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queers-gambit · 1 month

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The Black Dread part one

prompt: after word is sent for Dragonseeds to raise up, you shockingly claim The Black Dread. knowing your stance would all but determine the war, both Alicent and Rhaenyra send emissaries to persuade your allegiance through means of marriage. when tragedy strikes, you fly to war. -> in this part - you claim Balerion and emissaries are sent.

pairing: Jacaerys 'Jace' Velaryon x female!Tyrell!reader pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader -> hair color specified reader -> technically Targaryen!reader -> ALL characters aged 18+

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

series masterlist: The Black Dread > > > next part, part two: read here

word count: 4.9k+

note: ALL characters are aged up - they are NOT minors

warnings: hair color specified reader but it's paramount to the story. Dance of the Dragons AU, Balerion lives AU - kinda heavy introduction. political manipulation, i guess no Baela, Rhaena or Alys romantic interests, ALL characters are aged 18 or older, Muses aren't in this part much, stolen Olenna Tyrell quote(s), Dylan Thomas quote.

though Balerion is not shown in the shows [HOTD or GOT], these are some of author's personal favorite fan art pieces: this this one, but maybe this color

Considering the climate, environment, elements, and location of each region with no true diverse distinction or transition between seasons, summers varied in each corner of the Seven Kingdoms. Notably, the mainland experienced vastly different summers in comparison to the constantly humid Westerosi islands.

This was expected.

Where the weather endured in King’s Landing is dry and stale - lacking cloud coverage, baking all forms of life under the unforgiving sun - Dorne was ideal: temperate, tropical, the temperature usually consistently comfortable.

Northwest of the continent, off the Westerlands coast in water of Ironman's Bay so dark, secrets remain hidden, summers on the ratified Iron Islands were cold due to the winds blowing from the North. The rocky region wet and slippery from rain; never humid, usually biting.

The Reach boasted pleasant summers; lush and green with fully bloomed gardens, perfectly balmy. The Stormlands lived up to its name and was plagued with frequent storms. These were usually warm rains - opposite the Iron Islands. The Crownland's annually hosted hordes of tourists at their ever popular summer attraction: temperate beaches. And why wouldn't they? The Crownlands's usually kept moderate temperatures and plenty of vast coastline to offer reprieve in the surf.

However, the only exception to sweltering, stereotypical climate that ransacks the Realm is the North - an expansive outlier. You see, in the North, summers are cold but winters are REALLY cold. From Bear Island to White Harbor, the dreary, overcast summer sky reflects on year-round, bright, pristine summer snow, making it glitter and blindingly glow. This results in the curation of a blue-grey filter naturally exclusive in the North.

However, tonight - You weren't ankle-deep in North summer snows. You weren't wheezing in King's Landing. You weren't vacationing in Dorne. You weren't sloshing through the Stormlands.

Tonight, you weren't on the mainland.

Tonight, you were on Dragonstone - ancestral home of your distant, estranged family.

Bullfrogs belted their croaky song, loud and incessant; as if trying to individually greet each twinkling star in the inky sky - the ever faithful audience; intrigued by this reckless and dangerous suicidal showdown you embarked on. Crickets chirped in a soprano choir; dotting around the maze of tide pools - cratered by the same porous, jagged, volcanic rock that defines the unpredictable, natural coastline. Frothing alto waves of dark navy, violent, salty sea brutally crashed against rock - the booming baseline of the frog's and cricket's private duet sang in perfect harmony.

All that was missing was a little red crab with a Jamaican accent encouraging you "kiss the girl".

Night had fallen. The winds were cold as a storm rumbled overhead. Rain fell sideways. Lightning streaked the skies.

You navigated through the dark - a slippery, dangerous feat.

Few windows of the castle gave a subtle, dim light; indicating the residents were more than likely turned in for the night. Still, despite the lack of patrolling guards and other witnesses, you remained in stealth mode. Only fools allowed themselves to feel cocky when their guards go down. When someone allowed their defenses to go down, mistakes are made, capture is imminent, the mission is a failure, and surrender to the enemy's mercy is forced.

Your presence on Dragonstone wasn't for romance - no girls (or boys) for you to kiss. This wasn't a social visit to recreationally mingle with the Velaryon Prince or Targaryen Princess Twins. You're not conducting research curriculum - no time to study flora, fauna, volcanic activity.

To the winged terrors, Dragonstone Island is a recognizable safe haven that promotes healing - the one place these miraculous beasts could relax, ease their defenses; be vulnerable with lowered guards. This sense of safety gives freedom away from the confines of Dragon Riders - simply allowed to be true, authentic, and animalistic.

Currently, a couple dragons sought refuge on the island, nesting, minding their own business; others sought rest, retirement, peaceful isolation. Several took advantage of the heat and loitered around the volcano, the Dragonmont.

They weren't just any dragons, some were rogue, wild; some released after captivity; all unclaimed, riderless. This tempted several persons to rely on arrogant luck and try their hand at harnessing the terrible beasties - but they never returned.

Summer days stretched long, giving limited time to move under the cover of darkness, and the nights progressively shortened each day leading up to the solstice. Your journey was miraculous, having never navigated open water before yet somehow arriving at Dragonstone after setting sail from King's Landing by yourself. Perhaps you had a hidden talent, a subconscious sailor mentality; maybe you were just lucky, or maybe your boiling emotions made you defiantly determined - running on pure spite to stay alive, unharmed, and without capsizing in an effort to complete your mission.

Most of the time, you relied more on logic than emotion, something that helped keep you balanced, grateful, rational. Leading with logic arguably "made" someone intelligent; solution oriented, stubborn, hardheaded, unwilling to compromise (a common foundation when leading with emotion).

Yet logic made you very black and white - no grey area. Logic is cut and dry. Logic is sometimes sophisticated. Logic is also stubborn. Logic abandoned empathy. Logic could be explained. Logic identified applicable reasonings and explanations. Logic is hard to argue against. Logic sustained battles of wit. Logic is sometimes discriminatory. Logic always tells the truth. Logic has limited loopholes.

Logic is fact driven, and when paired with your own rooted moral and religious beliefs, made you subconsciously judgmental.

There's a well-known proverb, quote, "it's not the destination, but the journey." Yet some philosophers think the destination is mundane, anticlimactic, boring, sometimes disappointing and unfulfilling while the journey is much more fulfilling. The journey is what's worth; an adventure, where development inflates, where a story worth telling lies.

Logic is the destination. Leading with emotion is the journey.

Leading with emotion develops thoughtful decisions. Emotions sharpen empathetic abilities. Emotions sometimes changes perspectives, broadens horizons. Emotions allow for differences in opinions. Emotions curates safety. Emotions heightens generosity. Emotions expands willingness to help. Emotions softens situations with compassion. Emotions often strides towards peace. Emotions structures harmony. Emotions accepts all. Emotions could be overwhelming. Emotions don't always have one, single, clear victor.

Leading with emotion makes you easily reactive, being why you made a conscious effort to engage logic; keeping yourself in check.

You often never lost your cool; always having a handle on things, but sometimes, it was a challenge. Emotions demand to be felt, and no matter how hard you train yourself and practice relying on logic, you were still human.

Both leading with logic and emotion made you passionate, sometimes synonymous with stubborn. Either way, you ended up here - on Dragonstone - slinking around in the dead of night as if a criminal on the run, trying to avoid the Rogue Prince's nefarious, outlandishly violent City Watch.

You were dedicated to the truth, hence your willingness to embark on this suicide mission. You know it's out there, becoming desperate to find it; never settling, fed the fuck up of mindless gossip the court whispered and hissed about. Enduring years of scrutiny and unfiltered rudeness made you confident, wanting, and energized to justify your claims, prove self-worth, assign relief, terminate turmoil, tension, and assumption.

Yeah, yeah, yeah - but what truth are you dedicated to? Your family's lineage and heritage, your birthrights, your position in society. Your contributing livelihood. They only thought you a young lady boasting the Tyrell surname - a broodmare to sell off. After Queen Rhaenyra proclaimed herself, you became incessant to prove you were so much more than a pretty fragile rose to be set in a vase.

Truth became your Eighth God; being a dedicated, loyal, trusting, worshipping follower. And the truth was, you're a Targaryen as much as a Tyrell, and by all means, had as much of a right to claim a dragon as any of the rest of them.

You refuse to take detours, cut corners, violate, or cheat to obtain your goal(s); arriving at your desired end result with integrity, completing your mission by barreling through obstacles with laser focus - like a predator stalking prey.

Boots slapped and clicked on wet rock, splashing in puddles, splattering mud up your legs to soak into your breeches. Heavy humidity - thick and muggy air - coated lungs and stuck in nostrils, being suffocatingly stuffy; breathing becoming difficult. You could physically feel the condensation in the air - hair adopting a mind of its own; beaded, clammy skin becoming uncomfortably sticky, palms slick with sweat. You missed the dry heat of the capital.

Dark hood of your cloak hid your vibrant hair; the material swishing, swirling airy fog low to the ground around your creeping form, creating an ominous energy. You half expected a ghost to appear at your flank.

The clanking of the night patrol's armor was heard first, alerting you to a diminishing window; sliding into the mouth of one of the dragon caves in time for the White Cloaks to stalk around the castle's perimeter walkway.

Even with thick rock cocooning your form, the rumbling of the nested dragon's slumber was heard; loose pebbles, dust and other debris showered from the cave ceiling. Despite the heat of the Dragonmont, you heard the slow echo of dripping water.

Your choice to come to Dragonstone, was it a logical decision? Or driven by emotions - fed up with the rumors, sneers, disrespect, critical judgement from everyone in King's Landing? ...yes.

Navigating a dragon lair was dangerous, but navigating a dragon lair with ZERO experience was an anticipated disaster. Surely, you must've lost your mind because no mentally stable person would dare step foot in this cave - let alone scale the depths in search of an ancient beast that could (and possibly wound) treat your charred body as a BBQ appetizer. With a gasp, you slipped on the rocks, hissing when the heels of your palms took the brunt end of impact and slit open; tiny pebbles sticking to your open flesh. You whimpered gently, jagged rocks digging into your knees as you cleared your hands and slowly found your feet.

Even with knowledge of your heritage, you hadn't grown around the scaly Targaryen counterparts like any and every other legitimate offspring. You were long divided from that side of your family, missing out on fascinating Valyrian traditional customs. It made you a slightly bitter.

No dragon egg in your crib. No hours-long practice in the Dragon Pit. No reptilian anatomy studies. No personalized leather saddle embellished with a three-headed dragon. No claim to ancestral privilege or birthright. No unique morality, nor holier than thou complex. No generational beast to inherit.

Skin free from the lingering, invasive, embedded stench of dragon hide.

You used to think learning Ancient Valyrian was a redundant waste of time, education, and resources. You were raised in the ancestral keep in the Reach's capital, Highgarden, under your father, Lord Tyrell, and his beloved wife - the Vanished Princess - which made this secret sleuthing harder to rationalize or explain, given no Targaryen ever lived in Highgarden. Never before were dragons hosted in The Reach, and therefor, a Dragon Pit was never erected.

So, you know how when you're a kid and see something at the store that you really want but your parent says no because you already have too much shit? They might've made their point by saying something, like, "Where do you think you're gonna put all that?"

Well, Highgarden is the toy box and you intend on bringing home one of those enormous stuffed animals won at a carnival / festival.

If anyone knew of this plan, they might've sent you to the medical institute the Citadel in Oldtown operates; involuntarily commit you to the structured research program that studies different mental and physical medical phenomenons.

Truth was, this wasn't even your idea. Your grandmother, who definitely either spent time in one of the Citadel's cells or should, encouraged you. Perhaps that should've been a red flag, but it was too late now, her words echoing in your mind ―

Be a dragon.

The gardens you walked through were in fragrant, full bloom; providing a sweet air to combat the foul words you admitted with your arm looped in your grandmother's. You paced evenly through the overgrown foliage, the bees buzzing to drown your words.

"Perhaps, something is wrong with me," you sulked, "because surely, it cannot be this difficult to find a match. It seems I need to lower my standards, I could not attract a decent man if I were covered in honey and he were a fly."

"Perhaps try covering yourself in shit, then," she advised with a knowing smirk.

"Grandmother."

"Well, it's curious, isn't it?" Celia asked.

"What is?"

"All your life, you've always been more Targaryen than Tyrell; fierce, loyal, impulsive, strong, enduring. Yet now, you return nothing more than a rose wilted from King's Landing's stench, moping about failed relations. Have you ever considered that simple men are incapable of supporting the love and marriage of a dragon?"

"Half blooded does not make me a dragon."

"No, but the spirit, wit, intelligence, spunk, ferocity, cunningness, and determination you display proves it." She paused your stroll, secluded canopy shroud by foliage to provide a moment of privacy.

"Not all would think so," you let your eyes roll.

"Who do you speak of?"

"Those who think I am lying about my own Targaryen parentage, citing the color of my hair as evidence. You would think I'm one of the Queen's sons, the way they whisper."

"Do not listen to busy mouths, sweet child, hair cannot be a sole indication of parentage. I know it's easy to cite, but not all descendants of Valyria have silver locks, and should anyone have anything to say, know they are merely bitter and jealous for your hair is the perfect blend of Tyrell auburn and Targaryen silver. A color that is hard to ignore."

"Yet it's not enough to prove myself to them, Grandmother."

Now Celia sounded determined but angry, "You are every bit Tyrell as you are Targaryen. While you might not appear to their biased eye, there's never been denial that you are made in your mother's fire. Pure blooded or not, you're a dragon, my sweet petal."

"So?"

"Oh, for the love of the Gods - so, be a dragon! Dragons do not fret because men don't blink twice at them, they eat those men! Don't beg for approval; maintain your dignity, instill a new opinion, demand respect! Prove your strength, skill, and capabilities - everything the courts would deliberately overlook. Prove everyone wrong, offer contribution to this war, become a valuable asset who would be foolish to send away. Establish your seat at the table and never let anyone talk down on you again," your grandmother snarled with passion. "There's more than one way to prove you have the blood of the dragon."

"Such as? What would you have me do?"

"I hear rumor there remains a host of unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone. The Queen's son and heir, Prince Jacaerys, has called for dragonseeds to try their hand - they need more dragonriders for their war. Claiming your birthright might be the fastest, easiest way to earn the Realm's approval; doubling as undisputed evidence of who you are."

"What a terrifying thought."

"But what a statement it would make," Celia's lips pulled in a smirk, wrinkles deeper, more prominent on sun-soaked, wrinkled skin. "Tyrells might be flowery, we might sigil a rose - but we are resilient and refuse to wilt; even in the heat of dragon fire. The Realm thinks Tyrells are only pretty faces; pretty flowers meant to be seen and never heard, whose sole purpose is to be left on display. Preconceived as uselessly inexperienced during wartimes; criminally green, pure, innocent - judgement that makes them shockingly unprepared for how deep our thorns prick." Both of Celia's hands grabbed yours, squeezing, advising, "Do not go quietly, my petal, make those who doubted you be haunted by their foolish choice to challenge the wrong woman. Let them seep in humiliation and regret their judgement. Allow your successful conquest to be the biggest 'fuck you' to prejudice, the final nail in any coffin of doubt. Toss your wilted rose of fear aside, petal, embrace the fire that burns in your veins; you are Lady Y/N Tyrell of Highgarden, daughter of The Forgotten Princess, and you will not go gentle into that good night. You will be a dragon."

You were ensuring passage by morning light, intent to deliver yourself to Dragonstone.

Parts of the cave glittered with unharvested gems; a lost collection of rarities nobody dared pursue out of fear of the ancient, terrible Valyrian beasties that dwell in those caves. The walls sweat from combined dragon and volcanic heat, tunnels jagged and uneven; zero holes, cracks, or slits the sun could leak through (if it were up); everything terribly dark. At least there was a scattered pile of preprepared torches to light the way. A permanent odor of limestone and fractioned corpses assaulted your sinuses, dried puddles of blood seeped into rock, the scurrying critters who used dragons as hosts echoed with a twinkling charm - the least menacing reminder that you were not alone.

Claimed dragon chambers varied in size; pitstops along the winding pathways that ended at the largest chamber - a dead end. While other chambers were large enough for sometimes several dragons, this final stop could only be described as a jarring, stomach churning, hauntingly pitched ebony abyss of incalculable depth that played tricks on the mind. An abyss. It was like you were staring Death in the face and anxiety was dredged forth from white hot fear.

With a flickering torch alight in a trembling hand, you slowly stalked down the chiseled causeway that ended several lengths into the expansive, bleak nothingness. Pitch black shadows danced; the air felt electric, seemingly vibrating - alive and judgmental.

The glaring cavern besmirched your family name, hauntingly reminding that your disinheritance resulted in your late dragon bloom. The ebony airy sea identifies and heightens fearful insecurity about your estranged family's rejection, their lack of interest and care for your side of the family stinging; their rejection of familial relationships. The darkness predicted your failure, inability, and humiliation.

The cavern challenged your confidence and determination, your staked ownership and proclaimed lineage; labeling your bravery, beliefs and ambition as arrogant. It sneered about your stupidity, weakness, fear, and anxiety; belittled applied effort and desired goals; questioned your true desires and needs; tested your loyalty.

The cavern rejects any and all attempts before you could even try; unraveling your logic, shunning your emotions; proclaims reactive decisions as immature and lacking control, crowning you as dangerously naïve.

The cavern mocked your desperately pathetic need for station and acceptance; revoking and nullifying public (and private) ladyship, dubbing you unladylike - which, in itself, was insulting to your womanhood. Why do men get all the exciting adventure, but when a woman tries, she's crucified for being irresponsible? Smooth ebony waves reflected your maddening, constant effort and want for acknowledged contributions.

To the naked eye, the cavern appeared uninhabited, assuming the habitat was abandoned. The silence was eery; air buzzing with alarm, deceiving humans that attempted to see through the waves of darkness.

To a "true" Targaryen, this was just a sheet of camouflage the fire breathers wield for their privacy.

No wonder the Red Sowing was so... Bloody and devastating.

A growl was heard, something gravely and deep, intimidating and impressive. You frozen, eyes wide as if it would give you night vision, torch flickering, hands starting to shake. Then you saw prominent movement, lungs stalling and heart hammering. Slowly, a large, scaly, stained snout emerged at a sail's pace.

The more the beast stepped into your sight, your mind could only scream one thing - was coming face to face with a dragon logical or emotional? Because whether logical or emotional, this was a dumb fucking idea there was no turning back from.

So, you steeled yourself in position, dewy sweat lining your forehead to soak your hairline.

112 years After Conquest, dragons flew to war at the behest of the Targaryen family over Rhaenyra and her half-brother's claim to Aegon the Conqueror's Iron Throne. Sister-wife, Queen Visenya, rode Vhagar - said to have been the smallest dragon with bronze hide, yet, as rumor had it, still large enough that a horse could ride down her gullet. Sister-wife, Queen Rhaenys, rode Meraxes - who was larger; big enough to swallow horses whole with silver scales and golden eyes.

Then, The Conqueror, King Aegon Targaryen I, rode Balerion - the fiercest and largest, who’s wingspan could shadow entire towns, swords-long teeth assisting his ability to swallow mammoths whole, and who’s scales, wings, and fire were pitch black. Balerion was called the Black Dread and was so powerful, he could melt steel, stone, and fuse sand into glass. He never lost a battle - against human or dragon.

Balerion was also the dragon responsible for the Burning of Harrenhal, largest castle in Westeros.

In the year 2 BC, Aegon began his Conquest and engaged King Harren Hoare the Black in his keep, Harrenhal, who refused the Conqueror and was met with Balerion’s flames. In fire so hot, it melts stone like candles, the entire House Hoare was extinguished when Harren and his sons perished in the largest tower - later named Kingspyre Tower - though it’s said they haunt the Wailing Tower.

Since then, of Aegon's Three Dragons, only Meraxes boasted a single rider, but to be fair, in 10 AC, during the First Dornish War, allegedly, both Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes met their demise. Vhagar knew Prince Baelon Targaryen, Lady Laena Velaryon, and Prince Aemond as riders. Balerion knew Maegor the Cruel, Princess Aerea, and King Viserys, who, in the year 94, retired The Black Dread - thinking the beast was nearing his end. The dragon outlived every single rider.

In the year 129, Viserys died and The Black Dread stared you in the eye; curating a vibrating rumble deep within his chest that made the darkness dance. It'd been decades since anyone dared face this terrible beastie, thinking he wasn't long for this world; the pair of you curious about the other, no moves made yet.

There was no backing down, there was no turning away. This is what you wanted, for Aegon the Conqueror's mount to see you as you are - worthy of your of blood. You refused to be told you did not deserve your lineage, the Targaryen name, you would not endure disrespect any longer! You would earn your place in this Godsforsaken family, earn station in this Godsforsaken world, or die trying...

That night, Balerion took to the skies again, doing several laps in the air, soaring over King's Landing to let the residents of the Realm know - he flew again.

Your father's family hailed from The Reach, specifically Highgarden; colorful, temperate, lush, bountiful, and abundant. Your family oversaw 75% of the country's sole wheat, barley, grain, and corn production, even germinating the country's most grand gardens - which decorated a rather generous estate.

Despite the vast, open lands, there had never been need for a dragonpit before, so, when you landed your mount, he was left exposed on the outskirts of the Keep. Considering he was the largest thing, you know, ever, Balerion seemed content out there - so, you didn't worry.

It was strange, however, to see anyone without white hair on dragonback. Even stranger to the Realm to learn of your accomplishment; adding fuel to several fires.

The Green King Aegon asked lazily, a hand waving in the air, "Who?"

His mother, Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower, reminded, "She is of Targaryen seed on her mother's side, but was raised under the Tyrells. She sits to inherit all of The Reach, she will be Lady of Highgarden - "

"Until," Grand Maester Orwyle interjected softly, "her young brother, the Young Lord Tyrell, comes of age."

Aegon waved their words off, complaining, "Yes, yes, but why do we caaaaare about some red headed bitch?"

See, where the Targaryens had trademark white locks, the Lannisters had golden strands. The Starks had deep umber brunette color hair, and while both the Tully's and Tyrell's erred more on the reddish side, the Tully's had darker overtones, like an auburn, and the Tyrell's had lighter, coppery-amber waves. North of the Wall, they say "kissed by fire".

"Because Lady Tyrell has laid successful claim to The Black Dread! To Balerion!" Alicent snapped, quickly adding the snarky punctuation, "Your Grace."

"Well, we have Vhagar - "

"With respect, Your Grace, Balerion could give a singular chomp to any living dragon as Vhagar did Arrax and it would prove fatal," Otto Hightower, the King's grandfather and Hand, quickly stepped in to save his daughter from losing her temper.

"Well, she doesn't even speak High Valyrian," Aegon scoffed, rolling his eyes; lip curled, slouched in his chair.

"Neither do you," Aemond quipped in his Father's Tongue.

Otto continued loudly to prevent Aegon's response, "With The Black Dread now officially out of retirement and in play, the only choice we have is risk facing him in open battle, or..." His eyes shifted to Alicent, pausing, sighing and revealing, "Send an emissary to negotiate terms of an alliance."

"Meaning...?" Aegon drawled.

"Meaning a marriage pact, Your Grace," Otto supplied sternly.

"With respect?" Larys Strong spoke up, "But the Crown is lacking in their eligible bachelors for such terms."

"Or perhaps, what of someone outside the family? Marry two strong allies of the Crowns? Alliances henceforth might not have to include Targaryen marriages," Jason Lannister threw in quickly, but every Small Council member denied him just as swift.

It was reminded, "There's Prince Daeron."

"Lady Tyrell is actually the same age as Prince Aemond, I do not think she is looking for a husband so many years younger than her."

"Didn't Prince Aemond already secure the Baratheons through a marriage alliance?"

"Technically," Otto agreed slowly, "but given the circumstances and turning of tides, Lord Borros can be treated with in other ways should we need to offer Aemond for Lady Tyrell's willing support."

"Rhaenyra will send terms, as well," Alicent reminded. "Lady Tyrell is Prince Jacaerys' age, she might consider breaking his engagement, too."

The Small Council continued their plotting. Prince Aemond remained silent. Nobody so much as threw him a glance.

When the Black Queen Rhaenyra was informed of your heroics and your identity was questioned, her uncle-husband, Daemon, informed, "Daughter of the Forgotten Princess."

And Rhaenys affirmed, "My sister's daughter... Do not mistake her lineage for guaranteed alliance; her mother and I are long estranged, she's lived in The Reach her whole life - she does not know us. Nor owes us any loyalty."

"Perhaps she could be persuaded," Corlys wondered. "The Lady Tyrell is unwed, is she not?"

"As far as accounts go, yes," his wife reported.

"Perhaps a marriage alliance?" Corlys glanced around the table.

"To whom would you propose?" Queen Rhaenyra asked, all sat around the Painted Table.

"If I may be so bold...?"

"Please."

"Given your marriage to Daemon and his daughter's are shared with our own daughter, Laena... Is there truly need for a marriage pact between the children?"

Rhaenyra cocked her head, "You mean to... Disengage my son from his intended, and engage him again...? Like a pawn in chess? My son, Heir to the Iron Throne, married to Lady Tyrell?"

"Why do you sound displeased by the prospect, Your Grace?" Corlys wondered. "I hear the Lady Tyrell is most beautiful, and we need the Tyrell's wealth like we need their dragon, Balerion. If used properly, he can melt castles alone, Your Grace; burn towns, extinguish entire bloodlines, torch this country, melt the bloody Wall. No living dragon rivals him in size, in ferocity, in age nor experience. He's been at rest for decades now... Something tells me there's a reason he's come out of his nest."

"An omen," Rhaenyra agreed, straightening her spine.

"Precisely - the portents are cast, Your Grace."

"Lord Corlys makes a point," Daemon chimed in, "if by marriage, we secure The Reach and take back the Iron Throne with little to no carnage. Should the Greens fight, not even Vhagar could stand against Balerion."

"Prince Jacaerys is a handsome match to offer," another lord agreed, "which should help sway Lady Tyrell to our side."

"Which also frees both Lady Baela and Rhaena for other pacts - if need be."

"But if we have had this thought, I promise so has Alicent," Rhaenyra stood from the table, staring at the triangle of King's Landing, Dragonstone, and Highgarden. "Who would they offer? Who do they have, unwed, unpromised?"

"Well," Rhaenys stood to meet her Queen, "if we had the thought of a marriage alliance, and the thought to break off one engagement in favor of another, who is to say the Greens would not consider the same?"

It was quiet, a shiver shooting down the Queen's spine. "Vhagar and Balerion are familiar with one another," she grit her teeth, "and Aemond is the False King's brother. He's an attractive match, too."

"I think it's worth making the Tyrell's an offer," Corlys sat back in his seat. "They will receive us both and decide their allegiance - just as the Baratheons did, just as the rest of the Realm has or must do as well."

"Let it be done - if Prince Jacaerys agrees," Rhaenyra nodded, looking to her son - wanting his consent and participation in his own fate. Jace proudly lifted his chin and puffed his chest, nodding while nobody noted the looks of near relief on Lady Baela and Rhaena's faces. In a moment, they had been engaged to Jace and Luke without their thought, input, nor consent. In another moment, they were single young women with the tantalizing prospect to marry outside the family.

"I consider Her Grace's offer an honor."

> > > next part, part two: read here

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

The Black Dread masterlist

i'm already writing it, but, poll for the end ―

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two-white-butterflies · 1 year

Text

bigger than the whole sky | d. targaryen

Description: The oldest child of Alicent and Viserys is bethrothed to their uncle. Once the dance begins, you become a glorified hostage. Warning: 18+ [angst, suggestive themes, stilbirth] Author's Note: Inspired by @lamemaster 's 'the Curse of Bloodlines'

It was the ninth month of your improper imprisonment. By then, the swell of your stomach was big enough to be noticed.

Daemon refuses to visit you; swearing that it was treason. The war started, and your husband's love for you disappeared.

You couldn't blame him - your own brother took the life of your son.

"Can you give this letter to Prince Daemon?" you smile painfully, knowing that he'd never reply. "Yes, my princess." the handmaiden bows - taking the letter away from your hands.

You wonder if your husband thinks about you at all.

If he thinks about the babe inside your belly, and how his son grows strong inside of you; or was he too preoccupied with killing your siblings and their children?

A sigh escapes your mouth, and you settle your hand on your stomach. Will his love return once the babe is born?

Daemon freezes at the sight of the letter.

He's been ignoring them - not even bothering to read or browse through your meticulous handwriting. The pain in his heart was too great to ignore. His boy - his heir was murdered. He knows that he couldn't blame you for the happenstance, but Rhaenyra does.

Now that all of her sons were dead - she was relying on the babe inside your belly to be her heir. Not because she loved you - but because her uncle's blood ran thick through its veins.

"The Hightowers are weakened, we must attack Kingslanding soon." he settled his hand on the table, placing the letter on his pocket and reminding himself to lock it in his drawer. "- with our dragons if necessary," he added, mind moving unto you.

He wonders what you were doing.

He wonders if the bulge in your stomach was big or small.

If you were healthy or in pain.

He blinks a few times. He shouldn't be thinking about you.

A pained groan escapes your mouth - feeling the chill of the winter air flow inside your room.

"Delancey," you call out to your handmaiden. She bolts awake - standing up from the sofa that she was sleeping on. "Close the windows, please." you pleaded - not wanting to open your eyes.

"I'm cold," you shiver, pulling the blanket closer to your chest.

"I-I closed it before we slept, my lady." the handmaiden replied, stuttering as she looks at your pale figure. She wouldn't assumed that you passed in the night - due to your pale physique, but she knew that you were alive - because of the slow rising of your chest.

"Why is it cold?" you mumble, feeling tired.

She walks cautiously towards your bed, lifting the sheets slowly - presumably replacing them with something heavier and warmer.

"My lady y-you're bleeding," the girl stuttered again, seeing the pool of blood in between your legs. "Fuck," you curse - opening your eyes in panic. Rhaenyra forbid any Maester come and check you during the pregnancy. "Should I call the Maester?" she asks.

You shake your head.

They will take the boy before you have the chance to look at him.

"No," you assert - convinced that something terrible was happening. "You're trained in childbirth. I want you to help me," you command and she rises - attempting to call an assistant.

"No, only you." you groan, feeling another surge of pain run through your body.

Daemon halted in front of your chambers - he couldn't sleep at night. Something deep in his subconscious told him that you weren't fine.

He kept staring at the door for a few minutes, gathering his power to knock and peek his head through.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't muster the courage to show that he still loved you.

He moves slowly towards the door, placing a hand on its wood. Daemon Targaryen wasn't good with showing his emotions.

The babe came out - but not crying or breathing. He was pale - with milky eyes that would never see light for eternity. "My princess," Delancey cries, believing that it was her fault. "It's alright," you breathe - pressing the child closer to your chest.

A small tear runs down your face, and the door opens slowly.

It was the first time you ever heard that door open.

"(Your Name)," Daemon called out, staring at the floor and evading your stare. He was about to take a step backwards, but the sudden smell of blood enters his nose.

"(Your Name)," he repeats your name but in another tone.

"Daemon," you choke, feeling your heart give up. "Is that?" his eyes trailed up the bed and unto the babe that was in your arms.

"Get out," you breathe, not wanting to share this moment with the man that turned you into a broodmare. "Get out," you repeat, feeling the tears flow freely from your purple hues.

Maekar wasn't for him - Maekar was yours.

@watercolorskyy

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serenaisavillain · 6 months

Text

The Veiled Serenade

Summary: Prince Aemond and his brother Aegon traverse amidst the murky depths of Flea Bottom, where darkness reigns supreme. A web of intrigue is woven, fraught with forbidden desires and veiled intentions. As alliances shift and secrets unravel, the stage is set for an ardent tale of power, betrayal, and illicit love affairs in the heart of King's Landing.

Warnings: Contains sensitive themes, including imagery of graphic violence, as well as depictions of sexual assault and harassment. The story contains explicit language and mature themes, including substance abuse and addiction. Authors Note: I'd love to hear your thoughts on the fic. Word Count: 1.2k Series: II

Aemond One-Eye.

HE COULD HEAR the hushed voices all around him. The prying eyes. The second son of Viserys and Alicent sat staring down into his piss-yellow chalice of ale. His brother Aegon had whispered into his ear at supper that they should get up to some mischief, and Aemond knowing better than to let him go alone, indulged him. There they sat in the belly of Flea Bottom, in the dim light of a tavern surrounded by cretin.

Flies buzzed around sloppily made pies on dingy round tables.

His eye gazed upon the filthy wooden floor covered in spilt ale, retch, piss, and gods knew what else.

Aemond's garments stuck to his sweat-slicked skin, making them practically translucent, and his flowing hair was reduced to damp waves. He was exposed.

The jabbering was incessant and the young prince's ears ached.

"Are you not happy that we found this place?" Aegon slurred. His wrist twisted as he spoke, his ale throwing itself over the rim of the chalice and onto the table.

Aemond cleared his throat and cast his eye towards the small stage in the centre of the room.

A musician with a mandolin stood there plucking a solemn tune.

And there he saw her. A girl no older than him of nine and one, glided in behind the instrumentalist.

Her tawny skin glistened like a bronze coin in the vicious heat of King's Landing. She was statuesque, her frame draped in a thin, silk frock. Her hair sat above her head, a crown of leaves, their branches reaching up and out.

He observed her closer, his chest rising and falling.

Her heart-shaped face accessorized by her dark eyes and long eyelashes. Her broad nose cast shadows on her cheeks in the candlelight, and her plump lips appeared shining as though they were drenched in honey.

"As wind grows cold this winters eve

The babe will cry

The thief will steal

For hunger robs them both of joy

Their empty bellies whine and roar..."

The prince's eye twitched.

Her voice was silvery, each word she chanted clawing itself into his mind.

His heart clenched.

"Excuse me dear brother," Aemond muttered.

Aegon smirked at him.

"Like what you see eh?" He taunted.

"I just need to take a piss," the one-eyed boy huffed and walked off.

The moon was pregnant in the sky, its halo casting a glow over the white-haired prince.

He inhaled.

Slightly chilled air filled his aching lungs.

He could only imagine the night on dragon-back. How the heavens would part for him and Vhagar. The wind whirling through his mane.

"I take it you did not like my song my prince?" He heard a honeyed voice.

The prince swallowed.

"I feel indifferent towards your serenading" He said refusing to turn around and meet her eyes.

She chuckled.

The girl smoothed out her garment and took a step towards him.

"I do not wish to hear such slanders," He turned facing her, eyebrows raised, eyes widened and nostrils flared.

He saw the glimmer of mischief in her amber eyes before she opened her mouth.

"Slanders must be false to be slanders my prince..." she retorted with a smirk on her shimmering lips.

The young man rolled his eyes.

"That's not a very royal gesture," she gasped, placing her soft fingers on her plump cheek.

"Forgive me Lady..."

"Waters," she curtsied.

"Ah... it makes sense now."

The young woman arched her eyebrow.

"And what exactly makes sense?" She mocked.

"You're a bastard."

She slapped him.

Her soft palm licked his face as quick as lightning struck.

His eyes darkened and a smile crept on his face before he caught her wrist.

"I must behest you... do not do that again." He said lowly.

The girl laughed dryly.

"It is a good thing I am not your servant." She spat before boxing him again.

The prince grunted behind bared teeth. Taking her other hand and pushing her smaller body into the shadowy side of the stone tavern.

Her breath was ragged as she struggled against him.

He smelled the perfume of her hair; peach, summer fruits, and white flowers. He inhaled the oil of her skin, a voluptuous bunch of spices, and allowed himself to let his eye flutter close for less than a minute.

The doors of the tavern burst open and out poured two men in search of someone.

Their footsteps furious against the moist dirt below them.

"Y/N?!" A man hollered. Aemond recognized him as the musician on stage earlier with the mandolin.

He was tall and hulking, his face covered by a full beard and his hair black and of neck length.

"Aemond." his brother slurred, before swaying into the direction of his white-haired kin.

He was laughing.

"You filthy dog. I knew you saw something you liked... perhaps we can both..." He rasped.

"Fin!" the girl whined in protest.

"Get off of her!" the musician yelled.

Aegon laughed so hard he thought he might fall over.

"First come first serve. My brother spotted her first. Maybe you'll get your turn after we've finished." he spat, itching at his sword.

Aemond loosened his grip on the girl's clothes.

"I am not a whore!" She cried attempting to shuffle past.

Aegon laughed again.

"No, no. Of course not... what do you prefer to be called these days?" He raised his eyebrows.

The other man's fist tightened.

"Whether you wear a crown or not matters little. You owe her an apology, else you'll find your guts spilled from belly to balls." The tall figure grumbled.

Aemond grabbed his brother pulling him as he walked.

"Did you hear what he-"

"Shut up! you've had too much to drink." The sober brother responded.

AEMOND PACED AROUND HIS CHAMBERS.

Y/N... he thought.

The wind was cold tonight, blowing past the Dornish silk curtains and against his pale skin.

Perhaps he was too harsh with her.

He rubbed his forehead.

And his brother Aegon... he had made a fool of himself once again. His subjects were never fond of him, but now their family was surely falling out of the common folk's favour.

The boy lay back on the menagerie of pillows that sat atop the stack of goose-feather mattresses he called his bed, picturing Y/N's tear-stained face.

He had never stooped so low as to put his hands on a woman.

How in the seven hells would he make this right?

He had no idea.

The banging on his door startled him, and he rushed to clothe himself after stumbling to his feet.

Behind the heavy Valerian steel door loomed his mother, all five foot five of her.

#house of the dragon #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x black reader #poc fanfiction #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #alicent hightower #queen alicent #fanfic #fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x black!reader #aemond targaryen angst #angst

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maremartinelli · 6 months

Text

I CAME TO APOLOGIZE

Sirius Black X fem!reader

Summary: Y/n and Sirius have been having an affair since Hogwarts, but this shouldn't continue anymore, as he is married.

Words: 1.3K+

Warnings: Lover, mention of betrayal (but without specifications), mention of pregnancy, Order of the Phoenix, anguish and no happy ending.

Author: English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes there may be in the process. And again, this idea came from a Brazilian song (I'll leave it here at the end) I could even do it part 2, but I like to leave some drama.

MASTERLIST

Sirius and Y/n always had an affair.

Most of their years at Hogwarts they hid in the corridors to have some alone time.

In the fifth year, James, Remus, Peter and Lily - the girl's best friend, found out about the affair they had.

However, as there always has to be a thorn in their side, when Y/n said she was in a relationship with Sirius, her family made their lives hell until they broke up. But of course, they said they had separated, but in the middle of the night they both left the dorm to meet each other.

It was like that until mid-seventh year, when Marlene McKinnon's parents thought it was a good idea for the girl to marry Sirius.

Yes, they already had a relationship before Black got involved with Y/n. They had a past, but the past is the past and Sirius just wanted to be with his sweet, beloved Y/n. But it wasn't like that.

After Marlene and Sirius got engaged, the Black boy still met with Y/n on the sly. When they got married, Sirius still went out to meet Y/n.

And on the trips that the Order designated? Yes, they also went out on the sly. Or when Sirius asked Dumbledore to put him to work with Y/n, just to be with her.

After they left Hogwarts, they had been going back and forth for two years. And no one ever suspected it, not even Marlene. Which left Y/n's heart with a hole, because she liked Marls' friendship, but she loved her Sirius much more.

Which wasn't yours per se, but rather one of your best friends.

Recently, Marlene always told Lily and Y/n when they went out together that she was planning to have a baby with Sirius. Which of course was the last straw for Y/n, she couldn't stay in the middle of a family that was about to be built.

She had to put an end to it.

She was going to put an end to it.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Dumbledore had asked the members of the Order of the Phoenix to meet so he could assign some tasks and explain some news he had about the war.

And taking advantage of the gap, Y/n on the same night would end everything she had with Sirius, so that somehow he could move on and love Marlene as he loved young Y/n.

The house where the meetings were held was still very empty, it was just Y/n, Alice and Remus there talking and setting the table to have tea.

Alice and Remus were deep in conversation while Y/n looked at the floor and wrapped her wand in her hand. Her feet, which were clad in a black all-star that Sirius had given her last winter, were tapping on the wooden floor of the small meeting house.

When she hears someone opening the front door, she gets up from her kitchen chair and walks over to the person. Already knowing who it was, she quickly took the person's hand and led her to the back yard, which was starting to be covered in white snow.

"Damn doll, I barely made it" Sirius whispers in her ear, as Y/n dragged him to the back.

"Sirius, Shiuu!!. Alice and Moony are here" Y/n whispers in an angrier tone.

“Then we must be quick”

"No!! Sirius, no" she turns quickly when they reach the furthest part of the house, where no one could see them or hear their conversation.

"Are you well?" The Black boy looks at her seriously, while running his hand over the girl's cheek.

Y/n shudders at the touch and closes her eyes. Tears were already splashing in my eyes, just thinking about what I had to say.

"I don't think this is working anymore" Y/n says in a quieter voice.

"What are you talking about, honey?"

"You may hate me, but it's been a while since I came into your home. And I can't live with that anymore, Marls loves you so much and her parents love you so much. The family you're in is so beautiful. , I can't do this anymore, Sirius. We've spent many years doing this and I don't regret a thing, but lately Marlene has been so excited saying she wants to build a family with you, and I feel like my heart is breaking more and more. I have We want to get this over with, Sirius." Y/n sheds some tears. "I love you so much, but there's no way..."

Sirius looks at her with a few tears falling as well.

"No Y/n, look, please don't do this. I love you so much, I couldn't bear to live without you"

"That's the problem Sirius, you're supposed to love Marlene. She's the one you married, and she's the one you're supposed to love and protect." Y/n shakes her head trying to avoid more tears. "And you know we already tried this once, but it seems like nothing was in our favor, and now, look Sirius, you have a beautiful and special woman by your side, her family loves you and she is very happy with you"

"We can run away together, I'll separate from her and we can get out of here. But please, stay with me"

Y/n cry.

"I can't do this to you, Sirius. I'm finishing" she sobs. "I hope you are happy and have such a beautiful family, you deserve it so much" before leaving, she places one last kiss on Sirius' lips and puts her hand on his shoulder before leaving the place.

She would have to recover from her tears in the bathroom before returning to the room and greeting everyone, as if nothing had happened.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Everyone had already arrived at the small meeting house and Dumbledore had already said he needed to speak. Now, at the moment, everyone was gathered in the kitchen of the small house where they shared stories and small talk.

Sirius was on the other side of the room, leaning against the counter while he had a cup of tea in his hands and looked deeply at Y/n. He wanted to cry every time he remembered the woman's words.

He might as well shut everyone up and say he loved Y/n with all his heart and run with her out the door and run off to some snowy country with a field of flowers in the summer.

But that would be cowardly with Marlene.

Y/n also felt that Sirius was looking at her throughout the meeting and that he hadn't stopped until now. The woman had a cup of tea in her hands as she looked at the floor and understood the conversation Lily was having with her and Alice.

"Hey guys!!" Marlene draws the attention of all the members of the Order and taps the cup with a spoon. "Sirius and I have some news to tell you!!" She says happily and everyone is euphoric waiting for her to tell. "We're having a baby!!" She smiles from ear to ear and puts her hand on her belly when people scream in celebration.

At that moment Y/n felt a tightness in her chest, but she refused to cry. Well, one of her friends was pregnant and would soon have a baby.

Y/n just swallows the crying and bitterness and walks until Marlene hugs the woman, congratulating and blessing the baby.

When she looks at Sirius, she puts her prettiest, fakest smile on her lips and shakes the taller man's hand. "Congratulations to the new daddy" Y/n smiles and then returns to her seat and continues with the smile on her face.

She was happy, it wasn't a lie. But his heart still tightened in his chest.

After all the euphoria of Marlene's pregnancy wore off, Y/n stepped forward and caught everyone's attention.

"Well, I also have something to share" Y/n says as she places her cup on the table.

"Oh, don't tell me you're pregnant too!!" Alice says excitedly and Sirius lifts his head to look at the woman.

Y/n shakes her head in denial and smiles.

"No, it's not that" she laughs. "I'm moving to Switzerland in a week" Y/n says as she puts her hands behind her back and rocks slightly on her feet.

Everyone looks at her shocked.

“Oh my god, what do you mean Y/n?” Lily asks, placing her hands on her best friend's shoulder.

"Then I went to Hogwarts and Dumbledore said he needed someone from the Order to do some work in Switzerland, but as most of them had families, he didn't know who to really appoint. So I volunteered, since I don't have a family anyway" she tells the other party quietly.

"Oh Y/n, we are your family" Lily says as she gives the woman a quick hug. "But we're also really happy for you" Lily kisses Y/n on the cheek and she smiles friendly.

"It was great news, but it's good to change the atmosphere. Good luck on your new journey, S/a" Marlene approaches her friend and hugs her.

"Thank you, Marls"

"I hope you at least come visit us" James pats his friend on the shoulder and she smiles.

"Always, I know you and Lily can't live without me" Y/n laughs and hugs her friend.

With that, Sirius, who was leaning against the counter, approaches Y/n and stands in front of her.

For a moment, she thought he would do something crazy and kiss her in front of everyone or confess his love. Which made the girl anxious and afraid.

"Congratulations and good luck, dear" he hugs his lover friend and she returns the comfort of the hug. "I hope you're very happy, and please, never forget my love for you. I love you so much, my girl" He says quietly just to her, making Y/n let out a few tears.

"Thank you guys, I love you so much" she leaves the hug and looks at everyone.

As soon as everyone congratulates and says good luck to the new citizen of Switzerland, Y/n says goodbye to everyone and says that she needs to go back to the apartment to finish organizing her things.

"Have a good trip, Y/n, evil seed" Remus hugs his friend and says the girl's famous nickname from her time at Hogwarts.

She laughs and then says goodbye to the blonde.

"Bye, guys" she smiles and then walks down the hallway that led to the front door.

"Wait, I'll take you to the door!!" Sirius says and then walks behind her.

The small space they walked to the door was completely silent. Until Y/n turned around and said a complete goodbye to her lover.

"It looks like we're on different paths now" Y/n laughs awkwardly and Sirius smiles.

"Yeah, it seems so" he lets a tear fall. "But always remember, my girl. You are my patron's happiest memory" he says and then seals his lips with the woman's for the last time.

"I love you, Sirius." Last thing she says before going down the front stairs of the house and heading to the sidewalk.

She looks back and blows Black an air kiss.

The last time they saw each other, neither of them would certainly forget that moment.

Part 2

Author: I said I like drama, but if you want you can ask for part 2. Furthermore, you can send me ideas for imagines to write Go to my question box and ask!! The available characters are displayed in my MASTERLIST

#fanfiction #y/n #romance #marriage #ben barnes #imagines ben barnes #lovers #sirius black #one shot sirius black #sirius orion black #sirius black one shot #sirius black x reader #the marauders #hogwarts houses #marlene mckinnon #marauders imagine #imagines #Spotify

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axelsagewrites · 1 year

Note

My dear author, I just read "Daemon Targaryen*In Charge" and omg it's amazing! That said, if you're taking requests could I get a part 2, extremely fluffy focused on their married life (how they support each other and are completely devoted to each other, stuff) please?

Daemon Targaryen*My Moon and Stars

Pairing: Daemon x essos!reader

Summary: The reader experiences a peaceful day of married life since moving to Westeros for love

Word count: 1419

This is a fluffy sequel to In Charge. Can be read by itself

Warnings: just pure fluff

Masterlist Here

Translations:

Kirimvose - thank you

Ñuha qēlos - my star

Ñuho glaeso hūrus - moon of my life

It was easy to miss Essos, the smell of its spices, the music that rang in the streets like church bells, and the hot summer sun. Moving from the depths of the East to the capital of the West had been a big adjustment, to say the least. The lords spoke differently here, the streets were busy but somehow not as loud, and the air was cold even when others said it was warm. A foreign land with strange people yet for some reason you kept choosing to stay.

Daemon was the reason why. He was the reason you didn’t pick a ship and sail back. He was the reason you smiled, the reason you laughed, the reason your body felt warm even during the winter season. He was also currently laying behind you, arm lazily draped over your waist. His fingers drew light circles over your hip bone.

“We must wake dear husband,” you said, stifling the yawn that threatened to spill. You had gone to bed later than usual last night and the reason why lay behind you.

Daemon brushed the hair off your shoulder, placing a kiss on the nape of your neck, “Not yet ñuha qēlos,” my star he called you. The star from the east to guide him home he would call you.

“ñuho glaeso hūrus,” you said back slowly, the pronunciation feeling tight on your tongue. “Did I say it right?” You asked, turning your head at first but soon moving to lay on your back to gaze up at his face.

“Yes qēlos,” he whispered, leaning down to place a soft kiss on your lips. While you were the star, he was the moon. Moon of my life. He’d taught you the phrase after he taught you qēlos. “Your Valerian is almost as good as mine,” his lilac eyes gazed into yours and sometimes at night you wondered if the moon would be prettier in purple.

Later that day once you had finally managed to pry Daemon from his marriage bed you decided to walk the grounds while Daemon trained in the courtyard. The red keep had been quiet recently, perhaps too quiet, but nonetheless, you decided to enjoy the rarity to its full extent. As you walked you noticed all the other wives gathered in clusters with their sewing or their embroidery or occasionally a book.

While the wives may have smiled at you and asked polite questions it had yet to go further. Lady Beesbury smiled at you from her embroidery group, even lifting her hand for a small wave. “They’ll love you once they know you. Like I have, “Daemon's words rang in your heads as you took your first step over. “Ladies,” you greeted the three as you approached.

“Princess,” all greeted, bowing their eyes down before looking back up. You found the curtseying and bowing and titles of Westeros all so painful, but you did not want to correct them yet. “Have you come to join us princess?” Lady Harte asked, glancing around the group.

“If you would like me to my lady,” you said, daemon having spent many a night with you teaching you how to speak to people at court.

Lady Beesbury grinned as she shuffled over on the bench she sat on, “It would be an honour princess,”

“Thank you,” you said, sitting down next to her, glancing at her embroidery, “But please we are in our own company, call me by my name,”

“Very well,” Lady Beesbury said, a smile eating up her face, “Well (Y/N) I’m Alice and these are my friends,” as Alice began to introduce you to your new group you didn’t notice the watchful lilac eyes from the windows above.

Daemon stood silently, leaning on the balcony watching how you smiled as you spoke, how your hands moved with each word, with a relaxed grin on his face. He wasn’t sure how long he had been watching you until he saw Lady Beesbury finger-pointing him out to you. When your eyes met, he noticed your smile widening. Daemon didn’t want to ruin your fun however so left it at a simple wave.

As he walked through the corridors, he noticed a face that he knew would soon become familiar, “Lord Beesbury,” Daemon greeted, suddenly approaching the slightly bumbling man that had been roaming court for the past month. “Do you and your wife have planned this evening?”

“N-not my prince,” the man stuttered out, his cheeks pinking at the edges, “Can we be of service to you in anyway?”

Daemon chuckled lightly at this, “You can help us polish off the plates if you’d like. Would you both like to join us at dinner?” Daemon even managed to have him track down the other wives and their husbands and you were shocked to find out about the sudden dinner party you were hosting.

“Not that I’m complaining,” you told daemon in your chambers as you finished getting ready. Your hands sneaked around his waist, pulling him into you, “But what’s with the sudden want for company darling?”

“It was nice to see you making friends,” he said, brushing the hair out of your face, “and see you smile of course,” he added when he saw the grin spreading across your cheeks.

The dinner had been a success and Daemon even managed to enjoy himself somehow, but he was thankful that it was over. “I forget how much I hate to share,” he mumbled into your neck.

You laughed as you pushed him off of you. “You were right by my side the whole night my moon,” you said as you stroked his cheek, “Besides I cannot have my bath with you clinging to my hip like a wanting child,”

Daemon grinned, his eyebrow-raising, “A bath you say?” He said as his hands grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

“My bath,” you said pointedly, your hand pushing against his strong chest, “For I smell horrible,”

“You’ve never smelt horrible,” Daemon said but finally he relinquished his grip. As you turned to finish the touches on your bath, Daemon moved to sit on a chair close by. You worked silently, filling the bath with milks, honey, salts, and flowers as daemon watched each move. When you moved here impromptu you had left much of Essos behind, but Daemon was soon to send for all the salts and dried flowers you needed for these baths.

The water had turned a milky lilac once you’d finished and the steam from the water smelt like a sweet flower in spring. As you reached for the laces of your dresses Daemon stood silently. Without words he moved to stand behind you, pulling on each lace gently until he slipped the dress over your shoulders to pool on the floor.

You stepped out of the dress, moving over to step in the bath when you looked up to see Daemon carefully folding the fine silk dress away into the correct chest. You let yourself enjoy the sight, your husband oblivious to your gaze, before allowing yourself to enter the hot water, sighing as the warmth enveloped your body.

You let your eyes flutter shut as you rested your head on the edge of the bath. When heard footsteps pad across the floor, the sound of a chair scraping stone, then felt soft fingertips trail along your scalp. Your eyes fluttered open and when they looked up you saw Daemon looking down. “Relax ñuha qēlos,” he said gently, his voice not far above a whisper.

Allowing your eyes to shut again you let Daemon continue his movements. His fingers slipping into your hair, scratching gently at your scalp at first making you groan in pleasure. He continued his work silently, grabbing a hair oil from your chest of smells and pastes. His fingers stroked through your hair, using the oil the way he had watched you do many times. You let yourself enjoy the silence, enjoy his touch.

After he had finished with your hair daemon had you sit further forward to massage your back, working out any tension Westeros had caused. “Thank you,” you whispered into the near-silent room as Daemon worked out a knot in your shoulder.

Daemon paused for a moment, holding your shoulders in his hands. He leant forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek without caring that he got his shirt wet. None of that mattered to him right now, “Anything for you ñuha qēlos,”

“kirimvose ñuho glaeso hūrus,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @starkleila

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baronessvonglitter · 2 months

Text

if love be rough with you, be rough with love | chapter 15 | "mutually assured destruction"

Dave York x f!Reader

Word count: 5,707

Summary: A life-changing secret is unearthed, altering the directions of your life and Dave's.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, TW attempt at self-unaliving, angst, secrets revealed, gaslighting, talk of murder and paid assassination, obsessive!Dave, rough sex, hate sex, unprotected piv, revenge, if I missed anything please let me know!

Author's note: this turned into more than I initially thought, and took a lot out of me emotionally but I'm pleased with it and I hope you are too! Please do not read if you're not in a good headspace, there are very triggering scenarios in place for the sake of dramatic storytelling. For those battling real life demons, please click here for help 🫂

Series Masterlist

It's the day before you leave for London. A Friday.

Years from now you'll look back on this day and wonder how it started so normally, as if fate wasn't already hard at work against you.

You make breakfast for the family: pancakes, fresh fruit, scrambled eggs. The new au pair is coming on Monday and you want to do everything in your power to stay on the family's mind so that they'll want you back when you return from studying abroad, but in the back of your mind you know that won't be an issue.

Sneaking a glance at Dave at the table, you exchange a small, secret glance and a smile, but his eyes never leave you once you busy yourself with other tasks. You can feel his gaze on you, checking you out in your casual outfit of the day: jeans that show off your curves and a cropped long sleeve shirt that shows a sliver of midriff. You're going to miss choosing outfits that will keep you on his mind all day.

Later you get the girls bundled up for school, putting on their warm boots and winter coats. Alice has two different colored gloves on, Molly forgot her library book upstairs. Both girls want to wear their new scarves but they're fighting over the same one. You're already prepared, fixing the situations, showing Dave that you're maternal, giving him a glimpse of what your life together would look like.

You've already made plans to see each other over New Year's, see the sights together, make love in a different country. Honestly you don't think you'd be looking forward to London as much if there wasn't the promise of Dave joining you there, even if only for a little bit. You're learning to have your forever with him in a few stolen moments.

After running some last minute errands (Carol insisted that you spend this time on yourself and she could take care of anything extra) you have everything ready. You're packed, suitcases and passport on your bed.

Slipping into his home office, you dangle a thong around your finger, intending to leave it in his desk, a small memory of you, a promise of what's to come.

A drawer that's usually locked is left slightly open, teasing you, taunting you. You bite your lip. You've never been in Dave's office without him, and you recall what he'd told you:

"There are some other parts of my life, things I can't tell you yet. I know you'll understand when the time comes.."

You shake your head. It's just a drawer, you tell yourself. If Dave were here he'd call you a silly girl, then guide you away from his desk and press you to the wall, or the floor, or-

But you can't resist a peek.

And because of that your world changes.

The rest of your day is spent uncovering your lover's secrets, and the worst secret is saved for last.

In the back of the open drawer, tucked safely into a small black pouch: a class ring with your birthstone, and your gold baby bracelet, your name written in perfect cursive.

Dave returns after work, calling out to the house, knowing you're here somewhere because your car's here and Carol's isn't. It's too quiet. She probably has the girls with her.

"Sweetpea, you home?"

There's no answer, so he shrugs and heads to his office. intending on doing some work for awhile before bed. You'll show up eventually, looking for him, legs spread eagerly, mouth open voraciously, wearing some barely-there lingerie, tempting him while his family's out. He knows you by now, but that doesn't stop him from wanting you.

He knows something is wrong as soon as he sees his office door is cracked open. No one goes in there but him. He steps in to see his office has been searched. Papers are strewn on his desk, files scattered, drawers opened. He feels like he might have a heart attack.

There you are, in a chair in the corner of the room, watching him, waiting for him.

"You're a fucking murderer," you mutter in a half-sob, alerting him to your presence.

The moment those words leave your mouth you know it's a mistake. Dave approaches you, slowly and deliberately. You want to run for the door but you're not sure you can even move. Your heart feels like it will stop at any moment, if Dave doesn't stop it with his own hands.

In one swift movement he grabs you, forces you to the wall, his large hands pinning your shoulders. He's in a rage, seething with anger, hurt, and resentment. But he hides it well, towering over you. "What do you think you read, silly girl? You're not even completely sure what you saw," he motions behind him to his littered desk. "Do you want people to think you're crazy?"

The fear in your blood turns to outrage. You ignore his question and offer one of your own. "My father.. my own father?" Your voice wavers as you keep your cold gaze on him as you say your father's name for the first time in years. "Sound familiar? He should be. Five years ago you killed him."

There is the briefest flicker of surprise in Dave's eyes, soon replaced with approval, estimation even. "What makes you say that, sweetpea?" he asks, his voice honey-sweet.

Nausea threatens to make you keel over, but your righteous anger holds you through. "It was all over your fucking paperwork. And these," you say, opening your palm to show your jewelry he'd stolen that fateful night. He looks but makes no move to take them.

"For years the cops had us convinced it was a home invasion gone wrong.. but they were on your payroll, weren't they?"

"Where's your phone? Give it to me," he demands. When you don't oblige right away he grabs it from your back pocket, rifling through the photos section, checking to see what you've deleted, making sure you don't have anything incriminating waiting to be emailed.

So far he's in the clear and he tosses your phone to the chair.

"What are you going to do about it?" Dave asks, his voice low, cold, nearly a growl, and he looks at you as if you're a bug he's squashed under his shoe. "What are you going to do with the information you have? Because you can't tell anyone, do you understand that? Especially not the police. We both know they won't protect you." He soothes the effect of his words with a soft brush of his knuckles across your cheek. "If you try to spread this.. misinformation to anyone else, you'll disappear."

A shiver goes through you and you knock his hand away. "Why?? Why did you take him away from me? I needed him."

It's a new feeling for Dave. He's never had to deal with the fallout of his extracurricular activity.

"I was just doing my job," he answers, the catch-all phrase he never imagined he'd have to use. "But from everything you've told me about him, I rather think you'd be grateful to me, sweetpea."

You ignore this little quip, too angry to think of anything to say in this heated moment, when your brain is still swimming with mixed emotions. "He was just a name on your list? Is that what you're saying?" you ask coldly.

"Yes," he replies sharply. "He was not a person to me, okay? He was a target. He was a job."

His words are harsh, but they're the truth.

"Do you understand that? Do you understand now how I see people? How my world works? It's made up of people I am paid to kill. People who hire me to do the killing. People who betray others. It's not a game and it's certainly not personal." He takes a moment, looks squarely at you, measuring how you're taking this.

"Did you ever have any idea," you start slowly, "when you hired me to be your kids' nanny? Did you ever have any clue that I might have been his daughter? When you kissed me and fondled me and screwed me, did you ever wonder if maybe my last name was a coincidence?"

"Are you trying to make me feel guilty? If so, it's not working very well. I've learned how to separate myself from the job. Compartmentalization. It's the same thing I do when I'm fucking you and not thinking of my wife, or fucking my wife and not thinking of you. Do you understand that?"

Your hand flies across his face, landing a harsh slap, leaving a red mark that even you can feel the sting of.

His first instinct is anger, then there's a sudden flash of a smile across his face, lighting up his features as he soothes his cheek. "I have to admit, with that scrappy little attitude.. you're just like your father. Tenacious."

You're disgusted with yourself. You've given away your innocence to your father's murderer. You'd loved him and sinned with him, risking so much. You even wanted to marry him someday, in a stupid fantasy of yours that now just feels repugnant.

"Did he see you coming?" You whisper. "Or did you sneak up behind him like a coward when you killed him?"

Dave's smile fades. "I let him see me, and at that moment he knew he found his death," he recollects. "It's the most powerful feeling in the world.. watching the light fade in someone's eyes and knowing you're the cause of it. It's a little like playing god. It was no different with your father."

"And this information you have," he continues, "what exactly are you going to do with it? Because I refuse to have to kill you, sweetpea. It would hurt me too much to have to get rid of you for your curiosity. You opened up a Pandora's Box. Now what are you going to do with all the misery you've unleashed?"

You're calm. Your heartbeat is normal. Glancing out the window there's freshly fallen snow. Such a peaceful scene despite the awfulness playing out with you and the man you loved.

"Carol took the girls out to drive around and look at Christmas lights. They might be gone awhile."

You reach into your pocket and pull out a snub nose revolver, one you'd pilfered from Dave's desk earlier. You pull the hammer back and aim it at him. "I'm going to spare them having to hear their father die, a little gift I'm passing forward that you gave me years ago."

There's a flash of fear that flits across his face as you point the gun at him, which he quickly masks with cold indifference as he raises his hands in surrender, backing away slowly. "You had to have some idea.. all those nights waiting up for me, patching me up when I had a bloody lip or bruised knuckles? They're not always quick kills, sweetpea. Sometimes I have to use my fists."

You don't waver, still aiming the gun, the irony not lost on you that he'd been the one to teach you to shoot. The power you have over him right now is indescribable, with the agony of the revelation of Dave's shadow business lurking just beneath.

"You had to know," he repeats. "Yet you still decided to pursue me, to sleep with me, to fall in love with me." He stares you down as you continue to aim. "Now.. do you think you have it in you to kill me? Because revenge, my silly girl, is not really your style."

His words wound you. Yes, deep down you always knew. You just never put your father's death into the equation.

"You're right," you admit. "I'm not a killer like you. But I'm just as bad as you are."

Despair and guilt rack your body. There's no way out. You'd been prepared to shoot Dave, maybe even kill him as revenge for your dad, but in this moment you have a sudden change of heart.

"You don't have to worry about me telling anyone. I'll take it to my grave."

You aim the revolver at yourself, just under your chin, cold metal against soft, warm skin. "I still love you, Dave."

Click.

You open your eyes and fall to your knees, gasping as you drop the gun. It wasn't loaded. A blinding wave of relief and anguish courses through you as you begin to sob, your entire body shaking.

He walks to you, picking up the gun and opening the chamber. Empty. "Do you really think I'm stupid enough to have a loaded gun in my own home, sweetpea? I have children, for Christ's sake." He shakes his head, putting the gun away. "I thought you'd be more clever than that, especially after all I've taught you." He sighs, looking more disappointed than distressed over your attempt. While you're on the ground, hugging your knees to your chest, shivering, he quietly tidies up his desk, putting everything back where it belongs, all his secrets stored away. He locks the drawer with a definitive click.

"You do it," you weep as he kneels next to you, giving you a tissue. "You killed him, now kill me. It would be poetic." You meet his eyes, seeing nothing but coldness in them, knowing that was all there was this whole time. "There's nothing I want in this life anymore."

Dave hugs you, and despite the hatred you feel for him, despite the maelstrom of emotions you find yourself in, you cry on his shoulder as he kisses your hair.

When you've finally cried yourself out, he helps you to your feet. "I'm going to take you for a drive. We need to talk."

In your emotional state you go along with whatever he wants. You're like a zombie, your body functioning but your brain clouded with misery.

You both get in his car, but you don't bother to put your seat belt on.

"Do you trust me?" he asks as you head out on the road.

"That's a funny question," you say in monotone, turning your head to look at him. "I don't know if I do. I shouldn't."

"Here's the thing." He clears his throat, makes himself comfortable for the drive. "I think you do. I know you always have. You shouldn't but you did. You still do. You trusted me enough to be completely vulnerable before me. You trusted me when you slept with me, each and every time. You trusted me when you told me about your awful history with your father. Trust takes guts."

You groan as he speaks about your intimate times together, numerous times, scandalous situations. You'd given your body and your heart.. to a married man.. to your father's killer.

"That trust is gone," you tell him.

Dave sighs, continuing to drive. After almost forty-five minutes he pulls over to the side of the road. You're in the middle of nowhere, far from anyone or anything. He gets out and helps you out of the passenger seat. Taking a tentative look around you see barely lit forest on the roadside, lit by a scattered amount of street lights. The snow has stopped for now, and a chilling wind howls through the desolate night.

Together you walk into the darkness. You fully believe he's brought you here to kill you, to silence you from spilling his secrets. And you feel only the slightest anxiety at this thought.

He leads you up a small path, thick forest on either side of you. Eventually you arrive at the edge of a cliff. The wind roars in your ears.

"What are we doing here?" you shout. It's almost too dark to see him.

He removes his jacket and puts it on you, shivering in your same clothes from this morning, only a denim jacket over them. It's warm from his body heat and smells faintly of his cologne. "Tell me why we're out here," you insist.

Dave looks out over the cliff, seemingly lost in thought. You're not even sure he's heard your demand.

"Did you know your father well, sweetpea?" he finally asks. "Did you spend a lot of time with him?"

It's like a stab to the chest, feeling your dad's loss all over again. "I thought I knew him well enough.. I think he loved me in his own way."

"He was corrupt, sweetpea. He had dealings with men much worse than me, men who would've hurt you and your family if given half the chance. A rival gang paid us to take him out." Dave goes quiet, dipping into that memory, perhaps wishing he could reverse things so you wouldn't be here, in the cold, with him. "I'm not the monster that you think I am. I'm human just like you."

"No, you're not human. Taking lives for money makes you less than that." Tears sting at your eyes, the bitter wind making them cold on your cheeks. You saw how sweet Dave could be with his children, how he gave off the impression of a loving husband even though you knew that particular part wasn't true. He had hidden depths, just like your father. His love for you was conditional, just like your father's.

You need your heart to stay hardened against him.

"I loved my father,” you continue. "I saw bad in him, just as I told you. But that didn't mean I wanted him dead."

"We're all just animals," Dave insists. "And even animals kill each other."

"You're the only animal here, David." You remove his jacket from you, symbolizing how you're done with him, preferring the bitter cold to the warm lies he's trying to give you. He gives a surprised grunt as you shove the jacket against his chest. "I've seen enough and heard enough. I'm walking home."

"You asked if I recognized you the day you came to interview for the position.. truth is, I did."

You turn at his revelation, stopping in your tracks but coming no closer to him.

He continues, "My team and I searched room to room, pilfering a few valuables to make it look like a real break-in. The last bedroom at the end of the hall was cracked open, with a pink light spilling through. When I walked in I could still smell your perfume in the air, something sweet like the kind a girl your age would wear. The clothes you tried on and discarded were strewn on your floral bedspread."

Now he has your attention, now he has you rapt, and as he describes that night you recall your room in that house, the perfume and the bedspread he's mentioned.

"I looked around, took my time, even though I was supposed to be quick," Dave admits. "I looked at the photos you kept by your bedside, removed the silk scarf draped over your lamp - that's a fire hazard, you silly girl." He smirks at you a moment, something akin to mirth in his dark eyes. "I saw the awards on your dresser, the photographs.. a little girl in a ballerina costume, that same girl growing up, attending summer camp, learning archery, and becoming a young woman, attending homecoming dances and learning how to drive.. I saw a piece of your life, sweetpea. And I was entranced."

Your mouth has gone dry. You know every one of those photos, have them collected safely in an album in storage somewhere.

"I didn't know your name, but the moment you came through my door, almost a thousand miles from your home, I was in awe. It had to be fate. You'd come to me, and despite my initial misgivings about having you so close, the possibility of you knowing how we were tied together was so minimal yet held such huge risk. There were times when I was sure you'd call me out for it, maybe blackmail me, so I kept my distance at first. But you were so obvious, sweetpea. You wear your heart on your sleeve, do you know that? It's adorable, especially that look you're wearing now."

You back away, forcing your body to move.

"That beautiful young woman with the pink room and cotton candy perfume ended up finding me, choosing me. I think all this time she's been looking for a replacement for her dead daddy."

"Stop," you beg. It sounds loud in your ears but comes out quietly from your lips.

"I love you," he says in earnest. "I don't care if the world burns. Everything is just a distraction if I can't have you."

A deep breath. "You should have pushed me over that cliff when you had the chance."

"I'm not going to hurt you," he approaches you with a calm demeanor. "I know I threatened to kill you, but that was said in anger. Don't you know how much you mean to me? Frankly I'm hurt by the fact you're even thinking I'd harm you."

You look at him squarely. "Oh, you're hurt?? Why don't we make it even and I take your family away from you?"

"You wouldn't." He holds you in his grasp, looking down on you with a smug expression.

"It would make us even, Dave." With a dark look in your eyes you run your hands along his chest. "I always thought you appreciated symmetry."

His countenance warms, his embrace loosened by your coquetry. "It's fucked up, but I can't help wanting you one last time," he says.

"You're right. It's fucked up."

"Let me take you to that hotel you like so much," he insists. "A proper sendoff before you leave the country. Because nothing is going to stop us, right? We can get past this little obstacle. It's just a tiny hurdle in our relationship."

Your lips curve into a smile as your blood boils. "That expensive hotel we went to, our very first night together? I don't think that's quite the aesthetic we're going for. Take me to the cheapest fucking place that's closest to us."

The motel room is small, smells faintly of cigarette smoke and cleaning product. But it has a bed, and that's all that counts.

Dave starts to unbuckle his belt and you watch, leaning against the dresser. "Remember that first night, when I bled? You told me it was rare to happen in this day and age. But it makes sense now. You shed my father's blood when you murdered him, and you shed mine when you took my innocence."

He's naked, waiting for you to also take off your clothes. "Did you regret giving yourself to me?" He pauses. "Do you hate me?"

"I'm not going to tell you," you smirk without any levity. "Isn't it more exciting to sleep with someone when you don't know how they feel about you?" However, seeing him sans clothing, a near rarity in your relationship, does something to you. You're lucky to be female and hide your arousal for the most part. You back Dave to the bed, making sure he's watching as you take off your clothes too.

His eyes are glued to you, cock already hard at the sight of your nakedness. You press him down to the bed, straddling his lap as you take him into you. Even you can't hide your need for him, the gasp of surprise as he fills you up completely.

You use him, that's the best way to put it. You care little for his kiss or his touch. You're simply taking your pleasure from him, riding him hard, the way he likes it, holding him so close you nearly smother him.

Yes, you love him, but that love has been poisoned by the truth of what he's done. There's no love in your actions, but there are tears in your eyes as you ride him, as if you'd fuck him to death if you could.

He can feel your pain.. the pain of all those secrets revealed tonight, the pain of having to deal with a man like him. And he can feel your anger, because for you, right now, there is nothing but revenge.

You feel it as Dave make himself a blank slate to take the brute force that is the only thing you can offer in this moment, so that you can emotionally bleed out your suffering and anger onto him.

You're riding him hard, taking your pleasure in a vicious way. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you," you moan.

It's a sound of desperation and release, and in a strange way it makes him want you even more. For you, this is revenge, but for him it's pleasure. He grabs you by the waist as you move on top of him, your nails dragging down his back, leaving marks that will be hard to explain later on. Your first instinct is to brush his hands off you, but you're so close to coming, and in that moment you don't care what Dave has done, or who he will hurt in the future. You just need him, and your heart allows a little bit of his love to pierce your armor.

With his hands on your waist, he pushes up and rolls you over. You move with him, teeth tugging on his bottom lip, inflicting more violence in your lovemaking because now.. everything is different. On top, looking you in the eyes.. You might hate him, but right now he doesn't care.

"There it is, there's that anger," he mutters. "Just let it all out, sweetpea. I know what you're feeling right now. I know exactly who I am and what I can be." He takes charge again, showing you that you're not the only one with anger inside of you. He enjoys the violence you're bringing to the bed, the violence that he deserves.

It's as if you're ready for his aggression, happy that he's fighting back. You're turning that pain to pleasure because otherwise the pain will disintegrate you.

You're still cursing him: "Bastard!" "Son of a bitch!" Meanwhile your body holds his close, accepting every forceful movement.

His eyes remain locked on yours the entire time. He doesn't let you escape his gaze. He wants you to see him, because now you can't hate him without hating yourself.

He's hurting you and you're enjoying it, just as it's always been. He kisses you forcefully, moving against you, as if you can't wait for the other to break.

Your bodies crash together savagely, both of you trading your pain and anguish. You dig your fingernails down his back once more as the first sweet, fluttery feelings give way to a strong, hedonistic wave of pleasure that threatens to engulf you. There's no holding back or hiding from it. All you can do is burn within it, let your climax conquer your senses as your cunt grips him more tightly than ever before.

Dave's eyes go wide and he lets out a small groan. He feels your grief and anger, and he loves it. He holds you close as you come together, holding you close as if he never wants to let go. You feel complete when he comes, the way he pushes deep and hard against you, as if imprinting himself in you.

Afterwards, you just want to sleep. All your emotions have come to a head and you're weak from feeling them. You feel like a shell of a person.

Still, he doesn't let you go. He lays on top of you, breathing hard, sweaty from the physical exertion, trying to catch his breath.

He knows that once this night is over he'll go back to being a monster, and you'll always be the girl he betrayed in the worst way.

In this small moment you remain connected, feeling Dave's body against yours as you have so many times before. The ghost of a smile graces your lips as you look at him above you, brushing a small, sweaty strand of hair away from his forehead.

He looks down at you, filled with mixed emotions. He doesn't want to move, but he knows he has to. He climbs off you and lays next to you, watching you. The red motel sign glows into the window of your room, lighting the bed, covering your bodies in a warm scarlet glow.

"What were my father's last words?" you ask in the quietude of the moment.

"He asked for mercy," Dave answers. "He said he had a daughter who needed him. And that if I let him live, he would never cause trouble again."

You try to calm your breathing. "And then what did you do?"

A pause. "I shot him in the head." His voice is like a stone.

You look at him, this man you loved without shame, without guilt. "And how much money did you receive for killing him? What was his life worth?"

"Fifty thousand dollars."

You close your eyes. "Thank you for your honesty."

He doesn't know how to respond. He wants to defend himself, he wants to apologize, he wants to ask your forgiveness. But all he can say is: "I love you."

You turn to him in the half-darkness of the seedy motel room. "I know."

It's early when you wake, body sore, heart broken. You shower, washing away Dave's scent, his sweat, his seed, but somehow he's still under your skin.

He's fast asleep and you don't wake him.

Quietly you order a ride share service to pick you up. There's still work to do.

The next stop is the York household. The girls are still asleep this Saturday morning. Carol's home. For the last time you use your house key.

It's warm and quiet as you walk down the hallway, trying not to make too much noise. You pass by the collage of family pictures bedecking the walls: Carol and Dave on their honeymoon in Paris the girls' baby pictures, piano recitals, family vacations to Disneyland and the Grand Canyon, pictures of the life you wanted but never got.

Carol's at the table drinking coffee. "Good morning," she says brightly. "Aren't you going to miss your flight?"

"I have time." You smile back but it doesn't reach your eyes. "We need to talk."

"Sure," she says agreeably, checking her phone before putting it down, likely waiting to hear back from her husband, who hasn't come home all night.

There were times when you avoided the truth because it would get you into trouble, but now you just want the truth to set you free. "There's something you should know about your husband."

Carol's eyes are wide, already imagining the worst. Trouble at work? Gambling debts? Did he force himself on you? "What is it?" she asks softly as her nerves jangle.

You take a quick look around at the place you've called home for awhile now. When your gaze lands back on Carol's, it's impossible to keep a smirk off your face.

"Dave and I have been having an affair. We've been sleeping together for the past few months."

There's a blankness in Carol's eyes, as if she's processing the information but it's not sticking. What you've said is so sudden that she can't fully believe it yet. "You're kidding," she whispers. "You're just kidding.. right?"

You shake your head. "No.. I can tell you about the birthmark on his upper right thigh, his bondage kink, and he makes this cute little sound right before he cums, like a tiny squeak or whimper."

You feel powerful telling Carol this. "We've fucked in almost every room in this house, including your bed, just last week."

Carol's body goes limp as she assaulted by the onslaught you've unleashed. The words are too much to bear. "You're lying.."

To add insult to injury you continue: "And it's not just about sex. He loves me."

You reach into your purse and pull out your phone, pressing a few buttons and sending Carol an email. "Here's further proof. You can watch it if you want, or don't. I don't care. The tape was my idea, and Dave was more than happy to oblige."

With shaky hands Carol opens the email on her phone, clicks on the video attachment.

What she sees breaks her heart like nothing ever has before. It's not just her husband cheating on her, it's the two of you sharing intimacy, bodies locked together in a passion she had no idea you'd felt for each other.

Now she knows you're not lying, and she can't bear the thought of all the love she's given Dave being betrayed like this. She looks at you with tears in her eyes, her body shaking as she tries to pull herself together. She refuses to be the weak wife who bawls over her husband's misconduct, who eats her own bitter, broken heart in front of the godforsaken Other Woman.

"Why?" she simply asks.

"Why?" you repeat. "Because sometimes, Carol, people come into our lives just to ruin it, to change it irreparably." In saying that, you're thinking of your father, a bullet through his brain, Dave on the other side, holding the smoking gun.

Upstairs you grab your luggage, coming down to see that Carol is still crying, still watching the video, the sounds of your wicked moans and Dave's sultry praise audible through her phone.

"A word to the wise," you leave her with parting words. "I'm not the first one Dave's cheated on you with. Odds are I won't be the last."

You leave your house key on the table in the front hall. On your way outside in the crisp morning air you feel inexplicably lighter. Grabbing your phone you text Dave one last time:

Mutally assured destruction 🖤

Getting back into your Lyft you glance back at the house and see the girls there, Alice and Molly, their faces pressed to the window like car window cling toys. You don't wave to them, even when they're trying to get your attention. You can't save them anymore than they can save you.

He destroyed your family, and now you're returning the favor.

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#pedro pascal #dave york #dave york fanfiction #dave york fic #dave york x you #dave york smut #dave york x reader #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader #heavy angst #pedro boys #ao3 fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal character smut #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal cinematic universe

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melaniem54 · 2 months

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Review: Prince of Poison (Fortune Favors the Fae Book 7) by Alice Winters

Rating: 4.5🌈 Alice Winters is a favorite author of mine. Her ability to write stories and characters that inspire outrageous emotions, high and low humor along with subtle layering of poignancy and pain never fails to entertain and engage me. So my expectations for her novel, Prince of Poison, in the Fortune Favors the Fae series was high. What a wonderful story! I still find myself cackling at…

#newbookreleases #A MelanieM Review #author Alice Winters #LGBTGIA fantasy romance #multi-author series #Review: Prince of Poison (Fortune Favors the Fae Book 7) by Alice Winters #Scattered Thoughts Highly Recommended

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carpenoctem-if · 7 months

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Carpe Noctem - Intro Post

DEMO - tba

You are a nobody. A supposedly ordinary human in a world full of powerful beings. Your life is all in all pretty average if not bordering on mind-numbing, like watching paint dry... That is until you were kidnapped and tossed into one especially small carriage to be delivered somewhere only the ancients knew of.

From now on nothing will ever be the same and you need to adapt to the ever-changing outside world as fast as possible. All the while trying to decipher your past and with that your part in an every-growing political conflict that borders to develop into an all out war the world has yet to see.

General content warnings: Bigotry & prejudice, horror elements, interspecies awkwardness, explicit language, depictions of violence, injuries, blood and death, explicit sexual content (if selected), flashbacks of a dark past to unveil, sprinkled with some homophobia here and there & general an unfair treatment of people with disabilities.

FEATURES

-> customizable MC (name, pronouns, appearance, identity)

-> semi-set personality due to evolve (MCs reclusive upbringing forces you to start as someone that's not entirely comfortable with other people and as such you'll be able to choose coping mechanisms your MC will use to compensate such a deficit)

-> 5 characters to romance (3 in book 1, not sure if the other two will follow, they'll probably be fully romanceable in book 2)

-> POVs of the ROs included

-> an open-minded author that is inclined to change some NPCs to fully fledged ROs depending on the general opinion/wishes of readers

-> an emotional roller coaster, all in all nothing for ppl that want a light-hearted theme

-> later on you'll be able to choose part of your race (vampyres, merpeople, demons, shapeshifters, phoenixes -and many more) & with that you can determine and further develop your special skillset. Your heritage will reward you with quite different flavour texts for every possible race there is, so yes. It will matter greatly what you chose. And each of the available races will have disadvantages that could prove quite...fatal in certain situations.

romanceable characters:

the master [Alois|Alice|Alix] (m|f|n) 24 winters

An aloof demeanor at the first glance, A has a cold, strangely shrouded gaze. They're reclusive as fuck, so there isn't much the general population knows about them. Oh. And A is your esteemed master -as if any of you actually want this dynamic... A seems to hate you and your position even more, especially the hidden context it supplies to everyone they meet...

A has almond-shaped silver eyes that always seem distant and unfocused. They have defined cheek bones with mostly soft facial features and quite long, silver hair that is often tied to a simple ponytail. A wears fine dark clothing without other prominent features to despict their wealth.

Content warnings for A's route: denial of feelings aka one of the slowest burns imaginable, domestic violence, implied/referenced rape/non-con, anxiety attacks, self-harm, angst & hurt/comfort

the protector [Leto] (m|f|n) too many to count

Leto is a raven-like creature most would describe as monstrous-looking. They are rarely seen and the few moments they are, death is certain. For many commoners it's enough to see one of Leto's black feathers to warrant a swift escape.

Their past eludes them and you have to wonder - why does some antics of them seem kinda...familiar?

Content warnings for Leto's route: survivor-guilt, body dysphoria, angst, captivity & enslavement, torture, ptsd

the assassin [Zane|Zoey] (m|f) 28 winters

Z is everything their mother wanted them to be. Her own personal weapon. One she is now inclined to use for her vendetta against you.

They have dark brown hair with intelligent hazel green eyes that seem to observe their surroundings constantly. Z was raised with stories about you, stories you know nothing about. How can it be that they seem to know more of you and your family than you yourself?

Should it worry you that they sound extremely resolute in stating their sole purpose is to rid the world of your existance?

Content warnings for Z's route: enemies to frenemies to lovers, eating disorder, alcohol-addiction, a tendency of morbid jealousy, past emotional abuse & manipulation

??? [redacted]

??? [also redacted]

more info tba

Small note of the author:

Everything is slow burn in this - even the character customization, cause I want to add those moments seamlessly into the story.

I tend to take my time. You can expect me to heavily focus on the characters and their feelings, with a slight disregard to describing the environment and such. I work with minimalistic efforts to still give a sense of what I imagine everything to be but with the intention to leave fine details to the reader's own imagination.

I'll try to be considerate of everyone's preferences, especially in the more kinky parts of the story. There'll be versions for more assertive characters as well as more passive one's. Though I should add that the ROs all have their own set of bias that they prefer. However there will be growth throughout the story, including that.

The gravity of your choices will intensify throughout book 1, especially as you get to know the Circle and the Court and every other political hive of intrigue.

And yes. You can die. The ROs can die. Almost everyone will be able to at some point, I guess. Though I don't like the idea of writing a total distopia, don't expect me to change my mind regarding that one that easily.

More infos will be added over time. I'll post lore snippets of my sketchbook soon, like the worldmap, the general outlines of the Circle & the Court, the different races and such.

Asks are welcomed.

#interactive novel #interactive fiction #wip if #choicescript #lgbtqia

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slaughter-books · 9 months

Text

Day 21: JOMPBPC: Hello, Winter Summer

It's Summer here in Australia right know, so I took a photo of a few beautiful, summery coloured books! 💕

#justonemorepage #jompbpc #hello winter #hello summer #summer colours #nick and charlie #alice oseman #loveboat taipei #abigail hing wen #an emotion of great delight #tahereh mafi #rise to the sun #leah johnson #beautiful books #amazing authors #lgbt+#bookish #the little mermaid #i love books

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shesjustanothergeek · 8 months

Text

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Thirty

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Hey, y'all! Happy New Year! I am giving another big thank you to everyone who moved on to 2024 with me. I never thought I would have this much recognition for a story if I'm honest. I can't comprehend how many people like something that I put so much effort and time into. It's honestly so wild, and I can't thank y'all enough. <3

Chapter Warnings: Larys Strong AGAIN, sexual humiliation, a lot of misogyny.

The discussion with Queen Alicent hung heavily and close to your heart, yet you held firm even when Aegon badgered you with questions about what she said, following you everywhere in the Keep like a pesky fly on a summer day. It was not right for you to divulge the information of private conversations; you wouldn't want someone to do that with yours, but as you thought on the subject in the following days and the eldest son's persistence, you let one thing slip.

"All right, Aegon, just be quiet!" you groaned with exasperation as he sat straight like a pup being scolded.

At first, you regretted telling him of Alicent's orders for you to leave King's Landing, though you realized it was more advantageous to do so. It furthered the divide between Mother and son, adding a sprinkle of animosity in your favor. After the discussion with Ma, it was necessary to ensure she still agreed to help prevent the Prince from becoming king.

Talking with her helped chisel the heavy rock lodged in your stomach since Aegon came floating into your chambers with jests of ruling the kingdom. Madam's network of spies ranged far across King's Landing but had yet to surpass that of the Master of Whispers. She assured you that even though Lord Strong had many, he did not have those that mattered.

You had to put trust in someone who was not yourself, and that was something that never ceased to cause the rock to mineralize again.

***

The crimson leaves of the Heart Tree swayed in the winter breeze, its bone-colored bark reflecting the cold temperature. You pulled your cloak together, a rather elaborate thing of golden furs and embroidered satin.

You would not have chosen it for yourself, but Aegon insisted on purchasing it while you visited the Street of Loom. And once the tailor noted two finely dressed individuals, one with silver hair, buying a matching gown was simply a must.

The merchant pitched the garment much higher than you saw his other items and fellow workers. You planned on letting the Prince use his coin any way he wanted for your trip, but that was something you could not let him do.

The Loom merchant resisted your haggling, his expression one of offense for thinking he would ever overcharge a crowned Prince, but you knew better. As a girl, it was your job to purchase supplies and food for the working women, and with golden dragons far and few, you managed to afford enough to survive. Or, well... steal.

By the end, you left the swindling tailor with a new fur cloak and a dress to pair, an intricate solid gold belt with asscher cut diamonds thrown in for the trouble.

You felt proud of yourself for securing such a bargain. Your inner child who sought the approval of those you admired was fulfilled. Even though the gown matched the elaborateness of the coat, something you would not choose if, in your wardrobe, you wore it with confidence, your chin high and shoulders rolled back.

Aegon made you feel these emotions, you thought as you listened to the whispers of bloody leaves above. He helped you grow and blossom in ways your Father or Mother could never. He lifted you onto the pedestal you deserved. You were not the bastard daughter of Daemon Targaryen to him; you were everything.

You were his friend, lover, the only person who understood him, listened, comforted, and dried his tears when no one else cared. You deserved to have someone who treated you the same, gave you the acceptance and validation you craved, someone who did not see you as an extension of themselves to do their bidding. Aegon gave that to you, a perfect equal of give and receive to one another, a match made of love and not politics.

And his love was peaceful. It was calm. It kept you warmer than the coat the Prince bought you, even as the winter air swept through your neatly plaited locks.

"Princess," a masculine voice called, the sound softer than the whisper of mist surrounding you in the early morning.

It was so quiet you hadn't a clue who it was, turning with a polite smile and your arms neatly tucked behind your back. You wished you hadn't acknowledged the man as Lord Larys Strong stood before you, hunched over his finely crafted firefly cane, curly hair loose at his ears.

The sigh you released at his presence was hardly proper, squaring your shoulders as you spoke with all Courtly people. "Lord Strong... What a surprise. How may I be of assistance?"

The man snickered, bowing his head as he waited for you to take a step closer as was deemed polite. When you did not move, your amiable expression never leaving, he grinned, finally speaking again.

"Yes, Princess, a pleasure. I was hoping to speak to you on matters of the Prince," he expressed.

All the color drained from your face.

"The Queen has brought it to my attention that, perhaps, you are spending too much of your time with the Prince. She believes that it mayhaps be better spent else where."

The flame of hatred for Larys Strong was reignited with a sudden burst; your jaw clenched as your eyes became slits.

"I believe what you speak is untrue. The Queen and I have come to a..." you paused, unable to find the correct way to express the secret Alicent unwillingly divulged, "certain understanding. We've discussed her concerns and come to an agreement. You've no need to worry yourself on her behalf." You nodded with a genteel but firm finality, pulling your fur coat closer to your body as you began to exit, set to see only one person in mind. "Good day, ser."

Larys was not foiled so easily. He had spent the entirety of your stay at the Red Keep waiting patiently for the perfect opportunity to trap you in his web. He refused to let the bastard girl with dark eyes and blood on her hands get away and moved his wooden cane into your path.

Despite the Lord being hunched over due to his deformity, you still had to look up at him, his blue eyes sharp and cold like the brackish waters that clashed on the cliffs of Dragonstone. "Forgive me, Princess, but Her Grace has sent me to speak with you, and I do not intend to keep her wishes unfulfilled."

You squinted in response, taking a single pace back and rising to his eye level. "I believe we can speak plainly here, Princess. I know you find the manners of courtly talk abhorrent." When you did not halt him in his silence, he continued, slightly tilting his chin down like prey seeking to appear meek and unappetizing to its predator. "Do you recall all those years ago, when you were just a young girl, stolen from all she knew?"

The recollection of those events was something you still had difficulty allowing yourself to recall. So many life-changing and heart-shattering things happened in that short time, but you still sought to process it. Larys' lighthearted approach to it caused your chest to feel hollow. The memories of isolation, loneliness, fear, and anger all came flooding past the protective dam you created.

"I thought to extend you a helping hand in your time of need, but you turned it away. It hurt me deeply to see such a young child broken and scared enough to reject an offer from the goodness of one's heart," he expressed, blue eyes lowering to the frosted ground in mock reverence. "I am, once again, simply a man seeking to help a scared girl in a world over her head."

Fury ran hot through your veins, boiling your bones and the very blood that gave you life. Before you realized it, your hand was wrapped around the Strong Lord's throat, fingers digging into the flesh and tendons as his gaze filled with fear. It would be easy to kill him. A simple twist of the neck would be all it takes, just the way your Father taught you. You were sure he would be proud of doing so.

The thud of Larys' cane hitting a stone as it found its way to the ground caused you to realize the severity of your actions, looking around to ensure no one saw. A young servant scurried along the covered hallway separating the Godswood from the Keep, realizing he was caught.

It was most likely one of the Master of Whispers' "spiders" that he so lovingly called, keeping watch to ensure that if anything of value happened during the conversation, there would be more than one witness.

Your grip loosened for Larys' neck, his unruly stubble scratching against your palm as it slid down to the collar of his intricately sewed tunic, resting your hand on his chest. You giggled, the sound eerily contrasting the seriousness of your attempted murder, a heart-stopping grin pulling your cheeks.

"The only thing that is preventing me from putting you where you belong is justice for all the other little girls you sought to take advantage of." Your breath was hot, steam hitting his face as a dragon would. "It is not me who will execute your punishment. The Gods have a place in the Seven Hells for men like you."

You let go of your hold on his jerkin, the Lord crumbling at your feet without his cane. The sight was fitting. A man who constantly searched for ways to hurt people, to harm people, for his own game was cowering before you. It was his proper place.

"Tell the Queen that my decision remains, and that my Mother also remembers their shared youth fondly."

You spared the Strong Lord no parting glance, leaving him to reach for his walking stick with embarrassment that only a man like him deserved.

***

The force of Aegon's thrusts pushed you up his extravagant bed, mewling and moaning as you sought for purchase in the sheets. He was feral as he plowed through your walls, noises emanating from his chest that sounded like a growl.

"These fucking tits," he groaned, eyes locked onto your jolting mounds. Your head tilted back in euphoria underneath his gaze, clenching around him.

Your breasts were moving in time with his brutal thrusts, making you unable to fully catch your breath as the air was pistoned out of your lungs. Aegon's hands pawed at them, kneading the malleable flesh underneath his fingers roughly as you released a nasally sound.

The Aegon that was submissive to your touch was gone and left only a man who chased his desires inside a woman's cunt. Each push caused his cockhead to kiss your womb, moving his hips more mind-numbing than the last.

Aegon had one goal in his sights, fuck that sweet puffy cunny of yours until you forgot all worries. He grew to know the telltale signs of your distress: cuticles frayed, mouth crude, and constant fidgeting. He had noticed the rawness of your lips, skin nipped and picked until the flesh turned red and white, legs never ceasing movement at rest.

He did not believe it despite you telling him about the conversation with his Mother, and now Larys Strong did not bother you. Aegon understood that expressing your dolor was foreign, never having someone to divulge your worries to and have them validate them. He knew it would take some time for you to grow comfortable and accept that someone would give you a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen with, but he knew one way that always helped him forget his troubles...

Getting fucked.

And if Aegon so happened to get the added benefit of his pleasure, it was not something he would refuse.

His arms hooked under your knees, spreading them apart as he continued to rut into you, droplets of sweat glistening on his chest, creating a sheen that sparkled in the candlelight.

He was such a pretty boy. It was a thought that ran through your mind every time you saw him, and it created a deep envy to be a part of the same House and yet gifted such plain features. Aegon, with his elegant silver hair, exotic purple eyes, and smooth porcelain skin that showed veins of blue and green that looked like threads weaved into the tapestry of his flesh. With your dark hair and eyes, you have simple features for what people believe to be a simple girl. The only thing that indicated your Targaryen lineage was the white in your strands of ebony and the purple hidden within your irises.

Your hands couldn't help but run over the planes of his chest, muscles rippling from exertion. It made you grateful to have someone so close to a god panting above you as his cock rubbed against your sweet spot.

Aegon's fists grabbed your own, leaning over to place both on the pillows beneath your head. Hot arousal shot through you at the action, his face hovering above yours.

You captured Aegon's lips in a desperate kiss, whining and wanting intimacy as you swallowed each other's breaths. The hair at the base of his manhood rubbed against your pearl, causing your legs to jerk inward to your body and your hips to move on their own accord, grinding against his pelvis.

"Fucking take it," he hissed against your cheek, hips pistoning into you like an animal in a rut.

"So good," you sighed, legs wrapping around his waist.

"You fucking love this, don't you?" You nodded into another kiss, his lips trailing down to suck at an already tender spot beneath your throat. "It's so hard being the one who takes care of everything. Sacrificing your happiness for the good of the realm, being the dutiful daughter your Father wants you to be."

Your nails dragged down his shoulders, digging into the thick muscle as he bit at the vein on your throat, licking the sensitive spot to soothe it. "I don't-" you breathed, voice faltering as his fingers snaked to the throbbing bundle of nerves, circling it swiftly, "I don't want to think about that right now."

"Oh, but all you do is think," Aegon purred, balancing his weight on his unoccupied forearm. "You think, think, think about the realm, family, the future, me." He exaggerated, punctuating every word with a thrust.

Each movement of his hips and fingers hurdled you toward the edge at breakneck speed, your body unable to catch up as you felt slick leak around his cock, trickling down through your arse. The sounds coming from between your legs caused you to shy away in embarrassment, attempting to hide your flushed cheeks in the goose-down pillows.

"Oh, no, no, no," Aegon teased, pushing your head back to its place, seeing the tears that gathered in your shut eyes from his forceful thrusts. "Let me see that face, and those eyes, pretty thing. Beautiful."

You released a sob at his compliments, unable to process the intensity of his gaze, the mere centimeters away his countenance was from yours. You could see every microexpression form on his features, every pull of his brows, every pinch of his lips and clench of his jaw. The noiseless grunts in your ear were better than the finest music you had ever heard, better than anything a bard could play, sending you teetering over the edge.

"Come on. Peak for me, Princess. I know you can do it."

Aegon did not falter in his actions, continuing with the harsh snaps of his hips, jolting your breasts, causing you to grab them for purchase as his fingers rubbed your swollen nub until you finally burst.

A gush of slickness rushed from your womanhood as you released with a fierce cry, your peak crashing into you like waves in a storm at sea. It collided with your body as you arched and shook, digits digging into your breasts, eyes seeing the night sky and stars blooming in your vision.

"That's it. You're doing so well," Aegon grunted, halting his movements as you clenched brutally around his shaft, keeping him firmly in place. "Just let it happen."

Your hands tangled into his hair, gripping the roots meanly as the spasms of your cunt eased, leaving your waist and limbs trembling and twitching beneath your lover. As your heart calmed with your chest heaving, you grabbed Aegon's face, smashing your lips against his, realizing he hadn't reached completion.

"Aegon," you whispered against his mouth, beginning to question him.

He shushed you, knowing what you would ask before voicing it. He understood you would not give up so easily as he felt your hips begin to undulate, pushing past your overstimulation in search of pleasing him. The Prince pulled out before you could assist him at the expense of yourself, lifting your pliant body and positioning you on your stomach, head at the foot of the bed.

Delicate strands of ebony stuck to the back of your neck, trapping the heat and sweat into a sticky, uncomfortable mess, though you hardly cared. You lay there flat on Aegon's wrinkled sheets, your chest rising and falling as you fought to catch your breath.

Everything had been so quick and intense that you had trouble comprehending what had happened. One moment, you were sitting in the Prince's solar, fuming over Larys' words, and the next, you were rutted into at such a pace you thought the bedframe would crack. Yet, despite an underlying notion of befuddlement, you were at ease. Your limbs felt like they were melting into the mattress, a euphoric warmth wrapping your body in its comforting blanket, mind fuzzy.

Aegon gently nudged you from your head with tender touches of his digits, smoothing your hair away from your neck and above your shoulder with tender kisses. A deep, nasally moan came from you at the action, slowly rousing and returning to your body. His kisses began to travel lower, sweetly nipping and sucking places where the skin rolled.

He pecked each vertebrae of your spine, cherishing the very flesh of your bones. Aegon knew that kisses and actions of affection would never be able to display how deep his love for you went, but he would try. He would honor the very ground you walked on, worship your body as if it were the Maiden's, and pray to the sacred passages written in your veins. He knew it was sacrilegious, but he would gladly suffer the wrath of the Gods as he had a sliver of your love.

Finally, Aegon's lips reached your bottom, leaving a last kiss to your tail as he leaned upright, gazing at the ambrosial sight before him. Your curves, hips, waist, and arse were almost celestial in their beauty, the yellow candlelight illuminating your form. His hands dragged down those very features, squeezing when he reached your bottom, pushing the globes together as he dribbled a line of spit from his mouth to in between them.

You perked at the unexpected sensation, turning your head to see Aegon fisting his cock, angry and red at his procrastinated release. He pushed your skin closer together, member sliding in between the two mounds of flesh with ease.

It was strange to have him fucking the crease of your arse, skin enveloping his manhood like a glove, but it wasn't unpleasant. Any touch from Aegon was something you welcomed, especially when he was satiating his desires within your body. The mere thought excited you once more, your abused cunt arousing as he continued to seek his fulfillment.

It felt almost freeing to be used in such a way. You would allow Aegon to do as he pleased because you trusted in him. You both went through enough anguish and heartache to leave you raw and unable to hide, your soul bare for the other. For once, you had no worries, no purpose other than to lay there and let someone take care of themselves without the anxiety of wanting your help. The thought made your cunt clench with arousal.

Aegon's thrusts were sure in their intent as his fingers pinched at your cheeks, keeping the skin taught to resemble the feeling of your velvet walls. You let out a breathy sound, keeping your legs closer together as your thighs rubbed, seeking friction you knew only one thing could give you.

"Awe. Is that little cunny of yours wet again?" he patronized, voice sounding like a dove. "Do you need your brat prince to fuck you mindless again?"

You nodded, hiding your face in the crook of your elbow with a pathetic mewl that would leave your Father ashamed as Aegon slowly entered. The stretch was not as severe, your walls having grown accustomed to his girth as he began to do shallow, sturdy thrusts.

A low, almost inaudible grown released from your throat as pleasure leisurely began to mount. Aegon slowly lifted your hips, leaving your upper body prone as he used the new position for better leverage, skin molding under his fingers.

His pace was rhythmic, rooting into your cunt with a sureness of a skilled musician with their instrument. The contrast in dynamics between the Aegon who was impuissant against the denial of your presence, the Aegon who had brutalized your womanhood, and the one who now tenderly groped and massaged your flesh was stark. It sent your head spinning, retreating into your mind as your pleasure soon overpowered your senses.

"So beautiful," the Prince rasped, drunk on the pulsing sensation of your cunt, "so beautiful, my beautiful princess, my goddess."

His words were mumbled together, too far drowned into the cup of sex, spouting incoherent confessions of love and oaths that would put even the most lovelorn of poets to shame. Aegon could not shake the captivating movements of your body, enthralled with the repetitive ripples of your skin, violet eyes flicking to where his cock disappeared.

***

The halls of the Keep were bustling, being only a few hours past high noon, the sun shining over the top of the grey clouds. Ser Arryk had just left his midday meal, something you insisted he take after learning about his tendency to skip it in favor of his duty.

His path was sure as he walked between the red rock walls, armor clanking with every step. You had told Arryk you would meet him at the library in the west wing after his luncheon, but you had yet to show. He waited until the sun was in a low position before he left, conjuring excuses the entire time.

You were a princess, a woman who had duties to attend to, so it was common for you not to be punctual, but typically, you would send word by either servant or guard. It put an uneasy feeling in the knight's stomach, though he told himself not to worry. You were capable and could defend yourself if need be, yet he was still concerned.

Arryk was your protector. He swore an oath to the realm and you that he would serve and lay his blood before yours.

He knew he could be rather melodramatic at times; you told him so with a shake of your head and a bright smile. He repeatedly replayed the melodic lilt of your voice inside his head until he reached the eldest Prince's doors, his twin brother standing outside it.

He greeted Erryk with a nod, his twin staring back at him with a furrowed brown like his own.

"I am unaware of the Princess's whereabouts. She told me that we would meet in the library, but has yet to show. Have you seen her, brother?" Arryk questioned with a stiff spine.

Erryk continued to gaze at him with curious blue eyes. "Did she not tell you?" he inquired, tilting his helmeted head as he answered. "Her Grace and Prince Aegon have been within his chambers since this morning."

Arryk's heart began to race, blood rushing to his head and thumping in his ears. "In his chambers?" he echoed, voice rising. "Brother, you know this is entirely inappropriate. You are directly putting a child of the crown in danger within the hands of-"

He couldn't finish, his twin swiftly grabbing his arm and looking to ensure no one heard his treasonous confession.

"I know this, Arryk!" he shouted, a blue vein popping on his forehead. "I know the depths of his depravity better than anyone, yet I continue to do my duty without fail! What say you, brother?" He interrogated with an intense gaze, anger simmering into a steady boil. "Where is your, Princess now? In the bed of a lecherous wastrel who entertains himself with whores and drink."

"She is not," he replied hastily, like a child trying to convince a parent. "She would not debase herself."

Erryk stared at his twin, the person he shared a womb with now so distant and cold. An air of anger and disbelief he had never seen Arryk possess in his entire lifetime shook him to the bones, causing him to pause.

He had heard of the rumors of Princess Rhaenyra and her former protector, Ser Criston Cole, but never thought it was possible. The Kingsguard swore an unspoken oath of celibacy and no romantic love, yet here, his brother held a fury and sense of betrayal only a lover would feel. He needed to stop him from going down a path he could never follow.

Erryk stepped away from the door, and his brother entered without hesitation.

Arryk traveled through the Prince's entry room, dodging furniture and end tables with more skill than a stag. He heard noises from beyond the bedroom walls, and his stomach sank. He understood what they were, but his denial was too strong, guiding his limbs with a forlorn dread to the eldest son's bed chambers.

Hope did not die that he would enter into nothing. The soft grunts and moans were, for some other reason, only the Gods would know. He would even be relieved with the possibility that Aegon was taking you by force. Arryk would be able to do what he swore and protect your honor.

Anything. Anything would be better than what the knight's icy gaze saw.

There you lay on the Prince's bed, arse up and curves on display in Aegon's hands, moaning in adoration as he pounded into you from behind.

Arryk wished you were dead, oath be damned because this... this was far worse. The pair of you beat his already shattered heart bloody on the floor, crushing in time with the Prince's sure thrusts.

You did not hear Ser Arryk open the door. You were too lost in pleasure to be aware of anything. Aegon brought his appearance to your attention, blood running cold.

"We have a guest, little one," he jested, unceasing in his movements.

Your limbs went rigid, your body going into fight, flight, or freeze, your mind scrambling on what to do, where to go, and what to say. Aegon's unwavering ministrations did not help as you inhaled panicked breaths.

Pushing yourself up to hide in shame, he quickly grabbed you, hooking his arms around your waist and across your chest to your neck, putting your naked form on display.

You yelped at the sudden change in position, Aegon's cock nestling inside you impossibly deeper as he continued his ruts. You couldn't comprehend what was happening. It was all too much.

Pleasure, embarrassment, shame, and fear were at the forefront of your mind as your eyes burst with tears. It set your nerves on fire, your already overstimulated body alight with every emotion and sensation you felt. Your muscles were too weak to protest against Aegon's hold as his hand snaked down your mound of black curls in search of that bundle of nerves.

"Please," you simpered, attempting to hide your face in the Prince's damp hair, "don't look at me."

Rivers fell from your peculiar eyes at an alarming rate. You felt like that same little girl on the day Madam cast you out. The day that had set everything up into the perfect maelstrom you now lived. You were ashamed, almost fearful of Ser Arryk seeing you in such a vulnerable state, a condition you required the utmost amount of trust for you to be in.

You should be furious at the person who put you into this situation, displaying your most sacred parts for a common person to see, but you couldn't. You were only confused and terrified.

"My sweet girl," Aegon cooed into your ear. The kind words created no comfort, instead causing a guttural sob to release from your chest. "Tis all right. There is nothing for you to shed those pretty tears over."

Nothing could stop them, yet soon they turned into wet moans as his digits swiped at your nub with more purpose, a singular, humiliating, yet arousing goal in mind.

"Please... get... out," you beseeched the knight, finally bringing your watery gaze to meet his aghast one.

You could see it written plainly as the tomes you studied, Ser Arryk's betrayal. His sheer disgust for the sight before him. It made everything so much worse.

The protector's thoughts were treasonous, oath-breaking. You were a fine warrior, Visenya reincarnate, yet you let this man defile you. He wished you were another one of Aegon's victims, raped and uncared for, because then he would not have to witness this... this vulgar and repulsive display of pathetic, willing vulnerability you gifted Prince Aegon.

Arryk had worshiped you on a pedestal in silence. He compared you to that of the Mother and fantasized about a life separate from societal constraints where you could be what he dreamed.

But that was gone now, burned in the flames of those who shared the dragon's blood.

"Come now, Ser Cargyll, I am not blind to your affections toward my Princess. You should feel honored to see her in such a way," the Prince antagonized, his thrusts sure as they wound the already-formed ball in your stomach.

"Stop," you pleaded breathlessly.

That was the word Ser Arryk waited to hear, hand going to the pommel of his sword as he took a dangerous step forward.

"Oh, don't be so tense," Aegon chortled. "She may say to stop, but if I do, she'll beg me to continue. Isn't that right, little one?"

You refused to dignify his belittlement with a response, instead choosing to release a low mewl, head lulling as if the weight was too heavy.

You were growing dangerously close to your peak despite the horrendous shame that bubbled up inside, and you desperately did not want a member of the Kingsguard to see you in that defenseless state.

"You are going to bear witness to such a sight, ser. You shall be the second ever to see the glorious act of her release," Aegon continued to deride, making that feeling of self-hatred all the more prevalent. "I can feel her clenching, her cunt begging to peak, milking me for my seed." His lips moved flush against your hair, his breath moist as he uttered subdued grunts.

"Let go, my love," he pleaded, voice now noiseless and tender with scores of love and adoration. "Do this for me, please? I need you to come. Show him that you belong to me, that you desire me, love me."

You could never deny Aegon; it was one of your shared vices.

With a gentle kiss to the crown of your head and a handful of harsh ruts, your second peak arrived. It rattled your bones and overwhelmed your senses, feeling as if your mind had left this realm of existence from the sheer intensity of it.

Moans of ecstasy pierced Ser Arryk's ears like a needle to the eye, the sound causing bile to fill his mouth as he ran from the room, unable to keep watching and missing how the Prince sullied your perfect skin.

It relieved Aegon that the knight finally left. He grew increasingly guilty for the tears he had caused and continued to flow freely. Perhaps he had pushed you too far, he mused as his hot spend dripped from your stomach and onto the sheets. Anxiety crept into his chest as he felt your body finally grow limp, your hands grasping any part of him you could find to ground yourself.

You realized then that this moment was more for Aegon than you. His tears welled in his amethyst orbs as he began to apologize profusely. His actions came from a deep-seated insecurity that no reassurance could ever mend, and while it did not excuse what he did, it provided reason.

Remorse was the least he could offer after disgracing you in favor of tending to his broken ego as he kissed every piece of skin he could find. It would take time for you to forgive Aegon for the sexual humiliation he put you through, and you realize that he understood that, too, as he spouted incoherent regret.

You loved him, perhaps too much to be considered sane, but that was another item on your list of shared vices.

Masterlist of Series

You know that no one can be happy for long in this universe. That's all I'm going to say xD.

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bethanydelleman · 9 days

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do you have any book recommendations beyond classic lit + Jane Austen? Love your blog by the way!

Thanks! I read/have read a ton of books. My favourite genre as a child was fantasy, but I read almost everything except true crime*, thrillers, murder mysteries, self-help, and biography. But I do sometimes read those, my favourite thriller is Sometimes I Lie by Alice Feeney. I'm going to start with children's books because honestly, I find so much imagination in that genre.

Children's/YA Books: Gail Carson Levine, specifically The Princess Tales 1 & 2, and Ella Enchanted, among others Jean Little/Kit Pearson - these authors have the same vibe to me. Willow and Twig is a favourite from the first one, The Guests of War trilogy and Awake and Dreaming from the other. They both write coming of age novels for girls, both Canadian. Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs - I loved the whole trilogy (haven't watched the movie). The story being based around real antique trick photos is my favourite part The Echorium Sequence by Katherine Roberts - a trilogy of books about magical singers with blue hair and their interactions with half-human magical creatures Margaret Peterson Haddix, specifically Running Out of Time, the Shadow Children series, and Double Identity. Margaret Buffie, who writes stories about teenage girls and ghosts. Also Canadian, which I guess isn't that surprising. The Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins. Re-read it last summer and it's as good as I remembered. Roald Dahl, I really loved Matilda as a child, it's been fun to read some of these novels with my kids. Sideways Stories from Wayside School by Louis Sachar - and it's sequels. Amazingly quirky and funny stories about a class of students in a weird school

Fantasy: Mercedes Lackey, specifically the Five Hundred Kingdoms series and The Obsidian universe. I also loved the Elvenbane series, but due to the death of Andre Norton it may never be finished. I would advise caution if sexual assault is triggering for you, the ones I like are mostly free of it but that can come up in her other works. Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien - obviously. Also loved The Hobbit, have not read further The Broken Earth trilogy by N.K. Jemisin - the book opens with the triggering of an apocalypse. The world contains people who can control earthquakes A Baroque Fable by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - this book is so hilarious but I don't know if anyone has heard about it Once Upon a Winter's Night by Dennis L. McKiernan - and it's sequels. This is a romance retold fairy tale series

Science Fiction: Michael Crichton - who spans a bunch of genres but I'll put him here. I've read everything he's written and I recommend most of it. State of Fear has not aged well. His books are very fast-paced and Timeline has one of the best enemies to lovers. Orson Scott Card - I am aware, but Ender's Game is a masterpiece. He also has this single novel called Magic Street that is a sequel to A Midsummer Night's Dream. I also loved Memories of Earth but it's been a while since I read it. I, Robot by Issac Asimov - short stories about artificial intelligence and how it might go weird

Graphic novels: Astro City by Kurt Busiek - superhero, but more focused on how living in that world would affect normal people Y: The Last Man by Brian K. Vaughan and Pia Guerra - every male on earth dies, except for one, and his monkey Fables by Bill Willlingham - after being attacked by an army of wooden soldiers, fairy tale characters and creatures seek refuge in a non-magical world (ours) Nimona by ND Stevenson - a villain gains a shape-shifting sidekick, but she is not what she seems Scurry by Mac Smith - post-apocalyptic earth, the main characters are all surviving mice. Best artwork I've ever seen in a graphic novel American Vampire by Scott Snyder- vampires have different traits depending on their home country, this is about the new, American species. Asterix and Obelix by René Goscinny and Albert Uderzo - a small group of powerful Gauls defend themselves against the Romans using a magical potion

Non Fiction: Stephan Pinker, I've read both of his trilogies on language and the brain. Trying to get through his huge book about violence The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat by Oliver Sacks - writen by a neurologist, fascinating book Doing Harm: The Truth About How Bad Medicine and Lazy Science Leave Women Dismissed, Misdiagnosed, and Sick by Maya Dusenbery - what it says on the tin

Toddler/Young Child Books: The Monster at the End of This Book by Jon Stone - I give you a 100% guarantee that if you read this book aloud, the kids will be fascinated. It is literally always a hit Robert Munsch - most of his books are amazing, but if you don't want to cry, DO NOT read the backstory of Love You Forever. The Paper Bag Princess was one of my favourites as a child. Little Critter - only the older ones, the new ones are religious for some reason. Just for You and I Was So Mad were favourites for my kids. Early lesson in unreliable narrators. Phoebe Gilman - Something From Nothing, the Jillian Jiggs series, The Balloon Tree... so many good ones! Really good illustrations too Little Pea by Amy Krouse Rosenthal - a book about a pea who hates eating candy. This book is fun to read and my kids loved it (I have the box set) The Book with No Pictures by B.J. Novak - kids love when adults have to do weird things I Want My Hat Back by Jon Klassen - perfect opportunity to do a lot of funny voices The Mitten by Jan Brett - a whole bunch of animals squeeze into a mitten. That's the whole thing. It's great. The Very Cranky Bear by Nick Bland - and the rest of the series. These are fun to read because they rhyme. Jonathan Stutzman - my kids LOVE Tiny T. Rex and the Llama series. We haven't read the others An Elephant & Piggie by Mo Willems - we have this entire series, they are a delight. An elephant and pig are very silly friends. Good drawings Dr. Seuss - be careful with him though, his books are quite long and can be hard to read, so I recommend waiting until your kids are a bit older. But The Lorax slaps and my personal favourite as a kid was The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins

Other: Still Alice by Lisa Genova - or any of her books really. She is a neuroscientist and her books are really interesting explorations of different disorders. Book is better than the movie Warm Bodies by Issac Marion - zombie Romeo and Juliet Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder - a novel that is also an intro to philosophy course Calvin and Hobbes - I own all of them, so excited for when my kids can understand them. I also love The Far Side, Zits, and the earlier Dilbert comics The Women in Black by Madeleine St. John - this book is absolutely charming. I saw the Netflix movie and then bought it right away.

*I avoid true crime because I have heard that the genre causes harassment to victim's families

General Note: I am aware that some of these authors are now considered controversial, some for more serious reasons than others. Sometimes flawed people make really good art. I mean, flawed people make all art because nobody on earth is perfect.

#books #question response

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two-white-butterflies · 1 year

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the sun rises from the west | d. targaryen

Description: Daemon Targaryen didn't die during the war - though there were many nights that he wished otherwise. A story where he loses his first-wife to battle.

Pairing: daemon targaryen/dayne!reader

Rating: Mature [death, angst, smut]

Author's Note: Daenerys-Drogo inspired.

"When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When mountains blow in the wind like leaves. Then you shall return to me."

(DRAGONSTONE, 129AC)

Daemon always admired you - believed that your skills were greater than his own. A sad sigh escapes his mouth, hands reaching for a cloth and wiping the sweat on your son's sleeping body. He's lived numerous lives; warrior, husband and now healer. "- the healers are doing their best." Rhaenyra mumbles, laying a comforting hand on her husband's shoulder.

She has sired him two sons - but he always returns to Maekar. He always returns to the faint memory of you. "My aunt was taken by the same fever," he responded bitterly. He was not losing Maekar - he was not going to lose the greatest piece of you.

"I will take care of Maekar, please return to the battlefield - return to me." his niece pleaded, eyes almost brimming with tears. Maekar has been ill for the past months - and he has not left his bedside. "He is a boy of almost twenty and five summers. He will make it through this winter." Rhaenyra comforted.

"I refuse to fight knowing that he is fighting a battle in his bed." Daemon gritted his teeth, annoyed by his niece's lack of sympathy. "When Aegon and Viserys were sick - you did not show this devotion." she answered petulantly - now she could understand Alicent's hatred of her.

Daemon turns his head slowly - eyes glaring at his wife. "Rhaenyra, do not begin with this." he argued, attempting to keep his voice low - so that his son wouldn't awaken. "You love him more." she snapped. "Do not lie to yourself." he lied.

She stands up - eyes dark and filled with sorrow.

"How is it that you love her more than me? She is a dead girl - I am alive, yet I have to share you - a-and mayhaps I was fine with sharing - but not our children, Daemon. Your love should only be for them." her lips shuddered while shutting the door loudly.

(KINGSLANDING, 105AC)

You gather your gowns - fastening Maekar to your hips while you run through the halls with a smile on your face. "Daemon!" he wrapped you in a warm embrace - he smelled like fire and ash and home. "Ābrazȳrys," he cooed while taking the little boy away from you.

"Did you have fun?" you inquired, and he nodded quickly leading you towards your shared chambers. "Ēdan kirimves," (I had fun) he answered, pulling away from your fingers and opening the door. "You should've joined me," he offered, placing Maekar on the bed.

"I do not fancy riding a dragon," you responded while sitting beside your son who was sucking on his fingers. "You are my wife. You will learn." he informed firmly while removing his gloves. "Is it a profession of love or one of your whims?" you tease, unconsciously pulling Maekar closer to you. "It does not matter, riña - you will obey all the same." he breathed, body moving closer to you.

"Hen rhinka," (Of course) you hummed, staring up at him. "There is something that I need to tell you," he removed his coat before sitting on the bed. He adored everything about you - your smile, your hair, your scent and your ladyness - but there was one thing he hated; your anger. "What is it?" you inquire.

"Viserys commands me to fight a war."

(STEPSTONES, 106AC)

Daemon knew that it was a mistake to bring you here. You had an expert command with the sword - but he shouldn't have brought you here. "It's not too late to return home," he breathed, wrapping his arms around your half-asleep figure. "I could say the same, husband." you yawned, turning around to face him.

"You shouldn't even fucking be here," he cursed - smelling the faint scent of seawater on your hair. "Should be taking care of our son, like a good little wife." he added humorously. "Am I not good enough for you, ser?" you raise an eyebrow - and he silences you with a kiss.

He adored you in this way - skin tanned with fleeting spots on your shoulders, hair slightly bleached from the sun's rays - and body perfectly ready and sore for his bidding. "Too good for me," he hummed while moving his body to be hovering above you. "Daemon," you moaned feeling his fingers roam inside your nightgown.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

(STEPSTONES, 115AC)

His heart couldn't stop beating.

"Ābrazȳrys," he knelt down to your bleeding body. "Daemon," you choke on salt-water - feeling the waves gently nudge your body against the shoreline. "I'm glad to see you," you choke on air, hearing the thumping footsteps of your husband's healers.

He presses upon your wounded stomach - adding pressure to ensure that no blood would seep out of your body. "Reserve your strength," he commanded, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Daemon," you groan - seeing spots of black in your periphery. "(Your Name)" he responded firmly, helping the healers carry you away from the sand.

It has been three days since he's last seen you stand. Two days since he's last slept. He sees the way that your eyes curled in pain after every move - you were in agonizing pain, but you were enduring for him and for Maekar. "Ābrazȳrys" he cleared his throat - relieved that you were awake. "Valzȳrys," you replied with a pained smile.

"How are you?" he asks, sitting on your bedside. "I will be the same tomorrow." you answered with bitterness. The pain in your stomach has not left you since the accident. It festers like a living wound - providing you with the most torturous pains. "- and I know for certain because today feels like yesterday." you add, taking a sip of the milk of poppy. It does nothing to relieve your pain.

"What can I do about it?" he asks again, pained that you were feeling pain. "- everyday I feel like I am burned by dragonfire. My body feels like it is flayed and turned inside out. I cannot breathe at night - in the morning, my eyelids flutter." you explained, grip tightening around the teacup.

There was only one thing that you desired - but it was too cruel to ask of him. "I cannot move my legs - my arms feel like iron. Valzȳrys - to live like this is far too cruel." you cried. His eyes harden at your notion. The Maesters saved your life - but they did not release your mind of the torture that you endured in the hands of the enemy.

"No." he breathes - knowing the path that you were about to pursue.

"It is the only way - if you refuse to do so, I'll find a way."

"No."

(DRAGONSTONE, 129AC)

Daemon refused to touch you that day - he refused to speak to you, but when night came - he decided to obey your wishes. He filled your cup with one of the poisons inside your ring - he made sure to choose the one that gave you no suffering. He laid by your side - singing songs of your dialect to ease the pain of your passing.

He won the war because of the rage he felt over you. Over himself.

There was another woman after you - Laena Velaryon. The most beautiful girl that he's ever seen. A girl who had the same fire. She was skilled with a dagger - obeyed him in the same ways that you did. But she was not you. She did not fill the void that you left - not even after giving him Rhaena and Baela. He was a cruel husband - but not a cruel father.

After Laena's death came Rhaenyra - his niece.

She was rebellious - filled with fire and he worshipped her. Daemon worshipped Rhaenyra with all of his heart - they were forged from the same stone. Daemon was devoted her in way that he was never devoted to you - and that was because they shared the same blood. Daemon felt for Rhaenyra the same admiration that he felt for his brother. It was devotion. Not love.

And there he was - returning to what happened fourteen years ago.

Inside a small humid hut - hands wrapped around you, but this time it was your son. "Ivestragī nyke jemagon ao hen se ōñosa," he sung, wiping the tears that were streaming out of his irises. Maekar was cold to the touch - and his breathing was labored.

'If Lord Maekar's condition worsens, we'll be able to do nothing'

"Mother used to sing that to me," the boy mumbled. "Will I be able to see my wife again, my boys?" he asked his father - feeling a heaviness loom over his body. "When you get better," he replied.

(SHORES OF DRAGONSTONE, 129AC)

"Kekepa," his grandson opens his mouth. Daemon quickly lifts the boy and settles him on his hips. "Melara," he turned towards his good-daughter, quickly wiping the tears that were falling out of Viserys' eyes. He places a hand on her shoulder.

"He fought well." he comforted, staring at Maekar's body that was behind them. "I don't know how we'll live without him," she bit her lips - earning a chuckle from the older man. "It will be hard, but you will endure." he replied seeing Rhaenyra's figure walking towards them.

"I offer my condolences, Lady Melara - my grief extends to you and House Tyrell. Viserys and Rhaegar are free to remain here." Rhaenyra says politely, offering her hand to carry her step-grandson. "I think it will be best to do that, my queen. Father is already speaking of marriage - House Lannister he says, but I cannot marry yet. Not when I can still feel Maekar." she stared at her husband's body.

Waiting for either Rhaenyra or Daemon to say the word.

"You can say it." Daemon took a deep breath, turning to face Maekar.

"Dracarys,"

part two

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