#Dragon's Breath Tavern

[oopsallmabari]

....why are the youtube comments so mad lol don't y'all like to have fun. don't we like to have fun here

[softspiderling]

if you can't take it (then get back) | j.v

summary:

“You sound surprised.”

“I just…” you paused, struggling to find the right words to convey what you were trying to say without outright insulting her heir. But Rhaenyra only chuckled, giving a slight nod, understanding.

“He has been rude to you, hasn’t he?”

OR; Your first meeting with the Crown Princes leaves much to be desired.

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader

warnings: jace is a classist guys, idk what to tell you, minimal violence, reader is a dragonseed but no descriptors were used <3 also OBVIOUSLY jace and baela are not betrothed in this fic

word count: 3,9k

author's note: yo to the anon who requested this like a bajillion years ago… i’m sorry it took me so long😔 thanks to my lil goblin master @eldrith for beta reading and being the best sister wife ever🫵🏼🧌

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"Silverwing. What a beautiful name,” you whispered as you gently stroked your dragon’s snout, Silverwing pressing into your hand as you stood in the middle of the meadow in your new dress.

When you had gone into the forest to pick flowers for your mother’s grave, the last thing you had expected was to leave said forest on dragonback, soaring through the skies, a dream come true. It hadn’t taken long before another dragon quickly joined your sides, its rider introducing himself as Addam of Hull, telling you to follow him to Dragonstone.

Before long, you had pledged your loyalty to Queen Rhaenyra and were offered a place to sleep, a position by her side. Only two nights prior, you had been slaving away at a small tavern on Driftmark, not knowing if you’d something to eat, now you’d never go to bed hungry again.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful dragon.”

“She doesn’t understand you.”

You whirled around, only to see Prince Jacaerys stalk his way up to you, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword.

“My Prince,” you uttered, curtsying. You had heard great things about Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, and you felt giddy to be fighting alongside him for his mother.

Jacaerys came to a stop next to you, giving you a glare before he turned to Silverwing. You took a pause, not having expected to be rejected so brazenly, but you swallowed your pride, turning to Silverwing.

“She’s a beauty, is she not?”

You looked at Jacaerys only to see him roll his eyes and you felt a flash of irritation.

“She doesn’t understand you,” he repeated, as if you were hard of hearing. “We speak to dragons in High Valyrian.”

“Oh, Her Grace had mentioned that, but unfortunately I have not gotten around to-“

“Soves, Silverwing.”

Jacaerys seemed unperturbed as he interrupted you rudely, leaving you at a loss for words. Silverwing let out a growl, pushing her snout against your hand one last time before flapping her wings and taking to the skies. You watched as she danced through the sky, a look of awe on your face before you turned back to the Prince, a heavy weight settling in your chest. You took a deep breath, collecting yourself. Surely you were reading this whole conversation wrong. From what you have heard, the crown prince was an exceptional man and no one had ever uttered a bad word about him, or held any grievances.

“I apologize my Prince, if I somehow offended you.”

Jacaerys let out a laugh, but it held no warmth.

“You can refer to pure theft as an offense, yes.”

“Theft?” You echoed, confused. “You must have mistaken me, I am not a thief, I’m-“

“I know exactly who you are,” Jacaerys sniped. “You stole a dragon of House Targaryen.”

Aye, it seemed like you read the conversation exactly right.

“I did not steal Silverwing. I claimed her- she claimed me.”

“She claimed you,” Jacaerys repeated with a scoff. “You are a common born girl, not fit to be a dragon rider.”

Every ounce of grace and manner left your body at the tone of his voice, your eyes sparkling with fury.

“Pardon?”

“It is not your place to claim a dragon,” he hissed out and you sneered at him.

“Oh, my apologies, my Prince,” you exclaimed, voice so biting it was dripping with vitriol as you bowed your head “I did not mean to step on your toes. Let me just unclaim the dragon!”

Jacaerys rolled his eyes at you, his annoyance clear as day.

“That shows how much understanding you truly lack,” he said and you groaned, throwing your hands in the air.

“I know dragons cannot be unclaimed, I was trying to make a point!”

Jacaerys scoffed, turning his head away. He looked at Silverwing flying in the skies before he turned back to you.

“You kid yourself thinking this gives you any meaning to your life.”

You let out a breath of disbelief, your lips parted in shock. You had heard a lot of insulting words in the years of your life, but never have they been so belittling.

“You do not understand the meaning of claiming a dragon, nor do you deserve it,” Jacaerys bit out, continuing. “You will never live up to the worth of a dragonrider. You are merely a tool in a war you have no control over. You’re a commoner, a lowborn,” he said, his face contorted in anger, stepping closer to you. “A mongrel.”

SMACK!!

Your hand slapped across his face, a reaction to his words that was mostly reflex than anything else, and your eyes widened in shock as as you had realized what just happened, a gasp escaping your lips as you reeled back.

Fuck, did you really just slap the Crown Prince of the Seven Realms across the face like a common beggar?

Jacaerys’ hand flew to his reddened cheek, his lips parted as you stared at each other in shock. You were frozen, not daring to move, fearing the Kingsguard would step out of the shadows any moment to strike you down in retaliation.

When you realized that no knight would come, you spared one glance at Jacaerys before turning to leave, quickly fleeing the scene of the crime.

You had retreated into your chambers after the absolute horror of a first impression. Not even Addam’s invitation for supper had beckoned you out of the room; you were sick to the stomach imagining what kind of punishment Jacaerys was planning.

The glass on the window was cool against your forehead. You had sought refuge at the small nook, your eyes in the sky, watching Silverwing fly through the skies, longing in your chest. Feeling the wind in your hair would make you feel better, you had no doubt, but you didn’t want to anger the Prince even further. A knock on the door made you startle, and with a small sigh, you went to open it. Ser Erryk was stood in front of your chambers, inclining his head.

“My lady,” he said. “The Queen has asked to see you.”

Fear ran down your back at his words. It happened. Prince Jacaerys told her that you had laid your hands on him and she was about to cast you out.

This was too good to be true anyway, it was bound to end. You had always known your temper would be your ruin. You’d just assumed it would be a patron in the tavern striking you down for cursing him out, not the Queen taking your head because you put your hands on her heir.

As you followed the Ser Erryk to the Queen’s study, you wondered how she would end your life. Make Silverwing eat you alive? Burn you? Take your head with a sword? All the options made your insides crawl, and you tried to form some sort of coherent apology in your head, but not a single one seemed sufficient.

As you paused in the door way of the study, Ser Erryk announced you, before leaving. You curtsied, your head low. Queen Rhaenyra gave you a smile, extending her hand to the empty chair in front of her.

“Please, sit.”

Her behavior confused you, you had imagined her angry, furious even. Maybe she was trying to lull you into a false sense of security before putting you in chains. Nervously, you took a seat, dropping your hands in your lap.

“How have you been faring?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice soft. “I couldn’t help but notice you have withdrawn yourself to the chambers.”

You bit down on your lips, unsure on what to say; you knew it was rude not to speak when asked a question, especially by the queen, and you were desperately trying to come up with words, any at this point, but your mind was blank.

“I thought you would be dragonback. Jace has told me you have a formidable connection to Silverwing.”

Your eyes snapped up at her words, your blood chilling.

“He has?”

Was that before or after you slapped him?

Rhanyra smiled at you, her eyes crinkling. “You sound surprised.”

“I just…” you paused, struggling to find the right words to convey what you were trying to say without outright insulting her heir. But Rhaenyra only chuckled, giving a slight nod, understanding.

“He has been rude to you, hasn’t he?”

You lifted your eyes to meet her gaze, your silence answer enough and Rhaenyra sighed softly, laying her hand on yours.

“I hope you can excuse the Prince’s unwelcoming behavior. The war is a heavy toll and he has taken it upon himself to shoulder most of the responsibilities.”

Your lips parted in surprise and you leaned back in your chair, giving a demure nod.

“Of course your Grace,” you said softly. “I cannot imagine what the Prince has been going through”

“I hope his words will not hold you back from further strengthening the bond with your mount,” Rhaenyra continued. “It is of utmost importance that you study as much of what the grandmaester can teach you.”

Ducking your head, you nodded and Rhaenyra pulled her hand back, effectively dismissing you. The chair scraped against the stone floor as you stood and Rhaenyra turned from you to look outside, the skies blue.

“I have been told this time of day is perfect for riding.”

You curtsied, your fingers gripping the soft fabric of your dress as you exited the study, suddenly energized after having talked to the Queen. Your feet automatically carried you back into your chambers, but instead of returning to wallowing, you pulled your riding gear out of the closet, unlacing your dress. With quick strides, you walked down to the dragonmount and within moments, you were on Silverwing’s back, soaring through the air.

The wind in your hair was exhilarating, just as you had imagined, and it seemed like all the burden was lifting off your shoulders the longer you were in the skies. You leaned down, brushing your gloved hands against Silverwing’s neck when she let out a snarl, suddenly changing her directions. Puzzled, you peered forward, trying to see what caught her attentions when you saw a smaller dragon at the edge of the island of Driftmark. Its scales were green, a burnt orange and your chest tightened a little when you recognized it as Vermax, Jacaerys’ mount. Letting out a small sigh, you tightened Silverwing’s reigns, pushing your legs into her side, urging her downwards. Before long, Silverwing landed on the soft grass, spreading her wings so you could climb down. Your landing on the ground was anything but graceful, still not quite used to getting off tall heights but if Jacaerys had noticed, he had the courtesy not to comment on it.

Tugging your gloves off, you slowly approached Jacaerys. He was overlooking the harbor of Driftmark. You had never seen it so crowded, with ships and people alike. Nervously, you glanced over to him. Apologies had never come easy to you.

“Good day to ride.”

You regretted your words as soon as they passed your lips, wincing. Out of every words you knew, you chose to say that? Jacaerys shifted on his feet next to you, turning his head slightly.

“Aye.”

He did not speak more, but you found yourself unable to blame him. You just struck him across the face a day ago and now you were talking about the weather? Behind you, Silverwing was growing restless, stretching her wings with a whine as Vermax eyed her, letting out a rumbling growl. An uncomfortable silence settled over you and Jacaerys, and you wrung your hands.

“I was out of line-“ “I apologize for-“

The both of you started at the same time, before stopping again. Your eyes met his briefly, your cheeks flushing.

“Please, you go ahead,” you said quickly him but Jacaerys shook his head.

“No, I fell into your word.”

“I insist, my Prince.”

Jacaerys paused at the honorific, before he nodded, his gaze trained at the ground. He let out a deep breath, raising his head again. “I am sorry for lashing out at you. I regret my words deeply. They came from a place of anger, not honesty.”

You blinked at him, stunned. An apology was the last thing you had expected to come out of the Prince’s mouth. He had no reason to apologize to you, you were of lower rank. Something you had thought he would hold over you.

“Anger… Towards me?”

Jacaerys laughed dryly, shaking his head. “Not truly, no… You had no hand in your parentage, I cannot fault you for that,” he paused, turning his head away, blinking quickly. “And I cannot fault myself for that, either.”

He seemed lost in thought, and you weren’t quite sure what he was insinuating, but you decided against pressing the matter. The atmosphere was still fragile, you didn’t want to risk overstepping.

“I am sorry I struck you,” you said, glancing at him. The cheek you had struck still bore a faint red, which was not surprising, as Jacaerys had fairly pale skin, apart from the small freckles dusted across his nose. He was quite beautiful when he wasn’t yelling at you.

“Oh,” Jacaerys chuckled, his finger brushing over his cheek, like he had forgotten about it. “I guess I deserved that. I called you some… Less than savory things.”

“Still… I’m sorry.”

“You have the temper of a dragon.”

You couldn’t help but blurt out a laugh, quickly covering your mouth. Jacaerys gave you a boyish grin, so different to the Prince you had met the day before.

This.

This is who you had been expecting.

“I could say the same about you.”

“I guess fire and blood runs through both of our veins,” Jacaerys said and you glanced at him, a look of understanding passing through the both of you, your dragons behind you settling down.

“Lykirī, not lykiri.”

“That’s what I said.”

You were sitting on the floor of the library, your back leaning against the bookshelf. Several books on High Valyrian were scattered on the floor around you and if Grandmaester Gerardys were here, he’d keel over and die immediately.

But he wasn’t here. It was just Jace.

Jace.

It was maddening to think that only a moon turn ago you had struck him across the face and now you were sitting together like old friends.

“That is not what you said and you know it,” Jace mused, his hair falling into his eyes as he leaned over a book, before handing it over to you. “Here.”

Your finger tips brushed when you took the book from him and you try to not let it affect you as much as you poured over the book, even thought it felt like his touch left a scorching mark on your skin.

It would be most unwise to let affection distract you, least of all now and least of all for someone like him. Who knew what may come to pass by the next moon or even the morrow? Even if the war’s end should come, the Queen would never allow you near him. You may serve as one of her dragonriders, but you were far from worthy to even be considered as the lady wife of her heir.

“Lyckiri,” you tried again and Jace groaned, leaning his head back against the wall.

“That was worse than before!”

“Ugh,” you whined, closing the massive book with a thud. “I have been studying since we broke fast this morning. I am unable to learn any more words.”

“Do you want to go for a walk?”

“Is that allowed?” you asked and Jace only quirked a grin at you, getting to his feet.

“I’m the crown prince,” he replied, offering you his hand. “Surely no one would take issue with me?”

Rolling your eyes, you took his hand, letting him help you up. The two of you languidly walked outside the library and you could feel the tension seeping from your limbs as soon as the first rays of sunshine hit your skin. You let out a soft sigh, your eyes fluttering shut and you stretched your arms out. Jace was chuckling next to you, and when you peered an eye open at him, he was watching you bemusedly.

“Feeling better?”

“Much,” you sighed softly, wiggling your fingers at him. “You cannot tell me you don’t enjoy the sun and the fresh air, my Prince.”

He quirked a grin at you, dipping his head. “You don’t have to be so formal when it is just the two of us,” he said gently. “You can call me by my given name, if you wish.”

“Me, a low born calling the crown Prince by his given name? What would the council think?” you jested and Jace snorted, very unprincely.

“But,” you started, your voice softer. “Thank you, Jace.”

Jace smiled at youtaking a breath, before exhaling.

“Listen-“

“… is that a dragon?”

Jace whirled around into the direction you were facing, peering into the sky. The sun was shining directly into your eyes, and you squinted them, surely it cannot be a dragon. It was too small. Beside you, Jace blanched, the color draining out of his face.

“That’s Stormcloud. Aegon’s dragon.”

The small dragon seemed exhausted, his wings flapping slowly in the air, almost as if it was dragging itself to the earth of the island, until it finally landed, the small boy ontop of him clambering down. His hair was a stark blonde, one of Jace’s younger brothers.

“Jace!”

“Aegon?”

Jace sprinted towards his younger brother, who met him halfway, taking the boy into his arms.

“What happened? Where’s Viserys?”

Aegon’s eyes filled with tears, and he was tripping over his words as he tried to explain. Your heart ached for him.

“There were ships. They attacked us. I only managed to flee because of Stormcloud. Viserys-“

The blonde boy hid his face in his chest, his small body racking with sobs and Jace wrapped his arms tightly around his brother, his wide eyes flickering to you.

“I-“

“Go,” you urged him. “You have to find your mother.”

With a curt nod, though hesitant, Jace walked back into the Keep with his brother in his arms, leaving you standing in the grass while the dragonkeepers took care of Stormcloud, who seemed content enough to curl up on the warm grass. You didn’t want to imagine what the young dragon and his rider had been through, Aegon seemed inconsolable.

It was much later when you found Jace again, his shoulders tense and his strides quick. His forehead was creased in a frown, his eyes unfocused, so much that he jumped when you touched his arm gently.

“Is everything alright?” you asked him, voice soft.

Jace shook his head, his face pained, eyes wet with unshed tears.

“The Triarchy. Their fleet attacked the ship Aegon and Viserys were on while they were traveling on the Gullet. They have Viserys.”

“What?”

Jace sniffed, turning away from you, his head held high. You wanted to offer him comfort, at the same time, you didn’t want to overstep, so you wrapped your arms around yourself, letting Jace compose himself. He exhaled deeply, before letting out an annoyed growl, shaking his head.

“I have to go.”

Go?

“You can’t possibly mean the Gullet.”

“What else would I mean?” Jace snapped at you; and for the first time since you have made up with him, he reminded you of the Prince that had made you feel so small in the beginning. You knew his anger wasn’t directed at you, but you took a step back, mostly out of impulse. Jace took notice, sighing softly and his shoulders deflated.

“I’m sorry. I did not mean to raise my voice at you,” he said quietly. You nodded, swallowing thickly, freezing when Jace reached out to take your hands.

“There has to be something I can do. It’s my brother,” He said, his voice breaking and his grip tightened briefly. “I can’t lose another.”

“What if I go?” you blurted out; Jace looked appalled at your suggestion. You paused, before sighing. “Me and the other dragonseeds. We should go.”

Your own words terrified you, even though you knew it was the smartest decision. Neither Rhaenyra nor Jace could go, the future of the realm laid on their shoulders. You and the other dragonriders were expendable and you knew that, but Jace still seemed hesitant.

“Let me go. I’m sure her Grace will agree,” you said, squeezing his hand. “I’m merely a tool in a war I have no control over, remember?”

Jace couldn’t help but let out a laugh at you using his own words against him, shaking his head.

“This is why her Grace brought us in, let us do this.”

You knew you had persuaded him already, his eyes downcast, focused on your hands.

“You can’t even say lykirī.”

His voice was quiet when he spoke again, but there was a faint smile on his lips, so you rolled your eyes with a laugh.

“Lykirī,” you said, the word suddenly rolling off your tongue easily. “You happy now?”

Jace agreed reluctantly with a small nod, and you squeezed his hand one last time, before letting go, your skin missing the warmth his hands were providing.

“Be careful, don’t fly too low,” Rhaenyra said, her arms clasped. Her voice was even, but you could tell that she was tense, fearing for her son’s life. “I am grateful for your service.”

She looked at all the dragonseeds, before nodding her head, turning on her heel to leave the dragonmount, but Jace lingered behind. Addam was the first to mount Seasmoke, then Hugh. As the dragonkeepers beckoned you forward, you called out for Silverwing. You glanced back at Jace, who was already looking at you and you swallowed thickly, pressing your lips together. What if this was the last time you’d ever get to see him?

Silverwing let out a small grumble as she settled against the dock. You took a step towards her, hesitantly, before you turned on your heel, running towards Jace.

“What’s wro-?”

He didn’t get the chance to finish his words as you cut him off by pressing your lips against his and he stilled in shock before he wrapped his arms around you, deepening the kiss. Silverwing let out a deafening growl and you pulled away, your cheeks red.

“I-”

“Don’t,” Jace said, inhaling sharply. “Tell me when you come back.”

You wanted to protest, but the look on his face made you swallowed your words. With a last squeeze of his hand you stepped away from him, mounting Silverwing.

“Lykirī, Silverwing,” you said gently, as she whined softly. “I’m sorry. Soves.”

Silverwing flew out of the dragonmount, and you barely managed to catch one last glimpse of Jace before you were in the skies, joining Hugh and Addam, the latter taking the lead. Despite riding the fiercest creatures on earth, you couldn’t help but feel dread all over. It didn’t ease the closer you got to Gullet, but you tried to stay strong as the cold winds whipped you in the face. Your stomach dropped when the clouds dissipated over the Gullet, revealing an entire fleet of hostile ships across the ocean.

Seven hells, you thought, your breath stocking in your throat, I should’ve told him.

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author’s note: sorry for the ambiguous ending😔pls leave some kindhearted feedback 🫵🏼🩵

[im-am-not-a-weenie]

🍓playing with their hair for the first time

Writing bg3 hc Now! Will also still be doing rdr2 a/n at the bottom for more info! spelling errors

Gn Reader

Gale, astarion,halsin,

Establish relationships

🍓Gale

You see Gale sitting all alone enjoying a good book. He always looked cute when he was enjoying what he was reading, he looked so concentrated and expressive

You couldn’t help but walk over to the wizard. “Mind if I join you?”. He smiled and patted the ground beside him “Of course, what’s better than a good book? Good company to share it with”

You sat down and made yourself comfortable ” What are you reading” You looked curiously over at the book in the wizard's hands. “Ah, It’s nothing really, just another tail of dragons and knights. I could read it aloud if you wish?”

He looked a bit nervous “On second thought you’ve probably grown tired of hearing my voice”. You gave his arm a reassuring squeeze “Never”

You laid back, Gale didn’t look very comfortable, being hunched over “Here,” you said sweetly and pulled him down so his head was on your lap “Better?” He looked a little stiff but quickly regained his composure “Yes, yes it’s quite nice”

As He started to read Your hand absentmindedly went to his hair, and your fingers started to card through his brown locks, you felt him tense but then relax back into it

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back listening to him read, but after a long you heard him trail off, opening one of your eyes to peek at him you could see he was starting to doze

With a smile, you gently took the book out of his hands “Huh?” He opened his eyes to look at you. ”you were falling asleep” your hand still in his hair

“Could You…could you maybe keep doing that?” Gale mutters sheepishly. You just laughed softly and smiled

That night Gale fell asleep with a smile on his face and your hands in his hair

🍓astarion

The party decided it would be best to stay at a tavern that night, treating themselves and of course, astarion headed straight towards where the bath was located

It had been an hour and still no sign of him, getting a tad bit worried you decided to go check on him, you knocked on the door softly “Star? Are you alright in there?” You were met with a muffled “Yes darling quite alright”

After a few minutes you hesitantly “Can…can I come in?" he automatically responded with a "Yes darling"

as you opened the door thick clouds of steam poured out. "hurry my love, we wouldn't want it to get cold in here now would we?" astarion was sitting in a bath you could only assume was boiling hot water "Star, how hot is that bath? your skin is red" he waved off your concern

"now what did you need?" his eyebrow raised in curiosity. "I was hoping to join you honestly" his expression dropped as he opened his mouth to speak but then closed it

"You can say no" your voice filled with nothing but love and encouragement. he hesitates for a moment before finally saying "It's just I don't believe the tub would be big enough for us both that's all" he flashed you a charming smile. you knew there was a deeper reason but didn't push

"i was actually thinking of just sitting in here with you. Would that be ok?' he looked taken aback "You just wish to sit here with me that's all?" you gave a nod "Well I mean who wouldn't want to sit here and marvel at my beauty, go ahead"

as he reached for the soap you beat him to it "Here let me." pouring a generous amount of soap into your hands, making your way behind him, first lathering the soap in your hands before sinking them into his hair

"What are you doing?" his body tensed up slightly. "washing your hair what does it look like" teased him with a sweet voice as your fingers gently massaged his head. "I get that darling but why?" his voice sounded unsure, not used to non-sexual intimacy.

"Because I love you, and you deserve to get pampered" his breath caught in his throat and quickly cleared it "Of course I do, I'm glad we're on the same page." you gave him a small laugh as you kept washing his hair, he closed his eyes and lent back into your hands. you swear you could hear him purring

you both sat in comfortable silence until he softly said "I love you too" You could hear the faint smile on his lips without having to see it

🍓Halsin

this morning was a rare morning, not only did you wake up early voluntarily, but you woke before Halsin which never happened. (to be fair he just got back from a long and exhausting journey but still!)

waking up feeling warm. not sure if it was because of how the sun was hitting your face or because of the giant man holding you close to him

your eyes fluttered open and you were met with the sight of a sleeping Halsin. he looked peaceful. the sun made him look radiant, glowing almost, as his chest rose and fell with a steady rhythm. something else caught your eye. he had his hair down

yes his hair was always down but it was always pulled back, but this morning it sprawled messily over his pillow, and a couple stray strands laid on his face. you couldn't help but reach out and brush it away

his eyebrows frowned before he quietly spoke "Your hands are cold" You quickly retracted your hand. "sorry" you whispered back, Halsins eyes opened slolwy. blinking away the sleep, he smiled and grabbed your hand and placed it back on his cheek, and kissed the palm of your hand. "it's ok my heart"

you could feel your face heat up all you could do was smile dumbly "It's down" was all you said and tucked a few more pieces behind his ear. "does it bother you my heart?' you shook your head, all too eager to see the druid with his hair down. "no, I like it"

running your hand through his usually well-kept hair. "how is it so soft" you wondered out loud, Halsin just chuckled and let you have your fun.

he let out a content sigh. "awfully affectionate this morning. not that I mind" his lips pressed against your forehead. "Is something the matter?"

"no, I just missed my bear that's all" You studied his face, taking in every detail. "I think I finally understand the whole "appreciate nature's gift" thing." the druid just laughed warmly and shook his head fondly

the two of you spent all morning like that. his arms wrapped around you and you playing with his hair

🍓A/N

hey guys im back! so much as happened i graduated and im 19 now? life has been crazy!! i know this is different from my usual content but playing baulders gate gave me inspiration to write again. dont worry i will still take requests for RDR2 but i will also be writing for BG3. With that said im cleaning out my inbox so if you see your request finally go through a year later.............🤷‍♀️. i will also be taking BG3 requests. i did astarion, gale, and halsin i think i can write them comfortably. but do not be scared to request other characters if you really wanna see me write for them or have a really specific scenario in mind. i will also try to post every other Wednesday

love yall and thx for the support <3

[two-white-butterflies]

love by listening | daemon targaryen

Description: Daemon Targaryen goes rogue after his wedding to Lady Rhea Royce, unwilling to consummate the marriage. He finds peace in a Dornish tavern. You meet him in said tavern, and quickly become close friends. You share an adventure. Both unaware that the other person is nobility.

graphics from @saradika-graphics

Pairing: princess of dorne!reader/daemon targaryen

Warning: brief making love (not sex, making love)

A/N: I wanted it to give Dunk and Egg vibes. Reader is bubbly and talkative/has her own ambitions. She does what she wants bcs she's all about that high life. Set in Dorne + young daemon targaryen. open ending.

Daemon didn't believe in gods. He doesn't care about the punishment he'll be given after this. A few hours ago, he was forced to go through the wedding with Lady Rhea Royce. In his opinion, she was not an attractive bride. She was lucky to have come from nobility for she had a basic peasant bitch face.

Despite her odd looks, benevolent Daemon still went through with the marriage. He held his tongue, wanted to make his brother proud - but then they started talking about the bedding ceremony, and Daemon knew that he had to get the hell away from there.

Where did that bring him?

To Caraxes, to flying towards Dorne - and drinking inside of a tavern.

"It's the first time I've seen a foreigner in these parts." your voice breaks him free from his thoughts. He was about to swat you away, but a single look at your face changed his mind.

Beautiful.

There were a lot of pretty maidens in Dorne - but you were one of the most beautiful ones so far. "I did not bring any gold." he warned, under the impression that you were a whore. "Gods, I have no intention of fucking you." you lied, quickly sitting beside him.

"The first time I saw a cock. It was disgusting. I actually vowed to only fuck women after that." you smiled at the memory. Reaching for his ale, and taking a drink of it. "- I suppose I never upheld that promise. Women are beautiful but we are too wet for my taste. Men are just lovely and dry, and they are easier to toy with." you giggle.

He could smell the alcohol on your breath.

You were the first maiden he's seen to speak in that manner. He wonders if the maidens back home are like this too, if it weren't for archaic beliefs silencing their true thoughts. Dorne was a magical fucking place. It was how the rest of the six kingdoms needed to be.

"Why are you talking to me?" he asks, his face stoic just in case you had some tricks up your sleeve.

"Well, you are alone." you pointed out. "- and I am alone. Shouldn't two vagabonds protect each other?" you tilted your head.

"What makes you think that I am alone?" he inquires.

"I've been watching you for quite some time now, love. Are you going to give me your name?" you asked in return, continuing to stare deep into his purple eyes - drawing him closer like a siren to the waves. "I'd like to remain an enigma." he answers, matching your mysteriousness.

He finds himself hypnotized by your eyes. Eyes that were lined with kohl. "I won't share my name too, to be fair." you smiled, and now his attention was drawn towards your lips. Stained red with rouge.

The tension between you was palpable. He felt like a moth to a flame. Allured by this beautiful fire. Leaving only one question in his head: will he burn? Fire cannot harm a dragon. He reminds.

His hands reached for the small of your waist. A sudden boldness. He plays with the textured embroidery of your tunic. Pulling you closer to his body, until you were almost sitting on his lap.

"What will I call you?" he frowned, teasing you.

"Think of something witty." you insisted, fingers dancing along the details of his clothed tunic.

"Gevives, then." he settles on a suitable name. "I am relieved that you find me beautiful, love." you laugh, hands trailing upwards to his collar - pulling him closer until your lips were bridged together.

He melts into the kiss, hands firmly wrapped around your waist. He'd be so easy to poison. But alas, you weren't here to kill him.

He presses you against your bed - the first time he's felt lust in a while. If this was going to be a one-time thing, then he'll be thinking about you until the day he died. He's already placed this encounter in his three best fucks. The way that you looked beneath him, he can almost see himself thirty years later still jerking off to you.

You are fucking beautiful.

Naked - and vulnerable against him.

His hands danced along the curve of your waist, delighted at the smoothness of your skin. You reach for his face, cupping his cheek tenderly - staring at him with fascination. "You are so beautiful, like an illusion." you whispered in a voice that makes him want to sleep.

He positions his member at the entrance of your core.

"So good," you cooed - feeling him begin to thrust. You continued staring at each other, that connection remained unbreakable. "Keep going," you whispered, he couldn't help but smile. So talkative, even when making sweet love. "Gevie," he smiles.

Daemon wakes up to the feeling of light on his exposed skin. He lets out a yawn, rubbing his eyes so it adjusts to the brightness of the room quicker. He takes a deep breath - as he remembers what happened last night.

Last night, he fucked a goddess.

He turns to look at your sleeping form.

Beautiful even when sleeping, he thought.

He was thankful that he commanded Caraxes to return to the Red Keep.

He had no responsibility. None but you.

"Good morrow," you greeted, voice still hoarse from last night. "Good morrow," he responds, wrapping his arms around your waist. This type of touch was foreign to him. He's never wrapped his arms around someone after making love.

It felt domestic. Like how marriage was supposed to be.

"I suppose this is where our paths diverge." he says, unwilling to sound needy. But in actuality, he never wants to leave. He wants to stay like this forever. Inside of an inn, with his arms wrapped around the most beautiful woman in the world.

"Not so soon. I think we should still walk together." you hum, pulling him closer to your body until he was laying on your chest.

"I've made the observation that you have a lot of time on your hands." you breathed, his ears pressed against your chest - listening to your heartbeat.

"Your observation is correct." he confirms.

He had the face of a dangerous man. It was a risk to be in a stranger's company, but your heart told you that he could be trusted. He felt like you - exactly like you.

You kept staring at his body. His toned muscles and broad shoulder. "Are you a knight?" you asked, reminded of the tourney in Starfall.

"I am," he answers truthfully, praying that it was something that you liked about men.

"There is a tournament in Starfall. The prize is a dragon egg." you informed, mind already focused towards the next adventure.

"I shall win a dragon egg for you, then." he announces. He finds no harm in having a little adventure with a maiden. He has won all the tourneys he's attended, after all. "Really? I wanted to steal it." you say.

He responds with a chuckle, pushing a strand of your hair away from your face. How dare you steal his heart. "Why steal it when you can have it fair and square?" he asked teasingly.

You continued staring at his face, a look that was indescribable. "I like the sound of that," you smile - pressing a kiss to his jaw.

Ashara's lips pressed into a thin line. "What god has possessed you to bring a man inside of Starfall?" she scolded, leading you and Daemon towards a secluded part of the tourney. "He is my paramour." you announce, your grip remains firm on his hand.

"Your father will kill him." she says plainly. "- a Targaryen bastard, a scandal waiting to emerge." she scoffs.

Daemon's expression softens, quickly turning into amusement.

Do they all believe me to be a bastard? Apologies, I am legitimate, he thinks, but he decides to bite those words back, lest he be sent back to the Red Keep.

"I did not come here as my father's daughter. I came here under a disguise." you reminded, pulling the grey hood up until it was hiding your face. "You shouldn't have come here, anyways. You'll get me into trouble with mine own father." she glared at you.

"I'm sorry Ashara but we won't be bothering you. We merely want to join the tourney and win the dragon-egg." you say out loud, but she silences you with a finger to your lips.

"The prize remains a mystery to those in the audience. Only the competitors truly know. The Targaryens will be furious, we will be answered with fire and blood." Ashara reminds and you nod silently.

"- I'm sorry, I'll stay out of your way. I promise. Now, can you please lead us to the tents?" you ask and the other woman nods, pointing at the white tents in the far distance.

"Thank you," you smile politely - still holding his hand and dragging him to the direction of the other knights.

You paid a squire a decent amount of money to use their armor. Daemon was quick to wear it, but he still missed his sword. The Dark Sister, previously wielded by Queen Visenya. "I've never fought against this much Dornish men before." he breathes.

He had his experience fighting a few of them. They were good warriors, though not good enough to defeat him. "We fight like rattlesnakes, that's what my father always says." you say, placing the last piece of his armor on his body.

"You haven't been here for that long, huh?" you made another observation, and he nods. Though he still keeps his identity a secret.

"I grew up in Kingslanding. My mother died giving birth, and my father died of a burst belly." he chuckles - laughing his sorrows away.

"Prince Baelon is your father." you say with certainty, piecing the information together. "- he would've made a wonderful King." you add, basing off the stories that your father shared.

"I think it is your turn to speak about your past, gevives. And I've spent enough time around you to understand that you aren't lowborn." he urges while adjusting his straps.

"How did you come to that understanding?" you inquired, curious of his way of thinking.

His hands danced along your exposed arm.

"Your skin is smooth like silk." he says, like he was praying. His hands trailed upwards, until his fingers were on your chin. "- and you take good care of your beauty." he finishes - and he stops touching you.

"My father is a nobleman. I am his youngest child, the only daughter after six boys. Which means that I've been exposed to leeches using me ever since I was born. I ran away from them. I can't trust anyone, but I think I can trust you." you reveal pieces of your past to him, unwilling to give him the full information.

He was the first person that called you beautiful without knowledge of your vast fortune. And now he was here, promising to win a tourney just so you'd see a dragon-egg for the first time.

"Six brothers, like the princess of dorne." he teases.

"Mhm," you hummed - freezing.

"Ser, get ready." a squire peeks his head through the tent. Daemon stands up, and offers his hand for you take - helping you stand up.

"Thank you," you smile, regaining your composure.

"I promise to win, my lady." he places a kiss on the back of your hand.

Daemon won the tourney with ease, any knight that dared to fight against him didn't even last five minutes. All of his fights ended the same. He'd strike them down, the opponent would be on the ground and Daemon would only look to the next competitor.

You continued watching him.

Observing every little thing that he's doing. It was evident that there was a piece of the puzzle that you haven't solved yet. A knight as skilled as him should be renowned, and yet the only information you have on him - is that he is the bastard son of Prince Baelon.

He was an interesting mystery.

"The winner of our tourney, Ser..." Ashara rises, only beginning to realize that none of them knew the name of this skilled knight. Your best friend turns to look at you, but you answer with a shrug. It was a little game between you and Daemon - neither one knowing that the other one's real name is.

"Ser Daemon," he opened his mouth - meeting your gaze.

He added the last piece of the puzzle, and your face was struck with eureka. Prince Daemon Targaryen, you thought immediately. "Congratulations, Ser Daemon. Please claim your prize behind the tents." Ashara nodded.

"The audience was complaining, the tourney wasn't entertaining for them." you open the conversation, stepping foot inside of the tent. "I suppose it isn't entertaining when only one person wins." you smirk.

He holds the dragon-egg in his hands. "I promised that I'd win." he answers, patting the empty space beside him. "Here's your dragon-egg, my lady." he chuckles. You gladly sit beside him, laying your head on his shoulder and marveling at the beauty of the egg.

"You are Prince Daemon Targaryen." you announced, confirming your previous suspicions. "I am," he finds himself unable to lie.

"- I think it is only fair that I know your name too, my lady." he adds.

An amused smile paints your lips.

"I am Princess (Your Name) Martell. I can't believe that we meet under these circumstances." you laugh.

A prince and a princess meeting inside of a tavern instead of a castle. Even beginning to fall in love without the pressure of their respective kingdoms. It was something out of a fable.

Daemon reaches for your hand, placing it on top of the dragon-egg. "It is an honor to meet you, my princess." he acknowledges.

[dragons-and-handcuffs]

Pirate!Aemond x Mermaid!Reader

While trying to get out of a deadly sea storm Aemond noticed something, or someone, the is far more valuable than any treasure Pirate AU/Mermaid AU

The storm howls around the large vessel, a monstrous force of nature that seeks to swallow the ship whole. The winds tear at the sails, whipping them into wild tatters as rain lashes down in relentless sheets. The sky is an inky void, lit only by the occasional flash of lightning that illuminates the chaos for a fleeting moment before plunging everything back into darkness.

Aemond stands at the helm, feet braced wide on the slick deck, his hands gripping the wheel with a vice-like hold. His eye gleams with a fierce determination, undaunted by the fury of the storm. He has faced dangers before—pirate hunters, rival crews, even the occasional sea monster—but nothing like this. This storm is unlike any other, a tempest that feels almost alive, as if the sea itself has risen against him.

“Hold fast!” he roars to his crew, his voice a sharp command that cuts through the din. “We’ll not be taken by the sea tonight!”

The men scramble to obey, their movements frantic but practiced, something they’ve performed many times under his command. They trust him—how could they not? Aemond Targaryen is the most feared pirate on the seas, a man who has carved his legend with blood and fire. His ship, the War Dragon, is the largest and most formidable vessel to sail these waters, its black sails a herald of doom wherever it goes.

But even legends can fall to the sea’s wrath.

A sudden wave, massive and unforgiving, crashes against the side of the ship, sending it lurching dangerously to one side. Aemond grits his teeth, fighting to keep the ship on course, but the wave is relentless, slamming into him with enough force to rip his grip from the wheel. He’s thrown back, his body hitting the deck hard, the breath knocked from his lungs.

For a heartbeat, he lies there, dazed, the world a blur of water and darkness. Then he hears it—a sound that shouldn’t be there, a haunting melody that rises above the roar of the storm. It’s beautiful, otherworldly, a siren’s song that calls to something deep within him.

Aemond forces himself to his feet, staggering to the edge of the deck. His eye scans the churning waters, searching for the source of the sound. And then he sees it.

Her.

Amidst the frothing waves, a figure moves with a grace that defies the chaos around her. She is breathtaking, with long hair that flows like liquid moonlight, and scales that shimmer in every color of the ocean, catching the flashes of lightning and turning them into something otherworldly. Her eyes, deep and mysterious, lock onto his, and in that moment, time seems to stop.

Aemond can’t look away. He’s heard the tales of mermaids, whispered in taverns and around campfires, but he never believed them. And yet, here she is, a myth, a vision of beauty and danger, her gaze holding him captive as surely as chains.

The ship lurches again, snapping him out of his trance. He stumbles, barely catching himself before he’s pitched overboard. The mermaid vanishes beneath the waves, but her image is burned into his mind, as vivid and unforgettable as the storm itself.

“Captain!” one of the crew shouts, desperation clear in his voice. “We need you!”

Aemond tears his gaze away from the water, forcing himself to focus. The storm isn’t over, and his ship—his men—need him. He grabs the wheel, wrenching it with all his strength, guiding the ship through the tempest with a skill born of years at sea.

It feels like an eternity, but eventually, the storm begins to abate. The winds die down, the waves calm, and the sky lightens with the first hints of dawn. The War Dragon, battered but still afloat, emerges from the storm’s grip, the crew slumping in exhausted relief.

But Aemond’s mind is elsewhere. As the ship sails into calmer waters, his thoughts are consumed by the mermaid, her face a haunting echo that refuses to fade. He should be thinking of treasure, of the riches that await him at their next port, but all he can think about is her.

He knows what he has to do.

“Change course,” he orders, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest. “We’re heading south.”

The crew exchanges puzzled glances, but they know better than to question him. They nod and move to obey, setting a new course without hesitation. They don’t ask why, and Aemond doesn’t explain. How could he? How could he put into words the pull he feels, the irresistible urge to find her again?

As the War Dragon sails away from the storm, Aemond stands at the helm, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The sea is vast, full of mysteries and dangers, but he has never been one to shy away from the unknown.

He is a man who takes what he wants, and now, more than anything, he wants her. The mermaid, the myth made real, the beautiful creature who nearly cost him his life. He will find her, whatever it takes.

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Dragon Blood

Chapter 4: You claim a dragon! But as luck would have it, you are found and dragged back to Rhaenyra's court, where Jace is assigned as your mentor in dragon riding.

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Dragonseed (f) reader

The weeks had slipped by, and you found yourself settling into your new life in the Reach. The tavern was busy, townsfolk were generous enough, and the pastor's lessons had become a happy spot in your days. The books he lent you filled your mind with new knowledge— of dragons and their riders.

And yet, no matter how content you tried to be, there was a part of you that always seemed to drift back to Dragonstone, back to the sharp blue eyes of a certain prince.

One afternoon, while running an errand for the tavern, you ventured further than usual, the path winding through a dense forest.

There was a shift in the air that made you stop in your tracks. The forest had gone eerily silent. No birds, no wind, nothing.

You took a careful step forward, your heart beginning to pound in your chest. And that’s when you saw it.

A massive, scaled form lay in a clearing just off the path, hidden among the tall grass and trees. Its body was the color of the night sky, dark blue. The dragon was still, its great head resting on its wings, its eyes closed as if in deep sleep.

You stepped on a pebble, and the sound was too loud. The dragon’s eyes snapped open—huge, molten gold orbs that fixed on you.

You froze, unsure whether to run or stand your ground. Every tale you had read, every nightmare about Vermithor came rushing back.

But the dragon did not roar or take to the skies. Instead, it watched you, its gaze unblinking and oddly calm.

Slowly, you took a step forward, your hand reaching out. The dragon’s eyes followed your every movement, but it remained still, almost... curious. You were close enough now to feel the heat radiating off its body, to see the intricate patterns of scales, each as large as your hand.

"You're beautiful," you whispered, voice barely audible over the sound of the wind in the trees. The dragon's eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, you could have sworn it understood.

You knelt in the grass, your heart still hammering, and for a moment, it was just you and the dragon in the world. You felt its bond in your veins.

After what felt like an eternity, you slowly stood, your gaze never leaving the dragon’s. It didn’t move, didn’t make a sound as you backed away, your footsteps careful and measured. Only when you were well out of sight did you finally turn and run, your heart racing not from fear, but from exhilaration.

As you made your way back to the tavern, the encounter played over and over in your mind. You couldn’t help but feel that the dragon had recognized you.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The visits continued, each one bringing you closer, the bond between the two of you growing stronger. You would bring food, a fish you'd stash away from your own rations from that day's batch and the dragon would accept it, allowing you to sit by its side, to pet it, to feel the heat of its breath. Occasionally, the dragon would growl, below, or hum. It was as if the dragon was trying to communicate, to reciprocate to you.

You returned to the familiar spot in the forest, a small basket of fruit in hand. Each time you visited the dragon, it felt like entering another world, one where you weren't just a lowly servant but something more—something awesome.

But today, the clearing was empty.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows through the trees. You looked around the area, waiting for the familiar rush of wind, the shadow that signaled the dragon’s arrival. But none came. The clearing remained still and silent.

You walked around the perimeter, softly calling “zaldrīzes” the High Valyrian word for dragon you had read in the pastor's books. But there was no answer, only the rustling of leaves from your scraped up boots. You waited for hours, growing more anxious with each passing minute.

Eventually, as the light began to fade, you sighed in defeat. Perhaps the dragon had found better hunting grounds, or maybe it had simply tired of your company. You picked up your basket and turned to leave, feeling a pang of disappointment as you made your way back through the woods.

The journey home was uneventful, your thoughts lost in worry over the dragon’s absence. The town was quiet when you arrived, the streets nearly empty as the sun had set. As you walked down a narrow alley toward the tavern where you worked, a sense of unease crept up your spine.

You tried to walk faster, but it was too late. A group of men stepped into your path. They were rough-looking, with dirty faces and the smell of ale on their breath. Bandits.

“Where’re you off to in such a hurry, pretty girl?” one of them asked, his eyes raking over you with an ugly grin.

You clutched your basket to your chest. “I have no money,”

Another one, taller than the first, chuckled. “We’re not interested in your money, pretty girl. But you... now, you’re a different story.”

They closed in around you, their hands reaching out to grab at you. Panic surged through you as you tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. Your mind raced, searching for a way out, but all you could think to do was scream.

“Help!” You screamed desperately.

The men laughed, mocking your fear. “Scream all you want, little girl. No one’s coming for you.”

A deafening roar split the air. The sound was so powerful that it shook the ground beneath your feet, sending the bandits stumbling in shock. You looked up just in time to see a massive shadow descending from the sky—a dragon, your dragon.

With a mighty sweep of its wings, the dragon landed on the two rooftops framing the alleyway, its jaws snapping with a terrifying snarl. The bandits cried in terror, scrambling to get away as the dragon unleashed a strong of flames.

The men tried to run, but the dragon was on them in an instant, its claws tearing through them with ease. You stood frozen, unable to look away as the beast defended you with a ferocity you had never imagined.

The dragon turned to you, its eyes glowing with an intense, primal light. You trembled under its gaze, your heart racing as it lowered its head to meet your eyes.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The dragon huffed, a puff of smoke escaping its nostrils as if to say it was nothing. You couldn’t help but smile, a sense of awe and gratitude swelling in your chest. You reached out to touch the dragon’s snout, your fingers brushing against its warm, leathery skin.

The sound of footsteps reached your ears. You turned to see a figure emerging from the trees—a knight, his armor gleaming shining in the light of the fire.

His eyes widened as he took in the sight before him, the dragon and you standing together. He didn’t speak, but the look on his face told you everything—you had been found, and there would be no hiding now.

He drew his sword. “You are to return to Dragonstone,” he said, his voice commanding. “By order of the Queen.”

The knight hesitated before answering, “The dragon will be cared for. But you must come with me. Now.”

Your heart sank, but you knew there was no arguing. You nodded, glancing back at the dragon. “Will my friend be safe?” you asked quietly.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Jacaerys stood at the top of the stairs leading to the Great Hall, a frown etched on his face. He had been in the middle of a strategy meeting when the commotion outside the castle had caught his attention. Now, as he looked down into the courtyard, his breath caught in his throat.

You were there. Your once neat servant’s attire was torn and dirty, your hair disheveled, and your face pale with exhaustion. But it was the dragon standing beside you that seized his focus. The questions in his mind were staggering.

His eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. You were surrounded by guards, led by Ser Robert, one of his mother’s trusted knights. The knight spoke to you in hushed tones, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he walked you toward the Great Hall. Even from this distance, Jace could see the way you trembled.

His thoughts twisted with jealousy as he imagined what might have happened to bring you to this state. Had someone hurt you? The thought of another man laying a hand on you filled him with anger.

But he buried those feelings deep as you were brought into the hall, forced to stand before his mother.

Her eyes were sharp as they fell upon you. She motioned for you to come closer, and you hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, your head bowed.

“Who are you?” Rhaenyra’s voice was cold and demanding. “And how did you come to claim this dragon?”

“M- my name is y/n, your grace.” You struggled to respond, your voice shaky. You spoke of your journey, leaving out Vermithor's claiming and your fear of Rhaenyra, your time in the Reach, and how you had come across the dragon by chance.

Rhaenyra’s follow up questions were relentless, pressing you for details, for proof of your bloodline.

But it tore at him to see you like this, to see the fear in your eyes and know that you were searching for him, hoping for his protection. It was ironic that he, a prince, was powerless to help you in this moment.

Jace stood nearby, his hands clenched at his sides. He could see the way you looked toward him, your eyes pleading for some kind of help. But he knew better than to intervene in his mother’s questioning.

Rhaenyra’s gaze went to him briefly, as if gauging his reaction. He kept his face impassive, giving nothing away. And he hated that he cared as much as he did.

He turned away from the hall, the echo of your voice still ringing in his ears.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The warm water felt amazing as it soaked into your skin, washing away the grime of the road. The servants—girls you had once worked alongside—moved around you, scrubbing your skin and washing your hair the way you once had.

You struggled to sit still as they worked. The sensation of being on the receiving end of servitude did not sit well.

You tried to catch their gaze but they were cast the the floor.

“Alys, Katelynn.” You wispered their names. “Please look at me.”

Your old friends' eyes widened, and they obediently glanced up at you before exchanging sideways glances.

You took a relieved sigh, admitting, “I've missed you.”

“We missed you too!” Alys spoke first.

Katelyn was more timid, and slowly opened her mouth to ask. “Is it true you claimed a dragon?”

Finding no use in hiding information from them, you told the whole story, leaving out a few parts. You had been brought before the Queen, forced to answer for something you didn’t fully understand yourself. The dragon had come to your aid, and now you were bound to it.

“I knew it!” Alys flashed a smile. “It's those purple eyes of yours. You have to have been one of them."

You cast down your eyes, resenting the idea that that was how your friends now saw you now, as “them”.

As they helped you out of the bath and began dressing you in a new gown, your hands trembled slightly. The fabric of the corset was rich and luxurious, a deep black that clung to your body in a way that made you feel exposed. You had never worn anything like this before.

You cought a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The person staring back at you was unfamiliar—she was beautiful, but there was a hardness in her eyes, a reflection of the fear and uncertainty you had been carrying.

When they were finished, you looked down at the gown, running your fingers over the material.

The girls left, leaving you alone in your chamber. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but it wasn't easy. The pressure made your temples hurt, and you let out a frustrated groan, taking off the bracelets decorating your arms and discarding them on the table, then pulling your hair out of its intricate braids. You walked towards your window, the gown rustling as you leaned out to look down. Breathing heavily, you tried to measure the distance going down from your window to the dragon pit.

Someone cleared their throat behind you. You tensed and turned to the entrance of your chamber.

Jace stood at the door, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. He looked as composed as ever, but there was an accusation in his gaze—making you feel guilty for being caught on your second attempt to escape.

He didn’t speak as he approached you slowly, but the silence between you was heavy with unspoken words.

The gown had its intended effect. You felt both beautiful and vulnerable, aware of the way it accentuated your figure and the way Jace’s eyes lingered on you. The room was dimly lit, the torches casting long shadows along the stone walls.

Before you could react, you were pressed against the cold stone wall, Jace’s body pinning you in place. The breath was knocked out of you, your heart racing as you craned your neck to look up into his face.

“Leaving again, are we?” His expression was unreadable, a storm of emotions that you couldn’t begin to decipher.

“Jace,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It isn't what—”

“Do not address me so casually,” he interrupted, his tone sharp, commanding. “I'm not a fool, Dragonseed." Sneering the cruel title.

His words stung, and you flinched, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “I apologize, my prince. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

He didn’t release you, his grip firm as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. His voice was low, almost a growl. “You may have a dragon now, but do not mistake that for power. You are still beneath us, and I will not tolerate any illusions you may have of free will. That includes escape, y/n.”

You swallowed hard. The proximity of his body, the force of his presence, sent a shiver down your spine.

“I never asked for any of this.” you said quietly, your voice shaking. “I never wanted to be anything other than what I was.”

“Then you are a fool,” he snapped, his hand tightening on your arm. “You don’t get to choose your fate. The blood in your veins, the dragon that saved you—they’ve chosen for you.”

His words cut deep, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You wouldn’t show weakness, not now, not to him. “And what do you want from me, Jacaerys? To obey? To bow down and accept whatever fate you and your family decide for me?”

His eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his features. “I want you to know your place,” he hissed, his voice like ice. “The queen has deemed it so that you are to train under my guidance. You belong to me now. Your loyalty, your obedience—you, are all mine to command.”

You were silent, your breath coming in short, shaky bursts as you processed his words. His dominance was overwhelming, and yet, there was something in his eyes—a flicker that hinted at the turmoil raging inside him.

Finally, he released you, stepping back but still blocking your path. “You will report to me in the morning,” he said, his tone hard and unyielding. “We will begin your training. And you will learn what it means to serve House Targaryen.”

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you trembling against the wall, your mind a whirlwind of confusion. You had wanted to be close to him, to learn from him, but not like this.

And as you lay in bed that night, your mind replayed the moment over and over again, the warmth of his body against yours, the intensity of his gaze, the weight of his words, the heat of his breath against your skin...

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tag list:

@staarflowerr

@zizouu23

@alessiaparigim

@ericasabe

@jacaeryvardaddy

@dracaryxzs

@rav9n-16

@alwaysdaydreamingoffiction

[helluvaoutlaw]

Scales and Silk

(((A closed RP for @second-wife-playbook)))

Once upon a time...

In the heart of a once-thriving land, then shrouded in fear and ashes, the name Striker was whispered with a mix of dread and hopelessness.

The beast was named so by the unfortunate souls who lived there, shocked and astonished by his speed and precision with which he would strike his target.

No man, woman or child was safe, no animal or house.

The farmers and townsfolk, whose livelihoods have been reduced to cinders, spoke of him as a malevolent force, intent on destruction for destruction's sake.

Striker would descend upon the villages, his fiery breath incinerating crops and homes, his razor-sharp claws snatching livestock from their pens.

The once-bustling fields lied barren, charred remnants of their former selves. No one knew the whereabouts of his lair deep within the forest he fiercely protected, nor did they understand the reasons behind his relentless assault on their world.

To the people, Striker was the embodiment of evil, a dragon whose dark heart reveled in their suffering. Yet, beneath the surface of these tales, the true nature of Striker's wrath and the mysteries of his existence remained hidden, waiting for those brave enough to seek the truth.

————————————————

In the dimly lit tavern of the town of Ravenshire, two weary farmers nursed their mugs of ale, their faces etched with despair.

"Another barn gone last night."

Sighed Harlan, his eyes hollow.

"Striker left nothing but ashes. I don’t know how much more we can take."

Bram, his hands calloused from years of toil, shook his head.

"Aye, Harlan. Lost three cows myself. They were all I had left. How are we supposed to keep going like this?"

"It's as if he has no purpose but to torment us!"

Harlan muttered, taking a long drink.

"Why does he hate us so much? What did we ever do to him?"

Bram clenched his jaw.

"Folks say he’s just pure evil. A beast with a black heart, born to destroy."

"Do you think the King will send more knights in our aid?"

"I doubt it. None of them survived."

The two fell into a heavy silence, the crackling of the tavern fire the only sound between them. Outside, the night stretched on, filled with the ever-present fear of Striker's return.

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere Aegon with barkeep reader—you aren't getting paid enough for this.

Yandere Aegon always escaped to Fleabottom to indulge in pleasures and escape painful memories. The weight of the crown on his head nearly snapped his neck every time he was forced to wear it. Yet here, in Dragon Breaths Tavern, he was simply another stranger within the crowd of thousands. He always chose to conceal his appearance, but his voice was always what gave him away.

He has a favorite barkeep: you.

You always listen to his ramblings. You make sure he has somewhere to sleep when he is far too intoxicated to escape back to the castle. You're irritable and snap at people. It's hot. You never let anyone get away with anything in the bar, not even him. 

Mhm.

He'd whine your name in the middle of the night when his mind was far too gone to care about the possible consequence.

Yandere Aegon is incredibly talkative while drunk. His depression, or known at that time as just an incurable sadness, was on full display. He'd ask for your strongest drink and order so many that he forgot his name and title. It was almost endearing. He'd babble on about what made him sad, and you'd listen attentively.

You didn't have to worry much about people realizing he was the king. The ones that did disappeared. They were murdered, most likely.

You may have no formal education, but that doesn't make you completely inept.

You could see the unhinged glint in his violet irises. You could tell he was getting attached. You just couldn't do much about it. You need the job, and he never forgets to give you a hefty tip for your service.

Yandere Aegon has propositioned you on multiple occasions. Most of the time he's plastered, a handful he's not. He always gives you a sly smile and some fleeting touches. You scolding him only makes him want you more. He's hard more than he's drunk.

Whether you agreed to it or not, the only difference is time. If you love him, then you get your freedom just a bit longer. If you're stubborn about your love, then he'll make sure there are chains around your hands, ankles, and most importantly, heart.

Yandere Aegon makes you take a job in the castle. You become the cupbearer. It's a job that doesn't bring much excitement, unless you count pompous nobles talking through their asses 'excitement'. You make a good amount of coin. Your social status rises faster than a dragon taking to air.

Your own room. A room near Aegon's.

It is as if he purposefully thinned the walls, much to your displeasure. You can hear the moans from whores and Aegon alike during the hours when everyone is given rest. It's an endless torture that slips into your dreams, making them wetter than you've ever dreamt before.

Yandere Aegon has many people thinking it is inappropriate to have a commoner suddenly peak the king's interest so blatantly. You are no longer the dirt on the bottom of the nobility's shoe. You are almost equal, if not greater, due to the protection you are afforded by the ruler.

Rumors aren't needed. They will say their peace to your face. They don't fluff it up with their frivolously sacchariferous words. Those who dare are crude and ruthless.

The next day they'll end up with their heads on pikes outside the castle.

Yandere Aegon wants you as a second spouse. He fucks other whores, but only because he can't have you all day and night. He'll stop after the both of you get married. He knows it's a pipdream. He's the king, though.

Who is going to stop him?

It's not going to be Alicent or Otto.

He's not letting Aemond fucking touch you. Asshole tried to char him once. He got out with multiple scars, but he is able to walk and is still quite a looker. Aemond won't steal you. He'll the gut the fucker before it comes to that.

Yandere Aegon just needs alcohol and you. It's the only two things that're keeping him securely tethered to this world. Your specialty is alcohol. It's a match made in the heavens.

tags: ( @kawaiicoffeedream ) & ( @littybeech )

[novaursa]

The Secret Flame

- Summary: You sneak out of the Red Keep again. And as alway, Harwin is there to chase you down.

- Paring: targ!reader/Harwin Strong

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin sister of Rhaenyra and has striking resemblance to her grandmother, Alyssa. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 3 599

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I've never posted anything so fresh in my life. This work is just written, like a few minutes ago. I don't usually post my works so soon. They tend to sit way longer before being posted, especially if they are supposed to be made into a series. Those works are posted once all parts are complete, or way, way close to being done. I've slept like two hours, maybe. My blood is 90% coffee. Luckily, it's my day off. 😅 As always, I'll see how you guys like this before it becomes something larger. Enjoy! ❤️

The chill of the night air is a welcome contrast to the stifling warmth of the Red Keep as you slip quietly through the hidden passageways beneath Maegor’s Holdfast. You’ve navigated these shadowy tunnels since you were a child, memorizing each twist and turn like a whispered secret shared only with you. The cool stone beneath your hands feels like freedom as you push through the last concealed door, emerging into the moonlit streets of King’s Landing.

The city is alive, even in the depths of night. You breathe in the scent of the sea mingled with smoke and distant perfumes, savoring the feeling of anonymity that only these stolen excursions bring. You’ve always felt as if you were a dragon bound in chains within the walls of the Keep, and here, at least for a little while, you are free.

You keep your hood low, concealing the distinctive silver-gold hair that marks your heritage. The cobblestones beneath your feet are slick from the earlier rain, and the shadows dance with flickering torchlight as you weave through narrow alleys, away from the watchful eyes of your father’s guards.

The tension between you and your father has grown unbearable in recent moons. He sees in you too much of his mother, Alyssa, and perhaps that is why he clings so tightly. You can’t breathe under his watchful eye, can’t stretch your wings when he’s always hovering, reminding you of duty, decorum, and the precarious balance of the realm.

But here, no one knows you as the princess, no one sees the crown’s burden pressing down on your shoulders. Here, you are simply a shadow among shadows.

The night hums with the distant laughter of taverns and the murmurs of lovers hiding from prying eyes. You’re about to turn a corner when a rough hand reaches out from the darkness, yanking you into an even darker alley.

“Now what’s a fine lady like you doing alone in these parts?” A low, sneering voice slithers out from the gloom. You tense, instinctively reaching for the dagger hidden at your hip, but there’s no time to draw it before you’re shoved roughly against the wall. Two more men step into view, all grinning like wolves who’ve cornered a lost lamb.

“You’re far from home, aren’t you?” one of them taunts, his breath reeking of stale ale. 

You glare up at them, defiance burning in your eyes. “I assure you, you’ve made a grave mistake tonight,” you hiss, your voice edged with the fire that runs through your blood.

“Is that so?” The leader laughs, leaning in closer. “I think we’ve found ourselves a little bird with some fight.”

Before you can spit back a retort, there’s a sharp whistle from the shadows, and suddenly the men stiffen. The leader barely has time to turn before a strong hand grabs his collar and slams him face-first into the wall beside you. He crumples to the ground with a groan.

“Seems you lot forgot whose streets you’re crawling through,” a familiar voice says, smooth as velvet and rich with amusement.

Ser Harwin Strong steps into the faint light, his broad frame and easy confidence radiating a quiet authority that sends the other two men stumbling back in fear. His hand rests on the pommel of his sword, but it’s the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth that unsettles them more.

“Run along, boys, before you find yourselves missing fingers or worse,” he advises in a tone that suggests he’s making them a very generous offer.

They don’t need to be told twice, bolting into the night like startled prey. Harwin watches them go before turning his attention to you. The glint in his dark eyes tells you he’s more amused than surprised to find you here, as if he half-expected it.

“You have a peculiar way of taking your nightly strolls, princess,” he says, the smirk widening into a grin. “I should have known I’d find you stirring up trouble.”

You roll your eyes, gathering your composure as you adjust your cloak. “I can handle myself, you know.”

“Clearly,” he chuckles, giving a pointed look at the discarded dagger still in your hand. “But I doubt King Viserys would agree if he knew his daughter was sneaking into Flea Bottom on a whim.”

You lift your chin defiantly. “I wasn’t in Flea Bottom.” 

He arches a brow. “You’re not far from it.”

Silence hangs between you, broken only by the distant clamor of the city. The moonlight catches the chestnut in Harwin’s eyes as he studies you, his expression softening into something less playful and more sincere. “Y/N… You know I can’t let you stay out here. I’m supposed to be your protector, after all.”

“Are you my guard now, too? I thought you were just Rhaenyra’s Gold Cloak protector.”

His lips twitch at that. “Rhaenyra doesn’t run off nearly as much as you do.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, stepping away from the wall and back toward the street. “You’re insufferable, Harwin.”

“And you’re reckless,” he counters, reaching for your arm as if to steer you back toward the Keep. “Come on, before you get us both into even more trouble.”

But you’re not done with the night just yet. You twist free of his grip, darting back into the alley. “Catch me if you can, Ser Breakbones!”

For a heartbeat, Harwin simply stares after you, caught between disbelief and admiration. Then he shakes his head with a low chuckle and gives chase, the sound of his footsteps pounding behind you as you race through the winding streets.

The thrill of it all—the wind in your hair, the laughter bubbling in your chest, and the sound of Harwin’s voice calling your name—feels like flying. You know he’ll catch you eventually, but for now, you’re just out of reach, teasing the line between freedom and the inevitable return to your gilded cage. 

But that’s part of the dance, isn’t it? The chase, the daring escapes, and the knowledge that while he may be tasked with returning you to safety, a part of him enjoys the game just as much as you do.

And for tonight, that’s enough.

The pounding of your heart echoes in your ears as you dart through the narrow streets, your feet barely skimming the cobblestones. Harwin is right behind you, his heavy boots making it clear he’s gaining ground. You can’t help the exhilarated laugh that slips past your lips, feeling the cool night air whip through your hair. For a brief moment, you almost wish he wouldn’t catch you, just so you could revel in the rush of freedom a little longer.

But then you hear his voice—low, deep, laced with a blend of exasperation and amusement. “Y/N, you’re only making this worse for yourself!”

You glance back just in time to see the determined gleam in his eyes, and before you can react, his hand closes around your wrist. You let out a surprised gasp as he spins you, tugging you close until your chest is flush against his. You can feel the heat radiating from him, his breath ghosting over your lips as he stares down at you with a mixture of desire and reprimand.

“You truly are a wild thing, aren’t you?” His voice is husky, rough with the thrill of the chase.

“Perhaps,” you murmur, a sly smile tugging at your lips, “but you seem to enjoy it.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, you tug him into the shadowed alleyway beside you. The darkness wraps around you both, cloaking you from any prying eyes that might still be wandering the streets. There’s a moment of tension, of anticipation crackling between you like lightning in a summer storm.

You push him back against the stone wall, your hands fisting in the front of his tunic as you pull him down to meet your lips. The kiss is fierce, hungry—born of a shared need that has simmered beneath the surface for far too long. Harwin’s hands are quick to respond, gripping your waist with a possessive strength that sends shivers down your spine. He tastes of salt and warmth, of nights spent in armor and the fire that burns within him.

There’s no room for words now, just the frantic rustle of fabric as your fingers work to loosen his breeches, his own hands tugging at the ties of your skirts. The air is thick with the scent of desire, mingled with the cool, damp earth and stone around you. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you free him, your bodies already pressing together with the desperate anticipation of what’s to come.

When he moves into you, it’s with a practiced ease that speaks of all the times you’ve stolen moments like this before. Your head falls back, a soft moan escaping your lips as he fills you, the familiar stretch and heat drawing gasps from both of you. For a heartbeat, you both remain still, savoring the way you fit together, the way your bodies seem to crave this connection as much as your hearts do.

“Gods, Y/N,” Harwin groans, his voice low and strained. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You smile against his lips, your nails digging into his shoulders as you start to move, setting a rhythm that’s as familiar as it is intoxicating. “Better than dying in the Keep, caged and suffocated,” you manage to whisper, your voice breathy with desire.

He lets out a deep, rumbling laugh, but the sound quickly fades into a grunt as your hips grind against his. The tempo between you quickens, each thrust driven by pure, unbridled need. There’s a primal urgency in the way you cling to each other, as if the world outside these walls doesn’t exist, as if all that matters is this moment, this passion, this escape.

His hands grip your thighs, lifting you slightly as he presses you harder against the wall, deepening the angle until you’re both lost to the rhythm of your bodies. Every movement draws a gasp, a moan, a whispered name into the darkness. Your nails rake down his back, desperate to hold onto the sensation building within you. He’s rough and tender all at once, his control fraying with each stroke as he buries his face in the curve of your neck.

“Y/N… you drive me mad,” he rasps, his breath hot against your skin.

You bite down on your lip, stifling a cry as he hits a particularly sensitive spot, pleasure coiling tight in your belly. “Good,” you manage, your voice breaking on the word as your hands slide into his hair, tugging him closer, demanding more.

The pace is relentless now, both of you moving in sync, lost in the frantic need to reach that edge together. You’re barely aware of anything but the feeling of him inside you, the way your bodies collide with a desperate intensity. His name slips from your lips again and again, a plea, a prayer, as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak.

When release finally crashes over you, it’s like wildfire spreading through your veins. Your body trembles, tightening around him as you shatter, a cry breaking free from your throat. Harwin isn’t far behind, his grip bruising as he thrusts deep one final time, a guttural groan spilling from his lips as he finds his own release. He holds you there, chest heaving, his forehead pressed against yours as you both ride out the last waves of pleasure together.

For a long moment, there’s only the sound of your ragged breathing mingling in the darkness. The intensity slowly ebbs away, leaving behind a warmth that’s almost tender as you both come back to yourselves. Harwin’s thumb traces a gentle line along your jaw, his eyes soft as he studies your flushed face.

“Reckless, wild, and impossible,” he murmurs, but there’s no scolding in his tone, only fondness.

You lean into his touch, a contented smile tugging at your lips. “And yet you keep coming back, Ser Harwin.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, slow and sweet this time. “How could I not? There’s no taming a dragon, but gods be damned if I don’t love the fire.”

For a moment, you allow yourself to savor the warmth of his embrace, the comfort of his presence in the midst of all the chaos that defines your life. But the night is waning, and the world beyond this alleyway is still waiting.

Reluctantly, you begin to disentangle yourself, smoothing your skirts and adjusting your cloak. Harwin mirrors you, straightening his tunic and tightening the laces of his breeches. There’s a lingering heat in his gaze as he watches you, as if he’s already thinking about the next time he’ll chase you through these streets.

“Come,” he finally says, extending his hand with a grin. “I suppose I should get you back before anyone notices your absence… though I doubt I’ll be able to explain why you’re looking so disheveled.”

You smirk, taking his hand as you step back out into the moonlight. “That’s your problem, Ser Breakbones. I’ll leave the excuses to you.”

With a chuckle, he leads you back toward the Red Keep, but not before stealing one last kiss under the stars, a reminder that, for all the rules and restrictions of your world, some fires simply can’t be contained.

The flickering light of the hearth casts dancing shadows on the walls of the private dining chamber, illuminating the worn but sturdy wooden table where Lord Lyonel Strong and his son, Ser Harwin, sit across from one another. The aroma of roasted meats and spiced wine fills the room, yet Harwin barely touches his food, his mind lost in thought as he absently stirs his cup of wine. 

Lyonel watches his son with keen eyes, noting the subtle tension in his posture, the way his gaze drifts toward nothing in particular as if he’s waging some silent battle within himself. They’ve shared these private dinners often, moments away from the demands of the court, but tonight there’s a charged undercurrent in the air that neither man can ignore.

After a long silence, Lyonel clears his throat and decides it’s time to broach the subject. “You seem distracted, Harwin. A rare occurrence for you.” His tone is gentle, probing, as he carefully measures his son’s reaction.

Harwin’s head snaps up as if he’s been startled out of his thoughts. He forces a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s nothing, Father. Just tired, perhaps.”

Lyonel isn’t convinced, but he decides to tread forward nonetheless. He takes a deliberate sip of his wine before speaking, choosing his words with the precision of a man accustomed to walking the tightrope of politics. “There’s been much discussion in the Small Council of late regarding alliances and… strategic marriages.”

Harwin tenses slightly, though he tries to mask it with a casual nod. “That’s always the way of things, isn’t it? Who’s being sold to whom for power and coin this time?”

Lyonel’s eyes narrow, noting the edge in his son’s voice. “In this case, it concerns someone close to you. The King is making plans for Princess Y/N. It appears he’s leaning toward a betrothal to the heir of House Blackwood.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, Harwin’s face betrays nothing. But Lyonel’s sharp eyes catch the brief flicker of something—shock, anger, and something dangerously close to despair—before Harwin schools his features into a stoic mask. 

He swallows hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. “House Blackwood,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s… she’s to be sent away, then.”

Lyonel arches a brow, watching the way his son’s knuckles whiten as he grips the edge of the table. “It would seem so,” he replies slowly, studying every nuance of Harwin’s reaction. “The marriage would be advantageous for the realm—bringing the Riverlands more firmly into the fold, securing loyalties through blood ties.”

Harwin’s gaze drops to his plate, the food now entirely forgotten. His mind races, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions churning within him. The mere idea of Y/N being wed to someone else—of her being taken away to some distant castle, away from the Red Keep, away from him—it’s unbearable.

And Lyonel sees it, clear as day. The horror settles over him like a weight as he begins to piece together what Harwin’s response truly means. He knows his son—knows that Harwin has never been one to be so easily unsettled. For him to react this way… there must be something more, something deeper beneath the surface.

“Harwin,” Lyonel says, his voice now laced with a quiet urgency. “You’re taking this news rather hard, considering it is not your place to determine who the princess marries. Why does this trouble you so?”

Harwin clenches his jaw, fighting to keep his emotions in check. But his father’s probing gaze is relentless, cutting through the defenses Harwin has so carefully constructed over the years. “It’s not—” he begins, but the words catch in his throat. He can’t find a plausible excuse, can’t weave a tale that would satisfy his father without revealing too much.

Lyonel’s expression darkens as he begins to draw his own conclusions, his shrewd mind piecing together the puzzle. His eyes widen slightly in realization, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features before settling into grim understanding. “Harwin…” he breathes, the name laced with a mixture of disappointment and concern. “Tell me you haven’t done something foolish.”

Harwin’s silence is damning. His hands tighten into fists on the table as he struggles to find the words, his heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t need to confirm it; his father already knows.

The weight of Lyonel’s realization crashes down like a hammer. He leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face as he exhales a long, weary breath. “Gods help us,” he mutters, more to himself than to Harwin. “You’ve gone and entangled yourself with the princess, haven’t you?”

Harwin’s gaze remains fixed on the table, shame and defiance warring within him. He knows there’s no point in denying it now. “It wasn’t supposed to happen,” he admits hoarsely, his voice thick with emotion. “But I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop myself.”

Lyonel closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as the full implications settle in. “You fool. Do you have any idea what this could mean? What could happen if this gets out? The scandal, the danger—not just to you, but to her?”

“I know,” Harwin snaps, his voice strained, as if the very acknowledgment of the truth is tearing him apart. “But I… I care for her, Father. More than I should. More than I’ve ever cared for anyone.”

The raw confession hangs in the air, and for a moment, Lyonel can only stare at his son with a mixture of anger and pity. He sees the turmoil in Harwin’s eyes, the desperate, reckless need that has clearly consumed him. This isn’t just a passing infatuation or a dalliance. It’s something far deeper, something that could lead to ruin if it’s not carefully managed.

“Harwin,” Lyonel finally says, his voice low and grave, “you’ve put us all in a precarious position. If the King suspects, if the wrong person finds out, it could be the end of not just you, but our entire house. You must let her go. The marriage will happen, and you cannot interfere. Do you understand me?”

Harwin’s fists tremble as he fights back the overwhelming urge to protest, to scream that it’s impossible, that he can’t just let her go. But he knows his father is right. He knows the reality of their situation, knows that they are both trapped in a world of politics, duty, and expectations that neither of them can escape.

“I understand,” he finally grits out, though the words feel like ashes on his tongue.

Lyonel’s gaze softens slightly, a hint of sympathy bleeding into his stern expression. “I do not doubt your feelings, son, but some battles are not meant to be fought. And this is one you cannot win. You must think of what’s at stake.”

Harwin doesn’t respond, unable to trust himself to speak without betraying the depth of his anguish. Instead, he nods stiffly, forcing himself to swallow the pain that threatens to overwhelm him. He can’t imagine a future where Y/N belongs to someone else, where she’s out of his reach, but he knows he may have no choice in the matter.

Lyonel watches him with a heavy heart, knowing he’s asking the impossible of his son but also knowing it’s the only way to avoid disaster. “Be careful, Harwin,” he warns quietly, his voice tinged with regret. “Love is a powerful thing, but it can also be a weapon if wielded recklessly. Do not let it destroy you.”

The room falls into silence once more, the crackling fire the only sound between them. Harwin’s gaze remains fixed on the flames, but his thoughts are far from the warmth of the hearth. They’re with her—always with her—no matter how impossible the road ahead may seem. And even as he tells himself to let go, to do what’s expected, he knows in his heart that the fire between them isn’t something he can simply snuff out. It burns too bright, too fiercely, and like all dragonfire, it may yet consume them both.

[vaokses]

I worked the blade to make it deeper

Series Masterlist / General Masterlist

Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Nearly two years have gone by since you left with your mother for Dragonstone, and yet your absence is as sharp as the first day. Rumors spread through King's Landing about how a Tyrell knight has captured your heart, and these rumors haunt Aegon, from the Keep to the taverns, leading him, drunk and reckless, to a brothel in the Street of Silk. Not in search of comfort, or in search of some illusion of you to keep him company through the night, but in search of something else.

Word Count: 4.4k 

Warnings: 18+. Smut (slight). Prostitution. Dubious consent. Drunkenness, alcohol consumption. Voyeurism. Self-harming or self-destructive actions/thoughts. Aegon's head is not in a good place at all. Descriptions/Allusions to panic attacks. A lot of angst, just a lot of it. Hurt and no comfort. Allusions to bad BDSM practices. I write this with sub!Aegon in mind, by the way, I don't know how explicit it is in this work, but it's there, and I'm warning you in case it's not your cup of tea. If I missed any warning tags, I apologize, and please let me know.

Some AU/Setting stuff: Same universe as How long this love can hold its breath and the Pirtir series. This takes place nearly a year before the beginning of the story, around four or so months before the other Aegon PoV chapter. You don't need to read either to read this tho.

A/N: So, I couldn't get this idea out of my head. It mixes some of book!Aegon's approach to intimacy/sex because I find it really interesting. This is just a lot of angst, but his character is so fucking sad, I can't help myself. I'll write some fluff for him at some point, I promise.

Title is from "Love opened a mortal wound. In agony, I worked the blade to make it deeper." by Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz.

All of this would be easier if he could just forget, Aegon gathers. If he could just forget about you, about what he lost and what he didn’t have, then everything would be easier. The quiet of the Keep wouldn’t feel so deafening, the future ahead of him would be a tad less unbearable. 

And he wouldn’t be sneaking around like an idiot, eavesdropping on his mother and his grandsire’s conversation because he heard your name. 

“That boy will hand the Blacks the Reach if we do not step in,” Alicent argues, voice laden with worry. “His father is old, and he hasn’t inherited his judiciousness, his restraint.” 

“Lord Alisdair might still bend, once the Princess leaves Highgarden and his blood cools. Nothing makes a man as bold as a woman’s smile.” 

“Her smile, or the promise of her hand?” 

Aegon feels as if a weight had been dropped on his chest, and yet he does not even think about tearing himself away from here, about ceasing in his listening for any news of you. The closest he can get to you, nowadays. 

“No arrangements have been made yet, and if t-…” 

“My lord husband will approve if Rhaenyra asks this of him, you know this. He will wed her granddaughter to the Tyrell boy himself if it is her who asks.” 

“Has she asked?”  

A few beats of silence, the seconds before an executioner’s sword finds a neck. 

“It is a matter of time.” 

___ 

It is as natural as breathing, to Aegon, to escape the confines of the Red Keep by now, to evade his guards and sneak into the city.  

Now he sits alone -he shrunk from his usual company, he isn’t sure even why-,  nursing yet another jug of mead and chasing languidly for the welcome stupor of a stiff drink, and finds that not even here do you stop tormenting him. 

“My sister was there for the tourney in Highgarden,” A woman comments, carelessly loud as she speaks to the group of people sitting with her, a table away from Aegon’s. “She said the eldest of House Redwyne gifted the Princess a mare.” 

“As dragon food?” The man she sits on the lap of asks, prompting her to laugh. 

“I would like a mare as a gift,” One of the girls argues, at another’s scoff arguing, “What? What is wrong with that?” 

“The Princess rides Vermithor. What is a fucking horse against the second largest dragon in the world?” 

The wench that is sent to refill Aegon’s drink presses against him unnecessarily, and her hand traces over his shoulders as she moves away. He feels her gaze on him, watching raptly to see if he follows her with his own gaze, if he wishes to play along. 

He mislikes this, these games, playing pretend at seduction. It feels even more false than it already is, fucking a woman, if she likes pretending she wants something beyond the tenuous oblivion they can find in one another. 

“You gather she’s coming here anytime soon?” The man from the other table asks, diverting his attention to them -to you- once again. 

“I don’t think so. Everyone would be scurrying about in preparation. Whenever there’s something brewing up in the Keep we have more work months ahead.” 

“I hear she’ll summer in Highgarden.” One of the younger girls comments. 

The old woman’s laughter is shrill, grating. Gloating, almost. At least that is what it sounds like, to him. 

“Of course she is. Alasdair Tyrell has returned from the Shield Islands, and victorious at that. Made them swear to her cause, apparently.” 

“To Rhaenyra’s?” 

“No.” 

Silence follows the simple answer. Aegon motions for the wench to refill his drink, which she doesn’t do quickly enough. 

“Oh,” The man breathes. Short little chuckles escape his chest, and he praises, “Clever lad, eh?” 

“‘Tis quite a wedding gift, is it not?” 

Aegon takes fast, perhaps hurried, gulps from the flagon, but the mead isn’t enough to drown out their voices. 

“So she has agreed to it?” 

“She is a young girl, and he a knight who has more than proven his devotion. He doesn’t have her hand yet, but I’d bet he has her heart.” 

“So it isn’t just Vermithor she wants to ride,” The man boasts, followed by what sounds like a slap. “Ow!” 

“‘Tis the future Queen you speak of, you fool.” 

He should stop himself, but he doesn’t want to. Aegon turns to them and asks,  

“And the future wife of Lord Tyrell, no?” 

“My Prince.” One -or a few, he doesn’t really care- of them greets, and a few heads bow, but he motions their empty platitudes away. 

“It is a…a joyous thing, a betrothal. And one made for love, at that,” He smiles at them, but they don’t smile back. They look at him like he’s seen hunters look at cornered beasts, they look at him as if they’re afraid of him. “We don’t see much of those nowadays, do we?” 

“No, my Prince.” The older man agrees, still cautious. 

He isn’t an idiot, he knows that he wasn’t…that you don’t feel for him what he does for you, that you don’t think about him as often as he thinks about you. But some part of him, foolish and perhaps more than a little masochistic, still hoped the truth might be another. 

Still hoped, against hope, against reason, that you might one day return, that you might still choose him. 

“A cause for celebration then, isn’t it?” He asks, standing up and swaying slightly on his feet. Their faces are guarded, careful, and though he makes his best attempt at another smile, shameless and debauched, it seems they see through it. He pushes on, “Drinks for all! On me!” 

He plays along, he plays his part, for a while. The mead keeps flowing, and when it ceases, he switches to wine. Watered down and tasteless, but it washes away the ashes the memory of you leaves on his tongue. 

And the loud voices and cheers of the people in the tavern drown out even his thoughts for a while, but he finds that tonight the wine does not make his thoughts any easier to bear. It seems instead to make them louder, to make the ache deep in his chest sharper, worse. 

As the night goes on, his thoughts get louder and the crowd around him quieter as they return to their homes, and Aegon refuses to return to the quiet, the solitude, of the Red Keep. 

___ 

Long ago, years ago, he would come to places such as this and ask them to be soft with him, to hold him and treat him gently, to be what he imagined you would be -what he glimpsed at, what he had, for however short a while it was-, to grant him what he supposed he might have had, were you to have stayed. 

But he understood fairly quickly that it just made everything worse, that it made the absence much sharper, the emptiness gnaw at him with renewed strength; and so he started refusing them whenever they tried to offer anything gentle. They did it wrong, anyways, it just made him feel brittle and cold and alone, and he prefers the distance, and the oblivion it provides, over the hollowness that their false warmth leaves him with. 

The months and then the years went by, and you never returned, not even a glimpse of you and Vermithor on the distant skies, not even a short visit with your family, not even a fucking letter; and Aegon can no longer hold on to the fantasy that you might have wanted him, that you could have loved him. 

He gathers that it was for the better, that the illusion has shattered. It makes it easier, to find oblivion buried in some whore or another, to have his nights away from the Keep be the reprieve they ought to be. It makes it easier to make things quiet again, to lose himself when he can force his useless heart out of the way.  

But he often trips on it. His heart, that is. 

And sometimes his yearning overpowers his reason, and he finds himself searching for a shadow of you, a version of you that still wants him. Despite the ache and the absence, he still can’t bring himself to ask any of the women to pretend to care for him, to pretend to love him, anymore. 

He tells himself it is enough that they look like you when the lights are dim and wine clouds his senses, that they don’t say anything when it is your name he calls out. He tells himself it is enough to have this, and that to ask for more would be to ask to be torn open. 

But the absence remains, the hollowness remains, a void gnawing away at him, hungrier and hungrier the longer he indulges in foolish illusions, in tricks of the light.  

At his weakest, he asks them to prove to him what he already knows to be true. That you, fantasy or real, illusion or not, do not care for him, do not love him. That you, upon knowing what he has made out of himself, aware of what they will ask him to become, have come to hate him. So he asks them to hurt him, to refuse him, to turn away from him.  

He doesn’t understand why he does it, why he still chases after that when it leaves him just as empty as asking for anything else does. He doesn’t understand the part of him that finds comfort in his own ruin. 

He doesn’t understand why he comes here, why he is restless as he crosses the doors into the familiar brothel, why he feels his throat close up at the sounds and scents of this place, why his chest feels tight with something between desperation and dread as he sets out to…to do what it takes to make his thoughts stop, to make himself understand that he must forget. 

He finds the one he’s looking for fairly easily, long silver hair and deep red dress amidst a sea of heads of dark hair and half-naked bodies. Her back is turned to him, and the wine makes the sight resemble a familiar dream for a moment, and his breath catches. 

But when he reaches her and she turns to face him, the face isn’t a familiar one, the eyes are wrong, and the smile is a mockery of yours. 

He still extends a hand, wordless, to ask her to join him. 

It’s almost funny, that for all he despises his ancestry, what he has inherited; in the eyes of any of the patrons of this establishment he is but another Targaryen man, looking to get it wet only with the ones that, real or no, reflect the blood of a lost world. 

It is preferrable that they don’t know any better. He’d rather be his father’s son than the fool that yearns for a woman he cannot have. 

Aegon isn’t sure why he’s doing this, why he has come here, why tonight the wine has made the pain only sharper, more unbearable. He isn’t sure if he’s punishing himself, for being as stupid as to allow himself to hope you’d return to him; or if he’s just resigning himself to the truth that is, forcing himself to shatter with his own hands, before his very eyes, the fantasy of what could have been. 

But he wants this, he…he needs this.  

“And you,” He calls out, pointing to a well-built young man with warm eyes and chestnut hair. Quite close to a knight. Quite close to a Tyrell, even. Aegon offers him a smile, wide and lecherous. It is a lie, but it is one he himself believes, and the false merriment keeps him safe. “You will join us.” 

The man takes Aegon’s free hand, and he lets them lead him to a private room, of dim lights and of air heavy with incense. In the midst of the hanging curtains, the many candles, and the huge bed in the center of it all, Aegon feels for a moment as if he’s suffocating. 

“What can we do for you, my Prince?” The woman asks, voice low, sultry, dripping with false sweetness. 

A nauseating blend of anxiousness and dread rise within him, and though he reaches for the glass of wine on a nearby table, downing the drink in two gulps in an attempt to chase these feelings away, they linger. 

Aegon watches, numbly, as the man reaches for a pitcher and refills his cup without a word. It is welcome, almost a comfort, the weight of a full glass in his hand. 

“I…I want to watch,” Aegon admits, voice hoarse in what he absently hopes they confuse with lust. “The two of you. I want to watch the two of you.” 

There’s a chair near the bed but far enough, aimed towards it. He has the absent thought of how many must come here not for participation but for a show, and Aegon tries clinging to that small observation, amuse himself to thoughts of what others come to do in these places; but his mind, anticipating and yet dreading what is to come, lingers on the present. 

His gaze, unfocused and staring at nothing but the faint memories he wishes would leave him, cannot look at them as the man and woman undress and sit together in bed, looking at him.  

He cannot look at them, and yet he feels their gazes on him. He feels as if he were the one naked, the one on display, asked to put up a show. 

“My Prince?” The woman calls out, forcing his eyes to focus on her. 

She awaits instruction, and he finds he can’t give it. 

It is a painful reality, a mortifying truth, that he does not know how to offer softness, gentleness. Or how to receive it. Or how to witness it, even. 

In losing you, he gathers he also lost the part of him that knew of the softness of a gentle touch, that knew how not to shatter at the thought of warmth. 

And now he can’t even make this…this pretender, already a poor mimicry of you, portray your warmth, the gentleness of your affection; and Aegon cannot even witness a glimpse of the warmth and the softness that you surely now give freely to that fool on the far end of the world. 

It dawns on him then, that he has forgotten pieces of you, that he has lost part of you to time and to distance. And realization isn’t a weight dropped on his chest, or the ground giving in under his feet, no; realization is a slow pressure, a shrinking tunnel, an exhale that left him too late to realize he wouldn’t be able to inhale again. 

He grabs for the cup with shaking fingers, grips it so tight he fears it might crack, and downs the rest of the drink. But the numbness is escaping him, slipping like sand between his fingers, and the haziness has given way to something much worse, to a quickly-beating heart and thoughts chasing themselves in circles. 

And all the wine does now is make him feel as if he’s only further drowning, further losing whatever grasp he has at himself. He still drinks. 

What can he tell her? That he wishes to be hurt, punished, for his weakness, for his faults? That he wishes to see what he has lost, what he never had, what he never will have?  

That he wants for the thoughts to stop, for the pain to stop, and he only knows how to escape them with this, with sex; but the memory of you lingers too close, a knife wedged next to his heart, for him to even consider enduring another’s touch tonight? 

He tells her the truth instead, and if instead of a command it sounds like an accusation, he does not care. 

“You love him.”  

It is all the instruction he can give. He does not know what love looks like, what love feels like, so even if she doesn’t either and the act is a poor one, Aegon won’t know the difference. 

The man and woman fall easily into the parts they must play, pressing their bodies together and sharing a deep kiss, letting their hands explore each other slowly, with the pace of two people with all the time in the world, with the calm of those who have promised each other a lifetime. Aegon watches, and the nakedness of their bodies does not seem lewd, instead it betrays an intimacy, a warmth, that makes the void in his chest awaken with an oppressive sort of longing. 

Aegon’s gaze lingers on him, on the ‘knight’. He finds he cannot look away, and it isn’t jealousy that overwhelms him, or anger; instead, all that fills his him at the sight is dread, and morbid fascination.  

The man’s fingers are buried within her, his lips at her throat, and Aegon feels as if a knife were slowly embedded somewhere within his chest. With each breath, the knife digs deeper, tears further at an old wound, and yet he doesn’t look away. Instead, his breath quickens. 

And he knows it’s an act, that they’re playing at sharing a love they do not know or have, but he doesn’t know it or have it either, and sitting here he only feels more alone.  

But he cannot join them. Because you do not want him. 

After what he isn’t sure if it is a moment or an eternity, darkened gazes flicker to him, awaiting his permission, his command, to go on, with quickened breaths. Though for a moment Aegon finds himself staring back, unmoored and uncertain, he quickly recovers and stutters a response to go on with it. 

The man grunts a curse against her breasts as he enters her in one swift motion, and she sighs at the feeling, hoarse little moan rumbling past her lips as she adjusts to having him inside her. 

They start moving together, and though the sight before him is an objectively alluring one, and if nothing else he should be able to focus on the sounds leaving their lips, on the sound and scent of sex filling the room, Aegon finds himself not even slightly aroused. 

Then again, he didn’t expect to. He might enjoy pain sometimes, and perhaps even seek it, but seeing a mirror -however muddied, however imperfect- of the woman he loves making love to someone else is something out of a nightmare, not something he might enjoy stroking his cock to.  

He didn’t think it’d hurt like this, though. He feels useless tears stinging at his eyes, and his breath hitches, because he expected it to hurt, but he didn’t think it’d torture him like this. 

And yet he can’t bring himself to stop them, feels undeserving of intruding upon their -your-, however false, love. With a breathed little laugh that only further blurs the lines between the reality of two paid whores acting out what he wants and the mirages of two people on the far end of the world, the woman switches their positions, straddling him. 

Unprompted, the man sits up, mouths at her neck as she aligns his cock with her cunt again. Slowly, sensually, she starts riding him. 

Aegon sniffles, tries hiding a stuttered breath, and leans forward. What he means to sound like an order, like an instruction, is voiced instead as a plea,  

“H-…I want you to hold him, while…while you ride him. Hold him against you.” 

She does as he commands, and the sight of their embrace is enough to force Aegon to look away, flinch away from pain as sharp as a hit. He reaches for the pitcher of wine, movements hurried and jittery, and pours himself another glass, uncaring that it spills. 

He gives another order, another command. One after another. He tells the man, for he is naught but a lucky fool that doesn’t even see the fortune bestowed upon him, how to touch you, how to make you feel good, how to make you his.  

They lose themselves in each other, waiting for no further instruction, exchanging caresses and kisses and breathed moans as they move together, as one. 

Aegon feels his composure, weak and brittle as it was already, begin to crumble. His hands grip at the armrests of the chair and tears burn at his eyes. He’s trembling, but neither of them stop, because neither of you notice, because you have each other, and he does not matter. 

He shakes his head, tries thinking clearly past the daze of alcohol and grief, and reminds himself it’s them. They’re strangers, they’re pretenders. He clings to that reminder. 

And yet each whispered word that they share, each shared breath, each tender touch, it feels as if it’s mocking him, taunting him with what he cannot have, what he can only watch from afar. 

The effect of the wine and the tears spilling from his eyes blur the edges of his vision, making the already stifling room seem smaller, the air thicker. Each breath feels pulled from his lungs, his body at the command of someone else, because he still cannot look away. 

He understands better than ever why Helaena presses her palms to her ears when the crowds get too loud. He wants nothing more than to cover his ears, close his eyes, hide himself and get away. Why is he here, why is he doing this? 

He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to see this. He doesn’t want this to happen. And yet he can’t stop watching, why can’t he stop this? 

She’s close to the edge, he can tell, and while he needs for this to be over, he cannot stand the thought of it at the same time. 

It is unbearable, and he stands from that chair, not to approach them but to step away. The room spins around him, his balance fails him, his voice fails him. 

She clings to him, hides her face in the knight’s neck and away from Aegon’s view. She looks like you, and she sounds like you, and he lost you he lost you he lost you. 

“Tell him you love him.” The voice is his, but not really, and he hears it from far away, from somewhere beyond the panicked cadence of his breaths, from a dream in which it is your love for him that Aegon asks to hear. 

You bring your knight closer to you, hand tangling in short tresses of chestnut hair. Your mouth is close to his ear, your voice a breath, a promise Aegon knows he shouldn’t be allowed to hear,  

“I love you.” 

You shatter, and so does Aegon. 

Her cry of pleasure and the knight’s mask the horrified sob that leaves Aegon’s chest at what he has done, at what he has tainted; and in their shared ecstasy they thankfully do not see him squeeze his eyes shut and cravenly look away, face crumpled in agony. 

He stumbles back onto the chair, some absent voice in the back of his mind reminding him it is unfitting of a prince to fall on the ground, that the people cannot see him on his knees. 

He thought he’d be in control, that if he commanded them, if he was… 

His thoughts matter not, what he expected matters not. The fantasy, painful as it was, has shattered, and the jagged pieces of it dig into him like glass. 

Aegon slumps in the chair, his body exhausted and worn. He feels used, wretched, and despite the weariness consuming his very bones, his mind remains restless, agitated. 

And the silence that lingers after they are done is worse, almost. He cannot bear to look at them.

“You…you can leave,” He tells them. A breath, two, and with a rush of energy he doesn’t have, Aegon stands up instead. The movement feels uneven, exaggerated, and he grabs at the back of the chair to keep himself from falling over. With his free hand, he gestures at them to stay where they are, and corrects himself, “I-I will leave. I’m…I’m the one intruding, am I not?” 

They don’t laugh, so he does. Or he tries to, but what leaves him is this manic little sound, this choked sob. 

He moves to leave the room, but he stumbles over his own feet, and thankfully catches himself on a nearby pillar. He needs to get out. 

Everything is too much, too bright, too loud, too painful, and he cannot escape it. In his head still resonates the breathed I love you. 

Why would you say that to him? He…he’s nothing, he doesn’t… 

No, no. Aegon squeezes his eyes shut and reminds himself that it wasn’t you, it was her. The impostor, that…that poor mimicry of you.  

And he instructed her to say that. Why did he do that? 

He wanted to fill the emptiness inside him, to…to quieten it all for a few moments, he didn’t want…he didn’t want this. But the void within him grows, and it hungers, and it tears away at pieces of him, breath by breath. 

He stumbles out of the pleasure house on trembling legs, but doesn’t make it far before his labored breaths become too quick, too uneven. The air that enters his lungs hurriedly, stutteringly, over and over, still isn’t enough for him to breathe. 

Aegon staggers into a nearby alley, clawing desperately at the brick wall in an attempt to keep himself grounded, to keep himself from breaking, from falling. 

He still does, between labored breaths and memories that taste of ash, he crumbles under the weight of his disgust and his hatred at himself, at what he does, at what he failed to do; and falls onto the cold ground. 

Back against the wall of the empty alley, Aegon brings his knees to his chest, and hugs them close to himself, head bowed and eyes shut tight as he tries forgetting.  

I would love to hear your thoughts on this! My askbox is always open for questions or comments, and soon I think I'll be taking requests.

I should have waited to post this (I posted the first chapter of Pirtir today) but I couldn't help myself. This was so fun to write. I find these themes really interesting, and I want to delve into them again in the future. I have some stuff planned but they're still a bit further ahead in the posting schedule.

Thank you for reading!

[useralba]

⋆౨ৎ⋆.˚ — MARRIAGE PACT, JACAERYS VELARYON x HELAENA TARGARYEN

pairing: helaena targaryen x jacaerys velaryon

summary: in times of uncertainty, rhaenyra and alicent strike a marriage pact to end the dance of dragons in fear of losing any more children. helaena and jacaerys marry, and the realm is all the better for it — as are jace and helaena, who, oddly enough; have never been happier.

cw: so much fucking fluff like stfu. referenced anxiety, non intentional self-harm ( kinda? ripping/picking at cuticles like young alicent ) low self esteem helaena.

authors note: hi, personally I am a FIEND for what could have been the best marriage ( helaena x jace ofc ) in monarchical westeros history, and we needed more screen time of them but wtv ( Im so salty). anyway, this is just for fun as baela is my fave girl evaaa and her n’ jace are so so adorbs. i just ship the fuck outta these two so had to write a lil somethin’ about them. cute dividers by @cafekitsune 🪲

the humming, quaint symphony of insects filled the king and queens chambers as she knelt on the floor contently, an emerald beetle crawling over her soft palms as she smiled softly to herself. helaena’s smile only grew as she observed the critter, noting how its shell gleamed in the candlelight in a similiar way to her husbands dragon, vermax. “you missed supper,” a warm, familiar voice spoke softy from the doorway, his statement more of a question as jacaerys watched helaena, a glint of concern in his brown eyes.

helaena glanced over her shoulder, bashfulness written across her porcelain features as she gently stood up, careful to not drop her favourite beetle as she silently walked over to jacaerys, unable to bring herself to meet his intent gaze. “look,” she gently wrapped her fingers around his hand, placing the tiny viridian beast into his rough palm, “he looks like vermax, doesn’t he?” she asked, leaning into his side unintentionally as she anxiously shifted on the balls of her feet, wringing her hands together as she met his eyes.

a large smile spread across his face; the look of upmost adoration swirling within his eyes as he looked down between her and the beetle she seemed so fond of, “he does, although I hope he does not breathe fire, too.” helaena giggled quietly at his weak attempt of a joke, he always did that; tried to make her laugh, and he’d make himself look like some jester of fleabottoms taverns before he would see her frown, no matter the personal expense to his ego. helaena kept her fingers wrapped around his wrist as she led him over to sit on the floor as she had moments ago, he did as she wordlessly instructed, sitting down cross legged as she knelt before him, their faces level-height with her table covered in various golden cages of all shapes and sizes, storing a multitude of vastly different species of insects and critters.

“where does this one live?” jace asked sweetly, holding his palm out to helaena for her take his little ‘vermax’ home. she did so quietly, cooing softly at the critter as she closed the metallic cage. jace laid his hands in his lap, attention returning to helaena, who had her head propped up by her hands as she rested her elbows on the table, staring lovingly at every individual bug she owned.

“why were you absent from supper?” jace inquired gently, his voice and hands soft as they reached out to his wife. she turned her head to him, a small hint of a frown tugged at the corners of her lips as she shrugged, violet eyes finding solace on the intricately woven tapestry strung up on the wall behind jace, one he had made specifically for her to remind her of him when he was gone up north to visit cregan or busy attending the kings respective duties.

“I did not want to go.” she whispered as if it were obvious, his eyebrows knit together, raising momentarily in understanding, “because your brothers were here?” her subtle nod, and the way her shoulders slumped in relief at how he understood her without prying for an elaboration caused a large exhale to emit from her.

“a wise decision, my love — next time I may join you in your absence, I was close to taking aemonds remaining eye, the way he spoke about luke.” jacaerys continued to rant idly about his day, oftentimes rambling into tangents entirely unrelated to his main point of speaking. halaena did not mind at all, she remained knelt infront of him as he sat, holding his hands in her lap lovingly as the whisper of her touch traced the creases and scars on his palms, on occasion placing a bug in his hands and suppressing her giggle as jace scarcely seemed to notice.

“and here I am, treated like the coddled princling by my mother — she forgets I am the king now, it’s humiliating.” he let out a large, exuberant exhale as he finished talking, looking to helaena for consolation; it appeared through her body language as though she hadn’t listened to a thing, but jace knew her better than anyone, and silently awaited her answer. “nobody else thinks that of you, jace. and your mother means well, she is not cruel — she’s just afraid of losing her eldest son to change.”

he nodded, his lips curling slightly as he let out a relieved, heavy breath he had been holding in all week as he succumbed to the expected stress that comes with ruling seven kingdoms while he was separated from helaena. he leant forward, his hands softly cupping her face, “you and that mind of yours.” he said through a smile before pressing a grateful, loving kiss to her forehead before standing up. halaena’s pale face was dusted a light pink at his appreciative praise, placing the back of her hand to her cheek to try shield her smitten grin from him.

“which reminds me — I got you something,” jace said with a small groan as he cracked his back from sitting in the same position for so long, walking idly over to his cloak, beckoning helaena to stand by the mirror with a subtle tilt of his head. halaena mirrored his tilted head, in confusion however, her white eyebrows furrowing as she stood, walking awkwardly backwards to the mirror with suspicion, clasping her hands together out of a concoction of anxiety and excitement; a feeling of normalised by helaena.

she turned to face the mirror, looking at herself with a small frown as she grew self conscious, raking her hands through her ethereal hair and pinching her cheeks for a natural blush, hoping jacaerys would think she was pretty; the mean, teasing remarks spat by aegon and the judgmental looks shot by aemond in their youth formed a tight, painful mould in which every ounce of her self esteem was belittled and squeezed into something miniscule — until jacaerys. from the first moment their betrothal was announced, he had treated her with the upmost respect and looked at her with a genuine kindness and sincerity she had never encountered in the harsh gaze of men before.

now that they were married, his kindness had only amplified, and the croaking self doubt that he didn’t truly want this, or want her, had slowly crept into silence at the back of her mind with every moment jacaerys spent with her. unlike her mangy brother, no matter how agitating the craw of alicent and Rhaenrya were in asking when he would suffice his own heirs; he never put his own tasks or masculine urges before helaena’s comfortability and happiness. while the realm expected him to produce heirs, he produced something the realm hadn’t seen in two decades; a content helaena targaryen.

he slowly pryed her open, across months of amiable dragon riding, conversing about whatever insects fascinated her that week, and truly listening to her strange, forlorn dreams; helaena opened herself up to jace, their marriage had bloomed political and rigid, and through jacaerys efforts and patience, had blossomed into a reciprocated pact of trust, incomparable respect and true adoration. this much was evident when helaena of all people was the first of the two to bring up the topic of heirs — in her own way of course. “do you think our son would want insects everywhere, or would he fear them.” jace short-circuited, and mentally debated whether or not he had infact heard her right. but as she looked to him expectantly, a shy look in her doe-like eyes, he knew he had succeeded in winning the dreamer over.

that was no different from now, she loved him more than she had loved anything else; even dreamfyre, something she deemed impossible. but as he sauntered over to stand behind her as she looked at him in the mirror, she accepted it was true, truer than any vision or dream she conjured, truer than everything that had been presented to her throughout her life out of ‘love’ by alicent, or any of her relatives who shared the emerald-stained blood of her matriarch.

jacaerys noticed how her chest rose and fell heavily, the way she picked at her fingernails anxiously as her mother did. he reached around her front to gently pry apart her fingers from eachother, his gaze locked onto hers in the mirror, “do you trust me?” he spoke calmly in her ear, his dark curls brushing her neck from how his head hovered over her shoulder.

“yes.” helaena affirmed quietly, appearing visibly more comfortable as he placed a reassuring hand on her elbow, his thumb rubbing the dark blue velvet dress covering her skin momentarily before retracting his hands, pulling a small silver necklace from his cloak and gently reaching around her neck to place it on her, his eyes faltering in self confidence for a moment, worried she may not like it.

helaena released a small gasp, a ghost of a smile gracing her features as she looked at the necklace in the mirror. “do you like it?” jace asked, chuffed as he observed the look of pure, unabashed glee that painted her features as her nimble fingers reached up to touch the strangely familiar valyrian necklace. “this was rhaenyra’s.” she stated with an excited, honoured gasp. he nodded, placing his hands absentmindedly on her hips as he rested his chin on her shoulder, “yes, daemon gave it to her out of love, my mother sought I may do the same.”

helaena’s face was immediately taken over by a large, beaming smile as she spun around to face him, throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace; unsure how to thank him equivalently to his gifts specialty and individuality which could only found in the ash and ruin of what was left of old valyria. a surprised huff of laughter left the man as his arms snaked the entirety of her waist, hugging her tightly before she pulled away to look at him, her hands now finding reprieve in fiddling nervously with the red gemstone in her necklace rather than the reddened nail beds of her fingers.

“I do not know what I can give you in return.” helaena whispered breathlessly, jace’s hands remained holding her close to him by her waist, a near amused grin toying at his lips as he shook his head, “remain happy, and remain mine — that is all I ask in return.” he smiled at her shy nod before leaning down, pressing a gentle, explorative kiss to her lips; smiling into the kiss out of surprise as she braced her hands against his chest, leaning up on her toes to kiss him more before she pulled away, shy and unable to meet his eyes once more.

the royal chambers were once more filled with the serene, continuous hum of insects; now paired with the quiet chatter and hushed giggles of the king and queen of westeros for the remaining hours of dusk. there was not a doubt in the whole of westeros’ minds that the dowager queen rhaenyra had made the correct choice in this marriage pact to end the war; and by dawn, ravens arrived across the kingdoms in celebration of the queen helaena’s pregnancy, affirming the long and prosperous reign of the targaryens and the close avoidance of the second doom of the last blood of valyria.

[prideprejudce]

when you claim you have royal blood in you for years as an ice breaker at the tavern and now everyone is saying to go to "a giant rock" and "claim a fire breathing dragon" because you have platinum blonde roots

[comfortless]

What dungeoneer!König wants vs what he gets:

SO TRUE. he just wants a pretty lady that can sew and cook, willing to put up with his nonsense without hissing at him at every turn!! knight!gf simply lives to bully him (she gets good sword practice that way) <3

At some point, he does ask her about her strange demeanor: “Why do you pretend?”

It’s said in a hushed whisper while they’re both fitted beneath a thin sheet at some weatherworn inn along their route, cozy and safe as every night since she took to sleeping at his side like a contented little kitten. He can’t help but want to poke at her when she’s so soft and weary (and her sword is on the far side of the room).

Not that he dislikes her with the sharp edges of her armor, the jostling of her chainmail and her expert swordswomanship— he just can not comprehend why a lady as lovely as she is would want to explore dark crypts full of monsters and bully him into dueling with her! She should be in fields of flowers, caressed by the wind, laughing soft into the mouth of her lover while he strips her of her gown…

She’s already toyed with the idea of courting him as a man would, stuffing flowers in the cuff links of his tunic and kneeling before him as if to offer her loyalty, her blade. It’s always when she finds herself keen on the idea of potentially taking him as her own that he finds a way to ruin the moment with blunt words or a too-eager hand.

“What do you mean?” She drags the words, sleep addled and dumbed down by a pint of mead from the tavern below.

“That you’re…” He pauses.

König isn’t stupid, he knows he’s jabbing at the dragon’s mouth, daring it to breathe fire the second he asks his lady knight things like this. She is what she is, and he’s given up on the hope of ever changing whichever tangled bowstring in her mind is making her this way. Though he would prefer her to be like the soft women he’s seen wearing silken bliauts, eyes shimmering as they shyly avert their gazes from him… She is something else entirely and that both fascinated and unnerves him.

“… not fragile,” he finishes, turning on his side to face her properly.

His little knight pinches her brow at that, throws the covering off of them both and rises to her knees to climb over him. She means to be intimidating, surely, but he can’t help the way his cock twitches in his pants at the sight of her downcast glare and the feel of her fingernails biting into the skin of his bare shoulders, actually thinking that her delicate form is enough to properly keep him pinned.

“I saved your life.” Ever since the gnoll, she’s been using it as leverage, punctuating her words by tracing over the scar with a light stroke of her thumb.

“Ja, but… do you not want to be more…”

“Ladylike?”

If she were, they would already have settled someplace softer; a roof above their heads where he sacrifices every shift of the sun feeding her from his palm and bringing home gifts that make her eyes shimmery and her heart fill to bursting. Every hour of the night squishing her beneath him and bringing her to beautiful ruin.

The concept only further confuses her when König nods his head, a trace of honeysuckle wafting up from his throat where she had pressed them into the collar of his shirt only earlier that day. It eases her, makes her less annoyed when she remembers that this brute is entirely hers, equally devoted even if he is more keen on fucking her in a dress than in the armor she covets.

She tells him a story when she finally retreats to her side of the thin, straw-stuffed mattress. It’s one he’s heard countless times in his own youth, of a knight she seemed to believe a hero. When she finishes, expecting some protest from him about how little girls should have never heard such tales, she’s only met with a silence that further bewilders her.

His stare is less perplexed and more loving, now. So much so, that she isn’t surprised when he pulls her closer with a gentle grasp to her forearm and rests his chin over her shoulder.

“You want to be a little hero then, hm?,” he whispers into her ear, a prideful smirk plastered across his face when he feels her shiver.

“Aren’t I already?” No matter how much cold steel she coats herself in, it could never smother out the gentleness of her laugh, and when she does giggle, he bites his lower lip hard enough to draw blood to keep the urge to squish her tits and toy with her at bay.

“Knights don’t find themselves in bed with beasts,” he rasps, daring to inch his hand further down to her hip.

“You believe that a lady would be more keen to?”

“A lady would want the beast to fuck her, ja?”

Poor König finds himself entirely blueballed once more when she squirms away from him, shooting a glare as cold as a winter storm in his direction before facing away with the blanket pulled taut over the both of them.

She’s only grateful that he can’t hear the beating of her heart or catch sight of the giddy little smile pulling at her lips. It’s not his stature or his prowess in battle that’s caged him up in her heart, only the way he makes her feel as though she truly is apart of some fairytale.

[argisthebulwark]

"Would You Kill For Me?"

summary: asking your partner the most intimate question of all - would he kill for you? gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Cicero, Teldryn, Vilkas, Miraak, Brynjolf, Erandur, Farkas, Mercer warnings: obv allusions to violence, nothing explicit. alcohol.

"I already have."

Cicero giggles, slapping a gloved hand on your shoulder. "Of course I've killed for you! Silly Listener, asking your poor, beloved Cicero such a question." Rationally, you know any other person would be upset - but it's endearing. You know deep in your heart that Cicero would slice through anyone who even looks at you wrong without a second thought. "Would you kill for your Keeper?" He asks coyly, sliding closer. It's too difficult to resist his charm. You find yourself grinning, remembering the many threats of bodily harm you've inflicted upon any initiate who breathes a negative word about your beloved. "Any day, my love."

"Why? You offering to return the favor?" Teldryn smirks before taking a drink from his mug. The tip of his boot knocks into yours under the table, earning a nice flush in your cheeks. You've clearly had too much to drink but Teldryn looked so pretty in the low tavern lighting, the alcohol loosening your tongue enough to voice all those silly little questions you've had floating around. "You have?" You urge, leaning so far over the table you're practically laying on it. Teldryn grins, bowing toward you and his voice conspiratorially low when he speaks again. "Of course - why do you think all that chatter about you being an untrustworthy outlander stopped so quickly?" "I thought my good deeds were enough to earn their trust." You pout, thinking back on the sudden shift in opinion. "Oh yes, yes - that too, but a few well placed jabs never hurt."

"I'd die for you."

"Isn't that better? To die for you?" Vilkas laments, lips stained red from his third glass of wine. The question had hardly been in your mind before it slipped out - late nights toasting to the Companions often left you tipsy. "I'd rather you lived for me." You hiccup, leaning closer to him. Those dark eyes still track every little move you make despite the intoxication. "A happy, long live if I have any say in the matter." He lapses into silence but you know his mind is still chewing on that question. Swirling the wine in his glass Vilkas reclines into his seat, staring earnestly into the low burning fire. "Vilkas, it was just a silly question." Those eyes cut straight through you, blinking away whatever retort he'd come up with before simply placing a kiss to the back of your hand.

"I would die in your stead." Miraak's hands cup your face, each word soaked in adoration. "I've died in your arms once, my Dragon. I would gladly do it once more." You will never truly grow accustomed to this version of him - stripped of the malice he'd lived with for so long, he's become devoted to you. Too many pupils gaze lovingly into your eyes, the crooked bridge of his nose bumping yours. You've never known a love like his and doubt that many ever will - he's had lifetimes to yearn, to want something more and hone a vocabulary that often leaves you a flustered mess. "You're far too serious." He grins at those words, the ones you've said dozens of times. "I would tear the world to shreds for you, my love. I would tear myself to shreds."

"I cant."

Brynjolf's words carry a silent apology - of course you knew his answer but watching him squirm can be fun. "I'm sorry, love - I know it isn't the romantic answer but I don't think I could bring myself to do somethin' like that. Not after -" "Bryn." Grasping his face, your heart still skips a beat when those green eyes find yours. "I know that blade you wear is simply decorative, I would never ask you to draw it." "It is not merely decorative, it serves other purposes." "Such as?" "It's fairly useful for intimidation. And breaking windows." He huffs, pressing a kiss to your palm. He pauses for a moment, eyes falling closed and nose nuzzled into your hand. "Truth be told, I like to say that I wouldn't - hell, I tell myself I won't take a life every day, but after Mercer takin' you away from me, I'm not so sure."

"I swore against such actions, my love." Erandur murmurs, forehead pressed to yours. "Lady Mara may have forgiven my past transgressions but I took an oath to bring no further harm to her people." "Of course, dearest." You smile, a bit entertained by how easy it is to get him talking. Erandur's fingers play across yours, rings bumping into your knuckles. "Would you kill for me?" You're a bit shocked by his question, even further surprised by the little hint of hope buried in his words. "Without second thought." It's the easiest answer in the world. Of course you would kill for Erandur - you would fight through hordes of enemies to ensure his safety. "I can only pray that your Lady's forgiving attitude extends to me."

"Of course."

Brows raised, Farkas assesses you across the training yard. He sucks in a deep breath, wiping the sweat from his brow before heaving the giant practice sword over one shoulder. "Any day." He says easily, a quick kiss pressed to your brow. No matter how long you're together this sight still seems too good to be true - muscles glistening in the midday sun, his hair tied back and an easy smile on his face. "Why, you need someone killed?" "Not at the moment." "If one of those recruits gets too mouthy, you come find me." He grins before turning his attention back to a battered training dummy. You notice after that question that his sword strikes just a bit harder, hammering that point home.

"No." Mercer lies, kicking his feet atop the desk. You mirror his position - boots on the desk and arms crossed, though the scowl is hard to mimic. He's perfected it. "Yes you would." You counter, fighting back a laugh when he rolls his eyes. That little divot appears between his brows - it's cute. You'd tell him but fear being assigned some awful job across the continent. "Why bother asking?" He grumbles, shoving a stack of paperwork toward you. "If you insist on hanging around asking inane questions, least you could do is make yourself useful." "I'd kill for you." "Lovely." He mutters, though you note a bit of color rising in his cheeks when he turns to some parchment he'd pointedly ignored all evening. It's too easy to get under his skin.

[lady-ashfade]

Do daemon finds out he has a bastard daughter who looks and acts a lot like him (into fighting, dragons and so on). When he's there somewhere in essos (or from somewhere you can write) the mother is dying and he decides to take his daughter with him. In comes yandere rhaenyra and she basically decides she's now her kid. Headcanons of this or any format you think this would be great in

Yandere parents Rhaenrya & Daemon targaryen x Bastard child.

Notes: This isn’t what I wanted but I hope you still like it! Yandere daemon is only a bit in this. Also you’re young in this and are Lukes age.

Readers appearance: White hair, your father is daemon so you’re a bit paler then your mothers. And your mothers appearance isn’t mentioned.

Warnings: Yandere tendency’s, sad themes, me kinda crying over the mom dying. Writings and spelling mistakes.

Daemon would be drunk one night, making his way from the tavern and trying to make his way back home to his wife. But when he saw a pretty girl outside in the night hanging up clothes on a line he had to go up to her.

She wasn’t a maiden by no means, but a handsome white haired prince was saying sweet things to her and made her feel wanted for a short time. She couldn’t refuse.

They spend the night together in her house and the morning she awake he was gone. The only thing left to reassure her was a coin purse filled to the brim. She felt like a whore but he gave her something far greater than anything she could ever hope for-

You. 

She was happy when she found out she was pregnant, of course she knew that people would look down on her for it but at the end of the day she wouldn’t be alone. She would have a child to take care of and be the light in her life. She thanked the gods for blessing her with such a wonder.

When you were born you had white little hairs sticking out of your little head, skin two shades paler then your mothers. A beautiful baby girl.

When you grew you couldn’t stay still for very long, always doing chores or practicing with a wooden sword. Your mother worked as a baker down the street and you’d help sell some of the products from time to time. But you liked to get your hands dirty with pickpocketing. You’re mother did scold you when she found out, but you had to make sure you could take care of her one day.

So you sold everything a day after you took it and kept the money under the floors of your bed. And sometimes you would take a coin or two and help out the beggars in the streets.

When you weren’t working you were sneaking around to watch the knights train. You watched for hours until you couldn’t and you took their movements and trained yourself.

You did have to wear a hood almost if not all the time to hide your white hair because they knew you were the prince bastard. So you liked to hide it because they always cursed you but you didn’t care much about it. Only caring when it messes with making money.

Then there was the kids that liked to pick on you until one day you punched each and every one of them. Even telling them you’d find them in their sleep and cut their hair, they now didn’t like to be around you. And the adults aren’t much better. The amount of times you had been brought to your mothers feet for punching/kicking from guys crouch was to much to count.

Your mother loved you like you were the air she breathed. But you being as hothead as your father was something she wished you didn’t inherit. 

Slowly your mother became sicker and weaker, she wasn’t able to get farther then her room or the bed. That’s when you took the role of household manger. Taking on small jobs you could find, helping out the bakery or stealing things you could. Her treatment was very expensive and you barely had enough to eat. Any food you got you gave to her always saying you had more for you, it was a lie but you didn’t care.

That’s when daemon returned. You mother not having much time left in this world. You were out working while daemon came to her house. He was curious to see her again. It’s been years since they shared that night together but he remembered her.

He walked into the house that was less alive then it was, most of the stuff was sold and almost empty. He heard coughing in the room down the hall and followed.

They reunited for small talk but that’s when she told him about you.

“We have a child, I know she is a bastard but she’s so much like you daemon. She’s my everything and I want her to be fine when I have to leave her in this world.” She grabbed his hands. “Please just look after her, she’s skilled like you. Just don’t let her be alone.”

Daemon didn’t know what to think. He already had two daughters and now step sons, then there was you? He was curious, yes. But he wasn’t as cold hearted to deny a mothers last wish on her deathbed.

He was waiting for you when you came home. You were startled by a man being in your house looking like a assassin with a clock on, so you pulled out the small blade on your waist.

The fire you looked at him with: The want to kill. His daughter. If looks could kill daemon was sure he would be dead. Your movements were fast but telling because you were small and blinded.

Daemon took the blade away from you when you tried to stab him and he threw it across the room and held you by your arms. “It is okay little one. I mean you or your mother no harm.” You watched as he took off his hood and showed the white hair just like yours.

“You-You’re..” you couldn’t even finish the sentence. “I am you’re father, my little dove.” You pulled away from him and held yourself, “And you’re here for what? We are fine without out you.”

He tried to talk to you but you didn’t care for a word he was saying, always coming back with a sarcastic reply. What he saw in you was just like him when he was a boy. The only one to convince you was your mother when you had alone time and daemon went to get dinner.

“I love you, so much. When you have children of your own I know you’ll feel just like I do.” You cling to her hand while sitting next to her. “I’m dying, my sweet. I feel like I have done my part in keeping you safe, you will go with daemon and live with him and his family. You’ll do wonderful things.”

You shook your head and cried. “But I don’t want his family. I want you, you’re my only family mother. I will not leave you here. I’ll work twice as hard and make sure you get the treatment-” she cut you off by pulling you into her chest.

“The stranger has come for me, I wouldn’t be here for you to stay. Go with daemon and live for me, I will never be more then a thought away.” Her eyes filled with tears as you sobbed in her chest begging for her not to leave you.

Daemon was sitting outside the whole time listening. Even he was a bit sad listening to you.

You left two days later after you had buried your mother. The night you had the talk was her last night with you, dying early in the morning. You looked dead and let the grief take control over you, you couldn’t even give daemon a sarcastic remark.

Daemon watched you with a sting in his heart. Someone so new in his life already had his heart. He made a promise to keep you safe so that’s what he’s going to do.

The first time he ever saw you smile was when he took you to meet Caraxes. The way your eyes light up in a spark he has never seen before, the tug on the ends of your lips. He felt happy.

You stared at the beast and it looked back at you, most people would coward away from the beast but not you. The little eyes stared right out at it while a small smile, not moving at all. You didn’t look afraid.

Daemon smiled and walked you over the the dragon that watched you. Before daemon could do anything Caraxes’s nose moved towards you and took a few sniffs.

You reached your small hand up to the dragon and let him smell it, you inched closer until you hit its skin. He nudged you to pet him and you did, he was already soft for you.

Daemon was more then pleased at the two of you getting along but you had to get back to his home. So you had your first, of many, dragonrides.

You got to to dragonstone around the time dinner was being had. Daemon could tell you were nervous and he knew you didn’t feel that often.

“No harm will come to you here.” He grabbed your hand kindly. You didn’t shove him away, you didn’t hit or yell at him. But you held onto it tighter and walked with him.

Soon you walked through the hallways the servants there would bow but give you a side eye of Curiosity. I mean you didn’t blame them for it, you- a white hair child with a dirty dress and looks like a mess. You would turn your head too.

Rhaenrya was waiting for you with the three boys, one was your age, then one older and there was a baby boy in her arms. When you walked into the room all eyes went onto you and you stared back.

Rhaenrya moved over to you with the boys trailing behind her like pups to their mother. They didn’t have white hair which made you a bit confused but you didn’t question it. The older woman gave you a kinda smile.

“Hello, sweetling. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You watch as she placed a hand on your cheek and you stiffed and glanced at daemon for help.

“I um-…. Pleasure to meet you too, princess.” You did a poor job at a bow. She chuckled and shook her head, “No need for that, we are a family now. You’re just as Royal as the rest of us.”

Rhaenrya knew from the moment she saw you that you’d be her child. She felt the same way about you as seeing her other children for the first time after a birth. Her sweet girl. 

She claimed to you at first she meant no means to replace your old mom. But that was a lie. She did hope to become a mother that you believed to be, so she’ll just work her way into your heart.

She’d have tea with you each day and it didn’t matter if you would talk or not but it help. Sometimes you would ask questions and she would answer them to you if she could. But she knew the way into your heart was through fire.

She would watch you train with daemon and the children and cheered you on, she would bring you books and outfits of your choosing.

A year grew by and you finally let her into your heart, you came to her for the first time and asked to spend time with her.

Having rhaenrya as a yandere mom isn’t the worse.

She was over protective of you but knew you were just like your father and that you would never stop. So you become one of the most feared people on the planet, giving the best training.

Then you were given a dragons egg. That hacked and rhaenrya wouldn’t let anyone teach you but her. Even daemon had to stay away while she had time with you.

She did your hair and got you anything you wanted. She teaches you about the woman’s body and just about woman.

I think rhaenrya after a few years would forget you actually aren’t her daughter. And believe she was your only mother. and anyone that said anything different would get their tongues cut off.

She believed no one was good for you- Except your brothers. She secretly placed you and Luke together, of course you two were to grow to be betrothed.

She also got jealous of any maid helping you with anything, like helping you pick out pins or hair styles. Because that’s her job. 

Two years after being there she called herself your mother and you corrected her but she never stopped. 

You were always beside her, she didn’t like not knowing your whereabouts. So if you aren’t with daemon or the boys, she would send someone to find you.

So I think you’ll become her or the boys personal protecters, or even her own spy. She didn’t trust anyone like she did you, not even daemon.

You are going to be watched like a hawk all of the time.

Yan!Rhaenrya as a mother is possessive 

[thebadboyfanclub]

She Is A Lady (Ivar x Targaryen Reader)

Ivar has always been such an interesting character to me so imagine how delighted I was when I got my first request for him. Also I would like to announce that I will not be accepting any more requests for daemon Targaryen as of right now cause i have written so many and I have also others that I must write. Enjoy!

Y/n) had always been an adventurous character, ever since she could walk she would wobble away from everyone, curiosity fuelling her little chubby legs, when she got a little older and was able to get on her dragon, Rhaenyras's heart raced as she waited patiently for her daughter to come home.

She was her father's daughter, stubborn, brave, and resilient, “the noble she-dragon” was her title when she would often be referred to in the songs of barbs, she would smirk under her cloak as she would often cover herself to visit the small taverns.

When war called for her (y/n) defended her mother with the fierceness of a dozen warriors, however, the pain of losing her brothers one by one, her dear Daemon who taught her so many things, her grandmother Rhaenys, she could not risk the death of her mother.

“We can still fight dear”

“Mother our troops have fought fiercely for so long, most of our men are dead, we need an alliance”

“What if they kill you?”

“Then I’ll let my brothers know how much you love them and we will be waiting for you, my queen”

Rhaenyra overcomes with emotion fell into her daughters' arms in desperation, her precious little girl was now grown up. (Y/n) hugged her mother back with the same amount of love, she hated the fact that she had to leave her mother's side, but this was their last resort.

Rhaenyra pulled away slightly, her fingers reaching for the few strands of Dark hair that were entangled between her Targaryen silver hair, a small token she had inherited from her late father.

“Promise me you will come back to me”

“I won’t come alone, I’ll come with an army to protect you”

-

(Y/n) had searched for inhabited land beyond the wall for a full day, the sun had been tucked away and replaced by the moon when she noticed a land lit by torches, it would unwise to make a haste landing without a warning first, for all she knew this land could be home for cannibals or demon worshippers.

(Y/n) commanded her dragon to fly a bit lower, circling the city to make her presence known, not only did the people notice her, as they had gathered around for supper to celebrate their victory, they rose from their seats to follow the beast that appeared to make landing a bit further down.

“I am unharmed, well… except the dragon”

“Who are you?”

“Princess (y/n) Targaryen, I come from kings landing”

The men came to a standstill with the princess, both parties waiting for a sudden move so they can “defend” their own, you could only hear the sound of the fire from their torches and their breaths created a mist from the cold.

“I understand this is sudden for you but I have come in peace, I have been traveling on dragon back since dawn, it would be certainly easier for me to explain after I get some type of food if you could be so kind to offer one”

The dim light was not enough to reveal the contraption Ivar was using to stand up on his legs, his eyes piercing through hers in such intensity that (y/n) felt like the man was trying to look into her brain, still she did not waver, she challenged him with her strong look she beheld on those intriguing hues, her flame could be identified from a mile away, this was not a meek princess, she came flying in a beast and stood by it proudly, she was a true warrior sent from the Gods.

“Fine, princess. Leave your sword and dragon here and then you can follow us”

Of course, he knew she was lying, he saw the sword that rested on her hip the minute she got on the ground, intrigued by the astonishing beast she came with he decided to offer her sanctuary.

To his surprise, the princess took out her sword before she came on one knee with it laying flat on her palms.

“This has been given to me by a beloved family member, I do not wish to leave it unattended but I trust you with it, Ser”

“Ivar, Ivar the boneless”

Her face showed exactly how puzzled she was by the nickname the name claimed that he was holding, howbeit she did not have time to question it for long since from the first step Ivar took (y/n) picked up on the metal sound and observed just how stiff his walking as she realized that the man was probably barely able to stand up, his entire weight was supported by a delicates design of metal that went all the way up to his thigh.

Ivar smirked at the sight of the woman offering her sword, she seemed smart enough according to her calculated moves, the sword felt light in his hand as it shined under the moonlight, arrogantly he pointed the tip of the sword directly under her chin, his ego allowing him to consider that he had the upper hand.

(Y/n) gently placed the weapon away from her face and rose to her feet, she had been nothing but gracious she would not allow herself to be disrespected.

“Lead the way, my lord”

She simply suggested, she concealed her facial expression well though the devil was always in the details, Ivar could see her hands forming into fists.

“Welcome to Kattegat princess”

He turned his back on her while she took small steps to stay behind him, she did not want to offend him by walking faster so her pace was slow enough to let him walk.

(Y/n)s eyes traveled around everything, people’s faces, their clothing, their tables, their homes, it seemed like everyone was living a simple life, it reminded her of the roads of kings landing.

Ivar could hear the whispers from his subjects, they were all taken back by Ivars sudden kindness, and they all expected him to kill her on the spot, he had to admit that the idea did go through his head, yet something in him told him to let her join their feast, maybe it was the fearsome dragon, maybe her alluring appearance.

Alas, (y/n) took a seat next to him, and quite swiftly the servants gave her a plate full of food and a goblet with ale, the chicken was warm and the ale did the trick of warming her up as everyone danced around the fire, a faint smile played on her lips while Ivar observed her.

“So what brings you here princess?”

“War I am afraid”

“War?”

“In my homeland, we have one king that rules over the land, my family has been been in that position for over a century, yet it is the very first time that a woman-my mother- is to assume authority, that did not go well with her half brother”

“So you ran?”

“I certainly have not, my brothers were killed, my stepfather, my grandmother… all gone”

Ivar felt sadness rush through his chest at how the princess's chin quivered, her hushed tone trembling as she uttered the last two words, her doe eyes misting in the firelight, Ivar was not known for his empathy, still, he reached for her hand under the table to give it a slight squeeze.

“My mother was killed by my father's first wife, she released an arrow while my mother was walking away”

“How did you respond?”

“Oh I’ve tried to kill her several times”

“It is quite macabre, how the family is always the one that causes the biggest pain”

“I suppose, if you are not running then what brought you here?”

“Desperation, countless battles have taken most of our men, I was hoping to look for allies”

“You described it perfectly, desperation is the only thing that could make someone believe that another army of men would come to die for you”

“My mother is all I have left, wouldn’t you do anything to bring your own back to life?”

“Definitely”

“It might sound cruel but forgive me for saying I do not crave to understand your pain”

She was honest Ivar gave (y/n) that much, they sat there gawking at one another, she stood tall, she did not waver under his eyes as most people did, she showed no signs of fear, she did not care about anything, and let’s not even start of how ambitious she appeared to be.

Ivar took a swig of his ale without looking away from those distinguish violet hues, he recalled how the prophets have whispered to him of a queen of a faraway land.

“Your queen will help you fly amongst the clouds, you’ll know lands beyond the eye”

He had brushed it off as a riddle, but now he started to understand that it was the only time the prophet meant every word, could she- princess (y/n) Targaryen- be his queen?

There, for only the briefest moment and for the first time he felt the warm sensation of his heart thumping at the mere sight of her smile, like Freya had come from the clouds to place her cloak around the two youngsters. For so long Ivar had brushed off the idea of love or marriage, sometimes he would even the joke that the goddess herself has cursed him or turned his back on him, cruelly denying him the blessing of a true loves match.

“I cannot throw my men to a war over lands I know nothing about”

“I figure that we will ride tomorrow”

“Ride?”

“We can strap you up on Daylight and you will be safe as a passenger”

“You mean I go up in that?”

“Hey, she is a lady”

Ivar cackled at her correction regarding her dragon. It had been a while since one was so casual with him, that treated him with kindness without fearing his outbursts, sure her ignorance of not exactly knowing his antics had something to do with it, albeit Ivar thoroughly enjoyed her presence, her wit and pride complimented her.

As (y/n) bit her bottom lip her gaze went over to his legs, she wanted to ask as silence overtook them, but she debated if it was the right decision.

“It’s not an injury, I was never able to walk”

“Brittle bones, the masters in my land had informed me of such condition. Back in the day, they used to kill babes that seemed to hold such an illness”

“Oh that is what happens here as well, my mother forbade it”

“She sounds like a lovely woman”

“She was”

(Y/n) could deeply empathize with the look that took over Ivars handsome face, how his expression clouded for just a moment, how his jaw tensed and his lips stiffened to a thin line, she could tell that Ivar was not looking at anyone particularly, he was reminiscing as moments that they shared passed through his ice blue hues.

Ivar was pulled back to reality by her gentle hand resting on his thing, usually, he would shove away anyone that dared to touch his legs, but surprisingly he just allowed his hand to find hers and rest on top of it, a part of him yearning for the warmth of her touch, her genuine interest and zest.

“I am certain she is very proud of you, I understand you two probably shared a very close bond”

“We did, but let’s not dwell on such events, you must rest I do not want the rider of such a large beast to fall asleep while they hold my life in the reigns of a dragon”

They smiled at one another, a grin that behind it was resting countless words left unsaid. Ivar was a stranger to the goodwill of people, although with her, as his eyes rested upon her features he felt like his anger vanished, like a wave that held her name washed through his experience with cruelty and even his brothers belittling him was now gone.

“This feels strange”

“I agree princess, but I do not want it to go away”

“Me neither”

She whispered, her eyes lowering down to the ground to avoid the foreign sensation that was Ivars presence. Ivar allowed her to retreat, as he looked around it dawned on him that a few of the others had also taken it to become viewers of their encounter, he could not blame them.

With some difficulty he rose from his seat with the goblet of Ale in his hand, demanding the attention of everyone to realign with their leader.

“It is with great honor that I present to you the princess (y/n) Targaryen, the future queen of her land, she has come to us with a request for an alliance, to fight alongside her army for a land we do not know. Tomorrow I will ride with the princess to see for myself that foreign land, as well as to marry her”

“What?”

“To unite our kingdoms, to rule by her side in her homeland and for her to rule by my side in mine, to give us a reason to help her. Raise your glass, to your future queen”

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