from his cozy position. His jaw tightens a bit as he glares at Hana.

“I just told her to shut up. She’s being overdramatic.” Your daughter continues, playing her part perfectly.

“Who’s her? Your mother? You’re telling my wife to shut up?” Nanami says as he starts to stand up.

“It’s just a prank, Ken!”

“Dad, it’s a prank-!”

You and your daughter both shout nervously, and Nanami looks at both of you confused for a moment. It then clicks in his head. “God, don’t stress me out like that.” He chides as he relaxes back on the couch. He wraps his arm back around you and picks up his book again.

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 1 day

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Mornings With All Of You » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Husband/Dad!Bucky x Wife/Mom/Pregnant!Reader with kids Becca and James Jr

Summary: Bucky enjoys his morning with his wife and kids.

Warnings: Fluff, language, kissing, nicknames/pet names

A/N: Thank you @buckys-wintersoldier for brainstorming ideas with me🥰🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

“Mommy said to not wake up daddy.” Yours and Bucky’s 4 year old daughter, Becca says to her 2 year old brother James Jr.

“Dada.” James Jr says, pointing at the closed bedroom door.

Bucky just got home from a two week long mission and you’re letting him sleep in. You told the kids to let their daddy sleep, but they didn’t listen. They just want daddy’s attention and lovings.

Becca is the smart one. She gets that from you. She knows it’s bad to disobey what you tell her and her brother, but she’s a total daddy’s girl. If she wants to see her daddy, she’ll see her daddy.

She walked to the closed bedroom door and stood on her tippy toes to open it. She held onto the wall so she didn’t fall. She opened the door with ease and pushed it open. Becca turned to James Jr and put a finger against her lips, telling him to be quiet as they walked in the bedroom where their daddy is sleeping.

Bucky may have enhanced hearing, but surprisingly he didn’t hear the door open and his kids walk in the room. They somehow to manage to climb up the side of the bed to get on top of it. They crawled to him and snuggled themselves under the blanket and against Bucky’s sides.

They couldn’t hold their giggles in. Bucky’s eyes fluttered open when he heard his kids’ giggles. He looked on both sides of him, seeing them laying next to him.

“Good morning, daddy.” They say at the same time.

“Good morning, munchkins.” Bucky says happily.

Bucky sat up, leaning his back against the headboard of the bed.

“Where’s mommy?” He asks.

“Cooking and baking room.” Becca answers.

That’s what she calls the kitchen.

“Mommy make muffins.” Jame Jr tells him.

“What kind?” He asks.

“Chocolate chip blueberry!” Becca answers.

“Ooh, sounds good!” Bucky says.

Bucky got out of bed and carefully picked up his son and daughter in each arm, making them giggle uncontrollably. You put a tray of muffins on the kitchen counter and looked up when you heard the sound of giggles entering the kitchen. You smiled when you seen your husband and kids.

“I told them not to wake you up.” You say, kissing Bucky good morning.

“It’s fine, doll.” Bucky carefully placed them on the floor and they ran to the living room to watch cartoons. “I love it when they wake me up.” He says.

Bucky put his hands on your sides, rubbing them up and down. His hands slowly made their way to your 2 month pregnant belly, caressing it. He looked down at your belly with the look of love and adoration on his face.

“I can’t believe we have third one on the way.” He muses.

“You better believe it cause she’ll be here before we know it.” You mused with him, putting your hands on top of his.

“She?” Bucky playfully raised an eyebrow at you. “I think we’re going to have another boy.” He says.

“You just like to be right, don’t you, Sarge?” You giggled.

“I was right with James Jr.” He says with a proud smile.

You playfully rolled your eyes at your husband and kissed him. You wrapped your arms around his waist, wanting him to be close to you.

“Do you have to go to the compound today?” You asked.

“Nope.” Bucky answers. “Steve gave me the next couple of days off to spend with you and the kids.” He tells you.

“That’s good, because I missed you.” You put your chin on his chest, looking up at him. “I think the kids missed you more than me though.” You say.

“Our kids always find a way to out rank us.” He says.

You giggled softly. Bucky kissed your forehead, making you smile. As you two were pulling away from each other, the kids came running in the kitchen.

“Are the muffins done?” Becca asks, looking up at you.

“Yes.” You confirmed with a smile.

The kids cheered happily and excitedly, making you and Bucky smile down at the two little creations you two brought into this world. Bucky got the kids seated at the table in the dining room while you took breakfast in there. During breakfast, the kids told you and Bucky what they want to do today. Bucky listened to everything his son and daughter said with the look of adoration on his face.

After breakfast, you cleaned up while Bucky cleaned the kids up. They’re messy eaters. He got them dressed and then got himself dressed. He walked back in the kitchen at the same time you were finishing up with washing the dishes. He walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and put his hands on your belly. You smiled and leaned into his touch.

“Do you know how much I love you?” Bucky asks softly, leaning his chin on your shoulder.

“You tell me about a billion times a day.” You say with a smile.

Bucky carefully spun you around so you were facing him. His hands were now on your waist, pulling you against his body.

“Let me tell you a billion times more.” He murmurs softly.

You wrapped your arms around his neck when he kissed you softly and sweetly. You two couldn’t help but smile against each other’s lips.

“Hey!” You and Bucky heard a small high pitched voice, already knowing it’s Becca.

You and Bucky laughed lightly and pulled away to see what she needed.

“That’s how you get cooties!” Becca exclaims.

“Me and daddy can’t get cooties, because we’re married.” You explained to your daughter. “Plus, daddy is a Super Soldier so it won’t affect him at all.” You tell her.

Becca stared at you like you just said the most interesting thing in the world. You walked past her and playfully ruffled her hair and went to the bedroom to get dressed. Becca didn’t miss the way Bucky was looking at you as you were walking away. He had the look of love and adoration on his face. She was curious to know why he was looking at you like that.

“Daddy?” Becca taps on Bucky’s leg to get his attention.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, picking her up and walked to the living room to sit down on the couch.

“Why do you look at mommy like that?” She asks curiously.

“Mommy is my wife and the love of my life. I love her with all of my heart. She makes me so happy.” He explains. “You and your brother make happy and I love you two as well.” He says, kissing her forehead.

“What about the baby in mommy’s belly?” She asks.

“I love the baby in mommy’s belly too. He or she is going to make me happy too.” He says happily.

You walked in the living room with James Jr in your arms and sat down on the couch next to Bucky and Becca.

“Daddy love you!” Becca blurts out.

“Oh, he does, does he?” You say.

“He said you’re his wife.” She says.

“He’s right. I am his wife.” You smile widely. “And I wouldn’t change it for the world.” You say, kissing Bucky’s cheek.

Becca and James Jr carefully slid off of yours and Bucky’s lap to play with their toys on the floor while cartoons played on the TV. You slid closer to Bucky, snuggling yourself against his side. Bucky wrapped his arm around you, gently rubbing your belly with his hand.

“I love mornings with all of you.” Bucky says softly and happily.

“Me too.” You say softly, leaning up to kiss him sweetly.

James Jr threw a stuffed animal at you and Bucky when he seen you two kissing.

“Yucky!” James Jr shouts loudly, making you and Bucky laugh.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

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lidiasloca · 1 day

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can i request a funny drabble? one with nyx being friends with reader for and she finally meets feyre and rhysand and she whispers to him,

” i see where you get your looks from, your mom and dad are dilfs snd milfs ”

and anytime they’re out she always kind of flirts with feyre and says hi ms archereon with a smile.

meeting the high lord and high lady

nyx x reader - rhys x reader - feyre x reader

fluff

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

you knew who your best friend’s parents were. of course you knew. it was, in a way, the reason why you had become friends.

on the first day at the training camp, you saw him there, alone, no one brave enough to speak to the high lord and lady’s only son.

but you couldn’t have cared less when the most powerful boy in the camp set eyes on you and asked if he could borrow your wooden sword, having lost his. his words were soft, and his eyes so timid – you instantly knew you’d be great friends.

and you are now. such good friends that he finally asked you to meet his parents. it was no big deal meeting your friend’s parents – unless they were none other than the high lords of your court.

so, you were very, very nervous.

“alright, i’m going to knock now, okay?” nyx asked, holding his hand up. “calm down.”

“i am calm.” you clearly were not.

his lips formed a thin line, obviously holding back a remark. then, he finally knocked.

and – oh gods.

you could almost hear your friend’s words echo in your head. “act normal, stupid.”

but how could you? in front of you stood a literal goddess. no, it was beauty in the form of a female.

“hi! you must be y/n.” she smiled, and you felt like swooning. “i’m feyre. nice to meet you.”

“you are so beautiful,” you found yourself whispering.

her smile turned into a surprised beam, and from the corner of your eye, you saw the mortification of her son.

“thank you, love. you’re a beauty yourself.”

you chuckled nervously, almost ready to jump into her arms.

was it crazy to propose to her on your knees right there in front of nyx?

“let’s get inside, for fuck’s sake,” he grumbled in irritation. your best friend had told you how he always had to endure people drooling over his parents, and now you understood why.

“language,” feyre warned, and it was the most beautiful threat you had ever heard someone sing. gods – you had to play it cooler than this.

“could you behave, y/n?” he whisper-yelled as you followed feyre into the house.

you gave him a nod, accompanied by a cheeky grin that told him you were no longer nervous, just excited to spend the whole dinner watching his beautiful mother. by the way his sharp eyes glared at you, you knew he was not happy about it.

“rhys! they’re here!”

“coming,” a masculine voice called from somewhere far off. if the male was half as beautiful as his raspy voice, you knew you were really going to swoon.

you almost had to catch yourself when the high lord appeared through the door. “oh, gods.”

nyx elbowed you hard, but you couldn’t care less as the male smiled at you. “i’m rhysand. and you are?”

you couldn’t form any words, but the cauldron gifted you with feyre’s enchanting voice to help. “she’s y/n.”

“y/n,” he repeated, and it sounded heavenly. “great to meet you.”

“is dinner ready?” nyx cut in, clearly tired of this.

“yes, it is,” rhysand responded, his sharp eyes telling his son to act nicer. “and i hope you don’t mind,” he continued, now looking at you, “a friend is coming over to dine with us.”

“uncle cassian?” your friend asked.

“not exactly,” another voice you didn’t recognize answered. and – what a voice...

“please tell me it’s not azriel – y/n is going to swoon,” nyx muttered under his breath, but you heard it perfectly well. in fact, it was the last thing you heard before the most handsome male walked into the room.

“i’m azriel. nice to meet you.”

-Characters by Sarah J Maas

a/n: guys! lizzy mcalpine's "come down soon" is so so great. no, but really, go listen it, bc wow. well, hope you like this fic, if you did, maybe go check my masterlist :))

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emmyrosee · 2 days

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playful reader x nonchalant/angry character is a good way to start the day emmy and you know that. the fact that he cant do anything because that's the love of his life right there.

THATS THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE RIGHT THERE

And he just looks at you with the most dead expression, lazily blinking at you bc he's so tired of your shenanigans, and he sends you a grimace and a sigh when you say something especially feral.

like this morning, when you were holding hands while sitting on the couch, he watches with a confused expression when you lift up his arm, sniff the damn limb, and just when he opens his mouth to ask you what the hell you're doing, you reeled your head back and immediately sunk your teeth into his forearm.

"WHY ME!" He barks, trying his best to yank his arm out of your grip, only for you to tighten your fingers sharply. He snarls in anger and slight pain, "how the hell would you feel if I just went up to you and started biting you, hmm? Made you look like the victim of a feral dog attack-"

"Needs salt."

"What?"

While he ponders what you said, you gently rub your fingers together as if to sprinkle something on his arm. He shakes his head, "no, no no-"

You toss your head back to bite him again, this time putting your whole jaw into the bite. "SON OF A BI-"

"Language," you manage around the wad of... him, in your mouth. The vein in his forehead throbs in annoyance as you finally let him go, smacking your lips together thoughtfully before nodding, "yes. Better with salt." And as if nothing happened, you take your chance in curling into his warm side, snuggling close like you haven't just given him a massive, bruised, bitemark that he now has to think of an excuse for.

He may be the fool, because for how annoyed you make him, he wraps his arm around you and presses a kiss to your head. You purr happily, "I can't wait to gobble you up one day. Just... unhinge my jaw and completely swallow you whole, my cutie pie."

"I'm breaking up with you."

"You're not allowed to," you hum. "It's against the law, actually."

"Oh yeah?" He sighs. "What's the punishment? Because it might be worth it."

You grin up at him, "it's life with me, except no one believes you when you tell them I tickle you awake, bite your arms off, pop blackheads on your nose and pick eye-crusties from your eye."

"... so basically life now?"

"Yes."

"Great," he grumbles, leaning down to bite softly into your neck, secretly relishing in your whiny laughter and weak shoves at his shoulders.

----

hq: kageyama, tsukishima, kenma, akaashi, IWAIZUMI, hanamakki, matsukawa, ushijima, SEMI, kita, osamu, SUNA, KIYOOMI, meian

bnha: BAKUGOU, sero, todoroki, SHINSOU

jjk: gojo but in diff font, geto, SUKUNA, TOJI, shiu

tr: mikey, DRAKEN, BAJI, ran, RINDOU

+ ur favesssss

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starogeorgina · 2 days

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𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

Paring: Jacaerys Targaryen x reader

Warnings: Swearing, smut

1.02

Your fingers grip the loose fabric of your shift that was bunched up to your stomach while desperately biting down on your lip to stop any unwanted noises from slipping out.

Jacaerys had returned to his own quarters before you woke, but he came back while you were breaking fast alone in your bedchamber. He offered to teach you the basics of sword fighting later in the day, which you found exciting because you’d never held a sword before. Being a woman, you were expected to remain a spectator, but the prince was more than happy to help you learn.

You meant to give him a simple kiss on the cheek to thank him, but it quickly became heated.

“Oh.”

You slide down the chair ever so slightly as Jacaerys tightens his grip around your legs, his fingernails lightly grazing the flesh of your thighs. He was rubbing circles on your clit again to bring you pleasure as he did the night before, except now he was using his tongue.

“Princess!” Elinda gasps, her voice filled with surprise and embarrassment. “Prince Jacaerys. What are you doing?!”

Jace falls back on his heels, cheeks flushed red. He remains frozen for a few seconds, then gets to his feet. The prince was at a loss for words; what could either of you say?

Elinda keeps her head low. “The queen has sent someone to the training yard to inform you to go join the queen's council immediately, my prince.”

You swallow thickly as Jace leaves the room. Elinda closes the door behind him and, without saying anything else about what she just witnessed, goes over to the bed where you have multiple dresses laid out. “Have you chosen one to wear today?”

“The crimson one.” Your fingers tangle together. “Forgive me, I... I’m sorry for what you just saw.”

“Once you're dressed, you are to join the Queen's Council princess.”

Elinda was known for her gentleness and would have been shocked by what she just witnessed, but there was a sadness in her eyes that you didn’t understand. “Why is the meeting urgent? Has something happened?”

—

You stand in the chamber of the painted table, listening to various knights and lords as they inform Rhaenyra of the heinous acts committed against your sister and her children the night before. With the little information Elinda shared with you, you had expected to be told ill news, but nothing could have prepared you to learn of blood and cheese. At first, you hadn’t reacted, but anger was now bubbling inside you.

“But it's a lie,” Rhaenyra says, defending herself against the accusations she was behind the assassination. “Having lost my own son, that I would inflict such a thing on Helaena, of all people, an innocent.”

“The death of Prince Lucerys was a shock and an insult,” Ser Alfred, one of the men on the queen’s council, says. “A mother so aggrieved might, naturally, seek relief in retribution. I merely thought an action taken in haste may have led to the death of the child.”

“Jaehaerys.”

Ser Alfred shifts angrily where he stands. “What?”

“That is the third time you have referred to my nephew as ‘the child;’ his name is Jaehaerys,” you say, glaring at him. “The queen has already said she wasn’t behind this, and to even suggest she would order the decapitation of her own kin is dangerously close to treason.”

Rhaenyra avoids making eye contact with anyone, saying, “I do not know who would order such a thing.”

Daemon, who had remained stone-faced while everyone else was horrified, starts to smirk when Princess Rhaenys shoots him a look, and it suddenly dawns on you that he was behind this. Rhaenyra notices this as well and orders everyone to leave.

You go to walk towards Jace, who was waiting on you by the doorway, but your queen calls you back, “A moment y/n.”

“Your grace.”

Daemon remains seated with a smug look on his face while Rhaenyra gives you an apologetic look. “I truly hope you believe I had naught to do with what happened to Helaena and Jaehaerys.”

“I do not think of you as cruel, my queen.”

“There is another important matter we need to discuss,” she says in a more authoritative tone.

Oh gods, she knows what Elinda saw.

Rhaenyra toys with the rings on her slender fingers, obviously uncomfortable. “It’s regarding Midnight.”

“What of my dragon?”

Rhaenyra opens her mouth, but Daemon speaks before her. “Will you fight for your queen and burn the usurper cunts when the time comes?”

“I would fight for my queen, for Prince Jacaerys, but I would not fight for you, uncle.”

He chuckles, “You speak of Ser Alfred’s treason, yet you are openly saying you’ll not fight for your king.”

“Why should I do anything for the king consort, who is so weak that he has a child struck down?”

“Sister,” Rhaenyra’s tone wasn’t authoritative like a queen’s, but more like a mother warning her child to start behaving.

“It was a mistake. I paid them to bring me the head of Aemond Targaryen.”

Tears glisten in your eyes. Daemon smiles at you; he didn’t even seem remorseful for what he had done. In that moment, you wanted to make him hurt and make him suffer for what he had done. Your fingers curl around the edges of the table as you stand across from him; you know what threads to pull. “I was the closest to my father in his final years; I’d read out loud from his favorite history books while he was abed, and when lucid, he’d tell me stories of his youth. Of your parents, of Balerion. He’d always speak so highly of Rhaenyra and Queen Aemma, but with you it was different. He never forgave you.”

“Forgive me?”

“He never forgave you for making a mockery of his wife’s death.”

“You girl, speak nothing but lies.”

“Was the heir for the day comment made in jest?”

Daemon slams his fist against the table and abruptly knocks his chair backwards, causing it to land on the ground. Startling Rhaenyra, her kingsguard hands move to the hilts of their swords. He storms towards you and attempts to intimidate you by towering over you, but you don’t flinch. “Do not speak of things that happened before your whore of mother even married my brother.”

“Daemon!”

He glances at Rhaenyra, then back at you, “I have always protected my family.”

You laugh in his face. “You had to pay someone to kill a defenseless six-year-old boy because you weren’t man enough to go after my brother yourself.”

“I’ll have your tongue cut from your mouth and you thrown into a cell till the end of this war.”

Shaking your head, you walk away from him, “You’re pathetic.”

—

Your finger traces over the spine of the book in your hand. This version was older than the copy you had in the red keep; it was a favorite of yours. Without looking back, you ask, “How long do you intend to stand in the doorway?”

“What’s the story about?”

“It’s a fairytale; I used to read it to Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. A princess is taken prisoner, but the daring prince swoops in on his dragon and saves her, but it seems foolish now.” You hold the book closer to your chest, trying to hold back from crying. “I let them believe our dragons keep us safe.”

“I think it's better that way,” he says. “Keeps them innocent for longer.”

“I spoke out of turn during your mother's council.”

“Ser Alfred needed to be reminded of his place.” Jace sits on the edge of your bed, facing you. “I know the feeling of wanting to lash out while grieving those we’ve lost.”

“I don’t understand why he thought it was okay to question your mother like that.”

“To put it plainly, men get stupid when a woman has authority over them.”

“You don’t.”

“No, but my queen is my mother,” he smiles. Seeking comfort, he holds onto the side of your skirt in a non-sexual manner. “I admire your spirit; it pleases me to know you will defend her when needed. I spoke with my mother before I came here; Daemon has gone to Harrenhal.”

You suspect they discussed more than what happened in the council chamber, and that was why there was a guard waiting at the bedchamber door, which had remained open.

“A dragon should know when to show its teeth.” Sighing, you toss the book down onto the bed and take Jace’s hand. “I will apologize to the queen; I shouldn’t have let my emotions get the better of me.”

#house of the dragon #jacaerys targaryen x you #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jacaerys targaryen smut #house of the dragon fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon smut #jacaerys velaryon fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon x you #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon smut #madness

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fatkish · 1 day

Text

The Hashira and their Children

——————————————————————————

(Gyomei is introducing his chubby newborn baby to the other Hashira)

Gyomei: This is Yusuke. Y/n just gave birth to him a few weeks ago.

Mitsuri: aww! He’s so cute!

Shinobu: he looks just like you

Gyomei: would you guys like to hold him?

(After everyone but Sanemi has held the baby)

Gyomei: Shinazugawa, would you like to hold Yusuke?

Sanemi: *holding Yusuke* you look like a lump of mochi

Baby Yusuke: *face contorts and he starts to cry*

Mitsuri: Sanemi, how could you? You made him cry

Tengen: nice going Sanemi

Sanemi: *grumbling as he hands Yusuke to Gyomei* I didn’t mean to make him cry

——————————————————————————

(Kyojuro and Y/n are trying to take a family picture but their 3 year old won’t stop crying)

Y/n: what are we going to do, they won’t stop crying?

Kyojuro: Just give them a box of raisins

Y/n: Seriously?

Kyojuro: *pulls out box of raisins and hands it to his child* there see

Three year old: *immediately stops crying and is waving the raisins around*

Y/n: I swear they get that from you

——————————————————————————

(Sanemi was left at home to look after his 4 year old and 1 year old alone. He was watching them but took a small nap. He wakes up to find his oldest has drawn all over his 1 year old in marker)

Sanemi: what did you do to your brother?

Four year old: *holding the marker* wasn’t me

1 year old: *laughing*

Sanemi: *mumbles to himself* help me clean your brother up now

——————————————————————————

(Conversation between Kyojuro, Sanemi and Tengen)

Tengen: I’m pretty sure my neighbor thinks I’m a terrible father

Sanemi: just ignore them

Kyojuro: you’re not a terrible father, what makes you say that?

Tengen: they saw me chasing my naked three year old twins around the front lawn. Again

Kyojuro: why were you chasing them

Sanemi: wait, what do you mean again

Tengen: they finished taking their bathes but refused to put clothes on

Tengen: then they unlocked the front door and began running around. As soon as I caught one, I’d start chasing the other, but the one in my hands would slip out as soon as I caught the other one. My neighbors saw the whole thing

——————————————————————————

Y/n: *walks into the bathroom where their five year old son is* oh my god! What did you do

Son: *smiles and looks at their mom*

Sanemi: *comes running in* what’s wrong? What happened?

Y/n: take a look at your son, notice anything missing

Sanemi: *stares for a minute* what happened to your eyebrows?

Son: I gets rid of them. Now daddy and I match

Y/n: *turns away snickering*

Sanemi: OI!

——————————————————————————

Kyojuro: *is asleep*

3 year old: Daddy wake up

Kyojuro: *continues to sleep*

3 year old: *grabs TV remote and proceeds to smack Kyojuro with it* Daddy up!

Kyojuro: ow! I’m up

——————————————————————————

(Giyuu, y/n and their 5 year old are in their backyard)

Y/n: and just what do you think you’re doing?

5 year old: *holding a giant Japanese salamander like it’s a stuffed animal* I found him, can we keep him?

Y/n: *looks at the salamander that’s as big as their child* where did you even find that

5 year old: in the river… so… can we keep him?

Y/n: *flabbergasted* where do you expect to put him?

5 year old: in the pond with the fish

Y/n: I’m sorry but that thing will eat the fish

Y/n: *looks at Giyuu* you want to say anything?

Giyuu: …. We could build a second pond for him

Y/n: *throws hands in the air* seriously

Giyuu: what’s his name?

5 year old: Mr. Flabbs

——————————————————————————

Y/n: honey, do you know where our daughter is?

Gyomei: I believe she is in the kitchen….

Y/n: *after walking into the kitchen* oh my god no! Spit that out!

3 year old: *runs out of the kitchen*

Y/n: Gyomei catch her!

Gyomei: *catches daughter and holds her up*

Y/n: spit that out right now!

3 year old: *spits out cockroach into Gyomei’s hand*

Gyomei: please tell me this isn’t what I think it is

Y/n: I wish I could

——————————————————————————

(Y/n, Sanemi and their 3 year old are at an appliance store)

Y/n: *looking at washing machines with Sanemi* what do you think of this…. Where’s our child?

Sanemi: they were right here

Y/n: *look’s around and is mortified* oh please no

Sanemi: what?

Three year old: *is sitting on one of the display toilets with their pants down singing while grunting*

Y/n: stay here while I get the wet wipes

Sanemi: *covers his face in shame*

Store attendant: *trying so hard not to laugh*

——————————————————————————

(Obanai, Mitsuri and y/n are giving their 2 and 3 year olds a bath in the tub)

Obanai: *leaves the bathroom to grab something real quick*

Y/n: how are the kids?

Obanai: just got them into the bath

Mitsuri: *getting the kid’s pajamas ready* they are just so cute

3 year old: *shouting* boat! A boat!

Y/n: did you put toys in the tub?

Obanai: no, we don’t even have any boat toys

Mitsuri: then what is…

Obanai, y/n and Mitsuri: *runs into the bathroom*

(They walk into the bathroom to see their 2 and 3 year olds in the tub with a turd floating around)

3 year old: look a boat!

Mitsuri: *covers her face*

Y/n: *scrambles to quickly remove the kids from the tub*

Obanai: *disgusted as he empties the tub and removes the turd* I’ll run another bath

Y/n: *looks to Mitsuri* still think they’re cute?

——————————————————————————

#obanai x mitsuri x reader #tengen x reader #sanemi x reader #gyomei x reader #kyojuro x reader #rengoku x reader #giyuu x reader

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winter-soldier-101 · 2 days

Text

The Princess that was promised-Part 1

Summary: (Y/N) Velaryon born to Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin Strong, (Y/N) looks just like her mother and nothing like her father or brothers.

Let me know if you would like to tagged in future posts

Then-

King Aegon I Targaryen was laying in his bed as he dreamed of her she will be born of love and dragon fire she would live past her loved ones and she will stop the long night and bring the world together as one she will sit the Iron Throne and her dragon will be the largest dragon to live growing faster than any dragon Aegon sat up in bed and told his heir his son Aenys the dream.

Now-

“Princess push I see the head!” The midwife yells out to Princess Rhaenyra as she pushes.

“Oh my it’s a girl Princess she is beautiful.” A midwife tells Rhaenyra

“A girl? Let me see her!” Rhaenyra says as the midwife hands over the baby to her.

“She is perfect.” Rhaenyra says quietly.

“Princess the King and Queen are making their way to the room.” Elinda says.

“Help me dress please Elinda.” Rhaenyra says as she stands slowly and puts on her dress.

“My darling girl, I heard you have a beautiful daughter, let me see my granddaughter?” Viserys asks Rhaenyra as she gives him the baby.

“What did you name her?” Alicent asks Rhaenyra.

“This is Princess (Y/N) Velaryon my heir” Rhaenyra says looking down at (Y/N).

“You named her after Aegon’s dream?” Viserys asks Rhaenyra.

“Yes I believe she is the one who was promised” Rhaenyra says.

(Y/N) looks up at her mother and smiles (Y/N) looked just like her mother white hair and purple eyes but Rhaenyra feels sad her daughter didn’t have any of her father’s features she would be the only child not born with brown hair and eyes like her father Ser Harwin Strong.

Rhaenyra sits softly on her bed as the King and Queen leave her room and Laenor and Harwin walk in and look at the baby.

“Laenor Ser Harwin wants to see her” Rhaenyra says to Laenor.

“She is truly beautiful Princess Rhaenyra”Harwin says looking down at the tiny baby in his arms.

“Harwin thank you. I know that you can’t claim her but she is your daughter but you must promise me to protect her and any other children we have” Rhaenyra tells Harwin.

“Rhaenyra of course I will protect her” Harwin says to Rhaenyra.

“Princess you are needed at the small council meeting” Ser Harold says as he knocks on the door.

Rhaenyra walks into the small council room and sees the dragon keepers talking to the King.

“Father, what is going on?” Rhaenyra asks.

“The dragon egg that was picked for (Y/N) was Balerions last egg and it hatched and the keeps say the dragon has grown to the size of a horse in just three days and the dragon is still growing” Viserys tells Rhaenyra.

“How is that even possible?” Rhaenyra asks.

“Like you said she is the promised one my dear” Viserys says as he looks down at his granddaughter.

“She truly is the promised one” Rhaenyra says softly.

Nine years later

(Y/N) follows her mother and father as they make their way to the Queen’s chambers. (Y/N) was angry that Alicent wants her baby brother brought to her just after he was born and now her mother was walking up the stairs while blood dripped down her legs.

“Princess you should be resting!” Alicent say’s surprised as Rhaenyra walks in with Laenor by her side.

“Yes I should be” Rhaenyra says to Alicent.

“Let me see my new grandson,” Viserys says happily.

“Oh look at him, he will make a fine knight, oh look I do believe he has his father’s nose” Viserys says smiling up at Rhaenyra and Laenor.

“Ser Laenor do keep trying, maybe then one will look like you” Alicent tells Laenor.

“Maybe you should try for another one your grace and pray it looks more like you” (Y/N) says to Alicent.

“Princess I was just saying maybe the next one will have hair like you or your mother or your father” Alicent says looking at (Y/N).

“Well why just say it to my father then?” (Y/N) asks Alicent.

“She is quite fearsome” Viserys says looking at (Y/N) proudly.

“Thank you grandfather, will you be able to join me today?” (Y/N) asks Viserys.

“What would you like to do my dear?” Viserys asks (Y/N).

“I want to go flying with you grandfather, Baelor is big enough to have more than one rider” (Y/N) says.

“I don’t know if I can, my dear” Viserys tells (Y/N).

“Please grandfather I had a saddle made so you can ride with me” (Y/N) says happily.

“Okay just one ride” Viserys says to (Y/N).

“Oh grandfather thank you it will be the best ride ever” (Y/N) says happily.

(Y/N) runs to Baelor as the carriage follows behind her (Y/N) helps Viserys up and they fly over Kings Landing.

“(Y/N) my dear thank you for this” Viserys says as they land and (Y/N) helps him down.

(Y/N) stands next to her mother as they all say goodbye to Ser Harwin.

“I don’t want you to go Ser Harwin, I don’t want my dream to come true” (Y/N) says as she cries into his chest.

“What are you talking about, my dear, what dream?” Rhaenyra asks (Y/N).

“In my dreams I see Ser Harwin and his father burn alive and I hear their screams and see them die. I have to go with them, mother I need to keep him safe” (Y/N) tells Rhaenyra.

“My dear you can not go” Rhaenyra tells (Y/N).

“Mother I know you love Ser Harwin and I know he is my father so please let me go and keep him safe” (Y/N) tells Rhaenyra.

“Please be careful my dragon” Rhaenyra says as (Y/N) runs to Baelor.

(Y/N) flys to Harrenhal and lands Baelor and waits for Harwin and his father.

“Princess, what are you doing here?” Ser Harwin asks as he dismounts his horse.

“I’m here to make sure you stay alive” (Y/N) says.

“Princess please I’ve told you it’s just a bad dream” Harwin tells (Y/N).

“No it was not a bad dream!” (Y/N) says loudly.

“I’m sorry Princess, you can stay here,but does your mother know you’re here?” Harwin asks (Y/N).

“Yes I told my mother I was coming here” (Y/N) tells Harwin as they walk into Harrenhal.

(Y/N) sleeps in the room next to Harwin as smoke fills the room (Y/N) was asleep in she got up quickly and ran to Harwin’s room as they run to his fathers room trying to open the door but it will not open (Y/N) pushes Harwin outside and runs back to the door and hits it over and over till it opened Lord Lyonel lays on the floor (Y/N) calls for help and they carry him outside.

“Princess are you alright?” Harwin asks (Y/N) as he holds her tightly.

“Yes father I am alright” (Y/N) whispers to Harwin quietly, Harwin lets go of (Y/N) as they make their way over to Lyonel.

“Father…. Father!” Harwin yells out.

“I’m sorry my son…. I should have let you stay…. Keep them safe…. My grandchildren.” Lyonel whispers as he holds Harwin’s hand but soon lets it fall as he closes his eyes for the last time.

“I'm sorry…. I tried to get him out as fast as I could” (Y/N) says as tears fall down her face.

“(Y/N) it’s okay you did save him and I got to say goodbye to him so thank you” Harwin says to (Y/N).

Driftmark

(Y/N) holds Harwin’s hand as they make their way up the stairs of Driftmark.

“Ser Harwin!” Jace and Luke yell as they run over and hug (Y/N) and Harwin.

“We thought you died!” Jace says while holding Harwin close as he cries.

“No my Prince, I did not die, your sister made sure of that” Harwin tells Jace.

(Y/N) looks over and sees Alicent and Larys looking over at them.

“Ser Harwin is now Lord of Harrenhal, where is father?” (Y/N) asks her brothers, Jace turns and points to the water where Laenor is standing.

“I will be right back” (Y/N) tells them as she leaves and gets her father out of the water and to his room.

“(Y/N) take your brothers to their room and get some sleep” Rhaenyra tells (Y/N).

“Lay down and get some rest, Ser Harwin is safe” (Y/N) tells her brothers as she leaves their room.

“(Y/N)…… (Y/N) wake up!” Jace says loudly.

“Jace what is it?” (Y/N) asks Jace.

“(Y/N) someone stole Vhagar” Jace tells (Y/N).

“Let is go see what’s going on then” (Y/N) says as she gets up and puts on a robe and walks with her brothers and cousins.

(Y/N) stops as she sees Aemond walk in happily.

“Aemond what did you do?” (Y/N) asks Aemond.

“I claimed a dragon,” Aemond says proudly.

“Vhagar was my mother’s dragon!” Baela yells.

“Your mother’s dead and Vhagar has a new rider now” Aemond says.

“Vhagar was mine to claim!” Rhaena yells at Aemond.

“Then you should have claimed her, I’m sure your cousins can find a pig for you to ride” Aemond says to Rhaena.

“Stop this please!” (Y/N) yells out as she stands between Aemond and her brother’s and cousins but it was all too late as she was pushed aside as they fought each other.

#aemond x alys #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #gameofthronesimagine #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #got imagine #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon season 2 #the princess that was promised series

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lionneee · 14 hours

Text

Your sworn sword

English is not my first language, please be kind

Masterlist

Taglist

•Warnings: fingering, degradation (just a bit), 'just the tip', talking of sexual themes, piv, smut.•

{Request: I have a request! Aemond is send across the narrow sea to be the sworn sword/knight of a (verryy beautiful) princess from a noble house is esso’s. As punishment what he did to lucerys Thanks for reading dear 💙}

To say that Prince Aemond was grumpy was an euphemism.

He was rigid, stoic, and rude.

But your father loved him.

You couldn’t understand why, not after his most recent kill: his little nephew.

You remembered meeting Luke Velaryon once, he was a nice, gentle, kind boy.

His brother Jace was just the same.

Princess Rhaenyra had been invited as a guest at your father’s name day feast with her family, and you remembered spending a nice afternoon with her sons.

You actually kept contact with her youngest child, Jace. You two sometimes sent letters to each other, talking of your days apart.

You would have never said it outloud, but you had a weakness for the boy’s dark, beautiful hair.

But he was promised to her cousin Baela.

As soon as you heard the news, you thought he would have stopped sending you letters, but he didn't, and you almost cried of joy when the next letter came.

Then, your father sided with the greens.

He sided with rude, dangerous people, and named the worst of them as your sworn sword.

When he told you about his choice you begged him, you cried, you did everything you could to try to change his mind but it was all to no avail.

Now, all the other Ladies never sat with you, they were afraid to speak with you, all because of some dark, evil, scary person standing behind you, following every step you took.

It was so obvious how much he hated being a night, yet, he stood his role perfectly.

Aemond was always there, lurking like a shadow behind you, his presence cold and heavy, suffocating your every breath. He never spoke to you unless necessary, never showed any warmth or softness in his voice. There was nothing but formality and distance, a thick wall of indifference that made your skin crawl whenever he was near.

To be fair, the only thing you thought interesting of him was his dragon Vaghar.

Your days had become a game of silence, your once carefree nature now replaced with the constant awareness of his eyes on you. You missed the days when you could write to Jace without a worry, when his words brought you comfort and a glimpse of hope. Now, the letters felt like a secret rebellion, something dangerous, but you couldn’t give them up. They were the only link to a world that still held some warmth.

You still wrote to him, though your letters had become shorter, more cautious. You dared not mention Aemond, or your isolation. Instead, you spoke of mundane things, of books you were reading, of the changing seasons. Jace’s responses, too, had shifted, though he remained kind and attentive. There was always a note of tension, a hint of restraint. You knew he was aware of the shifting tides, of your father's allegiance to the Greens.

You happily walked in your room, smiling as you held the newest letter on your hand from Jace.

Aemond was walking right behind you, but you couldn’t care.

Jace's letter had just come.

You chuckled to yourself as you closed the door of your room behind you, leaving Aemond outside, guarding your door.

You jogged to your desk, sitting down on the chair and breaking the sigil, opening with trembling hands the letter.

There were only a few lines written.

You furrowed your brows, confused. He usually wrote at least one page.

Dearest friend,

I assume you have heard of my family’s recent loss, my sweet brother Luke, gone by the hand of my uncle Aemond.

It saddens me to tell you this, but due to your father’s allegiance and your newest sworn sword, I believe it is time to end our communications.

Jace Velaryon

You felt a pain in your chest.

A deep pain.

You weren’t going to receive any more letters from him.

I believe it is time to end our communications.

You stood up from your desk, leaving the letter to hit the floor as you ran to your bed, laying face down, your arms crossed under your face as you bursted into tears.

You didn’t eat lunch, you didn’t have dinner. You didn’t want to get up from your bed.

Your maids, even one of your closest friends tried to walk past Aemond to check on you, but he was impenetrable, he wouldn’t let anyone in, not if you didn’t want them to.

His behavior left you speechless.

You knew he was loyal, you knew he was one to do his duty, but the way he stood up for you, not letting anyone in just as you asked, left you almost flattered.

The hours dragged on as you laid in your bed, the room dark and suffocating. The weight of Jace's words still lingered, pressing down on your chest. It was as though the last thread connecting you to the warmth of your past had been severed. You felt utterly alone, the castle walls seeming colder, the silence more deafening.

But outside your door, Aemond remained, steadfast and unmoving. His presence felt different now, less like the shadow you despised and more like an unavoidable part of your life. He had become a constant, whether you liked it or not, and now, oddly, that constancy brought a shred of comfort in your moment of loss.

By the time the moon rose high in the sky, you hadn’t moved from your bed, save to cry quietly into your pillow. The pain of Jace's rejection, not just of you but of the friendship you had cherished, was overwhelming. You couldn’t bring yourself to think of anything else, let alone leave your room.

A soft knock echoed through the thick wooden door. At first, you ignored it, thinking it was another maid or friend trying to check on you, Aemond would have taken care of it in a moment. But after a moment, there was another knock, firm yet measured, followed by a voice, calm, collected, and unmistakably Aemond’s.

"You haven't eaten." He said, his tone devoid of his usual coldness, though it was still restrained. You laid still, wondering if you could pretend you hadn’t heard him. But the silence lingered too long, and it was clear he wasn’t going to leave. He was your sworn sword, after all, bound to you, whether you liked it or not.

"I’m not hungry." You muttered into your pillow, your voice muffled and thick with the remnants of tears.

There was a pause, a moment of hesitation, which was unlike him. Then, Aemond spoke again, quieter this time. "It has been hours. You should take something, if only to keep your strength."

His words were filled with disinterest despite the meaning of them. He made impossible things possible.

"I don’t want anything." You repeated, more firmly this time.

The door opened with a loud creek, and Aemond just walked inside. You scoffed, annoyed, but you felt too sad to think about him pissing you off.

“Leave me alone!” You groaned on the mattress, clenching your hands into fists. You could hear him moving in the room.

“That puppy of my nephew is what has reduced you in this state?” He asked, scoffing. You turned your head to look at him, and you saw him looking down at a letter in his hands.

Jace’s letter.

You bolted upright on the bed, fury boiling inside you at the sight of Aemond holding Jace’s letter. His tall, imposing figure seemed even more oppressive in the dim light of your room. His one good eye flicked over the page with a mixture of disdain and cold amusement, while the sapphire in his other socket glinted in the low light.

"Give that back!" you demanded, your voice cracking from the tears and frustration, but Aemond made no move to return the letter. He dropped the letter, letting out another scoff.

“You’re a fool.” He said, his rudeness making you red to your ear.

“How dare you talk to me like that?” You exclaimed, indignited.

“He’s a bastard. You’re sweet on a bastard, the son of my whore sister. That’s foolish.”

You felt your blood boil at his words, each syllable a sharp jab to your heart. “You don’t know anything about me! You think you can judge me just because you think you're so much better than everyone else!?”

He stepped closer, towering over you, his expression a mixture of contempt and something unreadable. “I am better than everyone else. I’m surely better than that boy who has no right on the throne he wants to claim so much.”

Your anger flared, but underneath it was a deep sorrow. “He’s more than just a name or a title! Jace has been kind to me, and you—” you pointed an accusing finger at him, “you are the one who brings darkness wherever you go.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, the air crackling with tension. “Kindness won’t save you, and neither will that bastard. This world isn’t built on sentiment. It’s built on strength and blood.”

“Strength?” you spat, incredulous. “Strength that comes from killing boys? That’s your idea of strength?”

He looked unfazed, his expression hardening. “Luke was weak. That’s why he’s dead.”

“You’re twisted.” You hissed. “It brings you pleasure, doesn’t it? Being feared, see people looking away from you –” He pushed you back before you could continue, as he started pulling off the upper structure of his armor.

You stumbled back as you looked up at him, confused and stunned, but he pushed you back again as he took off the lower part of his armor, making you fall back on your bed.

“You want to know what brings me pleasure?” He grabbed your ankle, dragging you down the bed until your butt was almost over it. He pushed the skirts of your dress up, exposing your legs.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You tried to close your legs, or pull down the skirts, but he raised your legs up, then he leaned down to grab both your thighs, spreading them apart, pressing his face against your underwear.

“This.” He mumbled against the thin clothing, his nose pressing against a funny spot against you, that made a strange sound come out of your mouth. “This brings me pleasure.” He growled as he pulled down your underwear along with the stockings. “Teaching stupid ladies their places.” He said as he dived his face back between your thighs, now his mouth pressing on that same spot, sucking and rubbing with his tongue, leaving you breathless for a moment, the pleasure was so high and so good you couldn’t speak.

You couldn’t see him, your skirts were covering the view, but you didn’t really care. Not when it felt this good.

You didn’t think you'd ever felt this good.

The one who was making you feel good, was a Targaryen Prince, a child murdered, the rider of the largest dragon in the world.

You could only squirm, your mind numbed by the pleasure, slowly overcoming all the alarms your brain was sending you, telling you to push the prince away, to not let him touch you in such an appropriate manner.

But then, all so suddenly it stopped, leaving you panting heavily. You saw Aemond raising his head from between your legs, coming into your field of vision.

His chin was wet, his only eye almost completely black as he looked down at you.

His hands moved on your skin, almost gently, caressing your skin as they moved up, your knees, your ankles. He wrapped his fingers around your ankles, securing your legs raised, your feet by each side of his head.

You should have stopped him.

This was improper, it was a sin. A sin you were committing with the worst man in the Seven Kingdoms.

You wanted to move, kick him back, telling him to stop touching you with his filthy, blood-stained hands, but under the dark gaze of his single eye you couldn’t move.

Aemond tightened the grip on your ankles, suddenly pulling you up so your hips lifted from the mattress. Startled, you let out a weak squeak, gripping the sheets tightly as your body moved forward, the back of your thighs landing harshly against him, your core rubbing against a protuberance on his pants, the impact sending another jolt of pleasure through your body.

“Yeah, you like it.” He hummed to himself as he dropped you back on the mattress. He leaned down, his body making space for himself between your legs as his face came to hover yours. “And you want to feel it more, don't you?” He smirked, looking down at you.

You could feel your face burning because of his words, more likely because of the truthfulness of them, because yes, you wanted to feel it again.

“No-” You mumbled as you looked up at him, directly in his eye, trying to sound firm, but he simply chuckled, grabbing your face with his hand, his fingers digging in the soft skin of your cheeks. “Such a liar. No wonder why my sweet bastard-nephew doesn’t want you.”

That stang.

Your eyes immediately filled with tears and anger.

“How dare you?” You hissed as you tried to push him off of you, slapping his chest repeatedly, but he only smiled even more.

“There, there…” He hummed as his hand went back underneath your dress, finding you private again. No matter how much you fought, his body was keeping your legs apart, and he seemed impossible to move.

You only stopped when you felt a strange feeling, something filling you in a way you’ve never felt, that made you gasp out loud. You unconsciously let out a moan, your back arched instinctively, as your body almost contorted as he started moving his finger inside you.

“So easy to shut you up, mh?” He asked as he followed your face to be able to see every expression you made. “So easy to put into place.” He added then in a low voice.

You gritted your teeth together, trying to find in you the force to push him off, to not give him the satisfaction he was showing with that damn smile of his, but you couldn’t. The only sounds that came out of your mouth were whines or soft moans as his finger moved faster inside you, caressing everywhere inside you, and eliciting a pure bliss of pleasure.

“Jace is a fool for leaving you.” He said as he looked at you, your eyes half closed, your head leaned back, your lips apart. He didn’t even look like he realized he said that, it was like he was talking to himself and accidentally said it outloud. You turned your head to look at him, finding his eyes fixed on you, staring in appreciation. “You’re a rare beauty.” He said, his voice low and rough.

You blinked slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. A warmth spread across your chest, but you weren’t sure if it was the pleasure or the way his gaze lingered on you.

No.

You thought to yourself.

Not him.

Please.

But the way he looked at you, like he was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world was doing something to you. It made your stomach clench, your head dizzier.

You’ve been told countless times by suitors that you were a sight to see, a beauty, but it did nothing if not make you blush or feel appreciated.

With Jace you felt your heart beat so loud you feared it could jump out of your chest.

You too were aware of your beauty, but you never thought of it as a rareness.

But now with Aemond Targaryen, the cold, mean, cruel man, who was doing unspeakable things to you, who looked at you like a Goddess, you truly felt like one.

Aemond’s gaze pierced through you, a silent intensity in his expression that made your breath catch in your throat. You wished you could deny the way his presence and actions were affecting you, wished you could ignore the way his words stirred something deep inside. But the truth was undeniable.

As he slipped his second finger inside your thigh core, you felt it crushing on you. You didn’t know what, but for a moment, you forgot about everything, Jace, the war, Aemond’s sins, your worries, your anger and your sadness, it all vanished by the newfound feeling of ecstasy. You whined louder, making aemond clamp his other hand immediately over your mouth to muffle your sounds as he kept moving your fingers. You looked at him with wide eyes, you didn’t know what had just happened to you, but you wanted to keep feeling it, no matter what cost, you wanted to feel that good again.

He kept pumping his fingers inside you as you saw him starting to move, rub, against your thigh, some hardness pressing and caressing your skin. His brows arched slightly, his eye narrowing slightly as he pressed his hips harder against you, seeking more friction and pressure.

You’ve never seen a man do a face close to that one.

You’ve never seen Aemond make a face like that, and it was beautiful, it was breathtaking, hypnotizing, you felt like watching him all day as he experienced his pleasure.

He didn’t miss the way you seemed affected, obviously. He looked down at you and found you staring at him, his eye darkened even more, his pupil dilating even more if possible as he clenched his jaw.

“You like this?” He looked down at you, moving his hand from your mouth to your neck, gripping it tightly, but not enough to actually cut your air off. You tilted your head back, wrapping your hands on his wrist and arm, gasping as he slipped his fingers out, passing them over your pearl just to see you squirm, his lips moving into a smirk. “No.” He said as he sat up in his haunches between your legs, forcing you to spread them to make room for his body as he started to undo his pants. “You love it.”

You tried to look down, trying to understand what he was doing but he squeezed your throat into a warning, keeping your head in place. “What are you trying to see, uh?” He growled as he pushed his pants down enough to let his cock spring free. “Such a curious menace, always getting into trouble.” He hissed as he leaned over her to look at you from above. “Always sneaking around, making my life harder.” He gritted his teeth. “Making me chase you.” He raised her skirts to your waist as he aligned his cock to your core, wet and warm, hot.

“No – “ You mumbled as you felt the tip pressing on your skin. “Y-you can’t- We’re not married-” You mumbled as you panted, shaking your head. Aemond smiled down at you, his thumb caressing the skin of her neck.

“No one will notice.” He said firmly, pushing slightly, making his tip grace the inside your core, just slightly, enough to hear another moan from you. “Just…” He groaned as he repeated the movement, moving his hips forward as his face contorted in pleasure. “... the tip – Fuck –” He groaned as he started moving his hips, the tip of his cock was being sucked in every time by your cunt, as if it was trying to keep him inside.

It didn’t feel bad.

She did feel like her cunt was being torn apart, but she found the pain mixed to the pleasure extremely pleasing.

It was good.

It was so good.

The pleasure was so overwhelming, so strong, so blissful.

“A-Aemond – “ You bit your lower lip as you arched your back, jerking your hips to find more pleasure as his tip kept slipping out and back in.

Aemond couldn’t tear his eyes off the sight, your core making a wet sound every time he slipped in, your walls forced open to make space for his thick cock, his red tip being welcomed in the warmness of your body, and then the sound of your weak wail every time he pulled back, only enough to be able to push back in.

“Yeah like that –” He growled as he tightened his hand around your neck, his eye still fixed on how your bodies connected, his thrusts regular, calculated and hard.

He was hanging by a thread, and he was showing a great amount of control, just by not slamming his whole long cock inside you, and making you scream in pain and pleasure.

“Grind yourself like a whore –” He snarled as he started rolling his hips faster, the wet sound growing louder along with his pace. “Fuck youre so tight – You’re squeezing me inside - ”

It didn’t bother you the way he called you, the way he spoke. If not, it only aroused you more.

You bit your lower lip harder, and no matter how low you tried to keep your noises, it became impossible as Aemond moved his free hand, using his fingers to circle your pearl, putting just the right amount of pressure. Your back arched violently as you threw your head back, your mouth open in an oval shape, grunts and moans coming out one after another as Aemond tightened his hand around your throat, starting to cut some of your air supplies, your eyes rolled in the back of your head.

It was all so much.

It was all so good.

“Come.” He growled as he finally looked up at you. “Come, before I lose it.” His eye fixed on yours. He looked feral. He looked like a chained animal, that once set free, would have hunted and killed everything in its path. “Come, before absolutely ruin you.”

It wasn’t like you had any control over it, because when the pleasure reached you in such a hard, strong frisson, you could only surrender to it. Your eyes widened, your mouth opened, but Aemond tightened his hand on your throat even more, killing every sound you could have let out. Your eyes watered as your hips jerked, the pleasure washing over you in devastating waves.

He snarled, letting go of your throat, but you barely had the time to take a deep breathe because you felt a stinging pain, barely muffled by the aftershocks of you climax, as Aemond grabbed tightly your hips and harshly pulled to him, making you slip down on the bed and making his cock thrust completely inside you, as he moaned on top of you.

“So fucking tight.” His voice was strained, his breathing heavy, then, you felt a strange sensation of wetness inside you.

You whined as the bliss of pleasure slowly faded away, leaving you in an uncomfortable pain, so you pushed Aemond away, who retrieved with a groan, slipping out of you.

You slowly sat up, looking at him as your mind slowly registered the last moments.

Aemond stood up from the bed, tucking himself inside his pants and starting to put his armor back on.

You didn’t say anything in the meanwhile, you just stared down at the bed covers, where you and Aemond were laying till a few seconds before, committing one of the worst sins ever.

A sin that felt so good.

You snapped out of your moment of trance only when you heard the door slam shut, and a strange smell of burned paper in the air. You moved to the end of the bed, on the floor, there was a piece of paper on fire.

Jace’s letter.

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readychilledwine · 3 days

Text

What Dreams May Come

Part One - Asher

Summary - 50 years after sending his pregnant mate and children into hiding, Tamlin wants nothing more than to reconnect with his family.

Warnings - Rhys Slander is HEAVY in this series, references to smut, references to abuse, death, schmurder, fated mates and hidden family trope, kind of angst, tension, if you see an error, no you didn't 👀

A/N - I was going to wait to post this mini series, but I can't. I've been rereading it over and over and judging it harshly (as I do all my writing), so I'm putting it out there before I abandon it. Ps- each child has their own powers. You will learn each child in depth during Araceli's chapter. These are just little previews. Bonus points if you can figure out what Asher’s might be.

🥀What Dreams May Come Masterlist🥀Tamlin Masterlist🥀Master Masterlist🥀

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears (seriously peep the blog. Adorable season court Dividers)

Asher was thoroughly unimpressed with the horned beast staring him down as he flirted with the twin river nymphs he had been chasing for a few days now. Feral eyes were locked on his chocolate brown ones before the body of the beast because to slowly approaching. Asher sighed as the nymphs dove back into the water of the river, whispered melodically in their native tongue. “And what manner of beast are you,” He motioned up and down. “I believe parents should write stories about you. Ugly thing, you are.”

He froze as the beast shifted, long blonde hair and sun kissed skin replacing the fur. Strong arms went across a wide chest, “Be careful with your words, son. You look just like me.”

Asher, in fact, did not look like Tamlin. Tamlin screamed of sun, golden blonde hair and green eyes, Asher sang for the moon, dark short hair styled to one side, deep chocolate eyes he must have gotten from his mother's side, tanned skin. It was in their facial structure, the sharp jawline, the nose. That is where the signs of Tamlin rested in his son.

He had grown into a tall male, strong from what Tamlin could tell, but definitely with the same soft heart he had. Tamlin could see it in those eyes. Eyes that currently swan with confusion. The Lord of Sping simply opened his arms smiling as his first son dropped the act and came to him.

“Dad,” the word was foreign on Asher’s tongue. They had been in hiding for so very long, not even mentioning the word out of fear. Asher had not been held by his father since he was 4, but it felt like he remembered.

Hugging Tamlin, hugging his dad, it reminded him of the first warm rain in a season. Of getting a blanket warmed near the fire on cold nights from his mother. Asher melted into it, savored it as he took in the vaguely familiar scent of petrichor and freshly trimmed grass.

“I missed you,” Tamlin's deep voice made his eyes close as he rested his head on his shoulder. “Tell me everything. Tell me every happy moment, every ache, tell me you hate me. Anything, Asher. Anything.”

His mother was not home when Asher brought him back to the cave she had turned into a true home. The rumors that she could move mountains were, possibly, not rumors in her son's eyes, because, behind the waterfall the cave was hidden by, she had created a home. Everything he and his siblings had needed was magically summoned and made by his mother. They never wanted anything during the 50 years they had been isolated.

Asher knew now his mom's magic ensured they had beds, blankets, comfort, through technically stealing. To be conjured, it had to come from somewhere. He had written a poem once about being a shopkeeper in the Night Court and coming into an emptied out shop, but Asher would put money on his mother somehow leaving a note to bill the High Lord of Night.

Asher had also written a poem about his Uncle finding said bill. His mother told him it was inappropriate while smiling and folding it into her back pocket.

He and Tamlin stayed quiet as he let the blonde male look around, “They say you can take the female out of the Night Court, but never the Night Court out of the female.”

Asher scoffed at that, “I believe she picked our furniture and goods on where she wanted to take from. Can't feel bad stealing from a rich asshole,” he quoted her exact words.

Tamlin gave him a look, his lips clearly trying to remain in a stern position. “Your uncle is a-”

“Pompous asshole who feels that he is the change the world needs by just existing and not acting,” Asher was raising a dark brow at him as he poured them some tea. “Mom told me.”

“Asher,” Tamlin continued to try to be firm, “We do not speak of family that way.”

Asher blinked at him, unphased. This child, his oldest son, his mind was unwavering. Not even the Gods themselves could convince them of his Uncle Rhysand's good had they tried. It was his mom's fault, she was blunt and cut throat with her honesty, even when she knew lying would have been best.

Asher had found the history. He'd read the story of how his grandfather had threatened the life of his grandmother, forcing his father's hand to tell him where Rhysand would be meeting his mother and youngest sister. He read how his grandfather forced his father to watch as he mutilated them.

He then read how Rhysand and his maternal grandfather got their revenge. Minds being melted, an innocent female, a victim in her own right, slaughtered mercilessly. Asher’s mother had still chosen his father, though. She was the only one who saw both sides and felt both heavy hands. Asher knew from the sadness in her eyes she would pick Tamlin again and again, though he had not met his own mate to know why yet.

“Do you always chase females,” Tamlin finally sat, relaxing enough to truly appreciate how handsome his son was.

A wide grin appeared on Asher’s face, “I can't help but to chase them. I've never met an ugly female, father.”

Tamlin internally cringed at the word father, so informal to the earlier plea of “Dad”. “So no type?”

“Pretty, and they all are. Has to enjoy my poetry, and they all do. I have a, uh, certain way with words."

“So you seduce them with just words?”

Asher glanced up, “Why try something else when I am so good at it.” His face was filled with pride as he went to the book shelf and grabbed a leather book worn with love. He handed the heavy collection of paper to him, “Go ahead. Tell me how fantastic I am.”

Tamlin chuckled as he opened the book. It was definitely made in the Night Court, a sign of where his wife had been technically stealing from outside the obvious furniture and leathers Asher was wearing. The pages were thick, stained slightly from ink transferring from paper to hand and back. His son's handwriting was influenced by his wife. Soft scrolls flowing together like a melody. The poetry was good, very good. “You haven't decided if you like Quatrain or Villanelle, have you?”

“No,” Asher shifted. “Should I have?”

Tamlin shook his head, “I'm over 500 years old and still bounce from around with different formats and stanza structures.” He continued reading an odd feeling setting into him before he closed the book and saw the shocked look on his son's face.

"You write poetry?!" He watched deep eyes light up and the conversation flew from there, father and son, bonding over poetry, over literature.

The topics grew, varying from serious, to funny, to gossip. Tea constantly poured between them as they discussed being forced to train, of their mutual love of chocolate, of their favorite writers. Tamlin learned so much as the hours past before Asher asked if he wanted some fresh air.

Asher was strong, mentally, emotionally, and physically. It comforted Tamlin as they moved outside using a back magical gate made by Araceli. It took them to a vegetable garden that thrived, insects flying all around, fruit hanging from heavy trees. “Where is this place,” Tamlin looked around.

“We're still in The Middle,” Asher laid out the blanket before gently tossing his bag down. “I'm sure you secretly do recognize the cottage we're near.” The High Lord did, nodding as he studied the place he'd been told his whole life to avoid. The Weaver’s home was deadly, dangerous, and forbidden. Yet his son sat outside of it like it wasn't even phasing him. “Mom made her a deal. The Weaver likes her hair. Mom likes the protect she gives us. Once a year, mom let's The Weave cut her hair for threads in exchange for protection and us being allowed to grow this garden.”

The horrified expression on his father's face wasn't missed by Asher. A bargain with a being like The Weaver was not taken lightly. His mom worked hair to ensure her hair stayed healthy, long, and ready. The Weaver claimed her hair had some magical properties, but all Asher envisioned when he was young was the ancient being using them as some sort of enchanted tie to his mom, ready to rip her from them and eat them at any given notice.

“Is she insane?!”

Eyes narrowed at him, “She was alone,” Asher emphasized the word making it a dagger. “She did a lot of dangerous things to protect us. You should be worshiping the very ground she walks upon.”

Momma’s boy.

Asher was still momma’s boy.

Tamlin shook his head, “I love her. More than you know and understand. I love you more than you understand.”

“Loved them so much you hid them away in one of the most dangerous places in the realm?” The soft female voice had Asher smirking. Tamlin turned to face a young blonde, her hair falling in soft waves with braids placed strategically to help prevent the locks from falling into soft green eyes.

This. This was him. Had Tamlin been born a female, this is what he'd look like. One cheek dimpled as she smiled, the asymmetry flattered her, complimenting soft cheek bones, a gently sloped nose, full blush lips. Along every inch of her face, freckles danced, marking her skin like soft kisses.

“Sister,” a pen met paper as Asher spoke. “You are busy little bee I see.”

Her hands were both filled with baskets almost overflowing with herbs, vegetables, edible flowers. Her nails had dirt under the nails and staining the skin. She carrying a look of pride and accomplishment Tamlin knew well. This was her garden and it was fruitful. “Your squash was ready,” she was speaking to Asher but her eyes were on Tamlin. “Momma said she could turn it into soup?” Asher nodded, but he was deep into capturing Something on page, a grunt was his only other response. She continued to stare at Tamlin, “Do you know which of your children I am?”

Tamlin wanted to roll his eyes at her, say of course, but he refrained, watching as she moved, sitting next to Asher but slightly behind him. “I know my own baby girl, Taryn,” the High Lord said. “Your dimple gives you away.” He couldn't help but reach for her cheek, but a firm hand stopped him from touching her.

“I don't believe my sister gave you permission to put your hands on her face.” A smirk of pride grew on Tamlin's face as Asher now fully looked at his father and little sister. “You may touch her when, and if, Taryn allows. Until then, no.”

Taryn leaned her head onto Asher’s shoulder as Tamlin lowered his hand. “You two are close?”

“Very,” they answered in unison.

“How were Darya and Amaya?”

“Who?”

“The river nymphs twins,” Taryn glared at Asher. “The two you've been trying to bed for a week now?”

Asher sighed and laid back, “They're impossible!”

Taryn and Tamlin glanced at him, “How so,” the high lord asked.

“They're identical! They said they only sleep with males who can tell them apart! Their hair is the same length. Their eyes both sparkle like a clear lake. They both have the perfect little nymph figure. Hair black as coal. They're gorgeous, fun, witty.” Asher covered his eyes by dramatically laying his arm across his face, “One of them I am most interested in. I believe it is Darya.”

“Does she have a shell braided Into her hair?”

Asher nodded at his sister's question, “She's.. she's just stunning. Inside and out. I may be in love."

Tamlin hid a smile as he reached into Taryn's woven basket filled with fruit and stole an apple. Asher continued telling Taryn his woes before sighing. "I wrote a new poem for her," he whispered with an air of insecurity. "I just.. wish she would respond some way, any way really.

He stood and then reached down to grab each basket, “I'll take these home. I.. I'm going to try just her. Maybe that will help?" He looked to his sister and father for some reassurance.

Taryn nodded, “I like that idea.”

“I think she's special.”

“Then she is,” Tamlin answered simply. “Go. I'll take care of Taryn.” Asher nodded, disappearing in the same gate his mother had opened.

Silence fell between the two on the blanket. The air was thick and heavy, a contrast to the brightness of his daughter's garden, to the smile on her face that didn't reach her eyes.

“You may hold me.”

4 words. 4 soft words. Spoken with hesitation, anger, grief, fear.

Yet they opened a floodgate as a father pulled his daughter to him, the process beginning again as the sunset behind them.

Tamlin knew his goal as he took him the scent of strawberries lingering in her blonde hair.

Board by board. Brick by brick. Nail by nail. He was going to rebuild his family. Even if doing so hurt him in the process.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

And my fellow Tamlin girlies:

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novaursa · 23 hours

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The Dragon's Right (17)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 16

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @mrsjohnnysuh @your-favorite-god

The wind howls through the darkness as you and Lucerys descend toward Storm’s End, the storm lashing at you with a fury that seems almost personal. Rain slashes against your face, the icy droplets biting into your skin, but you keep your gaze steady, guiding Silverwing through the turbulent air. Below, the formidable walls of Storm’s End loom like a fortress of shadow and stone, the courtyard barely visible through the sheets of rain.

Luke’s dragon, Arrax, circles closer to Silverwing, the smaller dragon clearly uneasy. You see Luke’s head turn sharply as a deep, resonant roar echoes from beyond the castle walls. The massive form of Vhagar, barely visible through the gloom, hovers like a specter, her silhouette outlined by flashes of lightning. Silverwing responds with a piercing shriek, her muscles tensing beneath you, and you feel her desire to charge, to face this ancient beast that looms so ominously in the storm.

“Easy,” you murmur, your voice barely audible over the storm’s fury, your hand resting firmly on Silverwing’s neck. You turn to Luke, his face pale but determined, his eyes wide with the fear he’s trying so hard to suppress. “Stay close to me,” you shout, your voice carrying through the wind. “Let’s go inside.”

He nods, swallowing hard as Arrax huddles closer to Silverwing’s larger form, the younger dragon seeking comfort and protection. You guide your son down to the courtyard, Silverwing landing with a thundering crash, her wings beating furiously against the storm.

“Come on!” you call to Luke, your voice firm but gentle, trying to instill some of your own resolve in him. “We have a message to deliver.”

The guards, soaked and shivering, move forward hesitantly as you dismount, their eyes flicking nervously between you and the dragons. You stride forward, your hand on Luke’s shoulder, your gaze locked on the doors to the great hall. “Take us to Lord Borros,” you order, your voice brooking no argument. “We have urgent business.”

They nod, too awed or too frightened to protest, and lead you through the heavy wooden doors and into the hall. The warmth inside is a shock after the storm outside, the crackling fire casting flickering shadows over the stone walls. The scent of smoke and wet earth fills your nostrils as you step forward, Luke close beside you.

Lord Borros Baratheon sits at the head of the hall, his bulk towering even from his seat, his daughters arrayed around him. His gaze shifts from you to Luke, and then, with a visible effort, to Aemond, who stands off to the side, a mocking smile playing at his lips. Borros’s face is strained, the muscles in his jaw clenched as he forces himself to meet your gaze.

“Y/N Targaryen,” Borros begins, his voice deep and rough, but with an edge that betrays his unease. “What brings you here, in such weather? Do you come to set my house ablaze as you did Oldtown?”

You lift your chin, meeting his gaze with a cold, steady stare. “I come to remind you of your oath,” you reply, your voice ringing through the hall, filled with the authority that comes with your birthright. “You swore to my father, King Viserys, and to me, your loyalty. I have come to see if you will honor that vow, cousin.”

Borros shifts in his seat, his eyes narrowing as he tries to muster his courage. “And if I don’t?” he challenges, his tone laced with a defiance that is almost brave. “Will you burn Storm’s End as you did Oldtown? Is that your answer to those who won’t bow to you?”

Before you can respond, Aemond steps forward, his smile widening, his eye gleaming with a dark, malicious light. “Half-brother,” he drawls, his voice carrying a mockery that grates against your nerves. “Will you force your will upon this house, as you have others? Or are you afraid to face a real dragon?”

Your hand clenches around the hilt of your sword, a cold anger settling in your gut. “Mind your tongue, Aemond,” you warn, your voice low and dangerous. “I’m not here for you.”

Luke, beside you, shifts uneasily, his eyes flicking between you and Aemond. “We came to deliver a message,” he says, his voice trembling slightly but steady. “To ask for Lord Borros’s support, as he promised.”

Borros leans back in his chair, his gaze shifting between you, Luke, and Aemond. “And what do you offer me in return for this support, boy?” He muses, his tone thoughtful.

Luke hesitates, glancing at you, then back at Borros. “We offer peace, my lord. And the protection of House Targaryen.”

Aemond laughs, a sharp, bitter sound that echoes off the stone walls. “Peace?” he sneers. “You think peace will keep Storm’s End safe when the dragons come?”

You take a step forward, your gaze locking onto Aemond’s. “Silence,” you say, your voice hard. “This isn’t about you.”

Aemond’s smile fades, his eye narrowing, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You think you can walk in here and demand loyalty,” he snaps, his voice tight with barely restrained rage. “You, who tore apart a city, who killed innocent people—”

“Mind your words,” you growl, your hand tightening on your sword. “Or I’ll show you what real fire and blood looks like.”

Borros rises, his face flushed with anger. “Enough!” he roars, his voice booming through the hall. “This is my house, and I will not have it turned into a battleground for your family squabbles!”

He turns to you, his eyes blazing. “I swore an oath, yes. But I will not be bullied or threatened into a choice that could destroy my house. You offer peace, Y/N, but your actions speak of war. Why should I trust you?”

Before you can respond, Aemond steps forward again, his face twisted with a dark glee. “Because he has nothing else,” he taunts, his voice filled with malice. “He knows that without force, he cannot hold the realm. So he comes here, to make demands, to try and make you bend the knee.”

You glare at Aemond, the rage boiling over, your grip on your sword tightening. “This is not the place for this, Aemond. I came here to speak with Lord Borros, not to engage in your games.”

But Aemond’s eye glints with a dangerous light, and he takes another step forward. “Then draw your sword, brother,” he hisses. “Show me what you have.”

Luke’s face pales, his hand twitching toward his own weapon, but you place a firm hand on his shoulder, shaking your head. “No,” you say quietly, your gaze never leaving Aemond’s. “This is not the time.”

Borros watches, his face a mask of conflicting emotions—fear, anger, and something like respect for the restraint you’re showing. He clears his throat, drawing all eyes back to him.

“You want my support, Y/N?” he says slowly, his voice heavy with the weight of the decision. “You want me to choose sides in this war of yours? Then show me why I should.”

You take a deep breath, forcing the rage back, focusing on the man before you. “Because you swore an oath to my father, to me,” you say, your voice steady and calm. “Because my cause is just, and I will see it through. And because if you stand with me, I will protect you, your house, and everything you hold dear.”

Borros’s gaze flicks to Aemond, then back to you. “And if I refuse?”

You lift your chin, your eyes hard. “Then I will take your refusal as it stands and leave. I will not force you to fight for me.”

Aemond’s smile vanishes, his eye narrowing with fury, but Borros’s face softens slightly, a flicker of something like gratitude passing over his features. He nods slowly, his gaze shifting to Luke.

“I will consider your offer,” he says, his tone final. “You have my word.”

You bow slightly, your gaze never leaving Borros’s. “Thank you, my lord.”

But as you turn to leave, Aemond steps forward again, his voice a hiss of rage. “Coward,” he spits, his eye blazing. “You’ll run from here, just as you ran from everything else.”

You freeze, your hand on Luke’s shoulder tightening. But before you can respond, Borros raises his hand, his voice booming. “Enough!” he commands. “There will be no bloodshed in my hall!”

You turn back to Aemond, your gaze locked on his. “This isn’t over,” you say softly, the promise of dragonfire in your voice.

And with that, you guide Luke from the hall.

The storm rages around you, the wind howling like a banshee (a/n: for those who know 😉) as Silverwing cuts through the darkened sky. Lightning splits the heavens, illuminating the roiling clouds and the distant, furious sea below. Rain lashes against your face, soaking through your clothes, but you barely notice, your focus entirely on the young dragon flying just ahead of you.

“Stay close, Luke!” you shout, your voice barely audible over the storm’s roar. Arrax flaps frantically, his smaller wings struggling against the gale, the young dragon’s movements erratic and desperate. You can see the fear in Luke’s eyes as he glances back at you, his face pale and streaked with tears and rain.

A deafening roar splits the air, and your heart drops as you see the massive form of Vhagar descending through the clouds, her wings blotting out the sky, her jaws gaping wide. Aemond’s laughter echoes through the storm, a chilling sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

“GO!” you bellow to Luke, your voice raw with urgency. “Fly, now!”

Luke hesitates, his eyes wide and terrified, and you can see the tears mingling with the rain on his cheeks. “Father, I can’t—”

“Now, Lucerys!” you scream, your heart pounding with fear and desperation. “Get out of here! Go back to Dragonstone! Do as I say!”

Silverwing rears up, placing herself between Arrax and Vhagar, her powerful wings beating against the storm. She roars in defiance, a sound that vibrates through your very bones, her body coiled with alarm as she prepares to defend her young charge.

Luke sobs, his hands trembling on Arrax’s reins. “But—”

“GO!” you roar again, and finally, finally, Luke nods, his face twisted with grief and terror. Arrax lets out a frightened cry, his wings flapping furiously as he veers away, plunging into the storm, his form quickly swallowed by the darkness.

You feel a rush of relief, mingled with the fierce, protective anger that surges through you as you turn your attention back to Aemond. Vhagar hovers above you, her massive form a dark, menacing presence against the storm-lashed sky. Aemond’s face is a mask of rage, his single eye blazing with hatred as he glares down at you.

“You think you can protect him?” Aemond sneers, his voice carrying over the thunder and wind. “You’re just delaying the inevitable. He will die, and so will you.”

Your blood boils, fury tightening your grip on Silverwing’s reins. “Not today, Aemond!” you shout, your voice filled with defiance. “If you want him, you’ll have to go through me first!”

Silverwing lunges forward, her wings propelling you toward Vhagar with terrifying speed. Her jaws snap open, a roar of fury and challenge tearing from her throat as she charges at the ancient, monstrous dragon. Vhagar responds in kind, her massive head swinging down, flames billowing from her gaping maw.

You pull Silverwing sharply to the side, just barely avoiding the torrent of fire that erupts from Vhagar’s jaws. The heat scorches your skin, the light blinding for a moment as you maneuver Silverwing around, circling wide, looking for an opening.

“Come on, you old beast!” you shout, your heart racing, adrenaline flooding your veins. “Is that all you’ve got?”

Aemond’s laughter rings out again, dark and cruel. “I’ll tear you apart, brother!” he roars, Vhagar diving after you, her claws outstretched, her jaws snapping. The sheer size and power of the ancient dragon are terrifying, her movements almost effortless despite her bulk, and you can feel Silverwing straining, her muscles taut and quivering as she dodges and weaves through the storm.

You push her harder, urging her to climb, to gain altitude, the wind whipping past you, the rain stinging your eyes. Vhagar follows, relentless, her wings beating the air with a force that seems to shake the very sky. You glance down, your heart lurching as you see Luke and Arrax, tiny and vulnerable below, still trying to escape the chaos above.

A flash of movement catches your eye, and you react instinctively, pulling Silverwing into a sharp dive as Vhagar’s claws swipe through the space where you were just moments before. The air vibrates with the force of the near miss, and you feel the terror and exhilaration mingling in your chest as you twist and turn, the storm swallowing you whole, blinding you, disorienting you.

You shout encouragement to Silverwing, her fierce roars mingling with the thunder, her powerful body a living extension of your rage and grief. You can feel her heart beating beneath you, can sense her fear and fury, her determination to protect, to fight, to survive.

Vhagar’s massive form looms behind you, her breath hot and foul, her roars deafening. Aemond’s voice is a taunting hiss, the malice in his tone cutting through the storm. “Run, run, little dragon!” he jeers, Vhagar’s claws slashing through the air as she tries to close the distance. “You can’t hide forever!”

You grit your teeth, Silverwing twisting and banking, trying to stay ahead of the monstrous dragon, trying to shield Luke, to buy him time, praying that it’s enough. “Come on, Silverwing!” you shout, your voice raw with desperation. “We can do this!”

But Vhagar is relentless, her shadow looming over you, her roars a deafening crescendo that drowns out everything else. She lunges, her jaws snapping just inches from Silverwing’s tail, her breath hot and searing, and you feel the terror clawing at your throat as you pull Silverwing into a tight spiral, trying to shake her off, to draw her away.

Aemond’s laughter is a jagged knife in the darkness, his voice dripping with cruel delight. “This ends here, brother!” he roars, Vhagar diving after you, her massive body cutting through the storm like a blade, her eyes locked on you with a murderous intent that chills you to the bone.

You twist Silverwing to the side, just barely dodging Vhagar’s outstretched claws, the force of her passing nearly knocking you from your saddle. The world tilts, the storm a chaotic whirl around you, the ground a distant blur below, and you can feel the exhaustion, the fear, the desperation clawing at your mind.

But you cannot falter, cannot hesitate, not now, not while Luke is still out there, still in danger. You push Silverwing harder, urging her to climb, to fight, to survive.

The storm still howls around you, wind and rain battering against you as Silverwing and Vhagar twist and turn through the chaos, their roars mingling with the thunder. The air crackles with energy, the sky split by jagged streaks of lightning that illuminate the fierce dance of the two dragons locked in deadly combat.

You grip the reins tightly, your heart pounding with adrenaline and fury. Silverwing dives and rolls, her movements fluid and swift despite the rain and wind that whip around you. Vhagar, massive and relentless, looms behind you, her jaws snapping, her claws tearing at the air as she tries to close the distance.

“Come on, Aemond!” you shout, your voice hoarse, barely carrying over the storm. “Face me, you coward! I’ll see you dead!”

Aemond’s laughter, harsh and mocking, cuts through the storm like a blade. “Not before you, brother!” he roars back, his eye blazing with hatred. “You’re the eldest, after all!”

You grit your teeth, rage and determination surging through you. Silverwing surges upward, her wings beating powerfully against the wind, and you feel her muscles bunch and flex beneath you as she gains height. Vhagar follows, her larger form struggling in the storm, her bulk making her movements slower, less agile.

“Now!” you shout, pulling Silverwing into a sharp turn, her body twisting around in a move that takes you beneath Vhagar’s massive frame. You urge her upward, your heart pounding as you push her hard, her wings flaring as she shoots up from below.

In a blinding flash of lightning, Silverwing’s talons latch onto Vhagar’s back, her jaws snapping just inches from Aemond’s face. You see the sudden flash of fear in his eye, his face paling as Silverwing’s teeth close around the air beside him, the sound of her jaws clamping shut like a thunderclap.

“Die!” you scream, your voice raw with fury. Silverwing roars, her head rearing back, and then she breathes, fire spewing forth in a torrent that engulfs the space around Aemond. He throws himself back, his arm raising in a desperate attempt to shield himself from the searing heat.

Vhagar bellows, the sound vibrating through the air, a deep, guttural cry of pain and rage. She twists violently, her massive body thrashing beneath Silverwing’s weight, and you feel the shudder that runs through your dragon as she struggles to hold her position.

Aemond’s voice, thick with pain and fury, cuts through the storm. “You think you’ve won, brother? You think you can take me down?”

“Let’s find out!” you roar, your heart a blazing inferno of rage and defiance. Silverwing’s claws dig into Vhagar’s scales, her wings beating furiously against the older dragon’s back as she lashes out with her teeth, her roars blending with the storm.

But Vhagar, old and powerful, does not yield easily. She twists and bucks, her massive form buckling beneath the assault, her roars shaking the very sky. Silverwing struggles to maintain her hold, the two dragons locked in a deadly struggle, their bodies crashing together in a fury of scales and fire.

You push Silverwing harder, urging her on, feeling the burn in her muscles, the strain in her wings. “Keep going!” you shout, your voice raw, your hand gripping the reins tightly. “We’re almost there!”

But Vhagar, with a mighty heave, manages to throw Silverwing off, her massive body twisting as she pulls away, Aemond’s voice a roar of triumph and rage. “I will see you burn, brother!”

Silverwing reels back, her wings beating furiously as she tries to regain her balance, and you feel the exhaustion in her movements, the weariness that seeps into your own bones. The storm is unrelenting, the wind howling around you, and you know you can’t keep this up much longer.

But you won’t back down, not now, not when you’re so close. You urge Silverwing forward again, her body surging through the storm, her roars fierce and defiant. “We’re not done yet!” you shout, your voice a challenge, your heart a blaze of unyielding fury.

Vhagar turns, her massive head swinging around, her eyes blazing with fury. But you see the hesitation there, the flicker of uncertainty in Aemond’s gaze as Silverwing barrels toward them, her jaws snapping, her body once more coiled with determination.

And then, with a final, desperate effort, you pull Silverwing up and over Vhagar’s back, her wings flaring wide as she dives down, forcing the older dragon to twist and turn, her movements sluggish and labored. Aemond curses, his voice lost in the storm as he struggles to control Vhagar, his grip on the reins white-knuckled, his face a mirror of frustration and fury.

Silverwing lands atop Vhagar again, her talons digging deep into the old dragon’s back, her jaws snapping just inches from Aemond’s face. He flinches, his eye wide with fear, and for a moment, you see the boy he once was, terrified and vulnerable beneath the mask of the man he’s become.

Silverwing’s roar fills the air, her jaws closing around the space where Aemond’s head had been a moment before. She breathes, a torrent of fire bursting forth, and Aemond jerks back, his face contorting with pain and rage as the flames lick at his armor.

Vhagar bucks wildly, her body thrashing beneath you, and you feel the force of it, the sheer power of the ancient dragon, as she throws Silverwing off again, slashing the younger dragon with her talons. Aemond shouts something, his voice filled with desperation, and then Vhagar turns, her wings beating furiously as she pulls away, retreating into the storm.

You watch them go, your heart pounding, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Silverwing hovers in the air, her body trembling, her wings beating weakly. You can feel the exhaustion in her, the weariness that weighs down on you both like a leaden cloak.

You glance down, the ground a distant blur below, the storm still raging around you, the rain and wind battering against you. You know you can’t keep this up, that you have to land, that you have to find shelter, find safety.

With a gentle pull on the reins, you guide Silverwing down, her wings straining as she descends, the wind pushing against you, the storm still howling in your ears. You land on a rocky outcropping, the ground slick and uneven beneath Silverwing’s claws, and you feel the relief that floods through you as she settles, her body trembling with exhaustion, her sides heaving with each labored breath.

You dismount, your legs unsteady beneath you, your body aching with fatigue and adrenaline. You look up at the sky, the storm still raging above, the clouds dark and forbidding, the wind a relentless force that whips around you.

You know this is only the beginning, that the battle you’ve fought here is just a taste of what’s to come. But for now, you’re alive, and so is Luke, and that’s enough.

For now, that’s enough.

The courtyard of Dragonstone is bathed in the eerie, flickering light of torches, the flames struggling against the relentless wind that sweeps in from the sea. Rhaenyra stands at the forefront, her eyes fixed on the horizon, every muscle in her body taut with worry. The storm rages in the distance, dark clouds churning over the choppy waters, and her heart aches with a dread she can barely contain.

She hears the distant roar of a dragon before she sees it—a small, battered form emerging from the storm clouds, wings beating furiously against the gale. Arrax. Relief and fear twist inside her as the dragon descends, landing awkwardly in the courtyard, his sides heaving, his scales slick with rain and blood.

Luke slides down from his saddle, stumbling as he hits the ground, his face pale and streaked with rain. He looks around wildly, his eyes wide with panic, and when he sees his mother, he lets out a choked sob, his legs giving way beneath him.

“Luke!” Rhaenyra cries, rushing forward, her heart pounding with terror. She reaches him just as he collapses, her arms wrapping around his trembling form. “Oh, gods, what happened? Where is your father?”

Luke clings to her, his body shaking violently, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. “Mother… I… I don’t know,” he stammers, his voice breaking. “Father… he told me to go… to fly away. Vhagar… Aemond… they were—” He cuts off, his voice choked with fear and grief. “I don’t know what happened to him. I don’t know if he got away…”

Rhaenyra’s heart clenches painfully, her mind reeling as she holds her son close, her fingers digging into his soaked clothes. “It’s all right, Luke,” she whispers, though the words feel hollow, meaningless. “You’re safe now. Come inside.”

She guides him toward the keep, her arm wrapped protectively around his shoulders, her mind spinning with fear and uncertainty. Behind her, the guards exchange uneasy glances, their faces shadowed with concern as they watch the scene unfold.

Inside, the great hall is filled with a tense silence, the air thick with anticipation and worry. The advisors gather, their expressions anxious as they turn to Rhaenyra, their questions hanging heavy in the air.

“Your Grace, where is the king?” Lord Alfred Broome asks, his voice strained, his eyes flicking to Luke, taking in the boy’s shivering form, his wet clothes, his pale face.

Rhaenyra takes a deep breath, her gaze sweeping over the gathered lords and ladies, then to Daemon, who stands apart, his eyes narrowed as he studies her. She feels the sting of tears behind her eyes, the lump in her throat that threatens to choke her.

“I don’t know,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “They were attacked… by Aemond. I don’t know what happened to him.”

A murmur ripples through the room, fear and uncertainty spreading like wildfire. Daemon’s face hardens, his eyes flashing with a fierce, protective anger. He steps forward, his hand resting lightly on Dark Sister’s hilt, his gaze fixed on Rhaenyra.

“I’ll go,” he says, his voice calm but resolute. “I’ll find him.”

Rhaenyra shakes her head, her grip tightening on Luke’s shoulder. “No,” she says, her voice firmer now, though it trembles with the weight of the decision. “I’ll go.”

A ripple of shock and protest rises around her, the advisors exchanging worried glances, but it’s Rhaenys who steps forward, her eyes sharp, her voice steady.

“Rhaenyra, think,” she says quietly. “You’ve just been crowned queen. The realm needs you here. Let Daemon go. He’ll find him.”

Rhaenyra’s heart twists, torn between her duty and her fear, the desperation clawing at her insides. She looks at Luke, his face drawn and pale, his eyes filled with the kind of fear no child should ever know.

“I can’t,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “I can’t just stay here. Not while he’s out there.”

Daemon moves closer, his hand resting lightly on her arm, his eyes intense. “I’ll find him, Rhaenyra,” he promises, his voice low and fierce. “I’ll bring him back.”

Rhaenyra looks at him, searching his gaze, and she knows he means it. But the thought of staying behind, of waiting and wondering, is almost unbearable.

“Please,” Rhaenys says softly, her voice gentle but insistent. “Let him go. For the sake of your children, your realm. You cannot risk yourself.”

Rhaenyra closes her eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath, the tears she’s been holding back finally spilling over. She looks at Daemon, her hand resting on his arm, her grip tight.

“Find him,” she says, her voice trembling. “Bring him back to me.”

Daemon nods, his eyes dark with determination. He glances at Luke, then back to Rhaenyra. “I swear it.”

With a final look, he turns and strides from the hall, his steps echoing through the silence. Rhaenyra watches him go, her heart aching, her mind a storm of fear and hope and despair.

She pulls Luke closer, her hand stroking his wet hair, trying to calm him, trying to calm herself. The room is filled with the murmur of worried voices, the storm outside a relentless reminder of the danger that still looms.

Rhaenys steps closer, her hand resting gently on Rhaenyra’s shoulder. “He’ll find him,” she says softly, her voice a steadying presence. “And he’ll bring him back. You have to believe that.”

Rhaenyra nods, though her heart is still heavy, her mind filled with images of you out there in the storm, fighting against the fury of the elements, against Aemond’s rage and hatred.

She knows you are strong, that you are a fighter. But the fear gnaws at her, the uncertainty a bitter taste in her mouth. She can only hope, only pray, that Daemon will be able to keep his promise, that he will bring you back.

For now, she holds her son close, her heart breaking for him, for the fear and pain in his eyes. For the battle they are all fighting, for the family they are struggling to hold together.

And as the storm rages outside, Rhaenyra waits, her heart heavy, her mind filled with thoughts of you.

The storm has finally broken, the sky above the small island clearing to reveal a pale, washed-out blue, the last vestiges of dark clouds clinging to the horizon. The air is cool and still, the fury of the tempest replaced by an eerie silence that seems to hang over the island like a shroud. Daemon, atop Caraxes, soars over the landscape, his eyes scanning the ground below, his heart heavy with fear and determination.

He’s been searching since dawn, Ceraxes weaving through the air in wide, looping circles, their shadows casting long, dark streaks across the rocky terrain. The aftermath of the storm is visible everywhere—trees uprooted, rocks scattered, the ground soaked and treacherous.

“Come on,” Daemon mutters under his breath, his grip tight on Caraxes’ reins. “Where are you?”

He pushes Ceraxes lower, the dragon’s powerful wings beating steadily as they glide over the cliffs and crags, the sea below crashing against the rocks in a steady, rhythmic roar. And then, finally, he sees them—a flash of silver amidst the dark stones, a shape that sends his heart pounding with a fierce, desperate hope.

“There!” he shouts, guiding Caraxes down, the dragon’s wings folding as they descend, landing heavily on a wide, rocky outcrop. Daemon dismounts in a fluid motion, his boots hitting the ground with a solid thud, his eyes fixed on the figures before him.

Silverwing lies sprawled on her side, her silver scales dull and stained with blood, her wings folded awkwardly, her breaths coming in deep, shuddering gasps. Beside her, you’re slumped against a rock, your body bruised and battered, your face pale, your eyes closed.

“Gods…” Daemon breathes, his heart clenching as he rushes forward, dropping to his knees beside you. He reaches out, his hand trembling slightly as he touches your shoulder, shaking you gently.

“Wake up, Y/N,” he says, his voice rough with worry, with fear he tries to keep at bay. “Come on, wake up.”

There’s a long, agonizing moment of silence, and then, with a low groan, your eyes flutter open, your gaze unfocused, pain clouding your expression. “Daemon…?”

Relief floods through him, so intense it nearly knocks him off balance. “It’s me,” he says, his voice softer now, his hand tightening on your shoulder. “You’re alive, thank the gods. Are you—”

You grimace, trying to sit up, your body protesting with every movement. “I’m fine,” you mutter, though the words are a lie, your voice strained and weak. “Silverwing…?”

“She’s here,” Daemon assures you, his gaze flicking to the wounded dragon. “She’s alive.”

You let out a shuddering breath, your eyes closing briefly as if to steady yourself. “We fought… Aemond… the storm…” The words come out in broken fragments, your mind still trying to piece together the chaotic blur of events.

“I know,” Daemon says gently, his hand resting on your arm, his voice calm, soothing. “You’re safe now. Both of you.”

You nod, though the movement sends a fresh wave of pain coursing through you. “Luke…?”

“He’s safe,” Daemon assures you, his voice firm. “He made it back to Dragonstone. Rhaenyra’s with him.”

Relief washes over your face, mingled with exhaustion, with pain. “Good… that’s good.”

Daemon glances at Silverwing again, his brow furrowing with concern. The dragon’s wounds are deep, her sides marred by long, ragged gashes, her breathing labored. But she’s alive.

“We need to get you back,” he says, his tone brooking no argument. “You need a healer, and so does she.”

You nod, your face tightening as you try to stand, your legs trembling beneath you. Daemon catches you, his arm wrapping around your waist, steadying you. “Easy,” he murmurs, his gaze sharp with worry. “Take it slow.”

With his help, you manage to get to your feet, your body swaying, your vision swimming. “I’m fine,” you insist again, though the words lack conviction, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Daemon doesn’t argue, his grip firm and supportive as he guides you toward Caraxes. “We’re going back,” he says simply, his tone leaving no room for debate. “Rhaenyra needs to see you, needs to know you’re alive.”

You glance back at Silverwing, the dragon’s eyes half-open, watching you with a weary, pained gaze. “She won’t leave without me,” you say, your voice thick with emotion, with the bond that ties you to her.

Daemon nods, his hand squeezing your arm reassuringly. “She doesn’t have to. Caraxes will fly alongside her. We’ll go together.”

You nod, too exhausted to argue, too relieved to care. With Daemon’s help, you manage to climb onto Silverwing’s back, the dragon shifting beneath you with a low, rumbling groan. Daemon mounts Caraxes, the two dragons standing side by side, their wounds stark and painful against the dawn-lit sky.

“We’re going home,” Daemon says, his voice carrying over the wind, his gaze meeting yours with a fierce, unwavering determination. “And we’re going to make them pay for this.”

You nod, your heart heavy with exhaustion, with pain, but beneath it all, there’s a fierce, unyielding resolve. This is far from over. You’ve survived, you’ve fought, and you’ll continue to fight, for your family, for your children, for everything you hold dear.

With a powerful beat of wings, the two dragons lift off, the wind whipping around you as you rise into the sky. Below, the small island stretches out, the sea crashing against its shores, the storm clouds breaking apart as the sun begins to rise.

You lean forward, your hand resting lightly on Silverwing’s neck, your heart steady, your mind clear. You’re alive. You’re going home.

The eerie glow of Dragonmont's depths envelops you as Silverwing and Caraxes descend, the heavy air filled with the scent of sulfur and smoke. The chamber, carved deep into the mountain, reverberates with the sound of the dragons’ wings beating against the still air, the low rumble of their landing echoing through the stone.

Dragonkeepers move forward swiftly, their red cloaks and careful movements a blur of efficiency and practiced calm. They approach with reverence and caution, their eyes darting between the two great beasts, assessing the extent of the wounds marring Silverwing’s silver scales and Caraxes’ long, sinuous body.

You dismount, your legs trembling beneath you, the pain and exhaustion still a heavy weight in your bones. Daemon is at your side in an instant, his arm steadying you as he helps you down, his face set with a fierce, unyielding determination.

“They’re here!” a voice calls out, echoing through the chamber, and you see movement at the far end of the cavern. A group emerges from the shadows—Rhaenyra, her face pale and drawn, Luke at her side, his eyes wide and anxious. Behind them, a handful of retainers and guards, their expressions a mixture of relief and wariness.

As you take a step forward, Rhaenyra lets out a shuddering breath, her shoulders sagging as if an unbearable weight has been lifted. Her eyes are fixed on you, shining with unshed tears, and she moves forward, almost stumbling in her haste to reach you.

“Thank the gods,” she whispers, her voice trembling, her hand reaching out to touch your arm, her fingers gripping tightly, as if to reassure herself that you’re real, that you’re here. “You’re alive.”

“I’m alive,” you murmur, your voice rough, your heart aching as you see the fear and worry etched into her face. You pull her close, your arms wrapping around her, holding her tight, feeling the warmth of her body against yours, the steady beat of her heart.

Luke stands just behind her, his face pale, his eyes locked on yours. “Father, I—” His voice breaks, and he looks down, guilt and relief mingling in his expression.

“You did well, Luke,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the exhaustion that pulls at you. “You did what you had to. I’m proud of you.”

He nods, a tear slipping down his cheek, and Rhaenyra reaches out, pulling him into the embrace, her arms wrapping around you both. For a moment, there’s nothing but the three of you, the storm and the battle and the fear fading into the background, replaced by the simple, overwhelming relief of being together, of being alive.

Daemon stands a few steps away, his gaze sweeping over the scene, a hint of a smile curving his lips. “We made it,” he says quietly, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction, of triumph.

Rhaenyra pulls back slightly, her eyes flicking to Daemon, gratitude and something like understanding passing between them. “Thank you,” she says softly, her voice filled with a sincerity that needs no further words.

Daemon inclines his head, his gaze steady on hers. “We’re family,” he says simply, and there’s a weight to his words, a promise that goes beyond blood and loyalty.

The Dragonkeepers move forward, their hands gentle but firm as they begin to tend to Silverwing’s wounds, their voices low and calm as they murmur reassurances to the injured dragon. Caraxes shifts restlessly beside her, his long neck snaking around as he watches them, his eyes sharp and alert.

“Let them work,” Daemon murmurs, his hand resting lightly on Caraxes’ side, his voice soothing. “You’ve done your part, old friend. Now let them do theirs.”

Silverwing lets out a low, rumbling sigh, her body relaxing slightly under the careful hands of the keepers. You watch her, your heart heavy with a mixture of relief and sorrow, the weight of everything you’ve been through pressing down on you, threatening to overwhelm.

But Rhaenyra’s hand is still on your arm, her touch a grounding presence, her gaze steady and warm. “You’re home,” she whispers, her voice a promise, a vow. “We’re all home.”

You nod, your throat tight, your eyes closing briefly as you let the words wash over you, let them anchor you. You’re home. You’re together.

There will be time to mourn, to plan, to fight again. But for this moment, this precious, fragile moment, you let yourself breathe, let yourself feel the warmth of your family around you, the steady pulse of life that beats on, even in the shadow of war.

The heavy doors to the council chamber swing open with a resounding thud, and Aemond strides in, his face pale and twisted with anger, his clothes still damp from the storm and dragon flight. The room falls silent, every head turning toward him, eyes widening in shock and curiosity. He moves with a rigid, furious grace, his jaw clenched, his single eye blazing with barely contained rage.

Aegon, lounging in his seat at the head of the table, straightens, his brows lifting in surprise. He exchanges a glance with Alicent, who sits stiffly beside him, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, a look of unease flickering in her eyes.

“What happened?” Aegon demands, his voice sharp, his gaze raking over his brother. “Where have you been?”

Aemond’s jaw tightens, the muscles working beneath his skin as he takes a deep breath, his eye locking onto Aegon’s. “I found him,” he says bitterly, his voice low and hard. “Our dear brother. He and his dragon.”

A murmur ripples through the chamber, the council members exchanging uneasy glances. Alicent’s face tightens, her hands twisting in her lap as she looks between her sons, her eyes wide with worry.

“And?” Aegon presses, his voice mocking, a cruel smile playing at his lips. “Did you kill him?”

Aemond’s face flushes, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. “No,” he snaps, the word spat out like a curse. “He fought back. Forced me to retreat.”

There’s a shocked silence, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. Alicent’s gaze darts to Otto, her eyes filled with fear and anger. Otto’s expression is grim, his mouth a tight line as he looks at Aemond, then back at Aegon.

Aegon lets out a low, mocking laugh, his eyes gleaming with a vicious amusement. “So the mighty Vhagar wasn’t enough, then?” he taunts, leaning forward, his smile widening as he takes in Aemond’s flushed, furious face. “I thought you were supposed to be unbeatable.”

“Aegon,” Alicent warns, her voice trembling with tension, but Aegon ignores her, his laughter growing louder, harsher.

He stands abruptly, the chair scraping against the stone floor, his hands reaching up to yank the crown from his head. The weighty steel of Aegon the Conqueror’s crown glints in the flickering torchlight as he holds it aloft, his face contorted with a mixture of anger and disdain.

“You see this?” he shouts, his voice echoing through the chamber. “This bloody thing? I never wanted it!” With a furious snarl, he hurls the crown to the ground, the metal clanging against the stone with a sharp, ringing sound.

The council members flinch, their eyes darting between the two brothers alarmed. Alicent rises to her feet, her face pale, her hands trembling as she reaches out, as if to calm her son, to pull him back from the edge.

“Aegon, please—”

“No!” Aegon shouts, his voice cracking with fury, his hands clenched at his sides. “You and Grandsire put this on my head, made me king! But what does it matter if my own brother can’t even win a single battle? If we’re all just waiting for Y/N to come and burn us alive?”

Aemond’s eye narrows, his body rigid with barely suppressed rage. “Watch your tongue, Aegon,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ve no idea what it’s like out there, facing him. Facing Silverwing.”

Aegon’s lip curls, his gaze filled with disdain. “Oh, poor Aemond,” he sneers, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “The great warrior, the dragonrider, beaten back by our elder brother. How pathetic.”

“Aegon!” Alicent’s voice is sharp, desperate, but Aegon barrels on, his anger pouring out in a torrent of bitter words.

“I didn’t ask for this!” he yells, his voice raw, his eyes wild. “I didn’t ask to be king! You made me wear this crown, made me sit on that damn throne! And for what? So we can all die for your stupid dreams?”

Otto stands, his face dark with anger, his voice cold. “Enough, Aegon,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument. “This is not the time for this—”

Aegon whirls on him, his eyes blazing with fury. “Not the time? When is the time, Grandsire? When he comes here, breathing fire and death? When we’re all burnt to ashes?”

The council is silent, the tension so thick it seems to hang in the air like smoke. Aemond’s face is a mask of fury, his hands trembling with the effort of holding himself back. Alicent steps forward, her eyes filled with tears, her voice breaking.

“Aegon, please,” she begs, her hands reaching out to him, her face stricken. “You are the king. You must be strong, for the realm, for all of us.”

Aegon stares at her, his chest heaving, his eyes wild and desperate. And then, with a low, bitter laugh, he shakes his head, his gaze dropping to the crown lying on the ground, the heavy dark steel glinting dully in the dim light.

“I never wanted it,” he whispers, his voice raw, broken. “I never wanted any of this.”

And with that, he turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing through the chamber, leaving the crown lying abandoned on the cold stone floor.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #rhaenyra x y/n #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra x you #rhaenyra x male reader #rhaenyra targaryen #silverwing #daemon targaryen #house targaryen #caraxes

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peachysunrize · 7 hours

Text

[ TANGERINE DREAMS ]

Summary: being stood up on his wedding day, Aemond’s life takes a turn for the worse. Heartbroken and humiliated, he finds unexpected help in Helaena’s childhood friend, who helps him move back into his family mansion. Summer cocktail parties and a long stay at the Targaryen residency, Aemond might let the girl who’s always been in his life make a home in his heart.

Tangerines, in general, symbolize prosperity, good luck and happiness. So if these delicious fruits appear in your dreams - whole or in the form of juice - it is usually very positive. A dream with tangerines expresses the desire and the possibility of progress and prosperity

Warnings: none! A bit of angst, mentions of Aemond’s eye pain, flufffff✨

Word count: 5.6k+

A/n: soooooooo what do we think??👀 shit’s bout to hit the faaaan🙂‍↕️🤭 reblogs and comments are so appreciated!💕🥹 also a special thank you to @namelesslosers & @catinapottedplant for beta-ing this for me<3333

Taglist: it’s closed<3

-> series masterlist <-

Chapter 7: country club

“It feels like we’re on a secret mission,” you say as you walk hand in hand upstairs towards Alicent’s study with Helaena.

“You know she only allowed me once in this room? The boys aren’t allowed even near the stairs,” she scoffs and you nod at her, knowing how Aegon would probably turn into a kid all over when he steps into a new area. “But to let you inside this room… she either wants to fuck you over for shagging her son or something serious is happening.”

“Alicent fucking me over isn’t serious in your humble opinion?” you ask her, shaking your head when she grins at you. “You’re exactly like Aegon, carbon copy.”

“How dare you?” she gasps, leading you to the end of the hallway. “Aegon is a whore, a lovely one, but still a whore.”

“I didn’t mean that you are one too, what do you take me for?” You nudge her with your elbows, giggling as you walk closer to the door at the end of the path. “I mean you guys are just chaotic! Both of you think your Mum is too dangerous and at the same time she’s a saint.”

“Don’t worry, gorgeous. I’ll back you up in there if she brings up Grandpa and how he says a new relationship is bad for Aemond.” She pats your head and you gawk at her.

“Bitch, you better,” you slap her hand away playfully. “You set us up, I’m gonna snitch on you if your Mum says anything about this. Also… why is it a bad thing for Aemond to move on?”

“That’s… we’ll talk about it later, yeah?” she says awkwardly, knocking on her mother’s study door before she pushes it open, “Oh! Well… morning, Mum.”

“Hi, hey!” Alicent clears her throat as she tries to appear busy with a line on her wooden desk while Criston turns his back to her and looks out of the window, both of them flushed and blushing. “Morning, girls!”

“Hi, Ali,” you look between the couple, watching with amusement as Helaena tries to stifle her giggles and Alicent is nearly fainting with how red and ashamed she looks. “How are you doing on this fine morning?”

“Amazing!” She claps her hands, and sits down on the chair and points at the loveseats in front of her desk. “As you know Aemond’s birthday is in a few days, three to be exact, and I thought we should do something special for him. I mean, as special as he lets us…”

“I don’t remember if I’ve ever been to one of his birthdays,” you shrug. “So, what is the plan?”

“You know we already have our wine selection, we even told him that it will be for his birthday. But… I was thinking about hosting this party in the Targaryen country club.”

“Wow—“

“Are you serious, Mum? Like actually fucking serious?” Helaena cuts you off, her blonde brows twisting in a deep frown. “You’re joking.”

“Hel—“

“No, you know how he feels about them! You know this and you wanna torture him!”

“What? What’s going on?” you ask, trying to intervene in the situation before Helaena says something she might regret later. “Is there going to be someone other than us?”

“Listen to me, my loves,” she sighs and looks at Criston pleadingly before she averts her Bambi eyes to you, “my family is rich enough to buy thousands of these clubs, but during my divorce with Viserys… his one and only condition was that we couldn’t have access to the club without telling him or Rhaenyra first.”

“Basically, she has to invite them all because of a stupid fucking belief when she knows how much pain they have caused Aemond!”

“Helaena.” Alicent’s voice echoes in the room, and for the first time you see how your best friend shrinks from her mother’s gaze. “Darling girl, I will only tell them about a gathering, nothing more or less.”

“Why do you wish to throw this party there?” You reach to hold Helaena’s hand and she squeezes yours in gratitude, helping her calm down a little bit. “I mean we can do this somewhere else! Maybe a party on your family yacht!”

“Because Aemond is a man of history, and that club has been passed on from generation to generation. It holds kind of a legacy for Targaryens. And knowing Aemond and where he decided to get married, I think he will love it.”

“Yeah, he will if the person who cut his eye out doesn’t show up,” Helaena sighs, rubbing her forehead, “Listen, Mum, I love you and I really respect you but… come on, Aemond will not like it if Rhaenyra shows up, nor will any of us! I don’t think he wants to see eye to eye with Viserys after how his wedding turned into shambles.”

“I’m not inviting them, I’ll just text your father’s assistant to tell him we’ll be there. I doubt he wants to join us anyway…” Alicent rests her forehead on her hands, and in an instant, Criston stands next to her, rubbing her shoulders soothingly. “Thank you.”

“Does this party have a theme or a dress code?” you ask, leaning back on the seat, trying your best not to show your excitement for your boyfriend’s birthday party.

“It will be a formal gathering, a cocktail party of sorts. Luxurious, comfortable, and a bit of a show-off because my father will join us and he is all about image and reputation, so there will definitely be a few photographers. Oh, and my brother will join us as well!”

“Finally meeting this ultra-rich Uncle Gwayne,” you chuckle, nodding at Alicent. “I hope gifts are allowed.”

“Aemond hates gifts—“

“Let her buy something for him, maybe someone out of the family will change his mind, yeah?” Helaena comes to your rescue, winking at you and squeezing your hand, “Besides, Uncle is going to give him something mind-blowing anyway.”

“Alright, but you will handle his attitude yourself,” she points at you, glancing at Criston, who is silently listening to the conversation. “So, the country club, Rose wine, formal clothes, one single gift from you, and a good few days spent together.”

“I’ve never been to a country club!” you acknowledge, already excited for the next few days you will be spending with the Targaryens. “What should I even pack?”

“Can I pack your clothes? Please? Pretty please?” Helaena begs you, pulling you up on your feet quickly before you both wave goodbye and leave Alicent’s study. “You're gonna be so surprised to see what I have bought you now!”

“You’re so fucking crazy.” You both laugh quietly as you walk past Daeron’s room. “Alright, you can pack my bags. But I’m just gonna—“

“Go, go! Go check up on your man, babe.” She kisses your cheek before she departs from you, skipping toward her room to grab a few things to bring for you.

With a soft sigh, you walk downstairs, moving through the endless hallways of the mansion, and finally reaching Aemond’s room. Knocking on his door gently, you wait for a response, but then you only hear a groan in what you can only assume is pain.

“Little Nerd?” You slowly push the door open, finding Aemond curled up on his side, clutching his duvet hard in his fists. “Baby, are you alright?”

You approach him, padding towards his bed as he trembles slightly, his breaths coming out quickly and unevenly, and with worry, you crawl on his bed behind him, gently brushing his long hair off the spare pillow to rest your elbow on it.

“Hey…” you lean over his face; he is flushed, his good eye is closed and the other is an empty socket. You brush his hair out of his face, caressing his head as gently as you can.

“Darling?” he calls for you, his voice fragile and quivering. You press a kiss on his clammy forehead, rubbing his arm to soothe him a little, finally understanding what he must be dealing with.

“How bad is the pain?” You scoot closer, resting your head on his shoulder while you rub his arm, reaching to caress his fist gently, trying to open his fingers without bothering him. “What can I do for you?”

“Just… just leave,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will, but let me help you, yeah?” you try to convince him, snaking your arm behind his neck, gently rolling him over so there is no weight on his damaged eye. “Come on.”

“I always do it alone, I think I can cope—“

“I know you do, and I’m proud of you for that,” you cut him off before his pain turns into anger, “but you don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

“I-I forgot to put my eyepatch on—“ He tries to sit up and move away from you but you wrap your other arm around his middle and keep him on the bed. He can easily push you away, but when he doesn’t, you sigh in relief and pull him down so his back rests on your chest, his head tucked in your shoulder.

“Alys… she used to give me head massages,” he whispers, closing his good eye as he slowly lets his body relax in your arms, the pain of his eye still lingering in the empty socket. “Probably the only thing she did without demanding anything in return.”

“Would you like me to do the same?” you ask, pulling the duvet on top of you, cradling his head in your arms. “Or, I can apply some of the creams you have put there.”

“My head is killing me,” he groans again, turning in your arms to lay his head on your chest, and you tuck him under your chin, holding him close as he grabs your waist. “I forgot to take my meds last night…”

“Oh no.” You squeeze him in your embrace, pouting a little as he battles with the agony. “Tell me how I can help you, maybe I can do something to ease your pain.”

“You can’t do anything,” he sighs and looks up at you, reaching to cup your cheek. “Just stay here, the pills will kick in in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” you rest your hand on top of his, bringing his palm to your lips to press a gentle kiss on it, smiling down at him softly, “Do you wanna talk about something?”

“Yeah, what should we talk about?” He rests his head back on your chest, closing his eye as he listens to your breathing.

“Hmm, maybe your birthday?”

“Not a fucking chance—“

“Oh, come on, don’t be a bummer! You're gonna be twenty-six in a few days! That’s exciting,” you chuckle as he groans and hides his face in your dress, smothering himself between your boobs, “and get your face off of my chest. I know your game, Targaryen.”

“Stop calling me by my last name,” he groans, wrapping his arm around you to hold on to you tightly as a new wave of pain rushes through his nerves. “Fuck—I wish I could die.”

“Hey, look at me,” you look at him seriously, craning his neck to force him to look at you, “I know the pain is bad, my darling, I know… but you will get through it, you have done it before, you will do it again. Don’t you dare say you wish to— fuck I will never forgive you if you say that again.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says quietly, his grip tightening on you as you lean down to kiss the bridge of his nose. “I shouldn’t have said that…”

“Don’t be.” You prep his cheek with kitten kisses. “As long as you have me, I won’t let anything happen to you. Also!”

“No, please—“

“We should pack your clothes! Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun giving you all of my attention on your birthday!” You squeal when he flips you both over, covering the empty socket of his eye before he leans down to kiss you.

Your lips move in sync, slowly and passionately, yearning for more, but you know Aemond is not in the right place to give in to your urges. Instead, you reach to remove his hand from his face after breaking the kiss.

“Don’t hide yourself from me, baby.” You kiss him this time, letting him slowly relax and get comfortable. He kisses you back, and finally, his pain subsides.

“This is— wow!”

You look around as Aemond drives through the gates of the country club, his free hand mindlessly caressing your thigh. It is a shock that he decided to drive at nighttime, as he mostly lets someone else do the driving at such an hour, but you can sense his nervousness grow with each passing second.

“I know, it’s fucking huge,” he mumbles, rounding the steering wheel as he drives to the parking, stopping the car in front of the doorman. “Good evening, sir.”

“Good evening, Mr. Targaryen.” The man nods at Aemond and you, opening the door for him before he is handed the keys to the car.

You watch Aemond walk towards you, opening the door for you before he realizes his mother is right behind his car, stepping out of the SUV with Cole’s help. You pat his shoulder, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before putting some distance between the two of you, waiting for others to join you and him.

“It’s gorgeous,” you exclaim, looking at the entrance of the building; just as Aemond said, the building itself is huge, but the area leading to it is just as beautiful and wide. You loop hands with Helaena as the group walks upstairs towards the door. “How come we have never come here?”

“Well… Viserys comes here nearly every week. I think Mum didn’t wanna see him at all,” she shrugs. “Anyway, his first wife was obsessed with this place. Not gonna lie, there is a huge portrait of her somewhere in the dining hall… used to make Mum so sad when she caught him staring at her more than glancing at her.”

“Wow, what a piece of shit.” You grimace, giving her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, babe, he’s just… an ass.”

“Don’t worry, no one hates him more than your boyfriend,” she whispers, and you let out a sad chuckle, knowing how much damage he has done to Aemond.

“I might though,” you squeeze her arms, watching as some people open the door for you. “I wanna curse him for hurting my best friend and my man.”

“Oooh, since when?”

“Since the day we fucked—“

“Forget I fucking asked.” She slaps your shoulder playfully, dragging you inside the building. “Welcome to the Targaryen country club!”

“It’s a shame how I’ve never been here,” Helaena rolls her eyes, “but thank you. This is more than I can ever dream of.”

“Alright, we’ve got two days before Aemond’s birthday! Sleep well tonight, and tomorrow, I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay here,” Alicent says and kisses all of you goodnight, and Criston follows her towards the room.

“So, lovers,” Aegon starts, wrapping an arm around Aemond’s shoulders even though he has a hard time reaching his height, “you gonna share a room orrrr—“

“I’m gonna show her around,” Aemond extends his hand for you to take, and you let go of Helaena to reach for him, letting him pull you in his arms as he shrugs Aegon off of him, “and you better shut your mouth about this.”

“I saw nothing,” Aegon throws his hands up, looking at Daeron and Hel, who just nod and shoo you away. “Have fun!”

“They are annoying,” he sighs as he pulls you away from them, walking through the large room with portraits hanging off the wall, leading you to the door which opens to the paths ending with tennis courts, a large swimming pool and a lake nearby.

“How are you feeling?” you ask him, wrapping your arms around his torso, resting your head on his chest. “Are you excited for your chic birthday?”

“Hmmm.” He rests his chin on top of your head as you both walk between the tennis courts. “Not really, at least I have you here. That’s something I look forward to.”

“I’m glad I’m here too.” You reach a path that’s decorated with willow and other trees, leading to a large golf area. “I like it when I’m with you, I feel… I feel like I can breathe.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” Aemond chuckles, kissing the crown of your head, “but I feel the same. There are moments I think I am a better person when I’m around you; less stoic, less uptight.”

“Nope nope, it’s my turn to tell you about how I feel.” You pull away from his embrace, grabbing his hand to step off of the path and walk between the trees. “I’ve never been in a relationship that allows me to be free this much. There’s always been a leash on me and my interests, and to be fair, I’ve never dated someone younger than me.”

“Why the sudden doubt in our age gap?” Aemond asks, a shuddering smile on his face. “Does it bother you?”

“What?” You turn around immediately to look at him, sighing before reaching to cup his face. “No, no, of course not! It’s actually something that crossed my mind a second ago. Two years is nothing, especially when I feel so safe and appreciated when I’m by your side.”

“I just— it’s difficult,” he sighs and rests his hands on your hips. “For me, not-not you. I… I think about how things would have turned out if I was never dumped. I’d never find something more than a friend in you.”

“It’s difficult for me, too.” You caress his cheeks. “This feeling… isn’t meant to be easy. It feels right, I mean what we have is right, despite the odds. You’re fresh out of a relationship that lasted so long, and I’ve been your sister’s friend for so long. It’s kind of sad that if your ex didn’t run away, I wouldn’t be able to even kiss you. That makes me so fucking emotional.”

“Yeah, the heartbreak is still there inside me, somewhere I can’t really reach but I feel it somewhere, more than I’d like to admit. Not because I think about Alys, no, but… did I really deserve that? I absolutely adore you, I can’t put it into words, but I’m lucky to find something—someone worth risking my life for.”

“You don’t know it yet, but you have a tendency to make me melt with your words. It’s annoying, really, how impactful you are.” You make him chuckle, and he dips his head down to kiss you quickly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why are your Mum and Grandpa against our relationship?”

“Well,” he clears his throat, his grip tightening on your hips, “I know Mum loves you, and she’ll approve. No doubt about her, but Otto… well… he cares about our reputation so much. After the wedding, he’s been reaching out to us nonstop. He wants to make sure the world, or specifically, Rhaenyra and Viserys, know that we are in good shape. Me getting into a public relationship is just… so soon.”

“I understand… okay, so you don’t wanna tell others just yet, right?” You lean back on one of the trees, wrapping your arms around Aemond’s neck. “I was curious, I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable—“

“Hey, no, absolutely not.” He steals a quick kiss from you, caging you with one hand on the tree and the other on your waist. “I’m glad you asked me. I don’t want you to think I’m keeping you hidden from everyone. I’m proud to be with you, and I would show you off to the world the moment I could.”

“Alright, I’ll keep my hands to myself.” You giggle when he nudges his nose against yours. “I wanted to also let you know that your father and sister might join us here.”

You see how he visibly tenses, jaw clenching as he thinks about the last time he saw them — the failed wedding.

“Whatever,” he says through gritted teeth, pulling away from you to take a deep breath, his hands on his hips as he looks up at the sky.

“Aemond, I tried to say something so your Mum would kind of ditch them, but—“

“I know, I know, don’t worry.” He is quick in reassuring you that he knows why they might show up. “Nothing we can do about it now.”

“Come, I wanna spend one night without anyone bothering us,” you say and he agrees, intertwining your fingers as you both walk inside the building, enjoying a quiet night together.

“All I’m saying is that tea is the solution to all of your problems!” Helaena says, crossing her legs as she sips on her morning tea. The sun shines at the grounds of the country club, and Hel’s suggestion to have breakfast in one of the many balconies is extraordinary.

“Bold of you to say that in front of a coffee person,” you reply and reach for your cup. “Also, thank you so much for packing these clothes! I had no idea I owned them.”

“Well, I can't let my bestie stay in our cultural country club without aesthetic clothes—oh, good morning birthday boy!”

“It’s not my birthday yet.” Aemond appears behind you, kissing the top of your head. “Morning, darling.”

“Hi, handsome.” He bends down to kiss you slowly, making Helaena gag once more. “Why do you look so disgusted? You’re not a virgin, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, well, maybe because I grew up with her and you at the same time. And I’m older than both of you and single. Do you see how horrible I must be feeling?”

“Cut the crap, Hel, I know you’ve been in a very, very steamy friendship with the Stark boy. You ain’t fooling no one.” She turns to you, gawking at you while her cheeks get covered in crimson red, blushing as she looks down at her tea. “Besides, he is hot—“

“I beg your pardon?” Aemond says, frowning at you and you are quick to chuckle and pull him down again, kissing him languidly. “I’m just trying to make her feel better. No one is near as hot as you are, Little Nerd. You are my one and only.”

“Alright, alright, we get it, now sit and eat something. Mum said something about guests coming over today,” Helaena says, and you watch how Aemond’s smile fades slowly. He nods silently and sits down in front of you, taking a sip from the coffee he is sure you made for him as he grows quiet.

“Aemond…” Helaena reaches and squeezes his shoulder. “I know how you feel about them, fucking hell, even I don’t want them around, but it is what it is. Just—I’m begging you, don’t make a scene.”

“As if the last time they didn’t provoke me.” He taps his foot on the ground, sipping on his drink before he sighs and pats his sister’s hand. “I won’t talk to them, don’t worry.”

“I’m worried about you, not them, sweet brother.” She smiles at him sympathetically. “They have the tendency to get under everyone’s skin.”

“Not yours though.” Aemond grabs your hand and caresses your knuckles while he talks to Helaena. “You seem to like them anyway.”

“Right, because I danced one time with Jace shows how much I adore them—“

“You had Aegon vibrating in his seat from anger.”

“Protective much?” you comment, and Aemond shrugs but matches your teasing smirk. “Is it a quality in Targaryen men? Should I be worried?”

“Yeah, if you’d like me to not go to jail.” Helaena scoffs at him, and he continues, “I’d probably kill the man if they lay a hand on you.”

“That’s so fucking hot, but please don’t kill anyone, I need you around.” You lean forward to capture his lips in a kiss like you always do, but pull away quickly so Helaena can have a peaceful moment. “Who are your guests anyway? Besides your father and sister.”

“Grandpa will be here too. Daemon, I think? Oh, and there is a good chance Uncle Gwayne will join us tomorrow!” Helaena explains.

“It doesn’t matter, because I’m gonna take you away from these people the moment we are done saying hi.”

“How charming, Aemond.” You grin at him, hearing the sounds of Aegon’s quick steps reaching the balcony.

“Morning, morning.” Aegon bows dramatically. “Anyway, our precious, most gracious guests have arrived. You won’t believe how horrendous Viserys looks. It’s like a snake has been eating him inside out, it’s fucking creepy.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t say that about our father, Egg.” Helaena stands up and helps you up too, looking between you and Aemond. “Don’t give them a reason to make our lives a living hell. You can disappear when we go outside, yeah? Just not now— and you! Keep your hands to yourself.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Aemond nods and with one last reassuring smile, you all step off the balcony, and you watch how Aemond’s walls are back up as he walks downstairs; his face is stoic, emotionless as if he wasn’t grinning a second ago. He walks with his hands locked behind his back, his shoulders rolled back and chin held high. You can see no trace of emotion in him anymore.

“There they are,” Alicent says, her voice soft and welcoming, but everyone can feel the discomfort under it. “Morning, my loves. Come, let us—“

“Yeah, yeah, thank you.” With a wave of a hand, Viserys dismisses the group entirely, limping towards the dining hall with his cane.

“I apologize, Father is really not doing well,” Rhaenyra tells Alicent, a polite smile on her face. “He is more weary than ever. I hope you understand.”

“He could have said a normal hello, couldn’t he?” Aegon sneers, leaning against the wall as he watches everyone.

“Aegon, please.” Alicent looks at her oldest, and once you look down, you see how her nails are bloody and raw from being picked at. “I hope you enjoy your stay here.”

“We will, thank you.” Rhaenyra glances at Helaena, giving her a small smile, before she looks at Aemond. “It is nice to see you well, brother. The marriage stunt was pretty horrible. I’m glad you are well enough to host a party.”

“Yeah, one would think two months after a horrible breakup, he would be in ruins.” Daemon’s booming voice echoes in the hall, and your arm tightens around Helaena’s as you watch how he smirks, his and Rhaenyra’s kids coming into view shortly. “The bridesmaid is here too, I see. You have got good company, nephew.”

“I do,” Aemond replies with the coldest voice you have ever heard from him. You watch him breathe softly, masking his feelings easily, but he is an open book to you; he is nervous, a bit angry, and the tension in his jaw and shoulders are evident.

“It’s nice seeing you again, Mr. Targaryen,” you say quickly, not really thrilled with how Daemon gives you an overall look, his smirk widening as he chuckles.

“Yes, yes, very nice,” he looks at Rhaenyra and extends his arm to her. “Shall we, niece?”

“Of course,” Rhaenyra answers and looks at Alicent. “We will not be joining you for lunch. I wish to show the kids around.”

“Make yourself at home.” Alicent nods politely, glaring at Argon before she sighs and reaches to grab Aemond’s arm. “Darling, don’t listen to them, alright?”

“Yes, Mum,” he nods, his fingers fidgeting behind his back. “Don’t worry.”

“Wow, Helaena, you are glowing.” Jace, you remember Hel telling you about him, approaches the two of you. “You look resilient—“

“Back off,” Aegon snaps, pushing himself off the wall, but Daeron is quick to wrap his arm around Aegon’s shoulders to keep him away from his nephew.

“Thank you, Jacaerys,” Helaena responds politely, but grins when she sees her cousins. “I’ve missed you two!”

Baela and Rhaena step forward, and your best friend lets go of your arm to hug the twins.

You glance at Aemond, finding him staring at his nephews while they greet him not-so-enthusiastically, and you take the chance to step in and comfort him with just having his back.

“Hi, I’m Helaena’s friend.” You shake Jace’s hand, but when you see his younger nephew smirking a bit too maliciously, you back off and stand next to Aemond.

“Yeah, I think I remember you!” Jace exclaims, smiling politely as he tries to engage in a conversation with Aemond, but he only replies with low hums and nods.

“I remember you too! At my uncle’s wedding, right?” The younger one whose name you do not remember says, reaching to shake your hand. “Lucerys, pleasure to meet you.”

“Nice to see you.” You give him an awkward smile, remembering that he was the one who got into a fight with Aemond when they were kids, sighing when the images of that night play in your mind.

“Babe! Come, come, meet Baela and Rhaena!” You pat Aemond’s arm, lovingly mumbling a quick ‘later’ before you walk towards Hel and hug the twins quickly, enjoying how spiritual they are.

“How about we go and take a quick walk around the building? Maybe we can settle for a game or two!” Daeron says, clapping his hand as he tries to break the tension between his siblings and nephews.

“I’m gonna go for a ride,” Aemond announces, moving away without waiting for any response, but stops and looks at you. “Have you seen our stables?”

“The stables?” you ask quietly, and when Aegon nudges you from behind, you catch up on Aemond’s thoughts, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from grinning. “No! No, I haven’t! I would love to though!”

“Alright, let’s go.” Aemond walks upstairs, and with an apology you bolt upstairs, following Aemond to his room so he can change, but he stops you and kisses you quickly when you are out of sight. “Wait here, we don’t want anyone to be suspicious, yeah? I’ll be out in a second.”

“Okay.” You peck his lips again before pushing him inside the room gently. “Go, go, can’t wait to see you in your riding clothes!”

He only winks and smiles, shutting the door. He changes into his riding leather pants and black shirt, pulling on his knee high boots before he ties his hair in a ponytail.

“Fuck me.” You eye him when he steps out, biting your lip as you rest your palms on his chest, running them down his body as you ogle at his tight pants, enjoying how delicious he looks in his riding clothes. “Why have you been hiding this from me, handsome?”

“Because I knew how much of a pervert you are, darling.” You notice how less nervous he is now, and you kiss his jaw, pressing yourself against him as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Glad you are aware of how much I like to fuck you, because right now, nothing seems as wonderful as making you hard in these clothes.”

“You’re a fucking tease,” he groans against your lips. “Stop torturing me.”

“Never. Now come on, I believe you owe me a tour of the stables!” you say, letting him pull you downstairs by the hand, looking around to see if someone is around before he leads you to another path. You walk in a comfortable silence, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your face as you walk hand in hand.

“This is my other lady,” he tells you as you walk through the stable, stopping in front of a black mare, running his palm over its long neck. “She doesn’t have a name, unfortunately. Nothing fits her.”

“She’s gorgeous.” He reaches for your hand, gently placing it on the mare’s back, rubbing it softly. “Will you bring her out now?”

“Would you like me to?”

“I would love it very much!” You step aside as Aemond pushes the wooden door open, grabbing his horse’s reins to guide her outside the stables, and you follow him, watching as he mounts the black mare, and bolts his horse to the field. Someone opens the fence for him and he rides through it.

You rest your hands on the fence, smiling at the sight of him rounding the field with his horse, sun shining bright on his silver hair, casting an angelic glow on his face. “You’re doing amazing, sweetie!”

He smiles at you, stopping in front of you before he points for you to hop over the fence and you do hesitantly, stepping next to his horse.

“Come on, ride with me.” He reaches for your hand, pulling you up with ease, making room to help you sit in front of him. “I remember how scared you were the first time you caught me in our old stables.”

“Please, don’t remind me!” you laugh, throwing your head back on his shoulder. “It was horrendous! I nearly let your father’s stallion stomp on me.”

“Yeah, well, I saved you, so you can thank me for that,” he whispers in your ear, kissing the side of your neck. “Do you wanna step down? I feel you shaking.”

“I’m shaking because the amount of affection I have for you is too intense.” You crane your neck to look at him, and he pulls on the reins to stop the horse as he looks down at you.

“How bad is this affection?”

“So bad that I wanna kiss you in front of everyone.” He leans down, resting his forehead on yours. “Maybe later, yeah?”

“Yeah, you handsome idiot, now kiss me when no one is watching.”

He does kiss you, but unbeknownst to you, there is someone watching.

#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fluff #🍊dreams

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harmonic-intervention · 1 day

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Since it is almost 911-day, and I am sure to be proven wrong about all of my headcanons (can't fucking wait!), I need to put some out there about my special guy. Don't even know if any of this makes sense, but here you go.

When Tommy opened his eyes, he stared at the burnt-out corpse of a helicopter.

Oh, he thought, I'm back here. His thoughts felt thick and slow, and he couldn't quite make sense of what he was seeing.

He had been here before.

He had crashed his chopper once before. He had done several emergency landings, but only actually fell out of sky one time, and that was in the army.

He couldn't fully remember. He couldn't remember what went wrong, and the theories that everyone else had were just that - theories. All he knew was that he lost control, he crashed, and was the only one to survive. Three were dead on impact, one died before recovery, one died as the medics were still working on him, and Tommy made it.

He hadn't been awake when they had gotten him, and he had only seen the photographs of the crushed chopper, so whenever he found himself back here, he stood outside of it, staring at the thing that clipped his wings for years to come.

After, he was discharged and sent home, and the thought of flying filled him with anxiety, so he didn't. He stayed on the ground, only able to stare up into the endless blue and yearn and fear. About so many things.

He blinked.

"Tom."

He turned around, no longer in the middle of nowhere staring at a broken chopper.

He was in the backyard of his aunt's house - his father's sister. The person who had spoken was Michael, one of his cousins, who, like the rest of the family, insisted on calling him Tom because Tommy is juvenile! Grow up!

"You know the rules, man," Michael continued, sounding almost apologetic.

Tommy remembered this day. His mother had just died a couple of months back and he was still getting used to the loveless house and the polite coolness of his father's family that his mother had done her best to shield him from.

His thoughts felt disjointed, and he couldn't quite remember what this was about. Someone said something that made Tommy feel awful, at the very least, and when he tried to speak out, Michael had stopped him.

You know the rules.

Like be seen, not heard, don't disagree with the adults, and, most importantly, don't be gay.

It was the moment that Tommy realized he needed to keep quiet about everything. Don't speak up, don't do anything but nod when faced with their opinions, be straight.

He blinked.

"Thomas."

There was only one person who called him Thomas, and only one person who did it like this - slurred together into almost one syllable, always sounding angry.

He was back in the living room of his childhood home, seventeen, a backpack slung over his shoulder, his father sat on the couch with a bottle of whiskey.

He had trouble grasping his thoughts for a moment - hadn't he just been in the yard? Much younger? What was that about a helicopter?

He knew what would happen that day. He'd kissed Andrew Jenkins behind the old hunter's shack three weeks ago, and the rumors had finally reached his dad.

"What did I always tell you?" his father asked, or tried to.

He had said a lot. Never anything worth listening to.

"Didn't ya hear me, boy? What did I always tell you!?"

Tommy's father was not a man who liked being ignored. He yelled and roared, spittle and drops of whiskey flying from his mouth. Tommy stayed quiet.

"No fucking son of mine will be one of those queers, you understand me, boy!? So, when I ask you whether what I heard is true, you better say no!"

Tommy had to think of something about a forged signature, of running away, of a camp and drills and training and men just like his father, of a helicopter.

"Is what I heard today true, boy?"

"You're a sorry excuse for a man." Tommy was reasonably sure that was not what was supposed to come out of his mouth. He never said anything like this. He only ever wanted to.

His father, in a blur, suddenly stood in front of Tommy. His face morphed into Gerrard's for a moment, then back into the haggard, cross-eyed man Tommy had known in his youth.

He was close enough that Tommy could smell his alcohol-stained breath, something he had become too familiar with. When he was young, his father had seemed scary, intimidating to him. Now, he seemed weak, not able to keep himself upright.

All his life, he had wished he had taken a swing at his dad, just once. Fought back, just once.

Violence ran in the family, after all.

He had a hand fisted in the collar of his father's shirt. He didn't know how it got there.

His father smiled. He had never smiled. Sneered, yes. Frowned, a lot. Never smiled. It didn't suit him. "Do it, you coward. Be a man."

He hadn't said that in this context. Not to Tommy. He had said it to his brother-in-law after Tommy's mother had died and a fight between his father and the rest of the in-laws caused them to never contact Tommy again.

God, Tommy hated this man. He didn't hate many people, he didn't think. Vaguely, he thought that he would normally just wash his hands of them and never think of them. That sounded better.

But he would never completely remove this. He was his father's son, after all.

He blinked.

"Tommy."

They had moved from the living room to the entrance. He wasn't seventeen. He was 40, holding onto his father's shirt collar, and in the open door of his childhood home behind him stood Evan.

He reached out a hand, and Tommy immediately dropped his father in favor of turning around and accepting Evan's grasp. His grip was strong, a bit tight, clutching at him almost in desperation.

"Tommy," he said again, but there was almost an echo there, far away and urgent. He seemed to be staring right through Tommy.

He gripped Tommy's shoulders with both of his hands. "Tommy, come on. You gotta be here."

"I- I am?" Tommy said, or he thought he did. His voice got lost in Evan's.

"Tommy, please."

He blinked.

Then again.

And again.

He smelled smoke. The side of his face felt tacky and the sun was painfully bright in his eyes. His head was pounding.

He tried to sit up, but everything in his head slid off a slope and he dropped back down, closing his eyes against the spinning tree tops.

He breathed against the nausea rising up in his stomach, but that just made him cough thanks to the smoke. God, his ribs hurt. He'd probably cracked a few.

His copter had gone down, he remembered suddenly.

He had told them that something wasn't quite right, but they had sent him up anyway. And then, he started having issues with the rotor controls.

He'd tried for an emergency landing, but when there was nothing but forest underneath him, there wasn't excactly room to safely land a chopper.

He remembered being conscious after hitting the ground. He remembered crawling out of there and throwing up as soon as he got his legs under him, before he stumbled away as the hunk of junk left of his copter burst into flames.

He had made as far as his legs could carry him until he collapsed to the ground.

His head hurt. Breathing hurt. He kind of just wanted to go to sleep.

"Tommy!"

He smiled a bit. Maybe he could go and find Evan in his dream again.

"Tommy!" Louder this time. Closer, it seemed. Urgent.

How long had Evan been shouting for him? He'd heard that same urgent undertone in his dream.

"Tommy!"

He could hear additional voices, now. He couldn't identify them. He could hear the sound of several heavy boots making their way through the undergrowth.

Good. He didn't think he could talk if he tried.

For a moment, the sounds stopped. Then picked up again, louder, and faster, and coming closer.

"Tommy!" A heavy body crashed to the ground next to him, and hands on his face gently, slowly helped him turn his head to look at Evan, kneeling next to him.

He slowly raised his hand. His shoulder hurt a bit, too, but not as bad as his head. Evan took his hand before he could try to figure out what to do with it.

"Can you talk? Where are you hurt?"

Everywhere? Tommy didn't think he had broken anything but his ribs - miracle of miracles - but he was pretty banged up. He'd probably be bruised all over. He was probably also concussed, now that he thought about it.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Swallowed, and it felt like nails scraping against the inside of his throat. Kept looking at Evan, despite the presence of other people appearing at his side, other hands trying to figure out what was wrong with him.

"Ev-Evan," he croaked, and almost regretted it immediately, if it wasn't for the relieved smile it caused.

"Yeah, it's me, it's Evan. We've got you, now. You'll be okay."

Tommy nodded as best as he could, and Evan didn't leave his side for a moment when he was picked up.

He kept mumbling his name over and over whenever Tommy's eyes shut for too long, whenever it looked like Tommy was about to slip away. He kept holding his hand.

"Tommy."

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #kinley #tevan #harmonic writing

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rainroses45 · 3 days

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Imagine being on your period with the winchester brothers.

i mean i’m currently late for mine (AND NO IM NOT PREGNANT) and lately i’ve been feeling like i could strangle any man that approaches me

like just picture dean starring at you like “wtf” as you just beat up the demon barehanded

the sick son of a bitch doesn’t even have time to react back..you are just going full WWE mode on them

not to mention sam would be so worried he would try to walk towards you but dean would just put his hand in front of him like “sammy let her cook”

you would just be throwing punches and screaming “TELL EVE WHEN I SEE HER I WILL FUCKEN RIP OUT HER UTERUS”

to which caused sam to slowly walk back from the scene infront of him, hands in the air in surrender

afterwards dean wouldn’t even complain about the blood dripping down from your face when you enter the impala (he would never say this out loud but you scared him)

sam would sit still the entire car ride trying to not provoke you into fighting, which to his luck, you almost ended up killing the drive thru worker for forgetting your fries

“Y/n! LET GO OF HIS APRON!” “NOT UNTIL THIS MF GIVES ME MY CURLY FRIES!!”

the guy ended up giving you two boxes filled with fries and sam just did the awkward hand motion he did when dean was about to shoot the pigeon (PLS UNDERSTAND THIS REFERENCE)

dean would be throwing fries at you the entire car ride back to the motel while announcing“the beast has been fed!”

bonus points if they need to stop to buy you more pads

dean would totally look at you and ask “what size of pussy do you have and what flavor you want?” as he checked out the pads

in the end he got you “some night time ones with lime flavor” to which you almost strangled him for forgetting your candy bar

“I SWEAR DEAN WINCHESTER IF YOU DIDNT GET ME MY CANDY BAR I WILL KILL YOU AND CUT YOU UP JUST TO DUNK THE LITTLE PIECES IN CEMENT AND HIDE THEM ACROSS THE WORLD SO THEY NEVER FIND YOUR FULL CORSPE!”

let’s just say after that dean never forgot your candy bar ever again

#winchester brothers #spn #supernatural #dean winchester/reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester #period problems #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester/you #female reader

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xoxochb · 2 days

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⋆·˚ ༘ * if my wishes came true it would’ve been you

warnings: implied sex, percy turns rabid, cheesy ass ending, I’d also recommend reading chapter 2 before this because I tried to make these two similar, and there’s one quote from a touch of malice that I italicized, also this is lwk short as fuck sorry

pairing: percy jackson x daughter of hades and persephone

a/n: I am absolutely BAWLING my eyes out right now I have emotionally attached myself to this series and now it’s over 💔💔💔

series master list

absolutely everything hurts. every muscle in your body— you’re sure you’re going to die. stupid perseus jackson he’s never going to hear the end of this for as long as he lives. but forget that. because you’re sure you had never been as happy as you are now, even if percy was drooling all over your shoulder right now. this can’t be real, was it really? you had escaped your wedding with the horrendous son of poseidon and amphirite, they would be hearing your many complaints soon enough, for creating such an awful child. yet at the same time you thanked poseidon for additionally creating the love of your life

you pinch his arm, quickly proven that this is indeed real when you feel teeth digging into your shoulder making you yelp and push away. “you’re rabid!”

he laughs. the absolute audacity he has to laugh! percy pulls you back into his arms and places a kiss to your bare shoulder where he bit you. “‘m sorry, angel. you did pinch me though”

you frown. “I wasn’t sure if you were real or not”

“last night wasn’t ‘real’ enough for you?”

you scoff and roll your eyes. “you know what I mean, dipshit”

he kisses your skin again, once to your shoulder, next to your mark-filled neck. “I’m real. are you?”

“fuck you”

“been there, done that”

“you’re an odd one, husband”

you feel his smile against the skin of your neck, eliciting giggles from your bruised lips

“say it again. call me your husband”

you sigh but nonetheless request his wishes. but he wouldn’t be receiving exactly what he’d like as punishment for biting you. “husband, would you be so kind as to make me breakfast?”

he’s like a fucking schoolgirl, truly. the reaction you pulled from him, a blush adorning his cheeks, a dream come true. “I’ll cook only the finest of breakfasts for you, wife”

oh how the tables have turned. now it’s your turn to blush furiously. “can we stay here for just a bit longer?”

“‘course we can, angel”

you didn’t even have to ask. you should have known he would have agreed when you felt peppered kisses being pressed over your shoulder, your collarbone, your neck, your jaw, your face, each corner of your mouth and at last claiming your lips once and twice

“perseus-” you begin, but only cut off by the boys lips. “can we-” kiss “I’m-” kiss “I swear to-” kiss

you groan and pull away, covering his mouth with your hand. “percy”

he nods. you press your lips to his forehead and remove your hand. “I hate you”

“aww, I love you too”

“don’t be an idiot”

the second the last word left your mouth percy wasted no time in connecting your lips again. and again, and again, binding himself with you as if he hadn’t absolutely devoured you 3/4 of the night. you pull back for only a second, nose brushing his, muttering a quick “I love you” before he grew impatient

six years of a hidden relationship, six years of waiting for a moment just like this, peace, not worried about your father catching you, and it had all worked out in the end. you’d got your happy ending at last and you were sure you weren’t going to give it for anything, because for a fact you knew, percy was the one

#xoxochb #crying screaming throwing up hyperventilating smashing my head against a brick wall #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #pjo fandom #percy jackson #pjo #percy series #pjo hoo toa #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #percy jakson #Spotify

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 2 days

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Hate You (Kidding)

Crowley & daughter!reader, Sam and Dean & witch!reader, a little Rowena & granddaughter!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: your dad abandoned you years ago, but what happens when he finds out you’re still alive?

A/N: just so no one gets confused about this, here’s the background—Crowley found out how powerful demon/human babies can be, so he tried to make one, only it didn’t go the way he planned—the baby (you) were born without powers, and so he abandoned you. (Just because I didn’t want to give this the exact same backstory as Crowley’s son)

The theft was not going well. Your grandmother had made it seem so easy—sneak into the bunker, grab the black spell book, and make it out fast.

She failed to mention the two professional hunters that lived there.

You hadn’t been dumb enough to assume it would be empty—there had to be a reason Rowena wasn’t going herself, after all; she was scared. But you weren’t ready for Sam and Dean Winchester.

They had you in their dungeon basement—which was super creepy—before you’d even managed to find the book, much less grab it.

“What were you looking for, kid? Who sent you here?” The shorter—but no less scary—one had his hands on the sides of your chair, and he was looming over you. You had no doubt that he was willing to hurt you—you did break into his very dangerous house, after all.

You kept quiet, still unsure what the best course of action was. If you told them about the book and Rowena, would they let you go and go after her?

Then again, you didn’t know anything about these guys—maybe once they got their information, they’d just kill you.

You decided to stay quiet.

“Hey!” Dean smacked his hand on the arm of your chair, and you flinched. “I said—“

The man stopped yelling when the lights went out. They flickered back on a moment later, only this time they were red.

“Someone’s here,” the tall one said.

“I’ll go check.” The man in front of you pulled a gun from the waistband of his jeans and turned to leave, saying to the tall one “watch her.”

Then it was just you and the giant—who, surprisingly, seemed a little less scary. He was definitely intimidating, but he also had a sort of “I don’t hurt children” vibe about him.

“This will all be easier if you tell us what you were after,” he broke the silence.

“Right, because you’ll have a reason to keep me alive after I tell you everything,” you scoffed.

“We won’t have a reason to kill you, either,” Sam countered.

“And you need one?” You questioned.

“What makes you think we’d just kill you for no reason?” He asked.

“I mean I did break into your house, and you are hunters.” You shrugged as best you could with your hands cuffed behind you.

“I’m Sam,” the man said, crouching down so he was more on your level—he was trying to look less intimidating, which surprised you. “That other guy is my brother Dean. We are hunters, but we’re not gonna just kill you for no reason. We’re not like that.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the door opening cut you off.

“Look who came for a visit.” Dean stepped into the room with a man trailing behind him. As soon as the man stepped into the light, every bit of air left your lungs.

“Didn’t know you had a visi—“ Crowley’s sentence froze halfway out of his mouth when he laid eyes on you.

Dean’s suspicious gaze picked up on the awkwardness instantly.

“You two know each other?”

Crowley gained his voice back first. “Used to. Not so much anymore.”

“Oh I don’t know about that.” You found the strength to speak after you heard Crowley’s words. “You still look just as pathetic to me, father.”

“Father?” Dean choked. “Wait, that’s not possible.”

“I thought you were dead.” Crowley was now completely ignoring the Winchesters. “After…after that incident I figured the demons would’ve—“

“Incident?!” You all but screamed. “Incident? Is that what you call you abandoning me? Leaving me for dead? An incident?”

“I had no choice,” Crowley argued. “When the other demons found out you were powerless—“

“The other demons? It wasn’t about the other demons, it was about you! You used my mother to make yourself a half demon, and when I didn’t turn out to have any powers you threw me away. You wanted your demon friends to kill me.”

“No.” Crowley was brushing past Sam and Dean now, coming to stand directly in front of you. You squirmed in your chair, but you couldn’t get further away from him. “No I didn’t. I thought if I got rid of you, they’d have no reason to kill you and—“

“Don’t lie to me!” You cried out. “I’m not stupid! You may not have wanted me dead, but you sure didn’t abandon me to try to save me. You did it because I was useless to you. Pretending otherwise is just…it’s just pathetic.”

Crowley opened his mouth to argue, but he had nothing to say—he knew you were right.

“So you’re half demon with no powers?” Dean cut in. “Because I’ve met a half demon who could do anything he wanted just by thinking it.”

“Why do you think he wanted to make me?” You forced your gaze away from your father to look at Dean. “He wanted an all powerful being that was also fully dependent on him. Too bad for him, not all half demons are the same, and he got stuck with the powerless one.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you’re here now,” Sam cut in.

You bit your lip. You should’ve known it would circle back to this.

“Look, we’re not gonna hurt you if you tell us,” Sam promised.

“Fine.” A sly smirk lifted onto your face as your eyes went back to your father. “I’m here to get a book. For my grandmother.”

Crowley was still choking on air while Sam and Dean shared a meaningful glance before turning back to you.

“Rowena? You’re working for the witch?” Dean’s reaction told you that he both knew Rowena and probably hated her.

“She’s the only reason I’m still alive,” you said. “When he—“ you were inclined your head towards Crowley “—left me behind to get killed by demons, she saved my life.”

“My mother knows you’re still alive and she never told me?” Crowley scoffed. “It’s just like her.”

“She didn’t tell you because I told her how much I hated you.” You glared at Crowley as you spoke. “She understood the feeling, and we had a mutual understanding. Anyway, she told me she would teach me to take out demons the way she can—“

“But let me guess—only if you steal a spell book from us and bring it to her,” Dean interrupted.

“She said it was the only way she’d be able to teach me,” you defended yourself.

“She lied,” Crowley butted in. “She always lies—she was using you to get that book.”

“Oh, right, because you’re so trustworthy,” you shot back. “Why should I trust you?”

“You don’t think it’s a little strange that the first thing she does with you is send you to a place where you could get hurt, just to get something for her?” Sam argued. “You don’t think that that’s using you?”

You were quiet for a moment, and when you spoke again it was more subdued.

“I didn’t have any other choice. There are still demons out there who want me dead, and I’m totally and completely helpless.”

“You don’t have to be,” Crowley said. “I can help you.”

“Rowena may not be a saint, but I already know I can’t trust you,” you snapped. “I’m not looking to get abandoned again.”

“She had to know you’d get caught.” Sam seemed to be talking more to himself than anyone else. “So why…”

The Winchesters seemed to come to a conclusion at the same time, sharing a moment of telepathic connection before they turned and ran out the door.

“Do they do that a lot?” You wondered.

“You have no idea,” Crowley huffed. “I suppose I should find out what’s wrong.”

“You haven’t figured it out yet?” The sudden smirk on your face made Crowley nervous. “Oh come on, don’t tell me you fell for that whole ‘totally and completely helpless” thing.” As you spoke, Crowley saw a faint glow coming from your hands, which were still handcuffed behind you. After a moment, he heard a snapping sound, and suddenly both of your hands were free and you were standing up. “Do you really think Rowena sent me here with no knowledge of magic?”

With a single wave of your hand, you sent Crowley flying against the wall. He landed with a thud, and you stepped over his frame on your way out the door.

“See you soon, father.”

…

Rowena had escaped with the book by the time Sam and Dean got to the library—she had waited until everyone was in the dungeon to make her move—and by the time the boys got back to the dungeon, Crowley was on the floor and you were gone.

“Great,” Dean growled. “She tricked us. I hate witches!”

“For once,” Crowley groaned as he slowly sat up. “I agree with you.”

…

“The Winchesters.” Your nervous gaze met your grandmother’s as you watched her flip through the spell book. “It’s them, they caught up. What now?”

“We need to distract them long enough for me to get through this spell,” Rowena insisted. “I won’t even need the book anymore as long as I can get this spell done.”

“I’ll distract them.” You were halfway to the door when Rowena stopped you.

“No, you’re not strong enough, not like this.” The way your grandmother was staring you down made you nervous.

“Like this?” You asked.

The door blasting open after a swift kick from Dean Winchester seemed to make up Rowena’s mind.

“I’m sorry, dear girl, but it’s the only way,” she said. “Impetus be—“

“Not so fast, mother.” You father appeared out of nowhere just behind Rowena, and he snatched up the spell book she was holding and swung it at her—she went down without another word. “I’m the only one that gets to hurt my brat.”

You didn’t say anything—you were still shaking. “Impetus beastiarum”—that’s what Rowena had been trying to say. Your own grandmother was going to turn you into a rabid monster—and ultimately kill you—just so that she could get away.

“The book.” You flinched out of your daze when Sam Winchester brushed past you and held his hand out to your father.

“Of course, moose,” he answered. “What would I need with a witches book?” He passed it over without argument.

“Why did you save me?” You demanded, sidestepping the taller Winchester to get a good look at your father, who merely shrugged.

“I’m the only one that gets to kill you.”

…

The Winchesters, of course, wanted to grab you after the little incident, but you flung them against the wall with your powers—one of the few tricks your grandmother had managed to teach you, and currently your favorite—and left before they got the chance.

You didn’t see them or your father for several more months. When you saw Crowley again, you were running for your life.

Somehow word had gotten around that a great witch had a granddaughter; or maybe it was that the king of hell had a daughter—you didn’t know, and you didn’t care. All you knew was that an archangel was after you because of it, and you had tried to cut a deal with him.

It hadn’t worked.

Lucifer had wanted you because he thought you’d be useful, and when he found out you weren��t, he of course decided that killing you was proper punishment for wasting his time.

You were in the midst of running for your life when you saw your father.

He was chained to the floor like a dog, watching your exchange with the archangel with peaked interest.

“Conteram hoc cincinno,” you yelled as you ran—it worked, and the chains at Crowley’s wrists snapped; they were warded against demons, not witches.

The freeing of his prisoner was enough of a distraction to get Lucifer off your tail. By the time he remembered you, you were out the door, and when he tried to turn his attention back to Crowley, the demon had already teleported.

…

“What was that?”

You jumped in surprise when your father appeared next to you.

“An escape,” you huffed out.

“You saved me back there.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you demanded. Crowley just grinned at you.

“Maybe witches aren’t so bad.”

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