#daemon targaryen x reader x criston cole

[sayafics]

Envious Cravings

This is my first time writing smut, so I hope I did okay :)

Criston Cole x Targaryen!OC x voyeur!Daemon Targaryen

Part 2

Masterlist

Daemon walked leisurely down the corridor, his footsteps echoing down the empty halls. He had left Rhaenyra asleep, too worn out by the ordeals of the night - their dinner had been a failure, Aemond and Aegon had riled up Jace and Luke and then humiliated them as though they were nothing but the scum on the bottom of their shoes.

Daemon let his thoughts wander for a moment, past his obsessions, and past his loyalties - the boys were bastards, yes. But they were Rhaenyra's sons.

They were also unskilled and untrained.

They fell into submission under the brutal hands of Aemond and the drunken grasp of Aegon with ease.

These boys claimed to be dragons, but the wavering bravery of sheep ran through their blood instead.

He bit his cheek in frustration, unsure of where he was going as he deliberated such realisations.

Rhaenyra's children were bethrothed to his own, and so if they were to unite as one, then one day, Daemon's blood would sit upon the throne of the Seven Kingdoms and become Lord of the Tides.

It seemed like everything he had always wanted. It seemed like the desires that had set him alight all those decades ago were slowly becoming true.

And yet, in the light of who his children would marry - weak and spineless boys in comparison to the fair-headed Hightower spawns - he found himself swamped with bother and doubt.

How would they fair as a King and as a Lord?

How would they fare as a husband? As a father? As a protector?

They fail to protect even their own reputations, they allow their names to become sullied by the whispers of the Kingdom and refute to take a stance against them - hiding behind their mother's full figure like babes who still suck upon a bosom, instead of the men they ought to be.

There was a sour taste upon his tongue as he reluctantly admitted to himself that the Hightower boys had the power Rhaenyra's children did not.

Although they were all half-blooded Targaryens, the dragon's breath ran strong through the Hightower heirs.

And yet the throne would go to Rhaenyra, and though pure-blooded she may be, her children were not.

At least not the ones she shared with a long and dead Ser Harwin Strong.

He clicked his teeth, mind reeling as a puddle of confusion and frustration began to pool over.

Daemon looked around him, eyes frantic in search for a distraction - for something, someone he could let his frustrations out upon.

Perhaps a knight he could duel and bury the hilt of his sword within.

Perhaps a maiden he could roughen and have his way with.

Little guilt washed over him at that point, his mind fogged with the prospects of his future. Of the future of his daughters, in the hands of boys instead of men.

Daemon came across an empty corridor, vast and deep leading down into his old chambers from his days as a young man when his father was still brazen and breathing.

He looked upon the hall in sadness now, a melancholic hue that melted into confusion as he realised the halls rang empty of life - of knights.

Did no one live amongst these corridors any longer? Still, with the vast size of the Keep, all halls should remain occupied - for the safety of the King.

He wandered down the corridor, wanting to see how dismal the place had become in his absence. Wanting to see if the disease of the Seven had reached his chambers and swamped them over.

Daemon searched for a twinge of life within the corridor, a whisper of a being, a shadow of a creature.

But the corridor was quiet and bare, as though Alicent had deemed it unworthy of dignifying with her banners and trinkets.

Dsemon scoffed under his breath at the thought, but the sound was cut off by another - shallow and soft.

It sounded again, now desperate against the silence which echoed around him.

And again.

And again.

A woman. A young woman, who seems to have been on the brink of pleasure.

The sound rang again, breathy and rasped as though she had been screaming for hours now in search of an insatiable pleasure.

Daemon felt his cock twitch at the sound, the desperate moans causing him to reel further in search of the source.

He came to a stop in front of a familiar set of doors - his old chambers.

He thinks he should be angry, digusted that a maid or servant would use his room and sully it with their lust in his absence. But he simply holds his breath as he leans closer towards the door.

The moans are clearer now, as are the frenzied whispers of the girl- "please. Ple- don't stop~ oh, more."

In between such sinful pleas, Daemon hears the drawn-out groans of a man - was this a maiden and a knight? Sneaking away from their nightly duties to bask in the pleasures of a nefarious act?

Oh, how he could barge through those doors right now. How he could send fear shooting down their spines and have their faces flush with shame instead of pleasure. How he could join the knight in his wicked games and make the quiet maid come undone with his deft fingers, skillful tongue and thick cock.

Oh, how he could.

But Rhaenyra.

He clenches his eyes shut against the thought - what little guilt he believed existed alone now began to build.

Fine.

He would not join.

But what was the harm in watching.

Daemon steps back from the door, his footfalls soft and his moves almost silent. He makes his way to a ridge within the walls he knows too well, prying them open with practised ease.

He slips into the dark embrace of the tunnels who welcome him with glee, as though he had only now returned home.

Daemon makes his way through the tunnels, following the path he memorised during his youth. It did not take long before he heard the moans in earnest, heard the girl become desperate and frantic under the relentless possession of a man starved.

Daemon's hand brushed against the border of the painting, which concealed the tunnels from the chambers that were once his.

He pushed it open carefully, the slow and whining creak barely audible over the sound of the girl's mewls and the man's praises.

His eyes scanned the room first, making sure no others were about whom could warn the vivacious lovers of his ill-attention.

The first thought that washed over him was how different his old chambers looked now - splattered in such a feminine touch that it had almost lost every essence to which made the chambers Daemon's.

Lavish furs and pillows, drapes of satins and silk, carpentry made of the rarest of materials and most expensive paints and polishes.

This was not the room Daemon recalled - not the childhood he had left.

A drawn-out wail pulled his attention away, his eyes now landing on the bed.

Amusement flickered across his features, a laugh of incredulity almost escaping him as he watched the scene unfold in front of him.

Laying on a bed of ivory fur, her figure nude and her hair laid astrewn, was his young niece - Visenya Targaryen.

But that was not what had surprised him - after all, he had pursued Rhaenyra in her youth. Should he have seen Aemond or Aegon ravishing her beneath her satin sheets, he would not have blinked an eye.

But no.

Instead, laying contently between her legs and feasting upon her sweet cunt was the Queen's most trusted Shield - Ser Criston Cole.

Daemon almost laughed, he wanted to walk into the room and humiliate the pair. But his cock twitched painfully at the sight in front of him - he hardened within his pants as he watched the pair with shallow breaths.

Visenya had her legs thrown over the knight's shoulders, thighs almost crushing his head as her fingers tugged at his dark locks.

Criston was almost as desperate in his movements as she was in her sounds, her hips rising with every swipe and lick as he held her down, his fingers pressing harshly into the softness of her thighs.

Criston's eyes were closed in bliss, his tongue laving through her folds and he circled her clit and suckled upon it. Visenya bit her lip, tears streaming down her face as she ground her bare cunt across Criston's fluttering tongue.

Criston lifted his head from between her thighs, littering kisses across her thighs - "fuck, you taste so good Princess."

He trailed kisses up her form, her arousal coating his lips and chin as he presses a firm kiss upon her lips. Visenya moans at the tangy taste, pushing her tongue into his mouth and drinking him in.

Daemon's hand brushed over his covered cock, touching himself from his hidden place.

Criston's fingers skimmed down her waist, fingers hovering over her cunt as she canted towards him, whines slipping past her lips.

"Please, touch me. I need you."

Daemon's hands slipped into his breaches, her breathy whines more than enough to have his cock begin to leak all over his hands. He swiped at the pre-cum, gathering it to spread across his twitching cock as he held it in a vice grip. He tugged at his length, his moves slow as he imagined his cock in the place of Criston's hand.

Criston gave into her fervored whispers, his fingers meeting her weeping cunt as he swiped across her entrance to her clit. He circled her clit lightly as Visenya clenched her eyes in frustration, she reached a hand down to pull him closer but Criston was stronger.

He placed fervent kisses across her neck, tracing his way across her body to her breasts. He mouthed at them, kissing and biting as his fingers began to circle her clit faster.

Visenya's back arched from the bed, her hands finding Criston's locks with aching desperation as she pulled him back towards her - "I need more."

Criston placed his head against hers, sighing softly into her parted lips, "my love, you know I cannot."

"You can. You simply do not wish to."

Her whispers sounded hurt, and for a moment, Criston stopped his gentle touches to sit back on his haunches and look at the girl.

"I do. You know I do. I would take you now if I could, but I would not risk your life like that."

Visenya sat up on the bed, eyes stinging as she spoke - "you mean, you would not risk my value. For what gain does a princess hold, if her cunt has been used by another."

Daemon rolled his eyes at that, his hand still within his breaches, and his body still tingling with pleasure as he watched the scene unfold in burning disinterest.

"Do not say that. You are worth more than anything- than anyone. You are all I seek, all I need."

"Then why will you not have me?"

Tears had welled up within her eyes now, trailing softly down her flushed cheeks as she looked at him pleadingly.

Daemon's brows quirked in interest, now this was fascinating. How the knight so easily denied the Princess' wishes, he did not know.

Daemon was sure if he had been there, feasting upon the delight between her thighs, he would have granted her every wish and every desire with no thought of the consequences.

Criston wanted to reach out, brush away her tears, and hold her tightly within his arms. But he was bound by his duties, and he was already spitting upon the vows he had made.

He had made his vows to Alicent, had promised his allegience to the Queen, and yet here he was struggling to not give all of himself to her daughter.

"Because I am not good enough for you. I am not worth something so precious and so pure. Because I am tainted and you are not."

"Then ruin me."

It was a whisper. An order. A demand and a plea.

Princesses did not beg, but perhaps this was the closest Visenya would get.

Criston looked into her eyes, searching for the assurance he needed. But he did not have much time to deliberate, as the shy and timid princess became coy as she crawled across the bed and into his lap.

She threw her legs onto either side of his hips, fingers dancing over his bare arms and watching gooseflesh break under her touch. Visenya dragged her nails across the flesh of his shoulders, admiring the way his eyes closed as he tried to hold himself back, the way his head tilted back and his breaths came to a whining stop.

For a moment, Daemon wished it was him sat under the girl. Wished that it was his skin marked by her, his pleas groaned into her ear, his hands upon her waist.

For a moment, Daemon forgot all about Rhaenyra and found himself lusting after Visenya.

"I cannot. If your mother was to find out, she-"

"She will not. It is only us here. Our secret. Our promise."

"I cannot."

"Criston."

His name was a pretty whine from her lips, and his eyes opened to meet her own that were wide and dark with lust. He leaned close to her, his lips brushing over her own as they gasped into each other - "one day."

"Today."

"One day. Soon, my love. I promise."

Visenya gave in, as she always did. Hot tears were tracking down her face as she kissed Criston with all the passion and love she was forced to hide from lingering eyes and suspicious gazes.

Criston grasped her face, his wretched desires making him so desperate to touch her, to hold her, to know that she is here within his arms and has not been shipped away to another Lord in a city too far to reach.

Visenya shifted, she gasped a delighted sound into the space between Criston's tender lips as her hips ground against his.

Criston threw his head back with a groan, "yes, that's a good girl. You're doing so good - so perfect, feels so good."

He nuzzled his head into the crook of her neck, biting and suckling the flesh there as his hands gripped her hips tightly and ground them against his.

From his place in the shadows, Daemon's desires began to burn once more as Visenya let out endless moans, wrapping her arms around Criston's neck as she moved in earnest.

There was no materials between them now, her bare cunt brushed against his hardened cock until there was a puddle of arousal settled between them. Still, they paid the mess no mind - lost in the gratification they felt in that moment.

Daemon's hand tightened around his length once more, pumping faster and harder as he watched Visenya come closer to the edge. He panted into the darkness, sweat beading on the back of his neck as he forced his eyes to stay focused on the trembling and whining girl.

"That's it," Criston whispered, "come on, cum for me, sweet girl. I know you can. Cum for me, just for me."

It seems those words were enough to throw her over the edge, wrapping her arms tighter around Criston's neck as a sharp cry escaped her.

Criston's moves became sloppy, his hips rutting up to meet hers and grinding against her flesh as he chased his own climax. He came with a rough groan, softly grinding their hips together as they rode out their orgasm.

Visenya whimpered, feeling sensitive but not wanting the shocks of pleasure that rumbled through her to stop.

She was about to pull away from Criston, ready to fall back in her bed and pull his body towards hers so he could hold her until dawn.

Instead, a quiet groan caught her attention - one that did not come from the distracted man beneath her, rather directly ahead of her.

In the cracks of the shadows, she could see the tell-tale flash of a fair-headed Targaryen. Her shoulders stiffened, hands reaching to pet Criston's hair as he whimpered against her flesh and rutted against her in seek of another climax.

Was this Aegon? Perhaps it was Aemond?

If so, surely they would not reveal her dalliances to the Court? To their mother?

But then she saw a slip of skin - a hardened jaw, an angled face, a mischevious grin.

Something that could only belong to one person.

Daemon.

Daemon knew he was caught, but he was so deep - so close to the brink of release, he could not stop.

His eyes clenched shut, teeth gritted to stop his groans escaping him and informing the knight of his presence too.

His cock was pulled out of his breaches, his hand pumping faster and tighter and he rutted into his own palm and imagined Visenya's tight and virgin hole in its place.

His head hit the wall next to the painting with a silent thud, white streaks splattering across his hands and out of the tunnel to paint the luscious rugs beneath him with his essence.

He panted like a dog, one so starved and so hungry, as his violet eyes met the scared and timid gaze of his niece.

Criston had stopped his ministrations now, his head laying contently in the valley of her breasts as he rubbed circles into the flesh of her waist. She continued to pet his hair, but her horrified glare was fixed upon the gap behind the painted frame.

Daemon knows.

Daemon saw.

And Daemon had pleasured himself at the sight.

She was not sure what her next move should be.

What his next move could be.

But she knew she would have to fix this. Otherwise, she could lose the man she held gently in her arms so quickly.

Taglist: @marihoneywk @hangmanscoming

[shuichiakainx]

🤟😂🖤

[yandereunsolved]

Seer reader: "Today is gonna be totally normal."

Approximately thirty seconds later—

Yandere Aegon: "Which one of us is more likely to marry you?" Deep breath "Is it me or Aemond? Is it me or Aemond?"

—

Yandere Rhaenyra: "It is good to have you here. You will surely aid us in the war."

Seer reader: "H-How did I get all the way back here?"

Yandere Daemon smugly standing in the corner after he kicked a child and stole you back from Team Green.

—

Yandere Criston Cole: "I will protect you with every bone in my body."

Seer reader: "You can't protect me from the horrors."

Yandere TB & TG: "We're the horrors."

—

Yandere Aemond: "Mine."

Seer reader: "I am a bastard, my prince."

Yandere Aemond: "That just means you will have to marry me and have my children to be considered legitimate."

—

Yandere TB & TG: "Whose side are you on?"

Seer reader: "The side of my freedom." Eyes the map and looks at Essos.

—

Yandere Helaena: "You're very pretty."

Seer reader: "Thank you."

Yandere Helaena: "Did you know the copulation process is exceptionally long among ladybugs? It can last more than two hours. Is that how your visions work? Are they induced by your hormones? If my husband were to couple with you, do you think you would end up getting a vision in the middle of it?"

Seer reader: "I—uh."

Yandere Helaena: "If we were to entwine limbs do you think our process would be close to that of a ladybug? We were both given divine gifts. It would make sense if it took that long for us."

Seer reader: whispering "Daemon, Rhaenyra, Jacaerys, save me."

—

Viserys: Gets down on one knee

Seer reader: "Oh my gods, it’s finally happening."

Viserys: Dies.

Seer reader: "The poison kicked in."

—

Yandere Daemon: "Three words. Say them and I'm yours."

Seer reader: "Three words."

Yandere Daemon: "A win is a win. A win is a win."

—

Seer reader: Running around the castle panicked, blind, and with a bloody nose.

Yandere Daemon: "What did you see, my dear?"

Seer reader: "Nobody died. I promise."

Yandere Rhaenyra's mother senses kicking in: "WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT?!"

—

Yandere Alicent & Yandere Ser Criston worrying over Seer reader and the fact Yandere TB will try to kidnap them again.

Seer reader: "Don’t worry, I have a few knives up my sleeve."

Yandere Alicent: "I think you mean cards."

Seer reader, pulling knives out of their sleeves: "No, I do not."

Both yanderes silently questioning how you got those knives.

—

Random noble: "Do you have a spouse?"

Seer reader: "Emotionally, or legally?"

—

Yandere Helaena: "Treat spiders the way you want to be treated."

Seer reader: "Killed without hesitation."

Yandere Helaena: "No!"

—

Seer reader: "What time is it?"

Yandere Aegon: "I don’t know. Scream and we’ll find out."

Seer reader: Screams.

Yandere Criston COLE: "WHO THE FUCK IS HURTING SEER READER AT TWO IN THE MORNING!?"

Yandere Aegon: "It’s 2 am."

—

Seer reader: Looks at draft. "That is way too long."

Author: "I'm making it longer."

[idksmtms]

I Sit And Watch You... (tolerate it p2) (Daemon Targaryen x Niece/Wife!reader, Criston Cole x reader) - evermore series

P1: tolerate it

A/N: After intense and popular demand, I decided to write a part 2 to ‘tolerate it’ even though the goal for the series was one fic per song… ANYWAY! I hope you guys enjoy it! And sorry that it took me so long but I went soooo overboard writing this… 

Summary: After the realisation that your husband not only does not love you, but has been in love with your sister since before you were even married, you feel adrift in the world. But then suddenly, like a flame appearing in the dark of night, your heart is reignited by someone. This poses an entirely different problem for your poor little heart. 

Word count: ~17k (my god...)

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, Rhaenyra’s younger sister, canon typical incest, INCEST, age gap, unrequited love, angst, like a lot of angst, like ANGSTTTT, depictions of depression, bedrotting due to depression, cheating, insecurity, self-hatred, self-abuse, SMUT, PinV sex, oral (f!receiving), sex-related shame, feeling shame after having sex, just really sad tbh, forbidden relationship, probably OOC characters but I honestly can’t give a shit bc I want to write angst, probs typos (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim to own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

You weren’t sure how long you drifted between sleep and wakefulness in the dark comfort of your bed. Every few hours one of the maids would poke their head through the crack in the curtains and ask if you were alright, if you wanted or needed anything. Sometimes you wouldn’t answer, would simply stare off into the distance as if you were watching worlds they could not see. Other times you would shake your head despondently, slow and stiff, your eyes not moving from the spot they had latched onto. 

Once you had turned to look at the young girl standing at the side of your bed, the curtains pulled back a little and her frowning face shadowed by the sun from behind her. You had simply stared into her face and your eyes had slowly begun to fill with tears until she panicked and slid the curtain shut and rushed out of your room. 

You never wanted anything, never needed anything, the maids noticed. They could see tear tracks on your cheeks from time to time, could see the dampness of it on your pillows, and they often muttered to each other about your state, but not a word was said to anyone unless they took notice of it themselves. 

The entire week you stayed in your bed, your father knew nothing of your state. He had washed his hands of you the second you had been married off to Daemon, and his sole focus in his slowly dwindling life was Rhaenyra. He had asked after you only once and received the response that you weren’t feeling particularly well. He had frowned, asked the maids to keep an eye on you, and left it at that. 

Rhaenyra, hearing of your sudden sickness had come to inquire after you but had received no response from the curtained bed and had felt too awkward around you since your wedding to even try and breach your little confinement. She had stood just beside the bed for a few moments, head tilted up to the ceiling as she tried to think of something, anything, to say but eventually just sighed and wished you well before hurrying out of the room. 

Alicent came by to visit you once every day. After hearing of you taking to your bed on the first day and refusing your meals by the evening, she had told Ser Criston to take up a post outside your door and inform her of any changes. She always came to sit on the edge of your bed for an hour to simply watch you or offer idle words about her days. She liked to believe you only responded to her, for you would often simply grasp her hand with shaking fingers as she sat with you, and closed your eyes to listen to whatever she had to say. But despite her best efforts, her gentle words to try and convince you to get out of bed or to at least change out of your nightgown went unanswered. 

Daemon visited you once in the entire week you were abed. When you had not shown yourself for dinner on the first evening, he had asked for the maidservant to check on you. He had become accustomed to having meals with you, to the comforting drone of chatter in the background while he sat at the table, and it felt freakishly odd not to have it. Though he was often described as a chaotic person, he was disciplined, and once set in a routine enjoyed keeping it that way. 

When the maids returned with a quiet “the Princess said she is not feeling well and has gone to her bed early”, he had simply shrugged and moved on, eating his meal while reading a scroll on the Valyrian histories. But then you were nowhere to be found on the second day, and the third, and when half of the fourth passed and he heard whispers of your complete absence from all of your duties, a tingle of discomfort had settled itself in the pit of his stomach. He wouldn’t say he was worried about you, but something in the air suddenly felt off and he wanted it fixed as soon as possible. The world being out of order simply wouldn’t do. 

In the sunlight hour just before dusk, when everything was bathed in a yellow slowly turning to orange and gave the world a warm hazy glow, he marched all the way to your chambers (the ones he had been supposed to share with you). When he had found Criston Cole standing guard at your door, he had almost snarled out loud like a disgruntled dog. He paused for a moment, grimacing as if someone had just put a lime in his mouth without his consent, and then pushed through the doors before remembering you were unwell and might be sleeping. He became quieter then, turning slowly to close the door behind himself and walking with light footsteps. 

Though it was still daytime, your room was pitch dark, illuminated only by the thin cracks of light that peeped between the curtains. His eyebrows furrowed, hands clenched into fists at his sides as he searched the room for any threat but found nothing in the low light. When he found the curtains around your bed closed, his heart began to thump wildly in his chest. For a moment, when he reached out and gently grasped the edges, he wondered what he would find in the bed. Would there be a corpse, rotten and shrivelled from how long it had been there? Or would there be an assassin, an attacker ready to pounce as soon as he illuminated them? 

He pulled the curtain back only enough to look through with one eye, but what he found was nothing more than the sad sight of a girl asleep in her bed. Though it was warm in the room, becoming almost stifling, you were under the covers. You were on your side, curled around the pillow you clutched tightly in your arms, and for a second he imagined that that’s what you would look like in bed with someone. Your hair was splayed out behind you messily, all over the pillow and some strands fallen upon your cheeks. Your mouth was parted just a little, lips moving with soft steady breaths. Your cheeks were flushed, and he could see the shine of sweat creeping forward from the back of your neck. 

He wasn’t sure exactly how long he stood there, watching you sleep, but he had found it difficult to tear himself away. How did one manage to look so sad while asleep? He wondered as he noticed the puffiness around your eyes and the way your fingers clenched into the pillow as if it would be taken from you at any moment. 

There seemed to be nothing else wrong with you, no gauntness in your cheeks or skin rash in sight, no visible ailment from how much of your body he could glean, but he decided to find the maester before the day was over. He left as quietly as he had entered, tucking the curtain closed again and shooting Criston a sneer as he came back out and strode down the hallway trying to remember where the maesters kept their quarters. 

You were in your bed for a week, leaving only to use the chamber pot behind the changing dividers before clambering right back into your bed. All your meals were brought in and left on the little table just beside your bed, and for the first three days were returned to the kitchens untouched. It was only after the third day went by, when Christys, once your nursemaid and later a kitchen hand when you had no more need of her as a child, noticed your third breakfast returning without even a nibble and made her way up to your chambers. 

She gently pulled your curtain back and stared at your pathetic little figure curled up under the sheets and sleeping though it was midday. Your eyelids were puffy and dark circles had begun forming under your eyes despite how much you seemed to have been resting. She placed the tray on the little table then sat down on the edge of the bed, just as she had once done when you were sick as a child. Her old weathered face was pulled into a worried frown and she gently reached out and caressed your head. Your eyes opened instantly, it appeared that you hadn’t been sleeping after all, and you watched her as if you had never seen her before. She smiled, or tried to, and caressed your cheeks with a little hum. 

“Little princess,” she called kindly, and you felt the urge to reach out and caress her face, all the wrinkles that had appeared since you had been a child under her care. Her skin was beginning to sag a little around her neck and cheeks and her face was all soft and pudgy, as you imagined a grandmother’s to be like. 

She did not try to convince you to leave the confines of your bed, to come out where the sun was shining and to leave the melancholia behind. She simply told you that if you would like to sit up a little, she would help you drink a sip of water, eat a bite of food, and perhaps you would feel a little better once you lay down again. 

You nodded, just one little dip of your head, and allowed her to help you shift your body up a little so you were sitting up against the mound of pillows. You reeked of sweat and the slightly sour smell that came from a stagnant room. Your hair was beginning to get matted and greasy but you did not seem to care about a thing, did not even notice it all. 

Christys brought the goblet to your lips, smiling joyfully as you began to take sips, then gulps as the thirst you had ignored took control of your body. You finished two full goblets before you were sated and lay back on the bed with your eyes closed for a moment, heaving as if you had been running through the halls with Rhaenyra as you had once done as children. Christys gently caressed your head, smiling fondly as you leaned into her touch. 

“Would you like to eat something, little princess?” She asked quietly, and you only opened your eyes. You looked unsure, as if you were aware of the world around you for the first time, and she didn’t give you the chance to refuse, simply brought the plate into her lap, spooned up a little bit of the broth, and brought it to your lips. Slowly, you opened your mouth and accepted it, humming softly when you realised it was the slightly spicy southern soup she used to make for you when you were sad as a child. 

You looked at Christys with your big eyes wide open, as if you were waiting for something, and she almost began to cry. That was exactly how you used to look at her when you were just six summers old, eyes wide, mouth open, as you waited for her to feed you another bite. But there had been nothing so despondent about you back then, no air of defeat hanging around you. What had happened to you that you became like that child again? 

Christys smiled at you, a thin watery smile, and held up the spoon again, watching you swallow the broth once more and gently saying “my good girl”, squeezing your hand in commendation as you allowed your lips to relax and smile for the first time since you had entered the bed. 

Once you had finished about half the meal, you shook your head and slowly began sliding back down under the covers. Christys simply nodded and placed the plate back on the tray. She gently took a hold of the covers and pulled them up until your chin, tucking them in a little around you before bending down and pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

“Rest well, my sweet princess,” she whispered, and when you closed your eyes, you finally looked serene. 

On the fourth day, just as night fell, a maester came to see you. You were sat up in bed again after Christys had come to feed you your dinner and had decided to stay sat up even as she left to bring the tray back down to the kitchens. Though the despondency hadn’t left you still, you felt marginally better now after eating and being doted upon by both Alicent and Christys. 

You still had no plans to leave your bed, you had become very quickly accustomed to the little space you had created for yourself in it, and were suddenly beginning to feel a debilitating sense of worry every time you imagined stepping foot outside of it and facing the rest of the world. Despite this, after your second day of proper meals, you were considering reaching out of your little cave and grabbing for a scroll or tome you might have left upon your little table if something still happened to be there. 

But just as you had finally resolved to do so, you heard the doors open and one of your maids announced that a maester had come to see you. You said nothing, hoping perhaps that your lack of an answer would send them away, but one curtain was simply pulled back and the maester gazed down at you. You looked up at him with wide eyes, as if you had been caught doing something you should not have been doing, but he smiled gently and came closer as you gulped in fright. 

“Your highness, word is that you have been taken ill for the past few days,” he spoke jovially, as if hoping his joking tone would heal you, but you simply shook your head and dipped it down to look at your lap. 

“Thank you for coming maester,” your voice was hoarse and croaky from a lack of use, and you quickly grabbed the goblet that Christys had left on your table to both take soothing sips of water and give your hands something to do. “But your visit is unnecessary.” You tried to smile but it wouldn’t show, and eventually you looked up at him with earnest eyes, hoping he would leave as soon as you were done speaking. “Though, yes, it is true that I have been confined to the bed, it is myself that has done the confinement. What ails me is not a matter of the body, but one of the heart.” You chewed on your lip, feeling as if you had said too much, but the maester smiled understandingly and gestured to the edge of your bed as if asking to sit. You nodded. 

“Your highness, if I understand correctly, you have been in your first quarrel with your husband, and it has much affected you.” You began to shake your head, to open your mouth to deny his claim, but he went on without allowing space for interjection. “But it is the way of marriages to have disagreements. You and your husband will likely have many more before the time of either of your deaths - gods willing it be a long time from now - but it is nothing to worry over so.” You pursed your lips and let him speak, hoping the spiel would end quickly and he would be out of your hair.  “And if you believe your actions have caused your husband to abandon his love for you, then know that it is he who came himself to find me and instruct me to visit you out of concern for your wellbeing.” He smiled almost triumphantly, and began standing from the bed as if he had solved everything already, but you looked up at him with a little frown. 

“Daemon went to you?” Your voice was small, confused, and he nodded quickly. 

“Yes, just as the sun set he found me and told me that you had not been out of bed for four days and nights and to heal you at once.” You nodded, not knowing what to say, and watched him walk out of the room, disgruntled that he had not closed the curtain behind himself. 

You were unsure as to the weird churning in your heart. It was all warm and giddy at the thought of Daemon being concerned for you, visiting you while you were asleep and then hunting the maester down for you. It was an act of caring, if not love, and your poor battered heart already began to churn with hope that maybe he could love you if he did not already. But then you were seeing him leaned over Rhaenyra, hair flopping forward onto his forehead. You saw the way she twisted back and forth at the waist teasingly, eyes dancing with mischief as she bit her lip and waited for him to bend down and kiss her silly. 

The hope crashed, the despondency returned, and the cycle began once more until you felt you were going mad and began smacking your head against the pillows until your brain felt physically shaken. You wanted to cry, but you were all cried out. You wanted to scream, but you had no voice. You wanted to run, but you couldn’t move. In the end, you lay back on the bed with your eyes closed and let your mind spiral. 

Why did he not love you? What was it you had done that made you unworthy of love? Or maybe it was not what you had done, but what you hadn’t. You hadn’t been pretty enough; you were always noticing blemishes on your skin or fat in places there shouldn’t be or the fact that all of your mother’s beauty had been inherited by Rhaenyra, the realm’s delight, your father’s precious and beautiful child, while you were left to yourself without compliment or radiance. You weren’t funny enough; you never had a joke on hand to tell, you weren’t confident enough to tell it anyway. You couldn’t command a room the way Rhaenyra could, or make everyone burst out with laughter at the simplest of words. You always felt stupid despite the amount of time you spent reading or conversing with maesters or travellers. You weren’t loving enough; your smile didn’t instil warmth in the hearts of others, perhaps your kind words weren’t kind enough or your efforts to demonstrate your love were not worthy enough. You simply hadn’t been enough. 

The final two days you spent in your bed, you spent thinking. What would you do when you were eventually forced back into the world? How would you continue on? It was obvious that you could not stay hiding in the little world you had created for yourself, if only because you desperately needed to bathe or had begun wanting to visit the library to pick your next read. You didn’t find the answer while still in your bed, but on the sixth day, Christys finally convinced you to get out and properly stretch your legs before having a bath. 

“A good stretch, a nice warm bath, getting dressed in your prettiest clothes, will do wonders for you little princess. You may not feel all the way better, but something will have changed and you will be the better for it.” You had nodded, thanking her in a small voice and slipping out of the bed as she went to get the maids to start your bath. 

You shivered when your feet touched the cold stone, and though your muscles were stiff at first, it felt good to walk the length of the room over and over until your weakened legs began to shake. You had pushed the curtains back not only on the bed, but on the windows too and had felt your spirits lift as the afternoon sunshine filled your room. 

When all the maids came in to fill the tub set at the side of your room, they smiled with relief and tittered over the state of you. With the sunshine and the friendly faces and jovial chatter, your mood began to rise again and despite the ever-present sadness that still lingered in the back of your mind, you felt good for a little while. 

They steeped you in the bath like you were tea, letting your skin become pruny as they washed your hair three times over, then scrubbed you down like you were one of the old dirty carpets from the storeroom. You felt pink and raw, like a new skin had emerged from under your old one and the world was a little brighter again. You even laughed when one of the maids made a joke about the habits of debauchery of one of the stableboys. 

You picked out a beautiful blush-pink dress that had been made from special fabric brought from Dorne. It was light and airy, designed more in the Dornish fashion leaving your shoulders and arms exposed except for thick straps that held the dress up on your upper arms. You twirled giddily in front of the mirror a few times before sitting down to have your hair done, you never could help yourself from it when you were in that dress. 

The maids enjoyed seeing you so alive again after the past week of worry and woe. They giggled happily and clapped for you, and were excited to do your hair. They weaved intricate braids and gathered some of them into a twist on the back of your head while leaving others to fall down your back over the last layer of your unbraided hair. They even wanted to rub rouge on your lips and cheeks and line your eyes but you had politely refused saying you were enjoying the feeling of being clean and fresh-faced, and would keep yourself that way for the rest of the day. Though you had been worrying about your beauty a few days prior, you knew you looked the way you did and couldn’t change it. If you weren’t pretty enough for Daemon, for anyone, you would simply have to learn to accept it and live with it, no matter how much you wished it to be otherwise. 

When you opened the doors to your room by yourself for the first time in a week, a little jittery to face the world once more, you were surprised by the guard who stood across the hall from your chambers. He was not your usual protector, the fresh faced Ser Arryk you had become used to, but a stoic faced Dornishman you believed you had seen trailing Rhaenyra before her wedding, but you couldn’t be sure. 

You gazed at him for a moment, at the shiny black eyes he averted to the floor as he bowed stiffly in his armour, the thick and beautiful hair combed perfectly back and the faint beard he sported around his mouth and over his jawlines, just past a stubble but not very much. His skin was beautiful and golden brown, like he had been born with the gentle touch of the sun, and for a moment you lost yourself while looking at him. He was exactly as you had imagined a knight to be, tall and dark and strong. He was limned with lethal power. 

You smiled, polite and surprised and small, and though he did not return it, only nodded in acknowledgement, you could see his face soften slightly and settle into something a little more gentle and blurred around the edges. You stepped a little closer, still a respectful distance from any man who was not your husband, and curtsied as if you were not the princess but a serving girl passing him in the halls. 

“Hello, Ser,” you began, voice almost whispery, “I mean not to offend, only to inquire where Ser Arryk has been off to and left you to his usual duties.” You were warm, and polite almost to a fault, Criston thought, and he had to purse his lips for a moment to stop a smile breaking out on his face at the innocent yet slightly smiley look you offered him. 

“Your highness, I am Ser Criston Cole,” and he bowed again as if he had not already done so when first laying eyes upon you, “and fret not about Ser Arryk shirking his duties. He has simply been posted elsewhere for the past week as the queen has personally asked me to oversee your protection while you were unwell.” 

“Oh,” you breathed out, smiling in both realisation and fondness as you thought about Alicent sacrificing her trusted guard for you. “The queen is a kind soul,” you spoke with reverence, smiling at the floor for a moment before looking back to him. He had been watching you the entire time, as if he simply could not avert his eyes lest you disappear in a cloud of smoke the second his attention was elsewhere. “Well, if you are still on duty as my protector, would you care to accompany me to the library for the afternoon? I am in desperate need of new reading material.” You asked it as if it was not his job to follow you everywhere you went, as if he needed convincing to accompany you and wasn’t under threat of being a deserter, a traitor to the crown if he refused. 

“Wherever you go, I will follow, your highness,” he stated simply, holding his hand out as if telling you to lead the way. You nodded in return, but stood still for a moment as if you were a bit dazed and lost in your surroundings. Then you shook your head a little, like a puppy shaking water off its fur, and continued down the hallway with your light, graceful steps. 

As you walked, Criston a stride behind, he watched you with curious (and apprehensive) eyes. You had always been a distant, rather obscure, figure in his life. Someone he walked past in the hallways of the Keep or only knew by name. When Rhaenyra had first chosen him to be a new member of the King’s Guard, he had been briefed on the entire immediate family, anyone who he could possibly be assigned to if he was not with Rhaenyra, and of course you had been included in it, but he had not been told much, and had never needed it either, for Rhaenyra took up so much of his time and never spent any of hers with you. Not once had he heard her mention her younger sister, nor meet with you for more than a moment in passing in the hallway during which he bent his head in respect and allowed you two your privacy.  

There was only one moment he remembered clearly from that time. He had been strolling through the gardens with Rhaenyra on an idle and rather humid afternoon. It felt like the entirety of King’s Landing had been poured in syrup, each movement one made was slow, lethargic, succumbing to the heat of the summer. Rhaenyra, still in her youthful blissfulness, her mischief knowing no bounds in her rebellion against her father and Alicent, had been slowly twisting her way down the path, twirling a plucked flower in her hands as he followed. She would occasionally speak to him, say something witty or sarcastic or give a boring observation about something or other, and he would hum or nod or offer whatever thought had conjured in his head at the time. Though it was boring, it was also comfortable. 

Then, a light tinkling laugh carried over the air making them both pause. They couldn’t see you yet, you were past the next curve and some bushes still hid the courtyard from which the laugh came. Rhaenyra paused where she was on the path, staring ahead and continuing to twirl the flower in her hand before turning around and walking back toward where he stood. 

“I have suddenly changed my mind,” she spoke quietly, eyes distant as she chewed on her lip, “perhaps finding a cool sitting room somewhere in the Keep would be better suited for this afternoon.” He only nodded, he could sense the change in her mood, the pensive air that now hung about her, but before they began walking, hurried little steps came down the path and you were barreling into their view. 

“Oh!” You let out a surprised little sound, pausing and almost falling backward in your surprise as you brought a hand to your heart. He watched the fabric of your dress, flowing and beautiful, sway with you, your bare shoulders and the long bell sleeves draping down your arms. The light fabric and the way it moved around you like air reminded him of the time he had spent in Dorne, of the trees swaying in a midsummer breeze. Your cheeks were flushed and a happy little smile widened your mouth, eyes sparkling with girlish joy. Your hair was braided in the fancy way all Targaryens braided theirs, but there was something more free and wild about yours compared to Rhaenyra’s. “Sister,” you breathed out quietly, smiling almost bashfully when you looked upon her. He could tell neither of you were close, but you seemed to put in much more effort to be kind to her than she did in even acknowledging you. 

“Sister,” Rhaenyra responded, almost curt, a tight-lipped smile pushing uncomfortably on her face. 

“How do you fare on this fine day?” You asked, clasping your hands in front of yourself. 

“Fine,” she answered simply, and a rather awkward silence fell between you as you nodded, pursing your lips and suddenly looking rather downtrodden. 

“I’m sorry to have intruded upon your leisure time,” you spoke quietly, “and excuse any impropriety I may have shown in running through the halls, I was simply excited. I…” you looked down to the floor and bit your lip to control your smile. “Some special new thread has been brought in from Dorne and I wished to immediately start on my new embroidery project.” You spoke as if she had asked after you, when Criston had noted a clear absence of not only Rhaenyra’s questioning of you but of her seeming interest in your presence. But you continued as if you were used to it, as if you believed she wanted to ask these questions but simply chose to let you speak, and something churned in his stomach at the thought. “I would like to embroider my dragon saddle with some designs, and this thread would be perfect for it, hardy but pretty,” and you looked at your hands giddily as if you were already holding it. Then you seemed to bow your head for a moment as you said your goodbyes, “I shall leave you to your leisure, Sister,” and you walked off hurriedly past them, as if you hadn’t noticed his presence the entire time. 

As he looked upon you now on the way to the library, he realised a change had overcome you since that time. Just as one had overcome him. Though you were dressed more in the Dornish style, like a summer sky on the hottest day of the year, you reminded him more of the monsoon rains at the island’s southernmost tip, warm drops of rain falling from orange-grey skies at sunset. Your steps were no longer light and dance-like. Though they were still graceful, they were careful, measured. You held yourself differently, much more still, and he couldn’t imagine you skipping or running girlishly through the halls. Even your face, having grown a little more, had taken on a sombre quality. Your eyes were thoughtful, slightly closed off, and… sad. And your face rested on something serene now, something gently heartbreaking though you were neither smiling nor frowning. 

He followed you all the way into the library and then back and forth through the spaces between the shelves. Occasionally you would turn to him and point out a tome you had once read as a girl, or the scrolls you had only just returned the week before. Then you would smile up at him, as if his silent company was most cherished by you, and it soothed something in him he didn’t know was hurt in the first place. 

Later in the evening, when all the candles had been lit and you had been returned to your room to prepare for dinner and Criston had been relieved of his duties for a few hours by the return of Ser Arryk, he found a messenger from the queen requesting his presence in her parlour. The entire way there, he thought about you, as if his mind could find nothing else interesting other than the way you had gently refused him from taking the books from your arms as you traversed through the library. Though he had taken the first few, when he began to reach for the little pile you had accumulated in your arms to add to his own, you had shuffled away from him with a little huff, saying “you have quite enough load as it is, Ser Criston. I may have been…” you hesitated before choosing your next word, “unwell for the past few days, but I am no invalid, and am perfectly capable of doing my own hefting.” And at that you had hefted the pile a little higher into your arms, and he could see them trembling a little as you hurried your step a little to reach one of the tables. 

“My apologies, Princess,” he had answered with the hint of a teasing smile, and you had beamed up at him as if that little show of emotion was everything you had wanted and more. 

“Unnecessary and therefore unaccepted,” you had quipped before turning your back on him and dropping the books onto the table. 

As he thought about it on his walk to the queen’s sitting rooms, he had to swallow down a chuckle that threatened to break out at the memory. Though most of the time he had spent guarding your rooms was uneventful, those few hours were joyful and distracting. Even as you had sat at the little table, forearms leaned against the edge, it had been satisfying to simply watch you scour the pages, your lips moving as you read the words. A sudden request for you to read aloud to him had even entered his thoughts at one point, if only to hear your soft voice a little more, and he had needed to clear his throat at the intrusion upon his mind. You had glanced up at that, eyes wide and asking if he was alright without saying a word, and he had simply bowed his head so you would continue undisturbed. 

When he reached the doors to the queen’s rooms, he knocked three times. He was quickly told to enter in her quiet yet firm voice, and found her sitting at her writing desk as the toddler Helaena crawled about the floor near the fireplace with her maids while another cradled the baby Aemond. Alicent beckoned him to close the door and come closer, and he obliged quickly, coming to stand right beside her desk and leaning down a little so he could hear her clearly over the children’s babbling and the chatter of the nursemaids. 

“Ser Criston,” she began, heaving a breath out that made her shoulders drop a little and folding her hands one on top of the other on her desk. She smiled up at him as if content and a little weary. “You have been a loyal knight, and a comforting presence for me in my time at the Red Keep. Do not think I am dissatisfied with your service as I request of you what I am about to do so,” and she paused, pursing her lips for a moment and looking at her two children before turning back to him. “I would like for you to change your posting to be sworn guard of Princess Y/n. I trust you will find a worthy replacement for yourself at my side and will not question whomever you choose.” She paused again, eyes pensive and mouth opening and closing as she tried to think of ways to explain her thoughts. She closed her eyes, no more than a long blink, then sighed long and low. “I have feared for her since the day of her betrothal, and I fear still that the toll of her marriage is becoming too much to bear. But the princess is self effacing, and would never dare to burden another with any of her worries or woes. I simply wish for you to be the loyal knight to her as you have been to me, and if you see a change in her spirits, or any… behaviours displayed by her husband that may be a cause of concern for her, come to me with these observations and I shall do my best to aid her with the hand she has been dealt.” She smiled up at Criston as if to say ‘you understand, don’t you?’ and he nodded, glancing about her desk as if he was already thinking about everything she had said. “Good,” Alicent finished simply and dismissed him with a wave of her hand telling him to start as soon as possible. And with that, he went to find Ser Arryk and realight upon his duties at your side. 

You were usually quick to be ready for dinner on time, never wanting to keep your husband waiting lest it harden his heart to you anymore than it already was, but at your first dinner returning to his company since your discovery, you took your time. Until the last second you toyed with the option of simply not attending, saying though you had felt better during the day, the bout of wellness had ended and you needed to take to your bed once more. Even sitting at the vanity as your maids redid your hair and applied rouge to your lips and cheeks, your bed seemed to call to you, a siren song begging you to return to your self-imposed conferment and spend the rest of your days hidden away. But you could not. 

When you were ready to leave, you were surprised to find Ser Criston Cole returned to his post. He had informed you of the change of guard before he left, but you had believed he would be gone for a whole shift before returning (or not returning at all). He nodded to you as you walked out, and you paused just in front of him with a surprised smile. 

“Ser Criston! You told me Ser Arryk would be returning as my guard for the evening!” He nodded sheepishly, looking away for a moment, and you almost caught a little smile brewing at his lips before his face returned to its natural stoicness. 

“The queen has decreed that my oath of service to her be transferred to you, your highness,” and the way he said it was so simple, a man following an order. 

“The queen?” You asked, frowning a little in confusion. 

“Yes. I hope you are not put-off by it, your highness. If you wish to choose your own King’s Guard or have Ser Arryk return to his duties, I will speak with the queen myself on your behalf.” He seemed eager not to upset you, brown eyes widening a little in earnestness as he spoke, and you smiled, waving off his concern. 

“No, no, Ser Criston, nothing like that. You have served Alicent well in your time with her and if she trusts you, then I do so as well. I simply wonder if she has done this out of some misplaced concern about my wellbeing,” but the way you said it was warm, as if you appreciated that she had done it nonetheless. 

“I could not say,” he replied quietly, but the way he looked to the ground made you believe he was holding something back. You decided not to question it. 

“Well, off we go, Ser Criston. I believe I am late to dinner with my husband,” your joviality was forced, he could see it in your distracted eyes and the tight smile you tried oh so hard to keep up. Your back was rigid rather than the naturally straight posture you usually kept from years of training, and your clasped hands in front of you were fidgeting with the rings upon your fingers. 

He could see the wedding band you had been given, a band of gold around a big fat ruby. It screamed more of your husband’s tastes than your own, gaudy compared to the delicate jewellery you had worn during the day.

 He thought it rather funny that you wore a ring on the same finger of your opposite hand, this one more simple, a thin band of silver inlaid with tiny sapphires all around. The blue was bright against your skin and your dress, and though it seemed often polished, it looked a little worn and old. He wished to ask you about it, but simply bit his tongue and followed you to the next wing in which the dining room you and Daemon used resided. Once more he noted how odd it was that husband and wife ate dinner together but not ever in their own chambers. 

He stopped outside the doors, turning his back on them and subsequently facing you, and he noted the way you were stopped just in front of them. You were staring ahead of you fearfully, as if whatever lay behind that door was the greatest enemy of all, the thing you feared most in the world, and you seemed to revert to the little girl you had once been, hands shaking and lower lip twitching as if you were about to cry. The urge to comfort you as one would a child raised in him, and he gazed upon you with a pitiful, dog-like sadness. He cleared his throat. 

“Your highness, admonish me if I break any code of impropriety,” he began quietly, not looking right at you but somewhere just above your head. “But if you do not wish to dine with your husband, I can carry in the message for you and escort you back to your chambers at once.” 

You turned to look at Criston, into his eyes that had softened much since you had first met and the little crinkle just above his brow. You smiled, albeit it being thin and watery as you suddenly felt the inexplicable urge to cry, but you shook your head. You wiped at your under eyes until you felt that your tears had dissipated and took deep breaths until your lips no longer shook and the lump in your throat had been swallowed down. 

“No,” you shook your head, closing your eyes for a moment before opening them and shaking your head again. “No, that will not be necessary.” But you smiled at him in thanks, and reached out to gently touch the forearm he held over his stomach. Though you only touched metal, your fingertips tingled and you felt like your septa would come running in to scold you for touching a man who was not your husband. Nothing happened, and you simply curled your fingers inward and brought the fist to your side. Criston watched you like you were created anew before him. And then you opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind you swiftly, and leaving him to the silence of the hallway, and the crackling of fire in the sconce directly ahead of him. 

For the first time you entered the room when Daemon was already seated at the table. He looked back as the doors opened and found you striding in with your head held high, more confident than he had ever seen you before, and he raised an eyebrow at the spectacle. Your lips were pursed tightly, and your eyes were wary, but he couldn’t see it. You walked all the way to the table and sat down swiftly across from him, folding your hands in your lap and only looking so far as your own plate. He hmphed, twisting back to sit properly in his seat and resting his elbows on the table as he watched you. You glanced up, and when you noticed his eyes on you, you seemed to wilt a little like a leaf being boiled in front of him. 

“It seems you have recovered, niece,” and after a moment, you nodded. He never called you wife, you realised. No endearing name like dearest or ‘my heart’. It was always either your name or ‘niece’. 

“Yes,” you answered, and then the servants were bringing the dishes to the table and you two remained silent until they had returned to their spots against the walls. 

Daemon felt a little startled as he poked at the chicken on his plate. It was so… quiet. Usually by this point in the evening he would have been briefed only on the contents of your morning, and though he often lost himself in his thoughts or simply didn’t pay attention, the chatter in the background had become surprisingly… soothing. He looked up at you, but you were simply swirling your soup around and around with your spoon. The silence was grating. He clenched his jaw and put his knife and fork down onto the plate with a little ‘clink’ sound. 

“Was that Crispin’s voice I heard at the door?” He asked a little tersely, and your eyes were wide as they shot up to him. Wide and almost fearful, he would think. “He stood guard at your door while you were sick, you know? Has Alicent finally tired of her dog?” 

“I-” you gulped, glancing all over the table but never at him. You looked anguished, pained, and he wondered if whatever had kept you sick in your bed had not fully left you. “It’s Criston.” 

He looked at you, blinking a little quicker, mouth a little open. Your voice had been small, like the voice children used to wake their parents from their beds, and he couldn’t quite believe you had said what you said. 

“Come again?” And he put his hand to his ear, leaning in and squinting his eyes exaggeratedly, all a show for his heart had begun to pound a little in his chest. 

“His name is Criston. Ser Criston Cole,” you answered, and he clenched his jaw so hard it throbbed for a moment after he released it. You still refused to look at him, and it was beginning to irritate him to the ends of the earth. Though you had not been a particular fan of eye contact before, whenever you had spoken to him at the wedding, at the dinners that followed, you had always looked up at him with big eyes and a tentative little smile. Always looking for his approval. He simply hummed and leaned back to continue eating. 

The dinner was entirely silent after that, and though you left feeling relieved and a little stronger, Daemon was left unsatisfied, something suddenly unsettled in his chest as he watched you breeze out of the door in your fluttering gown without a look back. 

Two weeks on from that day, and you had established a new routine. You would spend the morning hours as you had done before, ensuring everything in your husband’s personal life was perfect, from newly ordered bedsheets and the restuffing of his pillows, to ordering only his favourite cuts of meat and ensuring the squires polished his armour regularly. Perhaps it was out of habit, perhaps out of social convention that you had never once flouted, or simply because despite your anguish when you even thought of him, you may never stop pursuing the need for your husband’s love and approval, but you couldn’t stop yourself from doing it. 

These hours were usually rather hazy in your memory, a series of yes’s and a grey melancholic sheen over your eyes, but after a slow and lazy lunch (usually in Alicent’s company) you always felt better for the latter half of your day. 

You did what you had once done before your marriage, carrying a book or your latest embroidery project in your arms and meandering through the courtyards until you found one devoid of people (or at least devoid of a crowd) and settling down under the shade of a tree. Since your marriage you had found the company of your ‘friends’ grating. Some found pleasure only in the love of their husbands, speaking on and on about the gifts of jewellery and flowers and the showers of attention they received while you simmered in jealousy and an overwhelming feeling of failure. Others found pleasure in telling racy stories of their escapades in the bedchamber(often not with their husbands) and here you too were jealous or simply lost. They described feelings and sensations you had only ever known in hints, desires you didn’t know one could desire, actions of those desires you didn’t think were possible. 

Soon you felt so estranged from them all, so alone in your circumstance, that you simply avoided the gatherings. Though you did sometimes miss the camaraderie of the ladies, the easy laughter and womanly loyalty, you found that it wasn’t such a devastating loss. Especially when you found such a thoughtful companion in Ser Criston Cole. 

He was as stoic as many a knight of the King’s Guard, but you found a certain kinship in his silence and soft looks. He seemed to understand the sadness that seemed to tinge even your happiest moods. He never questioned the sudden onslaught of tears that sometimes attacked you during the day, only offering a handkerchief if you began looking around desperately for one. Nor did he question why you avoided the wing in which Rhaenyra and her soon to be growing family lived, even if it was at your own expense. Or why at even the barest hint of Rhaenyra’s voice you turned and almost ran in the other direction. Though he often only spoke when he was spoken to and usually chose the least verbal answer, his consistent presence and vigilant watch over you was comfortable. It may be only a job for him, but to always have someone watching over your safety and comfort felt… frankly, amazing. 

“Ser Criston?” You looked up at him from your place nestled between the thick roots of an old oak tree in the western-most courtyard of the keep. 

It was one of the colder days of the summer though the sun was shining brightly. A brisk breeze had picked up over the evening before and rarely settled. You were dressed in your Targaryen colours, a black dress with red accents, and if it hadn’t been for the bright pops of colour he would think you had donned your mourning shroud. 

Your hair had been left undone for the day, and you seemed to enjoy the freedom of letting it fly around you untamed. It made you look younger, wilder, and Criston found it an enjoyable sight. You seemed a little bleary after your lunch and laid your head back against the trunk of the tree as you read. You had tried to convince Criston to sit down multiple times and though he refused each time, you chose not to comment about the way he sometimes leaned subtly against the trunk of the tree. 

“Yes, Princess?” He answered, tilting his head down to look at you. You smiled, you derived a secret kind of pleasure when he addressed you so. 

“Would you enjoy this more if I read aloud to you? I fear you must find these afternoons rather dull.” Your smile was almost teasing, and you were successful in eliciting a little smile in return. 

“Do not trouble yourself on my account, Princess,” his voice was soft and he looked away from you to smile at the floor. Your entire body suddenly felt warm and almost giddy. 

“It would be no trouble, I am already reading after all. I simply hope to ensure you do not find my company exceptionally boring,” you said it with a little laugh, bringing your hand up to your mouth as you giggled, and you couldn’t be sure if the sound you heard was actually the little huffing chuckle you believed it to be. When you looked back up at him, his eyes seemed to shine and you wanted to push your face so close to his that those eyes were all you saw. You cleared your throat and averted your gaze as the tips of your ears began burning. 

It was quiet for a few moments, only the rustle of the leaves and the soft sounds of your breathing as you lay your head back against the tree and closed your eyes.  

“I enjoy your company,” it was soft, low, barely audible, but you heard it and your entire body tensed. You refused to open your eyes for a moment, wanting to sit in the words, in the pleasant feeling of being liked, of being enjoyed. When you did open your eyes again and look at him, he had already trained his gaze somewhere across the yard. You cleared your throat and began to read aloud. 

Since your wedding, your husband came to visit your bedchambers once every fortnight. He would knock quietly on the door at the hour of the bat, when the moon was highest in the sky, and enter before you could say anything. Upon the sight of him, you would usually begin walking toward the bed, climbing over the covers to situate yourself in the middle. There were very few candles lit at that hour, and everything was shrouded in a soft secretive light. 

He would be quick to follow you onto the bed, simply undoing the laces on his trousers and slipping them down a little so his cock could bob out. There was never any need for either of you to get undressed further than this. 

Usually he would have you on your hands and knees, a pillow shoved under your hips and another below your head so you could rest the side of your face against it. It was carnal, and unfeeling, how you imagined animals coupled in the wild. You often felt a little sick afterward, like for a moment your body had not been your own, and you would wait to move from the bed until you heard the door close behind him. It was different this time. 

Your spirits were lifted after an enjoyable afternoon reading to Criston and though you continued to stay silent at your dinners with Daemon, you were too lost in your own thoughts to feel tense and skittish. You allowed yourself to be lost in the memories, to imagine the breeze blowing over your skin again and pretend you could hear the leaves rustling above your head once more. 

Daemon had tried to initiate a conversation a few times over the weeks since your silence began, but you answered sparingly, either humming a response or shrugging or simply nodding. He had again attempted this night, but you hadn’t even bothered to answer any of his inquiries, staring off into space as you slowly chewed on your piece of chicken, an odd show of rudeness from you. He had simply taken to watching you instead. 

You were dressed like a true Targaryen princess, a bright red dress like you had bathed in blood. The sleeves weren’t really sleeves for they were cut down the middle and hung from your shoulders at your sides and your arms were bare despite the cold day. Your hair had been threaded into one large braid and you wore gold jewellery, delicate ruby drop earrings to match your dress and wedding ring. Your mother’s ring, the one gift she had left you days before her death clashed with the rest of your clothes but he had never once seen you without it. 

Daemon was not often surprised with himself, but as he looked upon your face he felt he had never seen it before. He traced the slope of your nose, the curve of your jaw, the set of your brow bone and the flesh of your cheeks with his eyes. The curve of your eyelashes, the shape of your cupid’s bow, the slant of your eyebrows, was all new to him. You looked exactly the same as on the day of your wedding, but he felt he had not seen his wife before. And an even greater mystery, something random and unexplainable, was the sudden desire to know her. 

When you finished your meal and were about to leave, he stood with you and began following you out. Upon realisation, you paused just before the door and turned to look at him. He raised an eyebrow for a moment, but when you didn’t continue on your way and simply kept staring up at him in confusion he sighed and walked to stand just in front of you. 

“I shall accompany you to your chambers this evening, wife,” he said, clasping his hands in front of him, “to share some wine and… converse.” It sounded almost painful coming out of his mouth, as if he was uncertain and disguising it with a false bravado. But you could see the way he glanced away from you and to the corners of the room, the way his hands fidgeted a little with each other and how his body looked like it was desperate to march out of the room but his entire willpower was devoted to keeping him standing exactly where he was. 

“Alright,” you whispered, and a blush filled your cheeks like hot water being poured into a mug. Surely sharing a cup of wine was a euphemism. You twisted the fabric of your sleeves into your hands as you walked half a stride behind Daemon. 

All of Criston’s training had to be used when Daemon came walking out of the room shortly followed by you. He had endured the look of disgust that overcame Daemon’s features as he laid eyes upon him, then felt his heart melt at the little smile you offered. More and more he felt himself fall victim to your charms and each passing day had the feeling of a march closer and closer to heartbreak. 

He had begun to follow you, as was his duty, but when Daemon heard his heavy-booted footsteps, he paused and turned around with a fake smile of kindness and a very real look of triumph in his eyes. 

“You may leave us, Crispin, I am experienced enough in combat to protect my wife,” and for a moment Criston thought Daemon would try and wrap his arm around your shoulders. “Take a break, visit a brothel.” Criston couldn’t control the grimace that moved his lips. You were looking at the wall, hands twisting and twisting in the fabric, and he watched you with the sudden overwhelming need to take your hands gently in his and kiss each of your fingers until your hands relaxed. 

“Would you like me to relieve my duty for the evening, Princess?” He asked quietly, as if only your voice mattered, and not once had he looked up at Daemon since your uncle spoke. You smiled, equal parts joyful and thankful, and looked up into his eyes. 

“It is alright, Ser Criston, you deserve some time devoted to yourself. But when I next open my door in the morning, I expect to see you there,” the order in your voice was so joking and pathetic, the fake frown on your face shining with mirth; he half expected you to wag your finger at him. He smiled, not for the first time resisting the urge to reach forward and press loving kisses to the backs of your hands, and bid you goodbye with a bow before walking off in the other direction. 

You stood there for a moment, watching him walk away, when Daemon cleared his throat behind you. You turned around and gazed up at him through your lashes. Every ounce of irritation Damon had felt a moment ago seemed to suddenly become secondary. He held out his hand to you, and you simply stared at it. You could see the calluses on his fingers from where he gripped his sword. He wiggled his fingers, watching you with raised eyebrows as if you were going dumb before his eyes. Slowly, with a hand that twitched like a skittish deer, you settled your hand into his. 

He looked down at it and felt his chest bloom with warmth at how small your fingers were against his, how gentle they looked against his palm. He wrapped up your hand in his own and gripped it firmly, not tight enough to hurt but you would have to tug against it if you wanted to get away. Your fingers became warm and a tingle went up your arm. You weren’t sure if it was a good or bad feeling. 

He led you all the way back to your chambers and even held the door open for you. He didn’t let go of your hand as you passed him, instead following quickly after you and closing the door quickly behind him. It made a loud sound as it closed, not a slam but the sound of wood hitting wood a little hurriedly, and you jumped, trying to tug your hand out of his. He didn’t let it go, simply shushed you a little and led you to the little seating area by the fireplace. He settled you into a chair and, finally letting go of your hand, went to the side table that had a jug of wine ready on it. You turned in your seat and watched as he poured two cups and brought them back to you. He smirked a little when he noticed you but didn’t say anything. He sat in the chair next to yours with a little huff and sipped from his glass. You simply held yours in your hands and looked into it. 

“Will you not say anything at all to me this evening, wife?” He asked, and you weren’t sure if he was teasing or there was a harsh edge to his voice. 

“What would you like me to say?” You asked quietly, not moving your eyes from the cup of wine but watching him through your periphery. He paused at that, eyes trained on you in the way you imagined he faced a problem on the battlefield. 

“Hm, that is a rather good question,” and he smirked as he took another big gulp from his cup. He drained it right after, and you watched him get up and refill it. You hadn’t touched anything more than the cup the wine was in. You turned to watch him again. 

Daemon stood at the table with the jug of wine and stared at it. Then, slowly, he put his own cup down and spun on his heel. He walked back over to you, eyes on your face, and your breath caught in your throat. He was not walking quickly, but not slowly either, and it felt like a lifetime before he found his way to you. He gripped where your head met your neck and used his thumb to lift your head until you were craning it up to him. Then he bent at the waist and pressed his mouth to yours like he was sipping wine right from the centre of the barrel. 

You didn’t quite know what to do with your hands, and the fear of tipping over the cup of wine made you grip it until your fingertips turned white. Your eyes stayed open, but you couldn’t see anything more than a skin-coloured. Your mouth had opened a little in a silent gasp when he had first kissed you, and he used his lips to open it further, to plunge his tongue into your mouth and taste you. He tasted of wine and the slight sourness of alcohol, and you remembered how much you’ve always disliked the drink. 

It was an odd sensation that brewed within you as he kissed you and tried to coax your response. It was something you had wanted for so long, a simple act that should have been common between man and wife that you had been denied as long as you had been able to call yourself a wife. And now that you had it, you had it so freely given and initiated by the husband who hadn’t desired you, an uncomfortable mix of triumph and repulsion, glee and disgust made your stomach churn. You found that you no longer wanted the kiss he so freely offered and it made you want to cry with disappointment. 

He pulled away, not far so you could feel his heavy breaths against your lips and his eyes blurred together in a hazel slash. He simply watched you, gaze switching between your eyes, and for a moment he looked dissatisfied. Was it you that caused it in him, or was it his inability to see what he wished for? He moved his hand down a little from the base of your skull to the back of your neck and caressed his thumb along the front of your throat. The thought that he could simply press inward and strangle you flashed in your head. 

Daemon leaned down again and as you closed your eyes in preparation, he used his other hand to pluck the cup of wine from your grip and deposit it on the table. You watched the wine slosh almost to the edge but swing back the other way before it could spill. He used the same hand to grasp your arm and urge you to stand. You did without struggle. The hand on the back of your neck was uncomfortably warm and the callus on his index finger was rough against your cheek as he pushed a strand of hair out of your face. 

“Come to bed,” he whispered, and you nodded, allowing him to lead you to the edge of the four-poster. He turned you around and began undoing your braid until your hair fell in waves down your back. He caressed it, soft and reverent, before undoing the back of your dress and slipping it over your shoulders. The top fell down to your waist and he pushed it over your hips until it was in a heap at your feet. He kissed along your bare shoulders, first on the left then on the right, and smiled against the skin when you shivered. His hands moved up and down your arms, warming you up, and goosebumps pimpled on your skin. He pushed the straps of your shift down your arms, and you let him. The crumpled fabric slipped easier over your skin and joined the pile on your feet. 

Everything was hazy in the world, like smoke had filled the room and you could feel it only slightly against the back of your throat. You were not you, and the room was not your room, but some ethereal version of each thing. Nothing of consequence would occur in these moments. 

He turned you around then, and gently cupped both your breasts in his hands. He caressed them, ran the pads of his thumbs over your nipples as they hardened in the cold air, held their weight in his hands and felt the hot underside of your breasts. Your breath was shallow, chest quivering, and he bent down to kiss each breast, hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses that made you gulp with a dry mouth and throat. He licked each nipple, bit each one, and when your hand came up to grip his arm as you swayed a little, he pulled away. 

“Sit and lay back,” he ordered, gripping your hips and guiding you backward until your thighs hit the bed and you were sat on the edge. He reached up and pushed your shoulders down until you were flat on your back with your legs hanging over, toes just barely brushing the cold floor. You felt like the dolls you had once played with, stiff and inanimate, moved only at the will of others. 

Daemon was quick to rid himself of his clothes. His jacket was already crumpled on the floor and his shirt was thrown through the air to land somewhere on the stone floor past your bed. The laces on his pants were undone so quickly you thought he might rip them right off, but he simply loosened them until he could push them and his underthings off. 

Daemon got on his knees between your legs and carefully raised them so your knees bent over his shoulders and your calves rested against his back. He pulled you forward a little more and gazed at the space between your legs. Your skin was tinged yellow from the candlelight and he had never thought a woman more beautiful than in that moment. He moved his hands up your thighs and rested both flat on your stomach. He pressed his face to your core, licking over your lips and between the seam until the taste of you was imprinted on his tongue and your slick was smeared over his mouth and pushed its way down to his chin. 

You lay back with your eyes clenched shut and your mouth open, chest heaving as you panted like a dog. Your hands were twisted in the sheets and the skin on your chest had gone red. Your mind was somehow rooted in your body yet floating away at the same time. You existed in every cell, every sensation, the feeling of his wet tongue against that little spot right at the top that made fire erupt in your stomach made you moan louder than you ever had. You hadn’t even known you were capable of moaning. 

Daemon lapped against you like a dog licking up a treat, wide and wet and rough against the inflamed little nub that twitched with your heartbeat. He felt you cum on his tongue, felt the quiver of your stomach against his hands, the way you curled upwards a little. He tasted it, the sudden increase of slick against his lips. He seemed to drink your entire being as he kneeled between your legs. 

You looked down as he pressed his cheek to your inner thigh. His face was warm against where he lay it down and you could feel his heavy breaths over your core, like gentle fingers brushing over the sensitive skin. He met your eyes, his dark and looking black in the dim light. For a moment you wanted to get up and run. It was not your uncle but a demon between your legs, sent to the world by the old gods to devour you. You pushed up, suddenly scared, but he was quick to slither up your body and press his mouth to yours, press his tongue to yours, fill you with the light sticky taste of your core. You heaved against his mouth and one of your hands came up to clutch his shoulder. He took it as encouragement. 

Daemon lay his weight over you and stared into your eyes. You could feel his hand at the apex of your thighs, haphazardly grabbing his cock and bumping the tip against you until he found your entrance. You held your breath, the pressure in your chest steadily increasing, and waited for the inevitable sting and drag. It hurt less for the first time, more like tiny concentrated bolts of lightning zipping along the flesh inside you, and you huffed out a breathy sound, both hands clutching at his arms as he pushed into you. 

Each time Daemon bedded you, he always made this expression, this look of pain and pleasure that had his eyebrows scrunching together and his mouth opening as he closed his eyes. This time he kept his eyes open, as much as he could anyway, and looked straight at you as his hips met yours. Your spine felt fluid, like it no longer existed and therefore you were incapable of movement. 

“Tighter than a virgin,” he huffed out, and you clenched around him which only made him rock his hips. You weren’t sure if you liked his words or not, a little grimace on your face. You began to close your eyes as his hips began to slowly rock into you, gulping as you panted, but he gripped your chin tightly in his hand. “No, keep looking at me,” and so you did. 

It was painful to look into his eyes as he pushed into you. You felt the pleasure shooting from your core, the natural tightening of your thighs around his hips, but an equally painful internal turmoil mingled with it. You looked into the blackness of his blown-wide pupils and saw the darkness of the hallway in which he had stood kissing Rhaenyra. In his grip on your chin you imagined how Rhaenyra felt when he had gently tipped her chin up to press his lips to hers reverently. You wondered if she knew the weight of him on top of her exactly the way you knew it now. 

Daemon leaned down and broke eye contact to press his face into your neck, to smell your skin and sweat. He panted against you, eyes closed in the blackness of the little space around his face and he pushed his hips in and out faster despite how much he wanted to keep everything slow. He wanted to feel you, to know you as intimately as a man and wife should know one another. He knew nothing else but this. You whimpered a little into the air, like a bird falling from a branch, and he wrapped you up a little tighter in his arms. 

The coupling was quick. You found it easy to fall over the cusp after the time he spent on you with his tongue, and he seemed eager to follow soon after. When he finished, he lay himself on top of you for a little while, breathing heavily and allowing the sweat on your bodies to dry a little. You felt suffocated. You wanted him off. But you said nothing. 

Eventually, Daemon rolled off of you and used the edge of the sheets to wipe himself off. Then he clambered onto the bed and lay across it properly, sheets at his waist and head settling into the pillow. Your limbs were stiff as you got up, and your core felt sore. You settled your weight on precarious legs, and made your way to your little private area behind the divider. A bowl of water was set on a little table and you dipped a washing rag into it before slowly cleaning the seed from your legs. You were careful, and your fingers were soft against the tender flesh between your legs, but you only stopped when every crevice felt clean. Perhaps this was the reason you weren’t getting pregnant, you thought, but you couldn’t stop. 

Your nightgown was hanging over the divider and you quietly pulled it on, settling the fabric around you before slowly making your way back to the bed and getting onto your side. Daemon watched you curl your knees to your chest and sit against the pillows, only allowing the sheets to cover your feet. You rested your chin against your legs and let out slow breaths. He couldn’t see your face properly because of your hair falling forward but he was desperate to. He reached out and gently pushed some of it back. Your eyes were closed and he couldn’t tell what you were thinking about. He simply sighed and reached out to rest his arm over your feet before closing his eyes. 

The only candle that had been left burning was on the little table beside your bed, and it watched you sit there for an hour. When you had felt Daemon’s breathing slow down, you had opened your eyes and watched the door. When you were sure he was asleep, you gently slid your feet out from under his arm and crept over the edge of the bed. You didn’t put on slippers and stood for a minute to shiver as the cold from the floor seeped into your toes and heels. Then you crept to the divider again and gently brought down your robe from the corner and slipped your arms into the sleeves before tying it at the waist. You looked back to see if Daemon was sleeping only once, then walked to the door. You opened it so slowly the wood made not a hint of sound, and when you were finally outside you let out a deep breath. 

You weren’t quite sure why you had come outside in the first place, but you felt a little better. You turned to the right and there stood Ser Criston against the wall just beside your door, watching you in the dim light. You watched him in return, the hair that curled a little inward at the nape of his neck and the pink tint of his lips. The sudden urge to cry overwhelmed you and you rushed toward him, wrapping your arms around his torso as you sobbed against his chest. 

Criston wrapped you up as much as he could with his armour still on, but he pressed his cheek down onto your head and shushed you as you cried. Your sobs were soft and muffled, your tears smearing on his armour and your cheeks as you hiccuped in his arms. He smoothed a hand over your hair, down your back, then cupped it around your waist. 

When your sobs began to quiet a little, your hiccups not as frequent, you pulled away quickly and stood against the wall across the hall, curling in on yourself as you used the edges of your nightgown to wipe at your eyes. Only your laboured breathing filled the hall, and the creak of his armour as he stood to attention again. You waited until you felt like you could open your mouth again without dissolving into sobs and turned to him with splotchy cheeks, a shiny nose, and red eyes that made you look like a little girl again. 

“I am sorry, that was inappropriate of me,” you whispered, and your voice was gritty and painful. He simply shook his head, pursing his lips for a moment before looking away from you and into the fire of the sconce directly in front of the door to your chambers.

“Nothing happened, Princess,” and you smiled a little, huffing out something akin to a laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

You pulled the sleeves of your nightgown and robe so they covered your hands, then pressed one of your fists to your lips and nose as you leaned back against the wall directly opposite to Criston. Your other hand came around to grasp your elbow and support it against your stomach, and you looked into Criston’s eyes. They were the colour of the bark of oak trees, the darkest honey, the sweetest chocolate from Dorne. 

“I don’t like my husband,” you whispered, and it felt criminal to voice the opinion out loud. You looked around a little, as if he would suddenly be standing at the door, ready to punish you for it, but nothing happened except Criston huffing out a laugh. You smiled at the sound, a warm, gruff, sort of sound. 

“Truth be told, I do not like your husband either,” and you giggled at that, pressing the smile into your fist. 

“I-” you paused, averting your eyes to the floor. “I like you though.” You glanced up to see his reaction, but he was looking at the wall ahead of him, and his face didn’t change. 

“I’m not sure that is a wise decision, Princess,” he said simply, as if he was reading it off a paper, and you laughed, thinking he was joking, being sarcastic or self-deprecating, but when he didn’t join in your laughter you stopped. Your cheeks burned and you were overwhelmed with embarrassment. 

“I did not mean-” you cut yourself off, biting your lip until it hurt and then biting it a little more. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, and he shook his head, frowning, looking down to the floor. 

“There is nothing to be sorry for, Princess, I simply meant that I am a knight of the Kingsguard and-” 

“Ser Criston, I know, I would never put you in a position to even question your oath let alone any imagining of you sullying it!” Your voice elevated a little in your hurry as you held out your hands and looked at him with wide eyes. He turned his gaze on you, some inexplicable expression on his face, and you blushed again, curling your hands against your chest and leaning against the wall once more. You trained your gaze on his feet. “I enjoy your company, and I respect you.” You watched him shuffle his feet a little. You were both quiet for a little while, letting the silence cover you like a soft blanket. 

Criston’s hands tingled with the need to reach out and caress your face, his heart strained against his chest with the need to meet your own, to press your two bodies together and press your mouth to his and kiss you until he couldn’t breathe anymore and then keep kissing you. 

You let your gaze trail all over his body, to the muscular shoulders hidden behind armour and the white cloak hanging from them. His neck seemed soft and blurred compared to the rest of him, and you wanted to reach up and caress the light dusting of a beard on his chin and cheeks. You wondered how coarse the hairs were. You wanted to kiss his eyelids, his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose. You wanted to know what the skin felt like under your lips. 

“If it was a different world…” he trailed off, but you knew what was to come next regardless of him saying it or not. 

“I know,” you whispered quietly, taking a deep, shuddering, breath in and wrapping the robe tighter around you and following it with your arms. 

“I know,” he repeated back to you. You were both quiet again but the air felt a little heavier. You swallowed and closed your eyes.  

“I would love to kiss you, right at this moment,” you whispered, eyes reopening slowly to look at him. His eyes were on the ground but his lips were parted just slightly. His breath was shallow and his hands clenched into fists at his side slowly. You felt like you were watching everything he did a second after it happened. 

“I would love it if you kissed me, right at this moment,” his voice was low, gravelly, and you took a little step closer, a shuffle. 

You wanted to reach out and touch his stomach, feel the muscles beneath the shirt. You wanted to touch his shoulders, feel them tense then release as you ran your fingers up them. You wanted to caress his neck and gently press your fingertips to his cheeks to see how plush they were.

 Instead, you slowly made your way toward your chamber doors. When your shoulder was level with his, you looked at each other. His smile was so soft and warm, so kind and gentle, that you felt the tears begin to climb up behind your eyes. You looked back to your chamber doors and opened them just as quietly as you had done before, slipping inside and closing it behind you. You looked around the room for a moment, unseeing, then walked all the way back to your side of the bed. You blew out the remaining candle and got under the sheets right on the edge so not even Daemon’s outstretched hand could touch you.  

You and Ser Criston never spoke of that evening again. But sometimes, when everything was quiet and you were alone, you would look into his eyes, and know. 

After the night he kissed you for the first time since the wedding, Daemon suddenly felt like his entire life was off-kilter. He could not escape thoughts of you. He could not escape memories of you. 

At first he found himself sitting at the edge of the training pit, watching the gold cloaks spar as he awaited his turn, and all he could think of was the image of you in your wedding dress right after he had kissed you, blushing cheeks and cut lip smeared with spit and the mix of his blood and yours. As he took his midday meal in Rhaenyra’s solar across the table from her, he saw your frown as you told him you were still a maiden. As he flew on Caraxes on a hot afternoon, he saw the relief in your eyes as you lifted the strap of your shift back onto your shoulder. 

He began to wonder about you, about your days and nights, about what books you enjoyed or the temperament of your dragon. Each day brought new questions about you that he pushed away because they were unnecessary and only served to drive him mad. 

He noticed himself noticing you. His ears would perk up if he heard your voice somewhere in the distance, and something in his chest would jump a little. Your perfume lingered in the library after your visits, and if he happened to visit at just the right time, traces of it would gently touch his nose and his stomach would suddenly feel warm. Each time he entered your room for your fortnightly fucking, he found himself dallying longer and longer before and after, simply to gaze at your belongings and learn about you. 

Slowly, it became an irrepressible infatuation. He would watch you from the terraces and balconies around the Red Keep as you sat in the various courtyards, admiring your hair and your dress, jealous of the sun for being able to touch you so reverently in a way he never could.  He would dab your perfume on his handkerchief and keep it securely tucked in his pocket, pulling it out and pressing it to his nose in the quiet of his room on the other side of the Keep. He had even had one of the tapestries you had done removed from the halls of the Keep and hung on the wall across from his bed. He was lost in you. 

In this new daze, he had abandoned his trysts with Rhaenyra and had been shocked to find he did not care when she took a new lover. She had asked after his sudden disinterest, why he no longer visited her in the evenings or ate his lunch in her company. He hadn’t had an answer ready to give. 

In this time, he had also grown aware of Criston Cole’s infatuation with you. He had already thought it odd that the knight had abandoned being the Queen’s lapdog for the forgotten princess, but he had assumed that Alicent had ordered him to and was simply enacting another of her many schemes. He had even scoffed at the idea, laughing to himself that Alicent would gain nothing over him for he was only a husband in name. 

But after all the time he spent watching you, he could see how truly devoted to you the knight had become. He stood as close to you as was appropriate for a knight and not an inch farther. He held your projects or piles of books as he walked beside you, refusing you from taking any load from his arms. If you ever had a request, he forced whichever servant was closest to complete it in an instant so he could fulfil it without leaving your company. 

And he was always looking at you. Sometimes when Daemon watched you in the courtyard with Cole, the knight never removed his eyes from you for a second. You would turn your face up to smile at him and he would already be looking at you. You would return to the book and his eyes would still be on your face. 

It wasn’t just the fact that he was looking at you, though, it was the way the knight watched you. He always had this warm little expression on his face, his eyes a little wide and shiny and full of awe. His mouth was always gentler in those moments, lips softened and hinting at a smile. He seemed entirely at peace in your presence. 

And as Daemon watched you more and more, he realised the knight’s infatuation with you was returned. You were chatty around him, spilling your thoughts or asking him questions. You read aloud to him, made him little gifts of handkerchiefs or embellishments on his cloak that he always refused at first before relenting when you claimed you would be thoroughly upset if he continued to deny you. Your embroidery featured motifs of white knights more and more and you smiled at Criston in a way he wasn’t sure you had ever smiled at anyone else. It made him angry. Angry in a way that could only be soothed by hacking at a straw dummy in the training yard with Dark Sister until the thing had to be replaced. 

When Daemon found you, you were sitting at your writing desk with a parchment in front of you, quill raised as you bit your lip and formed the words in your head. His chest was heaving despite him not having run. The sunshine falling over the desk from the window behind you made you look like a spirit from the stories, all your edges glowing and a shadowy haziness draping your face. He walked right up to the desk, cupped your face in both his hands and kissed you on the mouth.

 It was firm, insistent, his mouth moving and pressing yours open while your mind tried to catch up with the sudden events, your quill dripping ink onto the table where you still had your hand raised. You pulled away after a moment, a frown creasing your brow and lips parted for a moment. You licked them, pressing them together as you swallowed and turned back to face the desk. Your eyes roamed over the little trinkets as if they had not been there before. Then you turned to look at Daemon again. 

He was standing above you, dazed as he gently touched his thumb to his lower lip. He looked bedraggled. Some of his hair had been pulled back into little braids to keep it from his face, his battle hair, but some of it curled with his sweat and other strands had been pulled out as if he had forgotten about the braids and had begun pulling at his hair in frustration. He was only wearing his training tunic, and there were mud stains on his pants and you guessed he had come straight here from the training grounds. 

He was staring at you now, eyes blazing and you shuffled back a little in case he tried to kiss you again. Kissing him was nice, it had never not been at least somewhat pleasant, but you didn’t care for it anymore. He leaned down again but you closed your eyes and leaned back further, holding your hand over your lips. A frown slashed his brow and he gripped the back of your chair tightly. You feared it would crack under the pressure. 

“You would deny your husband?” He spat, and you flinched, curling a little inward as if a pang of pain had hit you in the chest. “Do you deny Cole when you are a whore for him?” And your eyes snapped up to look into his. He was seething, you could practically see the fires of rage behind his eyes. Your own began to fill with tears and he stood up again, taking a step back. His face fell a little as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath in. He could hear it shudder through your open mouth, saw the quiver of your chest. If you began to cry he wasn’t sure what he would do. 

But then you pressed your lips together, so tight they went white, and opened your eyes. They were no longer filled with tears. You stood up, brushing down the skirt of your dress. You ensured it fell around your waist correctly before clasping your hands together over your stomach and finally looking up at him again. 

“I know you do not love me,” your voice was quiet but steady, and he opened his mouth to speak, to rebuke, but no sound came out. “It is alright,” and for the first time since that fateful day, you felt it truly was. Then your eyes hardened a little, almost imperceptibly. “You are not angry because you love me, or you feel denied by your wife. You are angry simply because you feel that something you possess may be eyed by another.” Then your eyes returned to their usual gentleness, your hands loosened against each other and your entire body seemed to release a little. “But do not worry, husband. Since I was a little girl it has been ingrained upon me that marriage is sacred. One must treat it with the utmost respect, cherish it, protect it with their own actions.” You held your hands to your heart like you were cupping the very notion of marriage against your breast. “I would never dream of defiling its sanctity.” You bowed your head and breezed out of the room before he could even attempt to open his mouth. 

For a long time after, Daemon wondered if you knew of his long ago trysts with Rhaenyra. Though you had not said the words with any sort of obvious insinuation or spite, fear and guilt churned in his gut until he had to sit down and press his palms to his eyes. All he could ask himself was ‘did you know?’, all he could feel was shame and regret. 

He didn’t want you to know. He wanted to take everything back, starting with your marriage. He wanted to wrap you up in his arms and cherish you as you deserved. He wanted to spend his hours on his knees in supplication to you. He wanted to follow you around like a dog chasing its master if only you would glimpse at him with that little loving smile you reserved for so few people and press a gentle kiss to his face. He wanted your love. And somehow, he thought as he sat on the floor of his room, back leaning against the side of his bed, I have lost it before I even knew I wanted it. 

Daemon spent much of his life in the aftermath trying to win you back, and it somehow made everything worse. You were always the perfect image of a wife. If he brought you flowers, you thanked him gently, sincerely, then handed them off to a maid to have them put in water. If he brought you jewellery, you caressed it and put it on in that instant, asking him how it looked on you. He only ever had one answer, ‘radiant, my love,’ and you would smile at his reflection in the mirror before gently taking it off and putting it in your jewellery box. If he found fabrics from all corners of the world and had them brought to you for your dresses, you kissed his cheek in thanks, then asked the tailor to create something for you, never your own design. You wore them in front of him, showed him that his gifts were used, and once he had torn them off in his vigour to fuck you, you folded up the dresses and put them in the back of your wardrobe. 

When the gifts elicited nothing more than politeness, he began spending more time with you, hoping you would somehow see his devotion, see a reason to love him. He would find you just before you went to eat your midday meal with Alicent and instead guide you to a picnic in the Godswood. He would bring one of his many books on the Targaryen histories and settle himself down next to you in one of the courtyards. He would lay beside you in your bed after he finished inside you, cheek pressed into the pillow as he watched you until you fell asleep. 

Each attempt had entirely the opposite effect to his wishes. Though you never changed outwardly, never made him feel unwelcome or told him to leave, he could sense how much you preferred to be without his presence. 

And you never acknowledged Criston Cole in his presence. Whether from some deep seated propriety that refused to offend your husband or insult him in the company of others. Whether from some embarrassment that whatever feelings you held for the knight would be so easily displayed from simple conversation, he knew not. But it made everything even worse. 

You spoke not to Criston, which meant you didn’t speak to him either unless he tried to start a conversation. The silence would become suffocating to the point he would sweat through his clothes. You would be oblivious, sitting there humming or simply gazing upon your book or embroidery or letters. And he would be tortured watching you sit under the watchful eye of your knight, not saying a word. 

Each time he returned, he tried to outlast himself, outlast the silence. And each time he failed. It would be five minutes, ten minutes at most, before he stood up and walked out of the door without a goodbye, and somehow he knew that you didn’t bother looking up as he left. 

These little communions were often followed by an overwhelming sense of betrayal and embarrassment. With every failed attempt, every time he fled, he thought he could see Criston Cole’s smug smile. He thought the knight’s secret satisfaction in your favour of him suddenly became apparent on his face and in his gait, that the fool was mocking him for not being able to win his wife’s love while he held it freely in the palm of his hand. 

And then he found a slow decline into shame as he sat in the ruins of whatever furniture or ornaments he had destroyed in that bout. Vases of porcelain were left in shattered little pieces when he thought about the way you looked up at Cole like he hung the stars in the sky. End tables of oakwood were left in splinters as he imagined Cole whispering lovingly in your ears. And each time he sat in the wake, staring at his hands as they bled due to his carelessness, and he prayed to the old gods and the new, asking for your forgiveness. 

The cycle never ended, because however much he tried, however much he inserted himself in your life, you seemed forever content to play your part as a dutiful wife while simultaneously withholding the only thing he wanted from you now. Any other man would not complain about being married to you. They would be ecstatic that no matter how much debauchery they committed, however many whores they fucked and taverns they inhabited, their wife still demurely welcomed them home, ensured their needs were always met, and never deigned to bother them. He hated it with every fibre of his being. 

He wanted you to scream and hit him in the chest in your anger, to call him names and loathe him. He wanted you to glare at him in bed and refuse his kisses. He wanted you to hate him, because if he could make you hate him, he could make you love him too. He could turn those screams and punches into laughs and loving caresses. He could turn the names and loathing into soft words and adoration. He could turn the glare in bed into a soft look of relaxation as you lay your head on his chest and hummed in comfort. He could turn the refused kisses into begs for more. He often thought he was descending into madness. 

Some months later, after everything in the world had jumbled itself around and left Daemon adrift, useless and hopeless to the point of self-loathing, he found himself watching you in the gardens from one of the balconies above the south courtyard. 

When Daemon looked at you, he felt his chest begin to fill with something thick and painful. It was liquefied stone crushing each of his organs, it was hot syrup drowning his lungs. Your smile was sad and gentle as you ran your fingers over the embroidery you had just finished. 

To know he was filled to the brim with love for you and you had nothing more than indifference to offer him now was already a kind of crippling pain he now had to endure. To know he had broken your heart long before he had even cared for it was another. But to live for the rest of his life knowing he had trapped you, that it was the devotion and loyalty you gave him unconditionally simply because you were married to him, that your marriage to him was the sole reason you would never be happy… That was the worst pain of all. 

Taglist: @mornixgstar18 @carmalcandylover @aedhyratargaryen @kamcrazy123 @wallacewillow0773638 @yo-alli @kishie8 @freyathehuntress @moonlightstuffs @snowflames-world @adombtch @snowtargaryen @mrs-kise-ryota-kise-wife @she2rreal @immyowndefender @dantefairyfrogs @vavafaure1994 @loveyouok @tallrock35 @whitehare7701 @claraisme23 @carl-grimes-eye-socket @dilfluvr4evr @seasonswinter @mah1644 @diqnawn @anna-2401 @vanessyyyu @ninihrtss @inkedmetanoia @m3hr33n33

[ireneispunk]

How They Hold You x HoTD Men

i saw these photosets and could NOT refuse! so here are the HoTD men and how (i imagine) they would hold you included: aemond, daemon, jacaerys, aegon, criston cole, harwin strong

+bonus

[blakeswritingimagines]

Leaving Kiss Prints On Them

Aegon: He's amused, maybe intrigued as to why you've done it in the first place. But at the same time, he would be strangely touched, flattered that you would want to leave your mark on him, to show others that you own him.

Aemond: As he looked into the mirror, the glistening traces of a deep red lipstick print stood out boldly against his pale complexion. A sly smirk played on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the mark's presence. The memory of the partner flashed through his mind, your passionate kiss leaving a lingering kiss upon his skin.

Jacaerys: "Oh, you cheeky wench", Jacaerys exclaimed, surprised by the bold display of affection from his partner. He touched the mark on his cheek, feeling the slickness of the lipstick and a smile playing on his lips. "You know you're marking your territory?", he teased. "This better wash off, or I'll be walking around with your signature smudge for days."

Lucerys: He would blush and smile genuinely, appreciating the sign of affection from you. He'd gently touch the lipstick print, feeling a sense of closeness and love. After a moment, he would take your hand, intertwining your fingers and pulling you close for a tender embrace.

Rhaenyra: Upon realizing the lipstick mark, she would feel a rush of warmth and affection. She'd reach up to gently touch the mark, a sly grin curling her lips in appreciation of the affectionate gesture. Her fingers might linger there for a moment, tracing the faint outline of the mark, her thoughts filled with the memory of the kiss that left it behind. "Attempting to mark your territory, huh?"

Daemon: He'd chuckle, running his hands through his hair before giving you a playful smirk. With a gentle tug, he pulled you closer until your front was flush against his, a hand moving to rest at the curve of your waist. "Leaving your mark on me again, darling?" He says, arching a brow in amusement.

Alicent: It is a pleasant surprise to find a mark of affection on her cheek, like a colorful stamp of love. She might glance into a mirror to appreciate the delicate contour and color of the imprint against her skin. A smile would likely spread across her face, touched by the thought that you took the time to leave this intimate memento as a silent declaration of tenderness. She might even feel a slight flutter of affection, feeling her cheeks warm up with a hint of bashfulness.

Helena: When you leave a lipstick print on her cheek, she feels a mix of amusement and flattery. She can't help but smile at the playful gesture, knowing that you've marked her as yours in a subtle but endearing way. The glossy imprint on her skin reminds her of your presence and the affection you have for her. As she catches a glimpse of the colored stain, it serves as a pleasant reminder of the intimate moment you shared or the playful banter you engaged in.

Harwin: He would chuckle softly as he felt the warm, familiar softness of lips against his cheek, leaving a trail of a vivid lipstick stain. The subtle scent of sweetness and roses gently drifted to his nostrils, prompting him to lift a hand and brush his fingers against the mark. A soft smile played on his lips. “You’ve left your mark, I see,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice, though the words were laced with an unmistakable fondness.

Cregan: He noticed the lipstick stain on his cheek and ran a finger over it, a sly smile spreading across his face before he turned to you, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Well, well, it seems someone has marked her territory." He leaned back in his chair, still smiling as he regarded you with a playful gleam in his eyes. "And here I thought I was the possessive one."

Criston: At first, a flush of embarrassment washes over his face as he becomes self-conscious of the lipstick mark. However, it quickly dissolves into a smirk at the realization that you have marked him as yours. A wave of possessiveness washes over him, and he can’t help but feel a sense of pride knowing that everyone will know whom he belongs to. The rest of the day, he’ll find himself subconsciously rubbing his hand over the lipstick print, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

[lady-ashfade]

Hi could you please do yandere house of dragon x Helena twin and when Luke takes Aemond eye he also accidentally cut reader neck, and when they everyone’s gathered Alicent going crazy, reader faints making everyone extremely worried. Luke felt terrible ?

More Then A Eye

Yan!Various!HOTD Characters x Fem!Reader

Made this were the reader was the only one injured because that makes it more fun, and also might make a part 2 so that will come into play if I make that. Also feel like if it was just the reader it would be more interesting.

Warnings: Blood, gore, knifes, violence, yandere actions, reader being injured, me going slight into-depth on how the reader gets cut. Pretty much the whole thing.

Reader wants the family to all get along while the chaos is going on. She is sweetheart like her sister, but she doesn’t have the sight as her sister does. So she notices most of what’s happening, the other half of her sister.

Reader stops Aemond from getting picked on when she’s near because she has the power to make the boys calm, and the rest of the family at that. So she can get mad and upset so aemond feels at ease when his sister is around. But all the boys long for her affection and love, so they all cling to her.

The funeral is a very sad time for her since she loved Laena and the thought of her cousins losing their mother. Or her uncle losing his wife.

So to the readers surprise when she see aemond and jace have a small moments it brings a warmth to her chest in this dark time. Hoping that this was the gods way to bring her family together, but her hopes soon vanished when night came.

She had heard the others walk through the hallways as she tried to fall asleep, opening her door and their whispering calls. They got her attention and claimed someone stole vhagar so she went with them.

“I think we need to wake up our parents.” But her words were shoot down as they dragged her through the halls and down through the castle.

As soon as she saw the white hair she knew it was aemond and she wished she stayed in bed. The kids started to shout, while aemond replied in a time she never heard before, not shy. But proud and filled with venom.

When the fight broke out and all the reader could do was scream and cry for them to stop, but her body froze up. As soon as aemond grabbed ahold of Luke she ran towards him and grabbed ahold of his arm.

“Please, do not hurt them anymore. We- We can all stop this madness,” she looked around at all of them with tears. “Let us all be family.” Aemond was so caught up in his own wrath he pushed the reader back so she wouldn’t get in his way.

He threw Luke to the ground after calling jace and Luke “Strongs.” Then throwing the younger boy to the ground. Jace pulled out a small knife and the reader gasp as they fought again, but the knife was thrown elsewhere.

She watched as Luke crawled to the knife with a interesting to hurt aemond so her body moved on its own. “Aemond!” Just as she shouted she was cut off with the sound of flesh being cut with his blade and gushing sounds. They watch the horror in front of their eyes go down. Blood rolling down her throat and gasped of failed attempts of air when she fell to the ground with her hands clawing at her own throat.

Luke dropped the knife and steps back in disbelief of what was happening. Aemond caught his sister and laid her down in his arms trying to stop the bleeding. “How could you! I’ll kill you! I’ll feed you to my dragon.” He started to cry as did the others.

“What’s going on here?” The guards shouted as the walked up on the children and soon realized the princess. They took her in their arms and sent for the maester and the king at once. Everyone soon garnered in the hall for what had happened.

Alicent screamed when she first saw her daughter and it was loud that everyone in the castle heard. Running to her daughter with tears in her eyes she started to move her hair out of the way as the maester worker. Viserys screamed at the guards to answer who had done it but he wasn’t expecting his own grandsons. Aemond sat at his mothers side while handing the readers hand. Healana looked at the ground with a sob. She had saw it in a nightmare once’s that felt so real, this exact moment.

The boys stayed back and far away. Luke not even daring to look at the reader knowing he caused her harm and pain. All of them wondering if she would be dead soon. Alicent was so focused she didn’t even pay attention to anything but the reader being life and to keep her that way.

When rhaenrya entered it was hell to pay. Reader had just got done with her stitches while still knocked out cold as her body tried to heal itself. “You,” Alicent screamed and pointed at the princess. “You’re filthy sons did this.” Rhaenrya had not see the reader yet as she looked at her sons. When her eyes looked onto the readers body her eyes went wide and looked back at her sons not believing a word.

“They did this?” She asked around the room as the boys tensioned up. “It’s true, jace brought the knife to the fight and his brother, Luke, did the deed.” Cole spiked with a snare. Luke tugged at his mother’s sleeves, “But I did not mean too. Aemond was going to kill jace! The reader got in the way.” All the children started to scream their own defense as everyone watched.

The king was mad but not at the children but at the guards for not doing their jobs. Saying this would have been avoided if they were watched closely. “She would not want us to fight and surely you all know it.” He turned to look at young Luke in the eyes. “I know you did not mean it boy, things can be forgiven.” Alicent looked at rhaenrya as she smiled softly and pull her sons behind herself and listened to Viserys plead of forgiveness and family.

“He deserves no forgiveness,” Alicent stood up and let go of your hand. “The knife was brought to the fight and one of our children could have been killed- Y/n almost died, or might not make it.” She inched closer with a glare and her hands made up into a fist. “Our little girls life being stolen can be..Forgiven?”

“It is what’s right! I love her with my heart but it has been decided, no more blood needs to be shed. Do not let your hatred blind you Alicent.” She stared at him as he spoke so calmly and started to walk away. Her eyes went to the dagger on his hip and her mind filled with red to see her daughter avenged. Moving quickly she took the blade from his side and held it up going for Luke.

“If you will not see to justice then I shall.” Rhaenrya pushes her sons back and caught Alicent before she got closer. They held each other, pushing and pulling to get what they wanted. “Another insult to my family and you get away with it? Just under falling under that pretty foot. It is not far, where is duty? Where is sacrifice?” Rhaenrya looked at the blade as it reflected off the fire light.

She was about to say something but a loud metal sound caught them off guard. They both looked back as the reader laid on the floor with her eyes open and reached out for them. Her head shaking as she tried to speak out but nothing was coming out. Aemond coming to her aid and helping her up but she had used her the rest of her strength to get out of the chair. Reader looked at her brother for help to help and speak her mind, pleading to do the right thing.

“No more blood shed mother.” His spoke but his eyes do not match his words. “She does not wish it.” Helaena came rushing down to her twins side and held her hand. Alicent looked back at rhaenrya one last time before pulling away and dropping the knife. Slowly inching back she looked around at her husband, only with anger and devastation.

Everyone was quiet as she ordered someone to carry her daughter out of the room with the maester. The kids walked with her and held onto their sisters hand as she fell back into a deep sleep. No one could speak a word as they all stood stocked.

For years that was the last time rhaenrya and her kids saw their aunt, along with Daemon. But letters where sent in private from the reader to all of them with updates and her forgiveness. But luke refuses to open and read them as his guilt rotted away at his soul. But each week for years new letters still came from her. The next time they all saw eachother, they all grown so much. But they all remembered the first acted of war.

One side trying to make amends and the other full of revenge.

[missglaskin]

Yan!HOTD Characters as Greek Gods

I want to thank @aphroditelovesu for giving me the inspiration, also side note do not take the gods canonical relationships literally

Viserys as Hades + God of the Underworld and the Dead

Viserys was a god who stood out from the gloomy darkness of his realm. The seat once shared by his beloved wife is now long dead with all the other souls. No temples were erected in his honor on the earthly soil, for the underworld served as his shrine. Still, Viserys lent many of his powers and crafts to help the other gods defeat their enemies, either it be a monster or a titan. When he needed to see his family, he would emerge to the earth itself. There a moral caught his eye. 

Viserys spent a great deal of time observing your everyday life. He enjoyed catching on to all your little habits and tendencies. The god was prepared to wait until your life's string came to an end. In the mean time, all good things came your way. While he wouldn't be able to stop your death from happening, he can certainly make it as peaceful and painless as possible. Viserys will welcome you with the greatest warmth when you arrive in his realm, and you will be surrounded by servants who will carry out your every wish.

Just as he has done all those other times Viserys will give you the time and space you need to adjust to this new, strange world. Desiring your happiness, Viserys might let you visit Earth but only for a short time. The god can't go too long without you by his side. He detests the idea of using coercion to get what he wants, but Viserys must make sure you never leave him. It is a blessing that you are a mortal, completely unaware of the pomegranate seeds that are given to you.

Daemon as Ares + God of War and Courage 

It was Daemon, out of all the gods, who was most frowned upon, the one with the endless list of foes. Many came to fear him and they had every reason to. For Daemon was a powerful god-quick to anger and raring for a fight regardless of the consequences. A jest spread among the gods was that Daemon's one and only true love was war itself. But what a shock it was to see the mortal in the god's arms. With his remarks and the severe violence he inflicted upon the mortals, Daemon, again and again demonstrated nothing but contempt and superiority over them.

Why you attracted the god of war's attention will forever remain a mystery. Could it be you had a fire inside of you that never went out or you had such a gentle soul that the god saw it as his duty to ruin you, or perhaps he saw you as a fair trade for one of his victories. Truthfully, Daemon himself is not fully sure what drew him to you. Still, the god comes to you, luring you in with lavish gifts and words sweet as honey. And if you aren’t compliant, the god sees no issue picking you up while you struggle to free yourself-screaming and clawing. 

Daemon has no care for what other Olympian deities thought when he kept you near him. They were already not fond of him and he was amused to no end to see their frustration, even having you displayed seated on his lap. Your life with Daemon is strangely not as dull and miserable as one might anticipate. He will always be rough and harsh, but you are shown a rare side of gentleness. You may never know if the god truly loves you, but you can be sure that if someone takes what he views as his, he will go to war a hundred times over it.

Rhaenyra as Athena + Goddess of Wisdom and War

Rhaenyra is a goddess with pride. A great warrior. Rhaenyra does not, however, hold humankind in such low regard as the many gods who came before her. She saw herself as their protector and rewarded those who came to worship in her temple. But it's not as if she isn't dangerous. The goddess is unmerciful in her use of curses. Any offense or insult will result in a terrible fate. And what fate bestows upon you when the goddess herself watches you. Desiring you from the very moment she caught sight of you. 

She is a master of disguise. Every word she spoke enticed you further and further into her grasp. There were the fleeting touches the goddess made to your skin to pique your desire. Her lips were painted with a smile that lowered your guard. You find yourself becoming a puppet as Rhaenyra hovers over you, pulling the strings to speak the words she wants you to hear, to touch her how she wants to be touched, and look at her how she wants to be gazed upon. 

Rhaenyra never wants you to leave her realm. The goddess is ready to gift you whatever your heart desires, but the earth is no longer a place you can call home. Rhaenyra will never lay a hand on you; gentle and soft with you. The only times you no longer see your lover but the goddess of war is if you are foolish enough to believe you can get away from her. She won’t understand. Has she not dedicated herself to you. Has she not given you every ounce of her heart. Whatever the reason is, your place remains by her side and she will make sure you know of this.

Rhaenys as Hecate + Goddess of Magic and the Moon

Rhaenys, the goddess of sorcery and the moon, who her domain also extends to creatures of the night; particularly hounds and ghosts. She’s often seen accompanied by her black hounds, donning a long robe, holding burning torches. Neither was she evil, nor was she wholly benevolent, but she did reveal her nature through actions, rewarding loyalty among her followers. Captivated by your presence in her temple, the goddess of sorcery was drawn to your compassion and innocence. She found herself spending more time just observing you, enchanted by how your features glowed in the gentle embrace of moonlight. 

Rhaenys has always been confident and assertive, when she’s certain that she desires you, she’ll do whatever it takes to have you by her side. However, she’ll stray away from using force. If she’ll seek your companionship, Rhaenys resolutes in waiting it be your choice, to love her the same rather than do it with instilling fear in you. Her introduction was gradual, allowing you to adapt in time to her presence. Much of this is involved in simple conversations, where she enjoys getting to know the little details of your life (even if she already knew most of it). 

Instead of overwhelming you with extravagant gifts, she opted for small trinkets. And adding to the ease of your connection, Rhaenys’s mystical hounds display a fondness for you, allowing you to pet them. Even when you remain in her domain, Rhaenys remains steadfast in not forcing you to love her. She has all the patience as the goddess begins to slowly express her affection more openly with gentle caresses to your face as she presents you with more lavish gifts. Her patience was rewarded seeing how eager you are to spend every moment with her.

Corlys as Poseidon + God of the Sea and Waters

Not only was Corlys the god of the seas but also associated with earthquakes and horses. He stood out as a highly ambitious deity and known for his unwavering loyalty to Mount Olympus. Unlike some deities, Corlys is willing to engage with mortals, after all, they have a dependence on the seas for trade and travel. However, it’s also known that when dealing with the god of the sea, do not try to trick or cross him, for he has demonstrated a vengeful nature when felt insulted. 

It was during your many ventures near the beach, having a profound love and fascination for the sea that you encountered the god of the sea. In your frequent visits, the shores yielded treasures ranging from the most beautiful seashells to even a literal pearl, a gift from the god. Upon making his presence known, Corlys takes matters into his own hands. Taking you to the temple beneath the sea as he cannot rely on chance encounters by the shore and it’ll save him all the trouble of finding you if you choose to never visit again. 

Your place from now on remains with Corly’s temple. He has made promises to make you visit the shore from time to time once he’s confident you won’t attempt an escape. Eager to please, Corlys has an allure of lost treasures within his home, offering you any if you desire. He also takes great care to ensure your comfort, harboring no intention of causing harm or raising his voice. His desire is clear- to have you willingly at his side. 

Laena as Aphrodite + Goddess of Love and Beauty

Laena was more than just being thegoddess of beauty and love; she was one of fertility, pleasure, and eternal youth. Occasionally she presided over marriage. Legends went so far as to attribute her beauty to being the cause of the Trojan War. Despite her being desired and adored by everyone, even capturing the affections of the infamous god of war himself, Laena's heart chose you; a mortal who didn’t seem all that extraordinary. But none of that mattered to the goddess of love, who found herself drawn to you, desiring nothing more than for you to share her boundless love and adoration. 

When Laena first approached you, she displayed no hesitation in expressing her clear intentions of wanting to court you. Doves and sparrows seemed to fly around you. In the vicinity of your home, myrtles and roses bloomed abundantly and Laena took it upon herself to personally hand you the blossoms, alongside the most marvelous seashells. Whenever you expressed gratitude or attempted to deny her gifts out of politeness, Laena would firmly assure you that you deserved nothing but the best. As she would engage in conversations, Laena would hold your gaze, running her fingers on your cheek or shoulder with such tenderness. 

Even after you became hers, Laena never stops showering you with praise and luscious gifts. The dresses she adorned you with were among the most lavish you had ever seen, and men would certainly go to war for the jewelry that adorned your skin. And for her home, which she claims is now your home too, she’s willing more than anything to accommodate any of your demands to make it all the more welcoming. Whether it’s placing all your favorite books or presenting you all your favorite foods. After all, you’re destined to spend the rest of your life with her.  

Otto as Zeus + God of the Sky and Thunder 

Otto stood as the god among gods, the force behind the establishment of order and justice in Olympus. It was his duty as king, to reign and ensure harmony throughout the divine realm. He had a number of children; it counted those that were outside of his marriage. Mortals and gods alike collectively averted their gaze, as the god of thunder desired to maintain an image of a prudent and a pious. And while like any god, he considered himself above mortal beings, he would observe them with keen interest. 

Unfortunate for you, if you happened to catch his eye, resisting him was a futile endeavor. It began with him orchestrating ways to make your life more comfortable — discovering the lushest trees near your home, bearing the most delectable fruits you'd ever savor. An eagle, acting as his messenger, would shower you with all sorts of gifts, from fragrant olive oils to delicate silver coins and ivory trinkets. The weather seemed to dance to his whims, birds serenading under the radiant sun.

It was also his way to signal his presence, a silent acknowledgment a being beyond the mortal realms was watching. And when his presence becomes known, he vows to treasure you for eternity (hinting at what’ll become of your mortal life). It’s difficult to deny him with all the myriad blessings he bestowed upon you. Once you’re brought to his home, he will present you with a luxurious silk robe and servants who dutifully follow your every command. Even if you resist, his determination remains unswayed. As a god, time was his ally and he believed in due course, you would succumb to his temptations.

Alicent as Hera + Goddess of Marriage and Childhood

Alicent stood as the embodiment of matrimony and domestic life, a revered figure to whom women turned in prayer for the blessings of harmonious marriages, the safe return of their husbands, and in hopes of birthing a healthy child. Despite her attempts to project a demure demeanor, the goddess had a silent reputation for her jealousy and occasional vengefulness. Alicent had divine authority, navigating the intricate game of politics and perhaps that was why no one dared to question her decision to bring a mortal being along.  

It was all under the reason of needing a servant though you were not yet married, still, no one dared to voice it. As her supposed servant, you were strangely exempt from menial tasks such as washing clothes or scrubbing the floor; such duties were deemed beneath you. Instead, the majority of your days were spent in the company of the goddess. You found yourself dressing and brushing Alicent’s hair as she shared her grievances about the perceived foolishness surrounding her court. 

Your time was further consumed by tending to Hera’s children and grandchildren, and her strictures extended to where you were not permitted to eat meals with other servants. In truth, the goddess had little need for another servant. But you a mortal, had sought her prayer, coming to her temple wishing for a happy life for the arrangement your parents orchestrated for you. But Alicent had been watching you long before and you have become the object of her desire. She promised to find you a suitor but the intensity of her gaze and the uncanny resemblance between the necklace of hers and the one she gifted you hints at something beyond that. 

Aegon II as Dionysus + God of Wine and Pleasure 

Aegon is known for seemingly lazy nature and rarely being seen sober, he’s notorious for the wild parties and dramatic theaters he orchestrates. The many lovers he has are ones that no one bothers to learn their names, as they typically don’t linger beyond a day. The few bastards he fathered are not accounted for. When the god of wines comes upon you, there was an unmistakable eagerness to have you in his bed. While you and others are at no fault to assume that it was driven solely by lust, you soon find it unraveled beyond that. 

As a mortal, the prospect of rejecting a god was not a reasonable one. His presence was suffocating with a possessive jealousy over your interactions with others and an incessant need for you to be near him. At times, he would pull you into his lap, craving for your affection and praise. Besides his constant need to have you share his bed at every turn, his lingering hands, and wanting your every attention, it’s not as terrible as one initially assumes. 

The god of wine provided you with the sweetest food, accompanied of course by his signature wine. He adorned you in exquisite clothing, though in the privacy of his chambers, they were far more revealing and sheer. While it was somewhat accepted to have fleeting lovers for a day, appearing with you by his side on every occasion garnered disapproval from the other gods. However, Aegon was indifferent; no stranger to being considered a disappointment. You were the one thing he was sure of, even harboring a secret desire to make you immortal, hoping you don’t notice how different your wine tastes.

Helaena as Persephone + Goddess of Seasons and Vegetation

Helaena possessed a kind of gentleness that was unusual among the gods. She carried herself with such grace and consideration. Helaena grew up to be a lovely woman who caught the interest of gods and humans alike. With mortals, the goddess did not look down on them. If anything, Helaena seemed to see the goodness and beauty in them despite all of their flaws. It therefore comes as no great surprise when the goddess seems so enchanted by you-a simple mortal. 

Helaena spent many days watching you. She possessed unending patience. What a fascinating sight you are. Deemed by the goddess to be the most beautiful being to ever walk this earth. Helaena cared nothing more than your happiness hence why you come home to a plethora of gifts and trinkets. It could be the most delicious fruit you've ever eaten or a dress the goddess sewed herself. And wherever you are, you found plants growing all around that never seem to wither-fruits and vegetables you never imagined would ever grow there.

Helaena was content as long as she could see you every day. Even if she couldn't speak or stand before you. All that mattered to her was to see your lovely smile as you open her gifts or to hear your joyful laughter. But shall you wish to meet her. Shall you seem unsatisfied with your life. Helaena will make her presence known. The goddess is nothing but a tender lover. Giving you all the time you need to adjust to her realm. Happy to watch from a distance and just speak with you.

Aemond as Apollo - God of Sun and Art

Aemond was also a god of music, truth, and healing, he was considered wise even at such a relatively young age. He enjoyed writing poems and believed in law and order. Unlike his brother, Aemond was recognized for his numerous contributions, particularly in the realms of medicine and prophecy. Aemond shows intense loyalty to his family and a great love for his mother but also is known for his jealousy and a wrathful nature; particularly when he perceives insults directed at his family or either himself. 

Many of your actions could’ve caught his eye, your visits to his temple, your singing voice echoing through the fields, how you immersed yourself far away from everyone else with the books you read. He doesn’t wish to frighten you,  guided by a gentle approach to engage you in conversations. You can feel his gaze follow you, a silent presence that seems to accompany your every move. In due time, Aemond would express his desire for you to be his lover, to not only give him your body, but your mind and soul. Even if you do not share his feelings, denying him is not advisable, Aemond is not one for rejections. 

Even if you were to deny him, Aemond would still bring you to Mount Olympus, introducing you to the other gods, making sure you understood that your place belonged with him. And while he attempts to give you some space, the god of the sun cannot bring himself to stay away. Aemond sought to spend every moment of the day with you, from sharing the same bed, to waking together to sharing meals. He yearns to hear your every thought from the flowers you liked to your opinion on the poetry he’s dedicated to you.

Criston as Heracles + Demi- God of Strength and Heroes

Criston was born a mortal. Yet even as a child, Criston showed such strength and courage unmatched by any other. He has proven to be a fierce warrior over the years. While he was hailed as a hero, many of his rage-fueled actions beg to differ. It took Criston to die to be reborn as the Demi-god. Taken from the flames to Mount Olympus where he was granted eternal youth and the right to live among the gods. He was offered a goddess, but Criston had his eyes set somewhere else.

Criston believes he must protect you. That you need him far more than he needs you. You are just a mere mortal. One fall can be fatal. Doesn't matter that his involvement could be the very reason your life is at forfeit. Makes no difference the many times you struggle and try to escape him. Criston holds you in his arms, repeating the same mantra over and over. That you have a need for him. That he must shield you from all those who will harm you. He rarely leaves your side, and no amount of begging or insults will convince him to do so.

As your lover, you have a man capable of crushing a village to ruins, capable of winning against an army. You bring out the worst in him, the madness. A madness seen in the mere thought of you being in another’s arms. Criston won't accept the possibility of your death. He was blessed with the gift of immortality and will stop at nothing to grant you the same blessing. A wonderful thought to him, but a nightmare to you. Given the chaos that will be left behind, the gods may grant him his wish.

[ophelieverse]

Ep 1 spoilers without context:

[sublimitymp3]

hi hope you have a nice day :) if you have time could you write hotd's yandere boys (estranged) romantic reaction to his reader wife giving birth to twins? (I apologize in advance if this bothers you or something I swear I didn't mean to :( take care :)

I'm back 😈😈😈

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Aegon was madly in love with you, his darling wife, but he never quite knew how to show it. He had awful habits of drinking, whoring, and gambling, only pushing you further away from him. Each time he'd come crying to you on his knees promising he'd do better, you'd hold him and suppress your feelings, but enough was enough. You were pregnant, carrying his child and he couldn't even make an effort to stop his wanton ways. You were fed up, and rightfully so. You had moved into your own separate apartments, eating your meals alone in your rooms, and avoiding places around the Red Keep you knew your husband would frequent. Eventually, the months passed, and you neared closer to giving birth each day, until one night, your labors finally had begun. Aegon was at some brothel wasting away and getting drunker by the second it seemed. He had no clue you were in the midst of your labors, nor that you would be bringing in not one, but two of his babes into the world. It is only the next day does he wake from his slumber, hungover and feeling ill, does he find out you had given birth. He rushes to your chambers to see you sitting up in bed, cradling two swaddled babes, each one with little tufts of white hair and violet eyes. He'd immediately burst into tears at the sweet sight, begging for your forgiveness and swearing to the old Gods and the new that he would change his lecherous ways for you and his newborn children. Despite your apprehension to forgive him, deep down inside you strangely felt that he would truly honor his promise this time.

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Aemond seemed so cold to you. He was distant and rarely ever spoke to you unless it was necessary. Even when you'd try to initiate conversation he'd only respond cooly with a yes, no, or a simple hum of acknowledgment. You'd tell yourself at night when you lay alone in bed that it could've been worse. He could've been prone to striking you, or he could flaunt paramours in your face. He could've been a drunkard, a wastrel, or a cruel and sadistic husband. However, your efforts to comfort yourself would be in vain, as the feeling of loneliness festered within.

Despite Aemond being a withdrawn husband, you both had done your duty on your wedding night and so it was no surprise you had fallen pregnant. Unbeknownst to you, Aemond was growing more and more obsessive over you once he had been told you were now carrying his child. He didn't mean to be quite neglectful, he only wished to not overwhelm you with his less-than-normal feelings of obsession towards you. He practically stalked you, despite the fact you two were married and expecting a child. The months passed, and Aemond would open up a bit more, showing bits of care and concern toward you in your fragile state. But even then, his actions seemed cold and his words curt. When your labors begin, Aemond remains in the hall outside the birthing room, despite wanting to rush to your side. He decided right then and there as he heard your screams of pain that he would no longer keep up this distant farce. He didn't care if you'd find his attentions odd, he just couldn't bear to torture himself or you any longer. Once he could hear the wails of a baby, he'd rush into the room to be greeted with the sight of two, small, and wailing babes laying on your chest. He'd come to your side, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he admired your newborn twins with a small smile. You felt hope for your marriage at that tender moment, the first hope you had felt in such a long time.

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Jacaerys loves you so much, he truly does, but sometimes you feel as though he puts his duties of being heir above you. He takes his role extremely seriously, as his mother's claim is already shaky due to her being a woman, and his even more so due to the concerns of him being legitimate or not. He doesn't mean to neglect you, to dismiss your attempts at spending time with him, or to hardly inquire about his babe that grows within you. By the time he notices, the damage is already done. You had given up any attempts to spend time with him, to conversate with him, or to merely be in his presence. It seemed to you that he put his duty before you, and you couldn't see how you could change that. Honestly, Jace is so sweet I can't imagine him not immediately coming to you and apologizing immensely for being an inattentive husband, so for the sake of this, let us imagine he finally realizes the effect his actions have on you by the time you are in the midst of your labors. He'd be pacing outside the birthing room, mentally chastising himself for being so foolish. How could he have ever been so stupid to leave you alone when you needed him most? How could he be so cruel to the one he loved most? Your muffled screams of pain from beyond the door shattered his heart even more, and all he could do was wait in borderline painful anticipation. When the maester does let him in the room, he rushes to your side. He apologizes immensely, kissing your tears away and brushing the hair that sticks to your sweaty face out of the way. When he holds the twins for the first time, you watch him adoringly. Everything seemed right again.

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Ser Criston didn't get to see you much. You two were wedded in secret, as due to his vows as a member of the King's Guard, he wasn't allowed to wed or father children. You were a common girl, living in the city, and Ser Criston spent his days and nights at the Red Keep. He could only visit you on his rare days off, and even then those were kept brisk due to his paranoia someone would discover you. You had always tried your best to be understanding, after all, you knew what you were getting into by being romantically involved with a member of the King's Guard. But an awful thought would always linger in your mind whenever you would see Ser Criston: did he regret marrying you? The thought would persist, never leaving like some parasite that had latched onto you. In fact, as the months passed and your stomach swelled with his child, it only grew. He looked uneasy every time he'd stare too long at your pregnant belly, only feeding that awful thought in the back of your mind. Sometimes, you would even find yourself questioning your marriage to him, doubting it all. Your marriage grew tense, and though none of you voiced these feelings, it was evident the doubts festered within both of you. The day Ser Criston visited you after you had brought his twins into the world, he looked shocked. The color seemed to drain from his face, as he saw them. Not one, but two, living breathing children, evidence he had broken his vows. But the heartbroken expression on your face as you held back tears slapped him back into reality. He would quickly kneel by your side, whispering to you how he loved you and the babes more than anything, and that he regretted nothing. When he finally holds the babes, his smile was so genuine, and his eyes were filled with nothing but love. At that moment, those awful doubts faded from your mind, never to be thought of again.

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Daemon longed for battle. He loved you dearly, and so desperately wanted to stay put with you and your unborn babe. But when the fighting in the Stepstones had begun, and the perfect opportunity to spite his brother for refusing to name him heir arose, he couldn't resist. You had begged him to stay, far too worried for the peril he would most certainly face during battle, and fearing for his life. He brushed you off, leaving you behind.

You spent your nights alone, praying to the Seven to keep your lord husband safe so that your child would have a father. He barely wrote to you, and you found yourself getting more and more frustrated at him for leaving you and your child behind to participate in some war that didn't concern him that much. And it wasn't like he wanted to help for some noble cause, you knew he only joined to spite his brother. Instead of spending the remainder of your pregnancy happy with the notion of your child growing within you, you spent it crying tears of anger and sadness.

When Daemon first hears word from a messenger that you had given birth to healthy twins, he abandoned his petty attempts to establish his own kingdom to spite the king. He would return to you as fast as he could, proud that you had given him two strong and healthy heirs. Daemon wasn't the best at saying apologies and preferred to show them through actions. The Stepstones could wait, all he needed right now was to be with you and the newborn twins.

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when that 3am inspiration pulls you out of your sixth month hiatus 😍

[sayafics]

What series shall I update next?

I'm struggling to decide which of my series to update because i made the rookie mistake of making so many :'(

[lxdyred]

By order of the King

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader, Helaena Targaryen x Niece!Reader (Possibly in the future), Aegon Targaryen x Niece!Reader (Possibly in the future)

WC: 2.4k

Summary: Amidst political turmoil and family feuds, the only and eldest Velaryon daughter, struggles through a tumultuous marriage arranged for strategic gain that quickly escalates into betrayal and tragedy. As she grapples with grief and tensions mount, she faces heartache and sorrow, she grapples with her future as a looming conflict threatens to engulf her in a web of deceit and fear.

Warnings: Mature themes, sexual content (mentioned and lightly described), power dynamics, toxic relationship, violence and death, incestuous overtones, emotional turmoil, psychological themes, character deaths, ambiguous morality.

If you wish to be tagged let me know :)

Not only was war about to break out, ready to blow everything up — including the Targaryen dynasty. Her damn marriage of convenience was also about to explode.

It was King Viserys, her grandfather, who proposed the marriage between his eldest granddaughter and his second son, Aemond Targaryen. The idea was not well-received by any of the black team's supporters, especially Rhaenyra Targaryen, but having to ensure that her son Luke was the heir to Driftmark, she had to give in and betroth her firstborn and only daughter, her dear baby girl.

Not everything was disadvantageous, since having her younger half-brother married to her daughter would bind and commit the greens to seeing her as the future queen.

Or so they all briefly thought, until the King's death.

"The rift in our family will heal, and we will be more united." This was what Viserys the Peaceful said, with difficulty, as he received Rhaenyra and Daemon, and all their progeny, at court for the first time in six years.

The wedding was held that same afternoon, privately. Only the closest to the king attended the ceremony. His children, his wife, his grandchildren, his nieces, the Hand, and Princess Rhaenys. Shortly after, he succumbed to pain, having to be taken to his quarters where he drank milk of the poppy to be able to sleep.

The Hightowers thought this would benefit their discussion about Driftmark's inheritance the next day. Without the king present, they could declare Vaemond Velaryon as heir to his brother, the Sea Snake, who was still hovering between life and death. And, in a way, they could more freely insinuate the illegitimacy of Rhaenyra's elder children. Killing two birds with one stone.

"Now you are a recognized Targaryen, despite your illegitimate descent, wife." These were the first venomous words Aemond addressed to his now wife for the first time in years. "I will make sure you do not follow your mother's path, that the children you carry in your womb are mine, and no one else's." He murmured, while caressing his wife's dark hair, a certain warmth and delicacy in the act.

"I would never think of it, my prince." She whispered, carefully watching his movements as he circled her.

As if she were his prey.

"Do you know what comes next? What is expected of you on our wedding night?" He asked, tilting his head, once he stood in front of her.

"To consummate our union, to give you an heir."

"Hm." He hummed. "I will not be harsh with you, I will be gentle. Until you ask me not to be."

There was no love between them, not even the slightest hint of the friendship that once existed in their childhood. She would be lying if she said he did not keep his word. He was not rough or harsh with her, but considerate and gentle. The union brought something she did not expect, pleasure.

She felt a lot of pleasure; he gave her pleasure. She supposed it was to keep her satisfied, so she wouldn't seek comfort in another man's arms, thus avoiding the possibility and shame of bastards.

Bastards of a bastard, it sounded ironic.

Once he finished inside her, after making her climax three times, he caressed her face, looking attentively at how her face reflected pleasure and satisfaction. Then he got off her, dressed, and left her alone in her room, without a word.

A few days later, her mother, her brothers, Daemon, and her stepsisters had to return to Dragonstone, leaving her in that place infested with snakes and traitors — without knowing what was to come.

Her grandfather died that very night, and the next day, not even a full day later, they crowned Aegon as king in the Dragonpit, in front of the entire people. Placing the conqueror's crown on his head, wielding his sword to the cheers of the people.

She could only bite her tongue and dig her nails into her skin until she bled, while averting her gaze. Not recognizing her uncle, the usurper, as king.

That night, when her husband visited her chambers to have sex with her again, as expected of him, as had been the case every night since they married, it was she who took control. It was she who set the pace and used him, leaving behind the gentleness he had previously offered her. It was she who began to be harsh.

Their encounters became rough and hard, with no room for frills or romance. After all, that was the only way she had to vent.

They did it, finished, and each went their separate ways.

In less than a month she was already pregnant.

"Blessed be the gods for this good news." Was what Alicent Hightower said upon receiving the news, while taking the hands of her young daughter-in-law. "Viserys would be delighted with this news. Finally, the Seven smile upon us."

"Do you think? I think they mock us." She whispered, tears in her eyes.

She wanted to go home, to find comfort in her mother's arms, who should be the queen of the Seven Kingdoms and sitting on the Iron Throne.

From the day they received the news, Aemond stopped visiting her at night, and she spent hours staring at her bed canopy, caressing her still nonexistent baby bump. The life growing inside her was the only thing she had in that cold place.

How she longed to talk to her mother freely, but of course, writing to her and sending a raven at that time, without supervision, without practically the entire king's small council approving it, could be considered treason. And to think of proposing to visit her, by the Seven Gods.

What a fucking mess.

Days went by, her loneliness grew, her breasts became more sensitive, her aversion to certain smells became more noticeable. Still, the only pleasant company she had and found some comfort in was Helaena and her children.

Beings of light, innocent and joyful.

"How are things with my brother?" Helaena asked while observing the cages in which she kept some insects.

"He usually asks about how I am feeling, how the pregnancy is going — but other than that, we do not... interact. We practically live separate lives."

"Does he not discuss his duties with you?"

"The bare minimum. I only know that today he is leaving for Storm's End, to speak with Borros Baratheon."

"Oh." Helaena said, looking at her with an expression she couldn't decipher.

"What is it?"

"It is just that I feel a storm is coming. I do not know, it is strange."

"But the skies are clear, Hel?"

And the storm came, just as Helaena had said.

The next morning she woke up later than usual, none of the maids who usually attended to her came to wake her, which made her wonder why no one had disturbed her until then. She tried to dismiss the thought, leaning towards the belief that they were simply letting her rest due to the lack of energy she felt because of the pregnancy.

When she left her room to meet Helaena and have breakfast with her, she encountered one of the Kingsguard, Ser Arryk Cargyll, who had been patiently waiting for her, for who knows how long.

"Did Helaena send you for me?" The young princess asked doubtfully, as it was usually not Ser Arryk who escorted her anywhere.

"No, princess." Replied the sworn knight softly. "The queen mother sends me; she is waiting for you to meet her and Prince Aemond in her apartments." He said, pointing out the path they were to take, a fleeting, small, empathetic smile adorning his face as if he were trying to hide something.

"Has something happened, Ser Arryk?" She asked as they walked towards Alicent Hightower's apartments. Uncertainty gripped her, for each time they encountered someone from the court, or a servant or guard, they averted their gaze from the young woman, as if not wanting to reveal something. "Have I been accused of treason or something?" The young woman murmured with a mix of doubt and jest, stopping and looking at the Cargyll twin.

"Not at all, princess." The man replied, shaking his head. "The reason for the audience will be revealed when we arrive, I promise."

"Has someone died, by any chance?" The young woman asked, the question hanging in the air.

Ser Arryk did not respond, simply escorting her to the queen mother's chambers. Where, indeed, she discovered that someone had died.

Her baby brother, Luke. At the hands of her own husband, ironically.

With one hand over her mouth and the other over her stomach, she shook her head, under the watchful eyes of Aemond, Alicent, Otto, Aegon, and Ser Criston. She leaned against the brick wall of the queen's chambers, her gaze passing over each of the people present, her tears welling up in her eyes, and the words unable to pass her throat, where she felt a tight knot.

Alicent tried to approach her, raising a hand to touch her shoulder in consolation. "Oh, sweet girl, this was—" she tried to speak, as she finished approaching her.

The young woman, with a slap, pushed her hand away and took a few steps back to distance herself. Now, with tears streaming down her cheeks, blurring her vision, she clumsily opened the door and briskly set off towards anywhere far from any of them.

Without a fixed direction, she turned every corner she encountered until an overwhelming urge to vomit flooded her, and she ended up clutching a large decorative urn, where she emptied her stomach. Amidst the vomiting and retching, she felt a hand rubbing her back in support.

“No, no—” she tried to speak as she pulled away from the person, slightly dragging herself on the ground, wiping her lips with the sleeve of her dress. “No, please,” she whispered through tears, her eyes closed.

“I do not like feeling sick either.”

“What— Jaehaerys…” she whispered the boy’s name, who brought his little hand to her face and wiped away a tear.

“Does your tummy hurt, Auntie?” asked the little boy, who was kneeling beside her, his head tilted and looking at her with concern. Innocence was all that reflected in the eyes of the usurper's progeny.

“A little, yes. Something did not sit well with me, little one.” The young woman sniffed and tried to smile at the boy as best she could.

“Jaehaerys.” Helaena called to her young son, and seeing how he tried to comfort the princess, she approached them, kneeling in front of the duo. “Why don’t you go play with your sister, hm? I shall stay and take care of her, yes?”

The silver-haired boy looked at his mother and then at his aunt, who was still giving him a small smile, even though her lower lip was trembling. He nodded and looked at the small wooden dragon he had in one of his hands before placing it in the young princess’s hand.

“You can keep it until you feel better.”

“Thank you, little prince.”

“Maybe playing with it will help you.” He murmured before standing up and running towards one of the servants who took care of Helaena’s children.

The usurper’s wife, whom she had adored since childhood, helped her up from the ground, and with an arm around her, while she cried silently, accompanied her to her room, where she broke into almost agonising, pain-filled sobs. Helaena sat at the foot of the young woman’s bed while she cried with her head in her lap, broken with grief.

For hours, the one considered the new queen, with a pure heart and only good intentions, stayed in the same position, doing everything in her power to calm and console her dear one, who was her sister-in-law, niece, and friend, all in one person. She stroked her long hair while trying to offer comforting words; the young Velaryon, slightly younger than her, could only cling to her waist with one arm, while in the other hand she held the wooden dragon that little Jaehaerys had given her. She kept her face hidden in Helaena’s lap, crying and crying, until finally, she fell asleep from crying and sobbing so much.

“Leave. Have you not made her suffer enough?” she thought she heard Helaena say sharply, something that very rarely happened, in the distance of her dream.

She knew that the one who was now definitely her only trusted person in the place had just thrown out her husband, the murderer of her younger brother.

Aemond did not manage to articulate a word to excuse himself when he showed up, merely mumbling under his breath, his gaze fixed on his beautiful wife, clinging to the body of his sister.

Helaena gave him a fierce, defiant look, insisting without repeating her words that he leave, which he eventually did. The slam of the door behind him woke the princess, who turned her head and stared at the door.

“Do not worry, he is gone now,” murmured Helaena, looking at her with sadness and empathy, still stroking her hair.

“I do not know what I am going to do,” whispered the young Velaryon, her voice hoarse from crying so much, as she lowered her hand to her belly, where her baby was growing.

That creature, who was also the progeny of a Kinslayer, the prince with one eye. The person she could most despise at that precise moment.

The mere thought of being responsible for giving him a child, something that was already happening, made her blood boil and filled her with deep disgust for the situation.

And indirectly, a certain rejection, towards her unborn child.

She was condemned to spend the rest of her days with him, bound to him, because of her condition. Because of the son or daughter who had not yet been born, but soon would be.

She was in that position by the decision of Viserys, her late and naïve grandfather. “By order of the king…” she murmured sarcastically, as she felt the tears well up in her eyes again.

By order of the late king, she was in that situation, but that would not stop her from making things difficult for Aemond.

A shadow began to loom over her, just as the war that was about to be declared.

Although, to be honest, they were all screwed.

So royally fucked.

[starogeorgina]

𝐊𝐞𝐩𝐚

Paring: Daemon Targaryen × reader, Harwin Strong x reader, Criston Cole x reader

Warnings: Swearing, smut, child birth

1.03

You blink away unshed tears as you stare up at Ser Harwin; the look on his face was earth-shattering. No traces of anger or bitterness could be detected on his handsome face; the softness in his eyes made you feel nothing but guilt. You should never have believed the rumors, given into your husband's taunting or gone near Criston Cole.

You’re unaware that you’re crying until Harwin wipes them away with the pads of his thumb. “Prince Daemon told me your news; congratulations, princess.” He leans forward and kisses your forehead, and in a quiet voice, he says, “He also told me what he said to you. I wish I’d known sooner.”

Ser Harwin wasn’t a fool; he knew his beloved princess’s outburst of believing the rumors surrounding him and Princess Rhaenyra being true hadn’t come from thin air, but he had no idea Daemon was the one behind it. The Targaryen prince thrived in chaos, but after causing so much damage, the knight was grateful to be away from the keep for some time; otherwise, he might have done something to get himself executed.

“Do you forgive me?”

Harwin sighs, “There’s nothing to forgive. It was a misunderstanding.”

Pouting, you shake your head. “I should never have doubted you... henujagon īlva, valzȳrys.” (Leave us, husband.)

You wait until you hear Daemon leave; he didn’t need to be involved in your conversation, and you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist if he was within earshot. You take Harwin’s large hand in yours and say, “I love my husband; he’s the other half of me. Targaryens are made to burn together, but I love you too. I don’t know how to explain it; it’s a different kind of love. Since I was a girl, I always knew I’d marry Daemon, regardless of how I felt, but I chose to be with you. You make me feel safe and—”

“What is it you’re trying to tell me?” Harwin wipes away another fallen tear. “I’ve memorized each time you’ve confessed your love to me, which is how I know something is wrong. I can see it in your eyes.”

“I don’t know whose baby this is. I forgot to drink moon tea after the last time we lay together.”

His blue eyes fill with tears. “Prince Daemon will be the father.”

“I’m sorry.”

Your heart aches a little when Harwin hugs you; he was a good man. A far better person than you, Daemon, or Criston. He wasn’t selfish, violent, or entitled. You only wish you’d never questioned his loyalty to begin with.

“There’s something else I need to tell you.”

—

As the months passed, your body changed, and the gorgeous gowns you had made could no longer hide how large your bump had gotten. Rhaenyra often thought you were carrying more than one baby when your bump first started to swell, but now you were convinced she was right.

Daemon smooths his hand gently over the fabric of your dress, feeling the baby kick beneath. You were comfortable laying on your left side with multiple pillows fluffed around you to keep you in that position. Your husband lay behind you with his face nuzzling into the side of your neck.

“Have you spoken much with Ser Harwin?”

“No,” you say, feeling your lip tremble slightly. “Perhaps it is for the best; the less he is near during my pregnancy, the less people will talk.”

Daemon kisses your cheek. “The baby could look exactly like us, and the Greens would still gossip. I suspect the same will happen with Rhaenyra as soon as she has an heir.”

Your sister and her husband, Ser Laenor, had gone to visit various houses in the realm on behalf of your father, who was too ill to travel the distance himself. Although they had gone on dragonback, a large number of knights, including Ser Harwin, had been sent to protect them. When you confessed your antics with Cole to Ser Harwin, he was mad for a while but insisted he still wanted to be with you; he just needed some time.

“And what if the baby doesn’t look like us?” You knew no matter what, you’d love and protect your child fiercely, but you needed reassurance from Daemon. “I’ve been beyond foolish; I’ve given them the opportunity to make my child’s life miserable before they are even born.”

“I will cut out the tongues of anyone who dares question the legitimacy of our child. Any baby you have will be an extension of you; it would be impossible for me not to love them.” He rubs his hand along your stomach again. “This is my son or daughter growing inside you. Nothing anyone says will change that.”

—

“Princess, it’s time to push again.”

“I can’t! I can’t!” You sob, clutching onto the bed sheets tightly. The pain was overwhelming; you were convinced this is what dying felt like.

“Push!”

The midwives help guide you through the last few pushes until your daughter finally enters the room. She is placed on your chest, and you sob with happiness, “She’s perfect—oh fuck.”

Your daughter is quickly carried away to be cleaned up as the midwife pushes your legs open again. “Time to do this second time, princess.”

—

Daemon hums while gently rocking your daughter Daella to sleep, while your son Gaemon suckles at your breast. They were only a few hours old, but it already felt like you'd spent a lifetime loving them.

“Perhaps when you are feeling up to it, we can pick dragon eggs for the baby’s.”

You smile and say, “That would be nice.”

With Syrax having laid another clutch of dragon eggs, you were on your way to the dragon pit to pick one while being accompanied by your husband and sworn protector, but before you could leave the courtyard, your waters broke. Ser Harwin immediately picked you up and carried you back to your chambers, while Daemon sent for the maester and midwives.

“There, there,” Daemon says before gently placing your daughter into the crib next to your bed.

You smile down at her. Daella shares your pale complexion; her silver hair and the shade of her purple eyes were an exact match for yours. Gaemon got almost all his features from you, like his sister; his skin was pale and his hair silver, except his eyes were a dark brown.

“I think he’s had his feed,” you say when Gaemon stops feeding and his eyelids slowly start to close.

Daemon takes him from your arms so you can readjust your nightgown. He kisses the baby on the forehead. “They really are perfect.”

—

Sitting underneath the weirwood tree, you smile as Daella attempts to walk along one of the thick roots sticking out of the ground, with your loyal knight Ser Harwin right behind her, ready to catch her the second she slips. Gaemon lays back, his head resting against your legs, as you read a story about dragons out loud. Both eggs had hatched in the cradle, and your children were now getting to the age where they understood how powerful and magical dragons are.

“Careful, princess,” Harwin says softly. “Slow down before you fall.”

Daella grins up at the knight before jumping onto a different root. It wouldn’t be long before curiosity got the better of her, and she attempted to climb the tree.

When screeching comes from the distance, Gaemon points to the sky and says, “Mama, look! It’s kepa!”

You look up and see the Blood Wyrm flying in the direction of the dragonpit. Daemon always made a point of returning from dragon riding before supper time so he could dine with his family. When you lower your gaze from the sky, you are met with the cold gaze of Ser Criston Cole. You often notice the knight observing your son and daughter from a distance, but he makes no attempt to interact with them.

Although Cole would never admit it, you had a feeling he would risk his life for them just as Daemon and Harwin would.

—

Harwin takes one of the pebbled nipples into his mouth while you lean over him, your hands pressing against his chest. Daemon kisses the back of your neck, occasionally nipping at your sensitive skin with his teeth as he thrusts into you from behind. Over time, the three of you had come to an agreement that when the time came and you wished to have another baby, you and Harwin couldn’t fuck as you normally would, eliminating any chances of him getting you pregnant since you wouldn’t be drinking moon tea. But you still wanted to be intimate with Harwin, and your ever-devoted husband came up with an idea.

Daemon’s voice is cocky as he says, “So, Ser Harwin, how do you feel about our princess taking what she wants from us at the same time?”

Harwin grins. “Do you think you could take both of us?”

“Yes, I want you both.”

“Greedy girl!” Daemon smacks your ass.

Your heart races with anticipation at the thought of having both of them inside you at the same time. You're used to making love to them both, but this would feel different—more intimate, more primal. Harwin and Daemon had mutual respect for one another, but they mainly bonded over how much they loved your little family.

Your husband chuckles softly, his warm breath caressing your ear. “You’ll get what you desire, my love. I’ve bet you’ve thought about this plenty of times before, haven’t you?”

Feeling your cheeks heat up, you nod.

A princess desperate to feel her husband and lover fill her up at the same time.

Daemon slowly withdraws his shaft from your cunny, leaving you aching for more. He sits down on the bed beside Harwin, but before you have the chance to move over to his lap, the knight hooks his hands under your thighs and pulls you up until you are hovering over his face. Not wasting time, Harwin starts flicking at your sensitive clit with his tongue.

Daemon smirks as he listens to your whine. He had already ‘prepared’ both your holes before Harwin joined you in the bedchamber. After coming apart on Harwin’s lips, Daemon gently pulls the small cock-shaped object from your anus, then pulls you onto his lap so you are facing him, and slides his cock into your cunny again.

He leans back and pulls you down with him, gripping your shoulders and spreading them while Harwin readjusts himself behind you. The thought of having them both causes your clit to throb, “Please.”

Harwin guides his thick cock to where you’re aching for him. With a gentle nudge, he pushes past your resistance and enters your tight hole. You gasp as he fills you completely. The sensation of having them both inside you is foreign and exhilarating. Harwin begins to rock his hips gently, slowly pulling them out before pushing them back in again, while Daemon thrusts upwards at a harsher pace.

“How does it feel? Daemon asks, pinching your nipple between his fingers. “Good as you imagined?”

“So, so good.”

Your mind becomes hazy with pleasure when one of them starts rubbing fast circles on your clit. You come apart, squeezing both of them tightly. Harwin shoots his seed inside you, then Daemon follows shortly after, coating your cunny in his seed, which he will hopefully take.

The knight slowly pulls out, then brushes your sweaty hair out of your face and kisses you deeply. Daemon smirks, “Take your time catching your breath, my good knight, as we will be here all night.”

[shuichiakainx]

[witchofhimring]

Being the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen

Rhaenyra Targaryen x daughter reader (platonic)

Reader can either be read as the child of Laenor, Daemon, Criston Harwin or other

-As her only daughter you are especially cherished. The moment they place you on her chest she instantly, unconditionally loves you. While she does not have favorites, you are cherished.

It was with one last agonizing push that Rhaenyras only daughter came screaming into the world. "A daughter, your Grace!" With trembling arms Rhaenyra took her daughter from the midwife. Y/n Velarion's e/c eyes opened and Rhaenyra instantly fell in love. Secretly, she had always harbored hopes of having a girl. She knew the realm prayed for a son, but deep inside Rhaenyra yearned for a girl. A daughter to love and cherish and protect her from all that she herself had suffered.

-You are absolutely doted on my your mother. She makes sure you have the best of everything. She loves to order sweets brought from all over and give them to you in elaborately decorated boxes. She has you all decked out in red and black clothing. Rhaenyra likes to do your hair and make elaborate hairdos. Whether for a special occasion or any normal day she takes great pleasure in showing off how pretty you are!

Y/n squealed in delight as Rhaenyra pulled out a box. Knowing that it held some kind of delight behind its wooden covering you wasted no time in hastily opening it. Tiny hands seized the sugar covered fruits from Dorne. The mother giggled as with great enthusiasm Y/n chomped away at them. "Remember to share them with your brothers!" Rhaenyra called out to her daughters. "Gods I love her." Rhaenyra thought.

-Because of the political situation you are heavily guarded. Your friends/ladies in waiting are carefully picked amongst Rhaenyra's closest allies. From the time you are old enough to walk she hires a personal guard to follow wherever you go. This is especially true if Otto, Alicent or Criston Cole are near. Unlike with her sons I don't see Rhaenyra letting you near your uncles. Partly because it would be seen as inappropriate but also for safety sakes.

-Princess Rhaenyra, Princess of Dragonstone, eldest child of Viserys and heir to the throne, ran in great haste down the hall. She payed no heed to the sudden stairs of people. Most of the time she would care, but not now. Not when she noticed her brother Aemond speaking with her baby girl under the Weirwood tree. She did not know his intentions and frankly, did not care. None of Otto Hightowers grandchildren would be in any position to harm her daughter. "Y/n." Rhaenyra hurried down the path to see two children quite peacefully reading a book. Aemond was the first to look up and scowled. Rhaenyra didn't like it. Even something as innocent as this could insight trouble. Gods know Otto might even consider marrying the two if he could get away with it. A perfect way to tether the Princess of Westeros to himself forever. She would never let that happen.

-Obviously you will have a dragon from day one, if there isn't an egg already placed in the cradle. She will likely want you to have a new one rather than an older one. This is mainly because she worries an older one might be too aggressive and large for tiny you to manage. Of course she will take you for flight on Syrax, high in the sky. She uses these times to bond, even going on short daytrips for fun.

If she gives you an egg:

Rhaenyra cradles the large opaque egg in her hands. It was a good size, this dragon would be healthy. It was placed right beside the infant who was roused to the waking world. Her large e/c eyes focused on the egg with such intensity that Rhaenyra could hardly believe it. Her fingers brushed against the thin hairs that had just started to sprout up. Her little Targaryen.

If you claim your own dragon:

She would have preferred Dreamfyre. That dragon was so gentle and lovely, a perfect fir for her gentle daughter. Not fucking Tessarion. Anxiously Rhaenyra waited as Y/n advanced forward. The dragon keepers were on standby. But if Tessarion became volatile then......... The great dragon moved its head. The Valyrian coming out of Y/n's trembling mouth would barely be heard over the beasts rumbling. Horrified, Rhaenyra moved to intercede. But suddenly the dragon lowered its head and Y/n's hand placed itself on its snout. "Look mom! I'm a dragonrider!"

Riding a dragon with her daughter:

At five years old Y/n mounted a dragon for the first of many times. Rhaenyra had been hesitant. Normally Targaryen's took their children on a flight during babyhood. But in her anxiety Rhaenyra waited until her daughter was slightly older. She had a small harness made for the baby and herself. Part of Rhaenyra didn't want to stay on the ground, but Y/n was a Targaryen, a Valyrian ancestry going back thousands of years. The dragons wings expanded and in a great bounding leap Syrax was in the air. Y/n's small form was shaking and Rhaenyra wrapped an arm around her. They stabilized once above the clouds. Y/n finally had calmed down. Soon, she was giggling and enjoying the height. Rhaenyra smiled.

-When it comes to betrothals Rhaenyra will wait until you are grown before any of that comes to fruition. Like her father she will let you chose. That is, up until the events of episode 7 where Vaemond makes his bid for Driftmark. Even though she will not be aggressive about it, your attention will be directed to Cregan Stark. Of course you will get the talk, and what to expect during pregnancy/childbirth. Your also likely to get a new wardrobe. This is even more expected if where your moving to (think Winterfell and Dorne) has a drastic change in weather compared to Kingslanding/Driftmark. If you do end up married then she will make frequent visits to where you live.

Everyone bellow was mingling during the Red Keeps most recent party. Everyone except for Rhaenyra and Y/n. Mother and daughter observed the happenings bellow, talking in low voices. "Have you met anyone who appeals from you?" Rhaenyra closely watched her daughters expression. Y/n's eyes skimmed the handful of eligible bachelors that a Princess of the realm could take. "Hmmmm. Uncle Aemond is looking rather appealing these days." Y/n jested. Rhaenyra snorted. None of Otto's grandchildren would ever taken her daughter to wife. Only last week Alicent had requested a possible betrothal between their two children. As far as Rhaenyra was concerned, that would only happen over her dead body. "Who is that?" Rhaenyra's eyes lit up. Now this was a much better match. "That is Cregan Stark."

Extra

What is your fathers relationship with you (excluding non cannon father)

Harwin Strong:

Like with his sons he is very close with you. Your his only daughter and so he is very protective. He will hold you as a baby and try to be there for everything. First words, steps and your progression into adulthood. He likes to carry you on his back during his time off. Even though you are a girl you will likely be taught to fight if you so chose. Although that will be in secret. I think that as the daughter of Rhaenyra and Harwin you will feel like you all are a great big family.

Leanor Velarion:

Your his only biological child. Because of this the family dynamic will change, with Laenor being far more involved with his family.1* Rhaenyra and Rhaenys will push hard for him to be a good father, the best he can be. Its a rocky start. But he gets better and does his best. Your time together is usually one on one with Laenor. Stuff like taking you on dragonrides and going to Driftmark.

Criston Cole:

This one is a doozy because he can't be sure until you are older that your his (given that Rhaenyra's likely got involved with Harwin shortly after marriage). But once he finds out....wow. Because as much as he loathes Rhaenyra he can't bring himself to hate the daughter. He will, very subtly, try to ingratiate himself to you. This will be sneaky and behind Rhaenyra's back. Of course Alicent will get wind of this making Otto aware. He will absolutely try to use this to his advantage. This of course puts Criston in a very difficult position.

Daemon Targaryen:

This pregnancy takes place shortly before the marriage to Laenor, meaning Rhaenyra was pregnant although very early on. I have a feeling Daemon might not even know the baby is his, thinking it is Harwin Strong's. So he as nothing to do with you until the funeral of his second wife. It was there that Rhaenyra reveals he has another daughter. The reason he was not informed earlier is because she was worried someone might get ahold of the note and Daemon was in Pentos all this time. This revelation will be surprised. When your parents marry he will take an interest in your education. You are expected to be an example of pure Valyrian, perfecting Valyrian and being a dragon writer. The two of you will sometimes read together and he likes to tell stories of his adventures.

Note: I'm gonna make one for Alicent and maybe Aemond. If you guys want me to make any more of these then please feel free to requested☺

[blakeswritingimagines]

How They Worship You

Aegon: He prioritizes quality time together, whether it's through shared meals, adventures, or quiet moments together. He prioritizes physical intimacy and expresses affection in ways that make you feel cared for and desired. He prioritizes your well-being, from emotional support to practical assistance. He plans special surprises and gestures to show you how much he cares. He prioritizes your opinions and feelings and works to build a healthy and equal partnership based on mutual respect.

Aemond: He expresses his support and loyalty to his partner through small and big gestures, such as making you your favorite meal, planning outings and adventures together, or simply holding your hand and reassuring you of his love and devotion. He works hard to build a stable and secure relationship by being a reliable presence in your life, and by consistently showing up for you in all aspects of life, whether it's career, personal life, or the bedroom. He always strives to make you feel safe, heard, and loved, and to be the best version of himself for you.

Jacaerys: He worships his partner by prioritizing your happiness, needs, and desires. He makes sure you feel loved and appreciated by demonstrating kindness, respect, and affection. He is present and engaged when you speak, and he makes an effort to listen with his whole being. He supports your goals and dreams, and he is open to exploring new experiences with you. He prioritizes communication, honesty, and understanding, and works to build trust and deepen connection. He takes time to express his love and admiration and cherish every moment spent together.

Lucerys: He worships his partner by doing small acts of kindness, such as offering a warm cup of tea, giving a massage, or writing you a heartfelt letter. He makes an effort to be thoughtful and proactive, remembering important dates and occasions, and surprises you with unexpected gestures. He takes time to learn your love languages and adapt his behavior to make you feel loved in the ways that resonate most deeply with you.

Rhaenyra: She strives to be a safe and reliable partner, someone you can trust and depend on. She shows up for you through action, not just words, and follows through on her commitments. She is open and honest, and communicates clearly, respectfully, and openly with you. She is willing to compromise and find mutual solutions to problems, and she approaches conflicts with an open mind and a willingness to listen and learn. She works to strengthen your connection and build a partnership based on mutual respect and equality.

Daemon: He worships his partner by making time to spend together, whether it's going on dates, having intimate moments, or simply enjoying each other's company. He prioritizes your comfort, security, and stability, and works to create a safe and supportive environment. He is willing to compromise and make sacrifices for the sake of the relationship, and he tries to be forgiving and understanding when mistakes or conflicts arise. He prioritizes physical touch and makes sure to express his desire through physical connection.

Alicent: She honors your boundaries and respects your space, understanding that you need time to yourself and independence like anyone else. She expresses her love and appreciation through both words and actions, such as planning dates and leaving notes to let you know you are on her mind. She prioritizes your well-being, offering support and assistance whenever she can. She is committed to personal growth, both for herself and for the betterment of your relationship. She is always open and communicating, not only to listen but also to be vulnerable and express her feelings.

Helena: Her devotion to her partner goes beyond anything simple. She ensures that you feel safe with her, both physically and emotionally, and she works to create a secure and stable foundation for your relationship. She is dependable and consistent, following through on her words and actions. She shows respect for your autonomy and individuality, allowing you the space and freedom to be yourself. She takes an interest in your hobbies, passions, and pursuits, and she celebrates your successes. She makes an effort to maintain intimacy and connection, both physically and emotionally, and she prioritizes spending quality time together.

Harwin: He surprises you with small gestures of affection like buying your favorite snacks or leaving love notes. He plans fun date nights and makes sure you feel pampered and prioritized. He also makes an effort to spend quality time with you, engaging in activities you enjoy and actively listening to your thoughts and feelings.

Cregan: He expresses his love through small acts of kindness and thoughtfulness, such as getting your favorite dish, giving you a comforting hug, or surprising you with a small gift. Additionally, he makes an effort to prioritize your emotional and physical well-being. He helps with housework and other tasks and makes sure you have adequate rest and time to relax. He is supportive and understanding during challenges and setbacks and offers comfort and assurance when you need it. Overall, he makes it his priority to make you feel loved, valued, and respected at all times.

Criston: He expresses his love through acts of service, like making you your favorite meal or doing small gestures to make your life easier. He surprises you with unexpected gifts or experiences that reflect your interests and bring joy. He makes an effort to learn about your love language and communicate in a way that resonates with you. He prioritizes quality time together, whether it's a romantic date night or simply cuddling on the couch. He shows vulnerability and a willingness to grow and learn with you, and he makes it a priority to be a safe and supportive space for you.