#dothraki reader

[irenadel]

And if the devil… 10/10

Aemond Targaryen X Maid!Reader TW: For the aftermath of DV Thank you to @barbieaemond for letting me use her beautiful gifs to make this lovely fic banner. As promised am tagging @prettyduckling22

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

It is raining heavily when the queen finds you. The lantern she holds aloft barely lets her and her father see you and they dare not come any closer. Her son’s dragon is wide awake, making a dreadful rumbling sound somewhere deep in her gullet. There is a soft, hazy glow all along the beast’s underbelly, like dying embers, like a fire you make the mistake of considering dead.

Alicent feels like her entire body has been turned to lead, soft and infinitely heavy. She hears her father hold his breath and knows, at least, she is not alone in her terror.

He does not leave her. He holds her shoulders steady and Alicent is grateful for that.

“Aemond…”

When Vhagar picks her head from the ground, moves it like Alicent imagines avalanches must move, she is still making that wrathful, rumbling sound. The ground shakes with it. Her legs feel like they will not carry her weight and she wants to weep, like a child, when the dragon opens her mouth to breathe hot and humid and carrion-like upon her.

She wonders if this was the last thing her son saw with both eyes, before that terrible night where it had all begun to go wrong.

“Try again,” her father whispers in her ear. Always try again. Never a moment’s rest.

“Aemond please,” she croaks out, the feeble light of her lantern trembling in the wind. “I’ll be quick.”

The dragon makes another noise and Alicent finds it to be the most awful of all, for she feels it, to the bottom of her belly, a heavy, nauseous weight, a near human moan of pain. When Vhagar cocks her massive head to better look at her, Alicent nearly cries in fear until she sees those eyes. Always they had seemed beady and lizard-like to her, predatory and unknowable, but now they just seem miserably tired.

For a moment she feels ashamed.

I trusted you with him, the ancient, watery eyes of the dragon Vhagar seem to say to her. I trusted you with him and always you have failed me. First the eye and now this…

She breathes the words between near-clenched teeth and it is a wonder to her that the dragon seems to understand as she turns from her and to her father behind her. She advances without him, without even looking back at him, unable to explain the price of going under the great dragon Vhagar’s wings to him.

He would not have paid it anyway. He has never paid it for her.

When she finds you and her son laying against the wall of stinking, warm scales she almost pays it again. She covers her mouth and traps the words behind her fingers. 

I’m sorry, she wants to repeat, but finds she cannot. Not when confronted with her son’s bloodied face years ago, not now that he doesn’t look at her, you in his arms, wrapped in his green cloak, kept warm by dragonfire, dry by one leathery wing held close to the dragon’s body. She barely recognizes you in the gloom under Vhagar’s shadow. Ugly, scrawny thing that you had been. Remarkable only for your strange coloring and the princess’s favor. You had made Helaena happy and thus the queen had tolerated your ill manners. You had been smart and obedient and made yourself scarce when you had become a problem and Alicent had been grateful for the discretion if for nothing else.

Now she feels ill looking at the blood upon your dress. She cannot tell much else with her single lantern’s light and she almost doesn’t dare whisper it: “Is she alive?”

Aemond’s hand stops, halfway through caressing your short, matted hair. There’s dried blood all over one side of your face, your temple and cheek having already swollen black and blue. Your eyes are closed, your hand holding onto the prince’s neck is swollen too, white-knuckled and clenched.

He still does not look at her.

“You can leave now,” he answers and Alicent does not know his voice in that moment. Wants to shake some sense into him as she has done to his brother so many times. A man’s voice, with a petulant boy’s demand.

“She needs a maester, Aemond,” she tries again, not even knowing if it would not just be wiser to let this all die down. Let things take their natural course and help her son mourn, later, once the danger is over.

Aemond is speaking to you, low and gentle, in a soft, kind tone Alicent hasn’t heard from him since he had both eyes. Some of it must be High Valyrian, the rest Alicent cannot recognize. There is a cadence to it, like music. Through it, she hears Vhagar howl again, sees the pebbles on the floor jump with the monstrous vibration of it all and knows she cannot.

Who knows what would be left of her boy if she lets him lose one more thing?

“I’ll bring the maester here,” she capitulates, kneeling down besides the two of you, just to get a better look at you. A fever, she feels when she dares put her hand on your ruined cheek. But you breathe at least. When she gets up to leave, she feels the tug of her son’s hand on her wrist, terrifyingly strong and uncaring, but is glad that he should at least look at her now.

“It was a lost babe,” he says, his voice that of a man, she realizes now, because all emotion is gone from it. Alicent’s heart turns to ice. “A beating and a punch to the gut.”

She had not fled Vhagar when the hoary old thing had turned to her, but she flees her son now. You and her son.

Things have a price, the septons had said sometimes, when she was young and naughty and free. She thinks of Aemma Arryn and her own four living children. She thinks of her daughter, white-faced and grim in spite of the healthy, beautiful babe she had borne. When she ignores her father’s imprecations, when she drags a young and discrete maester to the seaside cliff where Vhagar nests, when together they try to pry you from Prince Aemond’s arms and succeed only in getting him to carry you gently, ever so gently, back to the Red Keep, she thinks of the price of things.

An apology she will never speak to her child but only to his dragon.

A girl’s life. A boy’s soul.

She is done letting her son pay the price and she tells her father as much. He can handle the gossip and the angry lords. It matters little. If he cannot, then perhaps her son’s dragon will.

The prince waits.

He watches a young, redhead maester unstick the clothes off your body and sponge the blood off your skin. Grand Maester Mellos is too important to bother with you.

He listens and seethes. His mother behind him, eyes moist, looking to him though he cannot answer them.

The young maester tells you the blows to the head are the most worrisome. That and your coming cold. He does not use the word babe when he says there should be no lasting damage, it was an early pregnancy. He gives you willow bark tea for the pain and makes you sweat out the rest of your fever. Rest and food should put you to rights, he says to you. He speaks only to you, firm but gentle, not to the prince standing besides your bed, sword-straight and impassive. He is too cautious and well-mannered to let more than pursed-lips betray his anger at whatever royal mistreatment has befallen you. He has no qualms in telling you to call him if you were to have need of moontea, even with the queen and prince balefully looming over him and his patient. Aemond almost likes him.

The queen tries once to suggest moving you out of the prince’s quarters. She does not try again.

The prince waits.

He will allow no servants to tend to you, no one but the queen and maester. When necessary, he will change the linens on his bed himself while you sleep, the way you had taught him to do with his own royal father. It frightens him, how deep your slumber is.

The prince sleeps as close to you as he dares, curled up like a dog at the foot of his own bed. He crawls in it when you are asleep, unwilling to give you the chance to chase him away, soaking up your lingering warmth, too ashamed to ask for it, too desperate to forgo it entirely. He almost thinks he need not bother.

Because the prince waits and still you will not speak.

Your face has gone from black to green to a sickly yellow. You sit in a prince’s bed. You eat the bread he gives you and drink the stew he spoons into your mouth. Sip the warm tea he brings you while you stare at the sheets and say nothing.

Aemond is too miserably aware of how low he is willing to stoop for your voice to attempt speaking to you himself. He has considered it all. Shaking it out of you, with a shout and a curse. Dragging his brother to this room and killing him for you, for himself. Bringing his sister here. Her children. Taking you in his arms again and taking you to Vhagar, flying across the sea, to anywhere that will make you speak again… smile again…

You are slipping from his hands, as far away as you were during those first few days when he would skulk outside closed doors and steal away snippets of your voice, low and husky, singing foreign nonsense to his niece and nephew.

But he is too tired now to summon the outrage he used to feel, at you owning comfort he could not reach.

So the prince waits… until he can wait no more.

“Please,” he says to you, as you sit and stare. “Please…”

You still say nothing. But you do look at him. You reach for his hand and he lets you have it, for as many hours as you need it, even as it grows numb in your grasp. You hold its warmth to your belly, as if the blood of the dragon could thaw the cold residing in there now.

He looks at your glassy eyes, your white-knuckled hand and his own on your belly and he knows what he must do. He should have done it long ago, the first time he had ever seen the blood on your split lip, the bruises on your pale skin. He should have known better than to let himself be distracted by the beauty they revealed to him. He kisses your forehead before he does, trying not to tremble at the brief taste of your skin. He is a man starving, with hunger’s implacable ruthlessness.

When he returns, he drops your cousin’s severed hand upon your lap. The hand that took a prince’s son from him. Prince Aemond One-Eye himself, a bruise of his own on his face, hair wild, eyepatch and dignity forgotten. What he will never forget again is the sound a man makes when Valyrian steel cuts through his flesh and bone.

You do not understand. For a moment you are so stunned and angry it knocks the numbness right out of your lungs. You look at your prince, watch him fall to his knees, lay his head on your lap, besides your flesh and blood, and almost forget to make sense of the words when they come out of him. Westerosi is only your second tongue after all.

“I would have you sing again,” he says with the hoarse rawness of a man who has just discovered all his cruelty to be bravado. “I would have you laugh again.”

And it is awful, to think Aemond would not know that there is no blood that could buy back your soul. Awful but not surprising, that he should not know pain and sorrow could only beget more of themselves. You had known this of him, the first time you had ever seen a sapphire hiding pain. You try not to think of Angus, still a boy, still as much a boy as Prince Aemond himself. You try not to think of what a hand means to a working man and not to a prince. You try not to think of the bridges he has burnt or the ties he has severed for you forever more, when he severed tendon and marrow.

Because if you start thinking of it, you will find yourself fiercely glad that he did.

You will find within your breast a cry of vicious triumph, that sounds to your mind like a Dothraki screamer. Nothing that could ever bring you comfort. Nothing that could ever pay for the death of your dreams, or your hopes, or your love for a boy who had been your boy until he wasn’t.

Nothing that would help.

But still, Aemond had done it for you. Useless, the mother you had barely known had called it in the far reaches of your memory, when men beat their breasts and swear death to you.

Useless perhaps, but he had done it for you.

He lets out a sob when your hand runs through his hair.

“You have no coin,” you say to him and he near cries in relief at the sound of your voice. “To buy back my joy. There is no joy left for me in the world. I have nothing.”

You’ve taken it all from me, you do not say. With black steel and my kinsman’s blood. No hope now, to go back home.

Good.

You think of getting up and not looking back. You think of sailing the poison water and finding your way back to the land of your father, to endless grass and sun-baked earth. You see life unfurling before you, empty and safe. A man maybe. A strong rider who would give you strong children instead of moontea and grief. Small, boring children that do not eat your insides with fangs and claws and fire.

Aemond burrows his face into your lap and crushes your borrowed shift and sheets in his bloodied hands.

You know you cannot. You have no home left but him.

“You’ve nothing I want, Aemond One-Eye. Nothing to pay me with but one thing.”

You see him whip his head off the bed to look at you, the nightmares and dread written clearly on a face too young and beautiful to bear them, warring now with desperate hope. You take this face into your hands, this face you have cherished and cursed, and hold it close to yours, grip tight enough to keep your hands from shaking.

“You,” you breathe and he reaches back for you, hands flying to your neck and gripping you as close as you grip him, choking back a cry of savage joy. “You are the only thing I will ever want again. The only coin I will take. I have nothing but you, nothing. So you will pay me with your life. Swear to me… swear you’ll live forever.”

Easy promise for a king’s son, you think. Easy to think you would go first, of toil or hunger or sorrow. As long as he lived it would be alright.

“I swear,” he answers as he lets you taste the tears off his lips. “Forever.”

I almost cannot grasp I am done with this. It's been consuming my life for the last couple of months. I've been virtually possessed by the idea and I am just glad I was able to surf the wave until I could finish it. Extra chapter and all. I think I've got a couple more Aemond porn one-shots in me that I've started and will probably try to finish. Some Helaemond X Reader and some Aegond X Reader if anyone wants to hear a little bit more of this verse... or at least the shoddy AU I have to conjure to get the pretty Targaryen people to fuck without killing each other. Thank you so much to everyone who commented and left likes. ...not that I will ever admit to obsessively refreshing AO3 and tumblr for likes but yeah... You guys are the best T_T thank you

[novaursa]

Savage Crown

- Summary: Khal Drogo comes to see Daenerys, as your brother and Illyrio arrange. But it is not your younger sister that drew his attention, it was you. 

- Pairing: targ!reader/Khal Drogo

- Note: This one-shot is based on an anonymous ask I received not long ago. I don't have time for something longer or a series about it, but I hope you like it none the less, dear anon.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The hall is grand but oppressive, a crumbling remnant of a better time. You stand in the shadows behind Viserys. The air is thick with the smell of incense and sweat, a testament to the preparations Magister Illyrio had overseen for this meeting. Your brother stands tall before you, his silver hair glinting in the light, his pale violet eyes filled with barely contained ambition.

Daenerys, your younger sister, is beside him, her head bowed, her silver-gold hair flowing like a river down her back. She looks like a lamb to the slaughter, meek and silent under Viserys's command. It sickens you, though you dare not let it show. Your brother is not forgiving of defiance.

And then you hear it—the heavy footfalls of horses, the deep, guttural voices of the Dothraki. The door to the hall creaks open, and Khal Drogo strides in. He is magnificent and terrifying, a towering figure with dark skin bronzed by the sun, long hair braided with bells that chime softly as he moves, and eyes like onyx. He surveys the room with the air of a conqueror, his presence commanding every ounce of attention.

You cannot help but stare. His gaze is piercing as it sweeps across the room, pausing briefly on Daenerys. Viserys steps forward, his voice filled with practiced charm.

"Great Khal Drogo," he begins, his tone obsequious, "I present to you my sister, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. She is—"

Drogo's gaze shifts mid-sentence, moving past Daenerys and falling upon you. Your breath catches as those dark eyes lock with yours, the weight of his stare almost suffocating. He takes you in, his expression unreadable but intense, lingering far longer than he did on your sister.

Viserys notices and falters, his voice sharpening with irritation. "My youngest sister," he emphasizes, stepping to the side as if to block Drogo's view of you.

But the Khal doesn't seem to care. He steps forward, his gaze still fixed on you, and speaks for the first time. His voice is low and rough, a deep rumble that seems to resonate in your chest. The Dothraki words are foreign, incomprehensible, yet you feel the weight of them as he gestures toward you.

Magister Illyrio interjects with a nervous laugh, stepping in to translate. "The great Khal wishes to know… who stands behind the prince. He says you are like silver fire in the darkness."

Your heart pounds. Viserys stiffens beside you, his face a mask of barely concealed fury. "She is not for you," he snaps, his composure slipping. "She is my elder sister, and she is of no consequence. It is Daenerys who will wed the Khal, as agreed."

Drogo's lips twitch, the closest thing to amusement you suspect he allows himself. He says something else, short and commanding, and Illyrio hesitates before translating. "The Khal says he will decide what is of consequence."

You can feel Viserys trembling with rage beside you, but he dares not insult the Khal further. Drogo turns to one of his bloodriders, speaking in a low tone. The man nods, and Drogo turns back to you, his gaze lingering for a moment longer before he steps back. Without another word, he and his men stride out of the hall, their heavy footsteps fading into the night.

The silence is deafening. Viserys turns to you, his face a storm of fury. "What did you do?" he hisses, his voice venomous. "You stood there like some… temptress! Do you want to ruin everything?"

"I did nothing," you reply, your voice steady despite the fear curling in your stomach. "I simply stood where you told me to stand."

"You will not ruin this for me," he growls, stepping closer. "You are nothing compared to me. Nothing compared to the dragon. Remember your place, sister."

Daenerys says nothing, her eyes fixed on the floor, her hands trembling at her sides. Illyrio steps forward, trying to ease the tension. "My prince," he says placatingly, "this could be… an opportunity. Khal Drogo is a man of strength and desire. If he has taken an interest in your sister—"

"I don’t care what he desires!" Viserys shouts, cutting him off. "Daenerys is the one who will wed the Khal. Not her. Not… her."

You say nothing, meeting his gaze with calm defiance. In that moment, you realize something: Khal Drogo had chosen you. Whether Viserys liked it or not, the Khal’s attention had turned away from his plans, and it would take more than his temper to change that.

As the torches flicker and the silence stretches, you feel a strange mix of fear and exhilaration. Whatever happens next, your life is no longer your brother’s to control.

The Dothraki celebration is wild and untamed, a tempest of sound, movement, and firelight. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wines, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat and blood. Flames leap high into the dark sky, the orange and red light dancing across the sea of bronze-skinned warriors, their shouts and laughter echoing into the night. Drums pound in an unrelenting rhythm, matched only by the ferocity of the revelers.

You sit beside Khal Drogo on an ornate wooden throne covered in furs and adorned with braids of horsehair, a place of honor overlooking the madness. His hand rests casually on the armrest, his face stoic but his eyes watching the festivities with quiet satisfaction. You feel his presence beside you like a storm contained, powerful and commanding even in stillness.

Your dress, a blend of Valyrian silk and Dothraki leather, feels strange on your skin, a mix of your heritage and the savage culture you've been thrust into. You feel the weight of eyes on you—not just the Dothraki, who marvel at their Khal’s silver-haired bride, but Viserys’s gaze as it burns into the side of your face. His fury radiates across the distance between you, as palpable as the heat of the fires.

Viserys sits further back, his face twisted with anger. His hand grips a goblet of wine so tightly that you wonder if it might shatter. Daenerys sits meekly beside him, her eyes downcast, her small frame shrinking further into the shadows with every passing moment. She dares not speak, not when Viserys is like this.

Finally, Viserys’s venom spills over. He slams the goblet down onto the low wooden table in front of him, startling Daenerys and drawing the attention of those nearby. His voice is sharp, cutting through the revelry like a blade.

"How dare you," he seethes, his words directed at Magister Illyrio, who sits nearby with a plate of half-eaten lamb before him. "You promised to help me. And instead, you give her to the Khal?"

Illyrio dabs at his mouth with a silk napkin, unperturbed by Viserys’s outburst. "My prince," he says smoothly, his tone carefully measured, "the Khal chose as he wished. You know how the Dothraki are—no one tells them what to do, not even I. Be grateful that he accepted a bride from your house at all."

"Grateful?" Viserys’s voice rises, his face flushing red. "Do you think this is what I wanted? My elder sister married to a savage, while my plans fall apart? She was never supposed to be part of this!"

Illyrio sighs, setting his napkin down with deliberate patience. "And yet, here we are. The Khal accepted her, not Daenerys. Would you rather he had taken offense and left you with nothing? No crown, no army, no future?"

Viserys rises to his feet, his fists clenched, his voice trembling with rage. "This was not the agreement! You swore—"

"The agreement," Illyrio cuts in, his voice firm now, "was to forge an alliance. And we have. The Khal is pleased, and the alliance is sealed. Your plans remain intact, my prince, whether the bride was Daenerys or—"

"Enough!" Viserys snaps, his voice cracking. "Do not speak as if you have any authority over me! I am the dragon, the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms!"

Across the space, you feel Drogo shift beside you. His eyes flick briefly toward the commotion, then back to you. He says nothing, but you sense his irritation awaking beneath the surface.

You glance at Viserys, a mixture of pity and disdain bubbling within you. He is a boy playing at being a king, too blind to see the fragile position he truly holds.

Daenerys, seated behind him, dares a glance at you. Her expression is a mixture of fear and apology, though she says nothing, her small hands twisting nervously in her lap.

"You shame yourself, brother," you call out, your voice calm but carrying easily over the din. The words are like a slap, freezing Viserys mid-rant. His head snaps toward you, his violet eyes blazing.

"You dare speak to me like that?" he spits, his voice trembling. "You forget your place, sister. You belong to him now, do you not? You are nothing but a slave to this savage."

The Dothraki around you grow quiet, their laughter and music fading as they turn to watch. You feel the weight of their eyes, and of Drogo’s, but you refuse to back down.

"I belong to no one," you say firmly, rising to your feet. "I am the blood of the dragon, just as you are. And I will not be diminished by your petty tantrums."

Viserys takes a step toward you, his hand twitching as if he might strike you, but before he can, Drogo speaks. His voice is low and commanding, a single word in Dothraki that sends his bloodriders forward, placing themselves between you and your brother.

Viserys freezes, his bravado crumbling under the weight of their silent threat. He glares at you, his lips curling into a sneer, but he does not move closer.

The dread hangs heavy in the air until Drogo stands, his towering presence a clear statement. He looks at you, his expression unreadable, then turns to the bloodriders and gives a short command. They back away, though their eyes remain fixed on Viserys.

Drogo says something else, a string of Dothraki words spoken with quiet authority, and Illyrio translates, his voice calm but firm. "The Khal says the dragon must learn respect, or he will be taught."

Viserys’s face turns ashen, his bravado utterly gone. He mutters something under his breath and sits back down, grabbing his goblet and drinking deeply to hide his shame.

The festivities slowly resume, the anxiety easing as the Dothraki return to their revelry. But you remain standing, your gaze locked with Viserys’s, your heart pounding with the realization that you have just defied him—and survived.

The aftermath of your union with Khal Drogo is a stillness that feels almost sacred. The furs beneath you are soft and heavy, the firelight from the brazier casting flickering shadows across the walls of his tent. The air is warm and heavy with the mingling scents of sweat, leather, and the faint sweetness of oils from your earlier ceremony. Drogo lies beside you, his body a fortress of muscle and heat, his breathing deep and even.

You rest your head on his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat a steady, grounding sound. It feels surreal—this closeness to a man you’ve only just begun to understand. His presence is overwhelming, his silence louder than most men’s words. Yet, there is a calmness to him that you did not expect, a quiet strength that intrigues you.

Tentatively, you trace your fingers across his chest, marveling at the scars that speak of battles won and stories untold. Drogo doesn’t stop you, though his dark eyes open slightly, watching you with curiosity.

“Drogo,” you murmur, testing his name on your tongue. It feels strange, foreign, yet powerful. He hums in acknowledgment, a low sound that vibrates through his chest.

“I want to understand you,” you say softly, your voice a whisper in the dim light. “But I don’t know how.”

Drogo tilts his head, studying you with a quiet intensity. After a moment, he lifts his hand, calloused and strong, and brushes a strand of silver hair from your face. His touch is surprisingly gentle, a contrast to his otherwise imposing demeanor.

You take a deep breath, searching for the few Dothraki words you’ve managed to learn. “Kirekosi…?” you begin hesitantly, the word for “how” feeling clumsy on your tongue.

A ghost of a smile touches Drogo’s lips, and he responds in Dothraki, the words flowing like a river. You catch only fragments—something about strength, perhaps, or heart. Frustration wells up in you, not at him, but at yourself for not knowing more.

“I don’t understand,” you admit, shaking your head. “I need to learn.”

Drogo sits up slightly, propping himself on one arm. His hair falls over his shoulder, the bells woven into his braid chiming softly. He speaks again, slower this time, pointing to his chest as he says a word.

You frown, repeating it. “Ramasar?”

He nods, tapping his chest again. “Ramasar,” he repeats, then points to you. “Chiorikem.”

You blink, the realization dawning on you. “Ramasar means… land? And chiorikem woman?”

Drogo’s smile broadens, and he nods, clearly pleased with your understanding. Encouraged, you sit up fully, wrapping the fur around your shoulders. You point to him, raising an eyebrow in question. “And you?”

He smirks, tapping his chest again. “Lajak,” he says, his voice rich with pride.

“Lajak,” you repeat, tasting the word. “A warrior.”

He nods again, his eyes gleaming with approval. The moment feels like a small victory, a step toward bridging the chasm between your worlds.

Buoyed by his response, you press further. “Why did you… choose me?” you ask, your voice quiet but steady. “Not Daenerys?”

Drogo’s expression softens, and he reaches out, his fingers brushing your cheek. He speaks slowly, his voice a deep rumble. Though you don’t understand all the words, the emotion in his tone is clear—admiration, perhaps even respect. He ends with a word you recognize: anni, meaning “mine.”

Your breath catches, the simplicity and certainty of his claim leaving you momentarily speechless. There is no hesitation in him, no doubt. He chose you, and that is enough for him.

But you want more. “Anni,” you echo softly, meeting his gaze. “And you are mine.”

His eyes narrow slightly, as if testing the weight of your words. Then he nods, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. It is not a grand declaration, but in his world, it is enough—a promise made in the quiet of the night.

You lean into him, your lips brushing his in a kiss that is both gentle and bold. He responds without hesitation, pulling you closer, his hands firm but reverent. In that moment, words are unnecessary; the connection between you is deeper than language.

When the kiss ends, you rest your forehead against his, your breaths mingling. “Teach me,” you whisper. “Teach me your words, your ways. I want to know everything.”

Drogo pulls back slightly, his gaze steady and serious. “Annithilat,” he says, the word unfamiliar but spoken with a weight that makes you shiver.

“What does that mean?” you ask, tilting your head.

He takes your hand, pressing it to his chest where his heart beats strong and steady. “Annithilat,” he repeats, his voice softer this time. “Courage.”

You smile, the warmth of his words settling deep in your chest. “Annithilat,” you repeat, the foreign syllables feeling natural now.

For the first time, Drogo chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that makes your heart skip. He pulls you against him, his arms wrapping around you, and for the first time since your arrival in his world, you feel truly safe. Truly seen.

The night stretches on, and with every word, every touch, the distance between you and the Khal grows smaller. You know the journey ahead will be difficult, but as you drift to sleep in his arms, the sound of his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you feel a flicker of hope. Together, you will bridge the divide. Together, you will learn.

[dipperscavern]

Hey Dippy,

What do you think of Jon x Dothraki!reader?

OH THATS SO COOL WHAT THE BUTT?? stop i can see it now, where you were a part of khal drogos khalasar when he and dany married, and you just stick with dany throughout her journey to westeros — where you eventually meet jon !!! him trying to be all diplomatic & serious when meeting dany for the first time but he can’t keep his eyes off you what if i ripped all my hair out.

& he’d be so receptive to learning about dothraki culture omg. you almost think he’s uninterested because he’s very quiet but he’s just thinking & committing what you’re telling him to memory !! and i think you’d largely help bridge that gap between he and dany, whether unintentionally or not. helping him understand dothraki culture would help him understand danaerys and where she’s come from and uh . when the whole political thing is over let’s just say he intends to show you how grateful he is what

[aifanfictions]

a story about (y/n) who is khal drogo's translator and khal drogo slowly falls in love with her and asks her to be his khaleesi in front of all his people one night by the fire

The Khaleesi's Heart

(Y/N) had always been captivated by the vastness of the Dothraki Sea, with its endless golden plains stretching as far as the eye could see. She had joined the Khalasar as a translator, seeking adventure and a chance to immerse herself in the rich culture of the fierce horse lords. Little did she know that her journey would lead to an unexpected and life-changing encounter.

Khal Drogo, a man of immense stature and a reputation that preceded him, had never taken much interest in the affairs of outsiders. His heart was bound to the warrior code, and his focus was on conquest and the endless expansion of his Khalasar. As he led his people through the sea of grass, he rarely spared a second thought for anything or anyone beyond his warriors and his beloved bloodriders.

One fateful evening, as the setting sun bathed the horizon in hues of fiery red and orange, Khal Drogo's warriors captured a party of travelers on the fringes of his territory. Among them was (Y/N), who had been accompanying a merchant caravan on her journey to learn the Dothraki ways. She found herself standing before the imposing Khal, her heart pounding in her chest.

(Y/N) knew the importance of diplomacy and the art of communication. Fluent in both the Dothraki tongue and the common language of Westeros, she was able to bridge the gap between her people and the fierce Khalasar. Her eyes met Drogo's, and she bowed respectfully, uttering the words of introduction in flawless Dothraki.

"Anhaan vekhat hoshori, majin adak jin," she spoke, introducing herself as a translator.

Khal Drogo, unaccustomed to hearing his mother tongue from the lips of a foreigner, was taken aback. His dark eyes bore into hers as if trying to decipher her intentions. Her confidence, intelligence, and the fire in her eyes intrigued him in a way that no one ever had.

Over time, as (Y/N) continued to serve as translator, she and Khal Drogo shared more than just words. She found herself drawn to the strength and honor that defined his character. He, in turn, began to seek her presence during meetings and discussions, valuing her insights and wisdom.

As the weeks turned into months, a connection grew between them, though they rarely spoke of it aloud. (Y/N) saw beyond the fearsome exterior of Khal Drogo, recognizing the depth of his heart and the unspoken longing in his gaze. Khal Drogo, a man of few words, found himself yearning for (Y/N)'s companionship, her laughter, and the way her eyes sparkled when she shared tales of her homeland.

The Khalasar continued its relentless journey across the Dothraki Sea, conquering rival clans and collecting tribute. In the midst of the dust and chaos of battle, Khal Drogo and (Y/N) found solace in each other's presence. They shared stolen moments by the campfire, where he would listen to her recount stories of the world beyond the grasslands, and she would learn of the proud history of the Dothraki.

One night, as they sat by the fire, the sky above them was ablaze with a tapestry of stars. Khal Drogo turned to (Y/N), his eyes filled with an intensity she had come to know all too well.

"Anhaan vekhat anni, (Y/N)," he said, his voice low and filled with sincerity. "You have brought light to my Khalasar and to my heart. You are strong, wise, and beautiful. Will you be my Khaleesi?"

(Y/N)'s heart skipped a beat. She had never anticipated such a proposition. To be the Khaleesi of the Great Khal Drogo meant leaving behind her old life, her dreams of adventure, and embracing a destiny she had never imagined. Yet, as she looked into the eyes of the man who had come to mean so much to her, she knew that her heart had already made its choice.

"Yes, Khal Drogo," she replied, her voice unwavering. "I will be your Khaleesi."

Word of Khal Drogo's declaration spread throughout the Khalasar like wildfire. The warriors and the women ululated in celebration, recognizing that their Khal had chosen a powerful and deserving Khaleesi. The union of two strong souls promised a future of prosperity and unity.

As the flames of the fire danced around them that night, Khal Drogo and (Y/N) sealed their commitment with a sacred Dothraki ritual. Their love would be tested in the trials of the unforgiving Dothraki culture, but they were determined to stand together, a force to be reckoned with.

And so, under the vast, starlit expanse of the Dothraki Sea, a new chapter in their lives began. Khal Drogo, once a warrior without equal, had found something even more precious than conquest – love. And (Y/N), the outsider who had ventured into this world seeking adventure, had found a love that would change her destiny forever.

As the months turned into years, Khal Drogo and his Khaleesi led the Great Khalasar to new heights, forging alliances and achieving greatness that had not been seen in generations. Their love story, whispered through the winds of the Dothraki Sea, became a legend, a testament to the power of love to transcend boundaries and unite even the fiercest of hearts.

In the heart of the Dothraki Sea, beneath the endless sky, Khal Drogo and (Y/N) embarked on a journey of love and destiny, a journey that would shape the future of the Dothraki and etch their names into the annals of history as a love that conquered all.

NOTE! This story was generated by OpenAI

[thegreatwicked]

WIP Title Game

RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Thanks for the tag @split-spectrum! Lord, my WIPs are not quite out of control BUT there are quite a few of them! I'll divide them up into two categories; fanfiction and original!

Fanfiction:

Armitage (Hux x OC)

In Service to the Night Sisters (Opress Brothers x OCs)

Moonlight Rendezvous (Maul x OC)

Padawan (Obi-Wan x Reader Insert)

50 Shades of Obi-Wan (Obi-Wan x Reader Insert)

Unbreakable Bonds (Obi-Wan x OC)

The Generals Wife (Hux x OC)

Take off the Mask, Baby (Roman Sionis x Reader Insert)

Healing Hands (Jason Todd x OC)

Claiming the Red Hood (Jason Todd x OC)

Bayou and the Burrow (Charlie Weasley x OC)

Read to Me (Matt Murdock x OC)

We Were Cursed (Jefferson/Mad Hatter x OC)

It's No Good (Soldier Boy x OC)

Second Son (Soldier Boy x OC)

Tribute to the Horde (Dothraki OC x OC)

1001 Nights of Mischief (Loki xOC)

Professional Courtesy (DC Captain Cold x OC)

Forgive Me (Malik x OC)

Binding (Malik x OC)

Originals:

Call Me Love

Thanks for the Ride

Eternally Yours

Dive

Not your Fucking Grieving Widow

All works listed above are smut and not meant for anyone under 18. Lord give me strength to get through these WIPs before more appear!

No pressure tags! @hereticpriest @decembermidnight @burnthecheshirewitch @keffirinne @daenerys-skywalker @chaotickimchi @viskarenvisla @maulfvckers

Lets see those WIPs!

[myladysapphire]

Hello!!! So I was thinking if you could do this +18 dic for Jace

So like reader is from a kingdom or land outside from Westeros (royalty not Dothraki) and to make alliances it’s decided that readers sister is gonna be betrothed to someone in the Targaryen family BUT reader is against making alliances with Westeros because of their culture and how women are inferior and after the feast jace shows her why Westeros and her land should make alliances if yk what I mean👀

It would be awesome if you could make this!!

Thanks bye bye!!

oooh love this idea! Hope you enjoy it <3

why don’t i show you?

when you come to westeros to arrange your sisters marriage in an alliance with westeros you find there customs to be anything but acceptable and start to question the need for an alliance, it takes jace to show you why an alliance is needed.

word count: 2,134

CW: MDI 18+, smut, hate s*x, oral (m receiving), fingering, p in v, semi-public s*x, misogyny.

Jacaerys Veleryon x fem!reader

Masterlist

Once queen Rhaenyra Targaryen took the iron throne she looked to Essos for alliances, particularly the free city of Bravvos. Your family was one of the most powerful of the sea lords, with deep connections and influence in the iron bank, and with Westeros in deep need of money following the war, it made your older sister the perfect candidate for said alliance.

She content with the match, the idea of one day being queen seeming to be very appealing, even if it was of Westros.

You however were anything but happy about it. You knew all about Westros, especially there views on woman, the purity culture, the fact that a husband by law could strike his wife seven times, one for each of their gods.

You had argued against the match, seeing little benefits for your family or Bravvos in the union, but your parents were insistent on it, deeming there to be more rewards than I could understand.

They had sent you alongside your sister to Westros despite this.

And though the climate was so different from what you and your sister were used too, Westros was beautiful. The red keep, though nothing compared to the architecture of Bravvos, was a sight to behold.

If only you could say the same about the company with in it.

The prince Jacaerys had not once left you alone, seeing to prefer you over your sister. Not that you could see why, not once had you expressed joy over the union, and in fact had very publicly declared your distaste of it. But Jacaerys seemed persistent to irritate you with his constant presence.

He had practically ignored your sister, not that she cared much, in fact she spent most her time with the princess Heleana, finding more in common with her than the few conversations Jacaerys had spaired her. She also had taken a full backseat in the betrothal, not caring to attend the meetings to discuss said marriage and the alliance it would hold, leaving it all too you. Meaning more time spent with Jacaerys, in a room full of men, despite their being a queen.

You scoffed as one of the lords mentioned a marriage between you and another lord of Westros, your were sure he was talking about himself, as he started to ramble on about the rock he called a castle, not that you were really listening, to focused on how Jacaerys had yet to take his eyes off you.

“I do not think a marriage between both sisters is beneficial for Bravvos” you interrupted, “in fact this marriage alliance is hardly giving us anything beneficial in the first place” you sneered.

“How so, my lady?” Jacaerys asked, as an amused look filled his face. “Though you are giving us a loan, that I shall admit will benefit us greatly, we are giving your family a daughter who shall one day be queen, and her sons shall be kings.” You had noticed how he never once referred to your sister when he talked about said marriage alliance, always using a general term, being unspecific in who exactly he was talking about. “Not only that but we have offered our dragon riders to support Bravvos in any militarily matters until the foreseeable future”

You shook your head, “so a queen and dragons is what we get, whilst you get one of the largest loans we have offered, with minimal interest. We are saving you and your kingdom from bankruptcy, and yet my sister shall be queen of a kingdom that can’t even respect her!” She shook her head in anger, “the sea lords however seem insistent upon it, so I believe discussions on the matter are at an end, the marriage will take place in a week and I see no reason for me to continue to attend these meeting” you said as you stood to stand, Jacaerys joined you.

“I’ll walk with you”

“I can walk by myself” you whispered to yourself, and heard Jacaerys laugh as he walked with you.

“Why are you so against the marriage?” He asked, as he walked with you to your chambers.

“Because I do not desire for my sister to be thrusted into a country where the customs are so… so anti-woman” you spoke, trying to remain calm.

He hummed “my mother is queen and she is a woman, that does not seem anti-woman to me”

“Was there not a war against her being queen?”

He laughed “there was, but we won, and all is now well”

“Really?” It was your turn to laugh “then explain to me why the order of westros is so heavily favoured towards men?”

“It takes a while to change peoples thinking, my mother has been queen for only a few years, and whilst things are changing, I shall admit it Is happening slowly”

You scoffed, as you reached the threshold of your chambers, “I shall see you at dinner” you dismissed done with the conversation. It was the same one you always seemed to have.

That night at dinner, your sister once again did not sit with her betrothed, favouring sitting with Heleana once more, granting Jacaerys the opportunity to once again sit next to you. An event that seemed to happen every night.

You tried to ignore him, but he seemed insistent upon talking to you, “how is it you like your tea my lady?” Your not quite sure how you got onto the topic of tea, perhaps it was because he noticed tea was your go to drink.

“Oh um, well I mostly take it with honey, but depending on my mood I have been know to mix lavender or peppermint into it.” You said casually, “do you like tea?” You found yourself asking.

“I normally have it in the morning, but I tend not to add anything to it other than sugar” he said, happy to have an actual conversation with you, “what about wine?”

“Wine? I drink it on occasion, such as tonight.” You said as you as flagged down a servant to pour you some, you rarely drank, especially here, with there watered down wine.

“Interesting, I too rarely drink” he said, nodding his head “and what about-“

“If your going to ask me another question about what drink I like I will slam your head against the table” you snickered, as he laughed at your tone.

“I apologise” he continued to laugh “perhaps you could tell me about your interest’s mayhaps?”

You shook your head “and why should I do that?”

“Because I wish to know you, other than how you take your tea and that you are incredibly headstrong-”

You scoffed “headstrong? I simple wish for woman to at least be treated the same way men are, and yet the whole of westros is so against it that I am the one causing an issue!” You whispered angrily to him, trying not to start a scene.

“And you are wrong, woman may not be treated the same as in Bravvos but we are making attempts to change it, trust me I am as against it as you are!” He whispered back.

You scoffed “oh please.” You said as stood to stand, declaring you wished to retire early.

Your practically stormed out of the room, nearly running down the hallway. You stopped in an alcove to catch your breath, and recover and wonder why so little words had made you so angry.

Then you heard footsteps, his footsteps.

“My lady, I am sorry to offend you.” He started “I know there are a great many differences between our to lands and I am sorry, I am striving to do everything I can to change this, but our lands need this alliance”

“And why is that?”

“Because I-“ stopped himself before looking at you, and suddenly, he kissed you, it was soft and passionate, full of the emotions you had long craved to believe where hate, but as you kissed him back, though some hate was there, it clicked, you liked him, and were jealous of your sister. You pushed away from him, your hands on his shoulders, your back pushed against the wall, breath heavy.

“I need you” he finally finished, his head leaning against yours.

“Your betrothed to my sister” you argued.

“The alliance does not state her name, I could marry either of you” he said, his mouth coming down to yours again “and your sister seems more occupied with others than me, I doubt she’ll mind”

It was true, and so you kissed him back, not caring to think much about what he was implying.

His hands descended to your waist pulling you closer to him.

Your kisses grew more heated, your bodies slowly grinding against eachother the as you kissed. His mouth descended to your neck, leaving soft marks as he descended lower, before finally coming down to were your bodice starts, his hands had moved up your back, toying with the strings of your corset.

“Please.” You begged.

His hands started to undo the ties of your corset, your bodice slowly loosened, allowing him to pull it down and take your breast into his mouth.

He licked and sucked at your breasts as you let out low moans, careful as to not alert passers by of your presence.

His hand moved lower, coming up under your dress, caressing your wet cunt. You shuddered as his finger descended to your hole, your mouth moving to his once again as you urged him on.

Pumping his fingers in and out of you, you continued to kiss him to cover up your moans, as you felt your cunt start to tighten around his fingers, your peak edging closer and closer, but just as you where about to cum, he withdrew his fingers causing a moan of protest to leave you.

He laughed, “if I am going to truly show you why we need this alliance, then the only way your going to be cumming, is around my cock.”

You moaned as he said that, kissing him once again as your hands went to untie his breeches.

Freeing his cock, you slowly started to stop kissing him, before sending him a smirk and going down on to your knees, and taking him into your mouth.

He moaned as you did, his hands coming to hold your head, as you started to pump in his cock in and out of your mouth, his hips shattering as you tongue wrapped around his tip.

“Gods!” He moaned, a little too loudly, as he started to thrust his cock in and out of your mouth, before swiftly withdrawing himself from, you stood up, laughing softly at the flushed look on his face.

He kissed your mouth softly, before picking you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, your dress bunching around your own, and his cock swiftly entered you.

You both moaned, as your walls wrapped around his length tightly. He moved after a moment, starting to pump his hips slowly into you.

“Faster.” You demanded, and he happily complied.

Pounding into you, you both moaning as his pace picked up.

He kissed your neck softly, hiding his moans in your shoulder, as you bit your hand trying to cover up your own.

You peak getting closer and closer.

You could feel his coming too, your cunt wrapping around his throbbing cock, as you both let out a moan.

“Where?” He asked, his peak getting closer and closer.

“Inside” you groaned, egar to cum.

As he continued to pump into you, he felt your walls tighten even more, and a high pitched moan leave your mouth as you finally came, and he was quick to follow.

“Jacaerys” you said, as he pulled out of you, his head resting on your shoulder.

“Jace. Please call me Jace”

“Jace” you corrected “what-“ you were cut off at the sight of Queen Rhaenyra and her husband Daemon, appearing in the entryway of the alcove.

Daemon laughed as he saw the two of you, what you had done seemingly obvious.

Rhaenyra shook her head, going to speak, before being cut off by your sister appearing.

She laughed herself, mainly at the shocked look on both your and Jace’s face. “Well, good thing I didn’t want to marry him anyway” she said, unconcerned with what she walked in on.

A week later you married Jace instead of your sister. And Rhaenyra had made you her key advisor on the matters you so strongly spoke about, as was agreed upon in the new terms of your alliance.

And though you hated most customs in westros you found instead of hating the company as you once did, you now rather enjoyed it, even falling in love with one of them in particular.

Taglist

@aleemendoza2425-blog @apollonshootafar @zillahvathek @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @leavesmealobe @dark-night-sky-99 @winter-soldier-101 @bunbunblogsblog @ka1afbr @tesha-i-guess @aemondwhoresworld

to be added to taglist

[targaryenimagines]

A Gentle Flame

Dark!Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6,701

Summary: After months of trying, you are finally able to give something back to your Khaleesi that she never thought she’d have again — an heir to not only House Targaryen but the Iron Throne. You just aren’t sure how you’d like to reveal the good news to your beloved; taking solace in your dearest friend’s company as he tried to help you in revealing the truth. Of course, you should have known that your dragon’s possessive fire would never be quenched — not even for Grey Worm.

Warning(s): G!P Daenerys, jealousy/possessiveness, and pregnancy.

Notes: Can be seen as part of the “My Khaleesi” series, but can also be read as a stand-alone as well. Thank you to the wonderful @rain-mikaelson for this amazing idea!

Series Masterlist

“She doesn’t know?”

You don’t have to turn around to see, with picture perfect clarity, the confusion that must have been etched upon your dearest friends face. The thickening of his accent alone told you all you needed to know.

“No,” you reply, setting the brush you had been fiddling with firmly back in its place on your vanity. “I only just discovered it. I went to the Palace Healer after I missed my second cycle in recent months.”

The familiar sound of leather rubbing against sharpened metal echoes through the air — a telltale sign that he was processing what had been revealed — as you begin to fiddle, once more, with the brush you hadn’t needed since the conversation had commenced.

“And the Healer?” He hedges out the question, hesitation clear in his tone. “She won’t divulge anything to the Queen?”

“No, I made sure of that. The only way Daenerys will find out I’m pregnant is from my own lips and no one else’s.”

There’s a brief moment of silence. “Why tell me, Your Grace?”

Twisting around, so you’re finally staring face-to-face with your closest companion, you can’t help the small, albeit genuine, twist of your lips as you smiled at him. “Because you’re my closest friend, Grey Worm.” You wave a hand in the air, even as a melancholic twinge echoes within your heart. “Dany always had Missandei and I always had you.”

“And you still do,” he intones, clearly fighting through the wave of emotions that her name still invokes within him. “You always will, Your Highness. For as long as I shall live and be able to raise my weapon to the sky in your honor.”

You’re touched by the fierceness within his tone — not doubting, for even a second, the sincerity behind his words; Grey Worm would always protect you, would always be there — but the knowledge of what the upcoming days would bring, causes you to lean back against your vanity with a heavy sigh.

“I just don’t know how I’m going to break the news, Grey.” Running a frazzled hand through your hair, Grey Worm simply observes as you sort out the various thoughts whirling in your head. “The Summit is commencing in five days, the guests will be arriving in two, and you know how Daenerys has been planning this for months.” Your eyes raise to meet stoic brown. “I can’t have her know I’m pregnant until after.”

He tilts his head. “I would assume the Queen would be ecstatic to learn the news, Your Grace.”

“She would be,” you state, confident in that knowledge at least. “But, I can’t have that be what she’d focus on this week. Even if she’d pretend to be business as usual, we both know how Daenerys gets when even the slightest chance of my safety is in question. How do you think she’d react or behave, with all these unknowns arriving in King’s Landing, if she knew I’m with child?”

Grey Worm doesn’t respond, he didn’t have to, not when the last time your life had seemed to be in peril was still so fresh within both of your minds. You had been ambushed returning to the Red Keep after a day in the city, a couple of vagabonds testing their luck against Valyrian and Dothraki blades, it had ended quickly, but your darling wife had not taken the news of no major injuries lightly; not when things could of had a different conclusion. Daenerys had been on a warpath for weeks, refusing to let any stone go unturned, until everyone she deemed responsible for such a fuck up was punished accordingly; whether that be the genial blacksmith that had sold them their weapons, the proprietors of the tavern the vagabonds frequented and loudly discussed their plans, or the guardsmen themselves that hadn’t realized there was a threat before it was almost too late.

“She can’t know,” you stress. “Not when this Summit means so much to her.”

There’s a beat of silence, wherein your closest companion simply observes you, taking note of what feelings must have been flickering within your gaze, before he inclined his head, an imperceptible motion that only the people who knew him would be able to pick up.

“What will you have me do?”

“I wish for you to stay close, my love.”

It wasn’t a request, nor a question, by the steely undercurrent that lay within her tone, the diplomatic smile on her lips causing her eyes to strain with the force of keeping her emotions in check. You could tell that Daenerys had begun to tire of playing host to all the nobles, both of major and minor houses, that Westeros seemed so proud to boast. However, the end result of what this Summit could potentially do, collecting all of the major players within the Seven Kingdoms to witness the power that is House Targaryen, meant that she was allowing herself to be docile for the moment.

At least until the single House that caused her hackles to rise appeared.

House Stark moved as a singular unit, bringing truth to the old adage that its members were like a wolf pack, but the lone man leading met your gaze solidly with his own steely brown. An action that didn’t go unnoticed by Daenerys, nor the guard standing mere feet behind you both, and you could practically feel the air thicken with growing tension. Something that would have caused Daenerys to take up arms if she knew of the life I’m now carrying.

“Your Majesties.” A familiar gravelly voice greets, his head inclining to the both of you. “It’s a pleasure for House Stark to be invited back to King’s Landing.”

His sentiment was clearly not shared with the two women behind him — the shorter of the two looking like she was about stab someone and the taller one’s lips twisting in bitter distaste — but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Warden Snow,” Daenerys greets in return, her smile now almost looking like she was baring her teeth in warning; a sign of dominance that any wolf would know to back away from, unless it was a fight they were after. “I welcome you to the Summit with open arms. I do hope that the amenities within the Keep will be enough to sate you during the duration of your stay.” Violet eyes flicker to icy blue just behind him. “If there’s something you need, you’re more than free to find an attendant that will help you with any issue you may have.”

You stifle the urge to curse under your breath at Daenerys’ veiled insult. It was no secret that House Stark, namely the red-headed she wolf, was at odds with House Targaryen; ever since Daenerys had blatantly told them that the North would not be gaining any form of independence, siting there was no justification for it, as Daenerys had barely gained anything from the short alliance they had brokered during the Long Night. Nor did the North have anything to truly offer since The Wall fell.

It’s an argument that still caused an icy frigidity from members of House Stark now — one that Daenerys didn’t deign important enough to deal with at the present moment, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t ever watchful for what the scheming mutts could be cooking up in order to gain a modicum amount of power for their insipid region — which is why, due to their close proximity, you could feel the steady presence of Grey Worm at your back, his rigid posture even more tense than usual due to the news that only he, and the Palace Healer, were privy to. His close proximity is something you’re sure Daenerys has taken note of, if her varying glances throughout the night were anything to go by, but she was constantly pulled in different directions before she was able to speak the words that clearly wished to escape.

Although aware of your close relationship to the Captain of her Queensguard, she was also aware of Grey Worm’s unfaltering fealty to her and how he would never cross a line that Daenerys had drawn in the sand the moment she had claimed you as her own; you were off limits. The only time anyone should ever enter your personal space, barring her and your handmaidens, and even they had a tight leash to tread with, was if they were pushing you out of the way of immediate danger.

You had told Grey that his proximity would be a red flag to your wife, but his protective instincts seemed to not care as he stared impassively at the three individuals at the bottom of the dais you were standing upon.

Knowing that this could only go one way, if the looks that were being exchanged between Daenerys and the youngest Stark were anything to go by, you step forward, placing a gentle hand to the small of your wife’s back. “I believe it’s time to give your speech, Dany,” you murmur. “And we both know you don’t want to keep this crowd waiting.”

While Daenerys doesn’t turn to face you fully, you’re well aware that you have her attention, her body leaning against the palm of your hand, the simple touch soothing the roaring fire that might have been into a gentle flame.

“You’re right, ñuha perzys.” A gloved hand ghosts across your hip, but Daenerys keeps her gaze resolutely forward. “I’m afraid I must cut this rather delightful exchange short. It’s about the time that I should be addressing the room.” Violet eyes glint sharply. “Wouldn’t wish for anyone to think I favor House Stark.”

Crisis averted, you think, observing the whispered conversation between the three as they left to find their seats. For now.

A soft touch to your cheek causes you to almost jump out of your skin, the sight Daenerys’ concerned expression doing little to sate the racing of your heart. “Are you well, dearest?” Worry colors her tone, eyes flashing with a protective fire. “You’ve seemed preoccupied all night.”

“I’m fine, Dany.” You cradle the hand that’s currently still doing the same to your cheek. “It’s just been a long day. I’m anticipating when it’ll all be over and I’ll get to be alone with you.”

You could tell that your wife felt the same, but something still lurked in violet depths that you adored so much. Something that made you want to curse once more — sometimes you hated how perceptive your wife was, even if the knowledge that she observed you to the point that she could pick apart the very foundations of your moods set you alight with adoration, you couldn’t help but wish that Daenerys would let this slide.

“I’m anticipating the same,” Daenerys replies, stepping back to offer you her arm; a gesture that you accept instantly. “But, for now, we must be the royals that Westeros demands us to be.”

Keeping your gaze locked with the seat that’d be your home for the next few hours, you completely miss the look Daenerys sends Grey Worm as he diligently follows behind you, never missing a step, remaining your ever loyal shadow, and the way her arm tightens around yours that much more because of it.

“I truly don’t know why I haven’t killed them yet,” Daenerys mutters, running gentle fingers through the tangled locks of your hair. Violet eyes staring up at the ceiling of your shared bedchamber. “It’d be so easy then I could simply appoint a new Warden of the North that wouldn’t annoy me so.”

Huffing out a laugh, you rest your chin on Daenerys’ clavicle, staring at her with soft eyes, despite the topic at hand, and press a light kiss to the patch of the skin that was easily available. It was later, hours after the dinner had ended, with the moon hanging high in the sky, but, despite the weight of the day bearing down upon your shoulders, you couldn’t help but feel like you were floating; here, in this bed, with your darling dragon, tangled naked in the rumpled sheets of your marital bed.

“Because you don’t wish to deal with the hassle such an action will cause, beloved,” you reply, knowing that Daenerys would appreciate your insight. “You’ve already dealt with two wars in this infernal landscape as it is. There’s no reason to fight another so soon. Not so early into your reign.”

Tendrils of your hair curl around pale fingers, a soft look etched upon her face; an expression that Daenerys only leveled at you and Drogon. “So much knowledge hidden behind such a beautiful face.” She strokes your cheek, love speaking through every action and echoed in the look upon your own face. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, which is exactly why I wish to deal with those blasted mutts.” Her arm tightens around your naked form. “I don’t trust them, and I know they don’t trust me, nor do I think they’ll just let things go. They have a personal vendetta against me and I fear they’ll use you to rectify it.”

You nuzzle closer, comforted by your Khaleesi’s sweet scent. “We don’t know what the future may bring.” Some more than others. “But, I have hope that I’ll be protected.”

What was meant as a soothing gesture, an affirmation that Daenerys would always be able to keep you safe, seemed to have the complete opposite effect. Her pliable body going stiff against your own, hand halting its comforting movement, a sharpness entering her gaze.

“Dany?” You question, rising up onto your forearms to peer down at her. The silence settling over you like a thick blanket, a brooding entity that meant she was deep in thought, an elegant brow furrowed as she tried to corral her rampant thoughts. “What’s the matter?”

Finally, after another beat of tense silence, her eyes slip to meet your own. “Do you feel that confident with your security detail, ñuha perzys?”

“Yes?” Not understanding where this line of questioning was coming from you couldn’t help the slight lilt at the end of your answer. “Of course, I do.”

A stormy look falls across your wife’s face. “Really?” She straightens to lean against her pillow, now peering down at you. “You feel so confident when those very people almost got you killed by random mercenaries? I find that hard to believe.”

“I thought we went over this when it happened, Dany,” you sigh, finally sitting up to be on a more level field. Knowing now that you weren’t going to go back to snuggling anytime soon. “The two responsible for the oversight were dealt with, by your own hand if you recall, and the rest have more than made up for it. They won’t fail me or you again.”

“It was dealt with so swiftly due to my Captain straightening it out,” Daenerys snipes, arms crossed over her naked chest, the thin sheet having fallen around her hips sometime ago. “I don’t even want to imagine what those fools would have done without him.”

A small smile curls your lips. “Yes,” you agree. “Grey Worm did an excellent job at handling the situation. I’m thankful for his help and continued support.”

Your wife’s cheek twitches due to force in which she’s clenching her jaw, a sight that causes worry to bubble within your chest. Something had obviously set her off, but you couldn’t, for the life of you, figure it out. Leaning forward, you gently take Daenerys’ hand, releasing her white-knuckled grip on the sheet, and cradle it.

“But,” you continue, ensuring you maintained eye contact. “If it wasn’t for you, my darling dragon, I know that I would have been lost long ago. You’ve saved me from so much, Dany. You’re my constant protector, my most treasured companion, and my loving wife. I could never ask for, nor want, anyone else by my side, and I’m so thankful that I get to call you mine.”

The tender words, coupled by the unwavering sincerity in your voice, finally causes Daenerys to slacken, violet eyes going soft as a hint of embarrassment reddens her cheeks. Slim hands soon finding their way around your waist to pull you back into her embrace, head nestled in the crook of her neck, as she seems to simply breathe you in.

“I’m sorry, darling.” Warm breath ghosts across your skin, a phantom touch that raises the fine hairs on your arms. “I think the long days, coupled with being around boastful imbeciles constantly, has muddled my mind more than I would like.” Long fingers curl underneath your chin, tilting your head back just enough so you could see the beginnings of a smile curling full lips. “Even getting to the point where I thought you were hiding something from me.” Daenerys huffs out a laugh, clearly perplexed at herself, even as you feel your blood freeze in your veins. “And do you want to know the funniest thing?”

Your tongue feels like lead in your mouth, a suddenly dry throat trying desperately to make any sort of sound. “W-What?”

“I believed Grey Worm was in on it.” Daenerys rolls her eyes, scoffing. “I couldn’t help but notice how attentive he’s been of you as of late. Always being one step behind you at all times.” Lean arms, that hide a strength few were ever privy to, flex around your body, pulling you closer. “Can you believe I thought something was going on between you?”

Laughter bubbles in your throat at the outlandish insinuation — you could never want, or ask for, anyone else — but the strain around your eyes, as you desperately tried to keep it together, was apparent, but Daenerys, lost in her own thoughts, obviously trying to come to terms with how she could come to such a conclusion, didn’t notice.

You weren’t sure if that fact was fortunate or not.

Soon Daenerys, curled protectively around you, falls asleep, after a final whispered apology, her gentle breathing a soothing melody that you have grown to adore over the years you’ve spent in her bed. Normally, you’d be quick to follow your Khaleesi into the land of dreams, but her words, the thinly veiled accusations, the quickly shifted in self-deprecating jokes, kept the lull of oblivion from claiming your mind.

The very notion that you’d ever cheat on Daenerys was laughable — something that would never cross your mind, an annoying gnat that you simply swatted away without a second glance — but the knowledge that she believed you wouldn’t keep something from her unsettled you. Of course, you knew you had good reasoning behind your decision, but it still stung all the same; feeling like you were betraying your wife somehow.

Your wife didn’t have faith in many people — the ones she used to were either dead, imprisoned, or gone from her life in some other fashion — which left only a small handful left: Drogon, Grey Worm, and yourself.

The Summit will be over in three days. You just have to hold out for three more days.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you force the thoughts, and the feelings they invoke, from your mind as you nuzzle closer to your wife; heart aching when she instantly brings you closer in response.

Just three more days, my love, you think, pressing closer. Three more days and then I can tell you the news that we’ve both been so desperate for. Just three more days…

It never seemed like such a large amount of time before.

Guilt, you learn, did not go well with pregnancy.

You weren’t able to be around Daenerys for long after that night — knowing what you did and what you were keeping from her — which was something that could easily be explained due to how hectic the daily life usually was in King’s Landing; now multiplied even further due to the Summit. Feigning different duties around the castle was simple, even if you missed your wife terribly during the long hours apart, that ache was easier to handle then the one that erupted every time you looked into her soft gaze.

The guilt, coupled with your own growing symptoms of your condition, caused your stomach to twist constantly, ensuring that you spent a large portion of the day keeled over a bucket with Grey Worm standing watch.

Of course, after the first day, when you only greeted Daenerys with a fleeting kiss to the cheek, and an airy greeting mixed soon after with a brief farewell, your wife began to grow concerned, her gaze often seeking you out within the crowded room of nobles and dignitaries. Uncaring of anyone that may be trying to talk to her, her attention focused solely on you alone, something you wouldn’t normally mind, except for the simple fact that you’d sing like a canary if she leveled you with inquisitive look one more time.

You hadn’t come this far to mess up on the last day of the Summit; the final meeting being hosted in the Dragon Pit, recently reconstructed to an echo of its former glory. Although your darling son refused to even grace the structure with his presence unless it was to deliver you and Daenerys.

“Are you feeling well, Your Grace?” The familiar presence settled a half-step behind you, his accented voice a relief over the miasma of varying conversations that were occurring as people prepared to head over to the Dragon Pit. “Do you require anything?”

“No,” you reply, side-stepping an obviously over encumbered stable hand, as you spot the hulking obsidian mass that was Drogon; the people unfortunate enough to have left their things where he decided to land were scuttling around him like frantic ants, his own expression one of boredom if it was ever possible for a reptilian face to showcase such an emotion. “I’ll be fine for now. Thank you, Grey.”

At the sound of your approaching voice, Drogon swings his head in your direction, crimson eyes lighting up in recognition, as a gentle croon rumbles from deep within his chest. The people around him pause their activities, afraid that he may lunge any second, but your son didn’t pay them any mind. Instead, he lowered his head to give you easy access to scratch the underside of his chin, pebbled scales warm against your cool fingers.

“I’ve missed you too.” You smooth your hand out against his jaw, an adoring smile on your face. “Need to make sure that I carve out more time to see you in the future.”

You can’t even begin to imagine how lonely he must feel — what was once three was now only one — if the ache in your chest was anything to go by it must be difficult; something you didn’t wish for your son to go through alone.

A son, you quickly notice, that was now pressing his snout against your stomach, a low rumble sounding from deep within his throat, not unlike the croon he released earlier, but this, coupled with the protective glint in his fiery gaze, made you understand, with perfect clarity, that Drogon knew. That he had no doubt about the life you were now carrying.

“I know that you and your mama have this special connection,” you whisper, scratching his jaw. “Like the one that I shared with Viserion, but you can’t give her any hints about what you’ve discovered.” Crimson eyes flicker in understanding, his intelligence shining through. “Do you think you’ll be able to hold your protective instincts back for the day, Drogon?”

You knew, even as you asked, that it would be like asking Daenerys the same exact thing. Something that causes your stomach to twist once more. You could play off Grey Worm��s presence and increased vigilance, as he had been appointed to your guard until competent ones were found, but Drogon? Your wife would instantly be able to tell that something was happening, and it probably wouldn’t take her any time at all to discover what it was.

Which meant that you wouldn’t be able to fly with Daenerys to the Dragon Pit; something you had been looking forward to as it’d give you a chance to be with your wife, soaring over the city she had claimed, and may cause the growing suspicion to die within her gaze.

“Ready to go, ñuha perzys?” Daenerys’ lovely voice causes you to startle, wide eyes meeting her questioning one. “I believe we’ll be able to do a few laps around King’s Landing before the first people arrive at the Dragon Pit.” A charming smile catches your wife’s lips. “Giving us a chance to spend time with one another. I’ve missed you the last few days.”

The genuine statement causes your heart to twist, your stomach lurching, but you maintain your smile, hoping that you didn’t look as faint as you felt. “I was actually thinking of taking Nox.” You gesture to the dark stallion, his large stature easily seen over the fences of his stable. “Grey Worm has been meaning to show me something, and it’s on the way to the Dragon Pit, so I thought I’d just do both at once.”

While the genial smile doesn’t fall from Daenerys’ lips, the fire behind her eyes grows with intensity until it’s almost scalding across your skin. “Grey Worm?” At the mention of his name from his Queen’s mouth, the aforementioned man steps from his place in the shadows. Forever dutiful, even if it meant walking straight into the gaping maw of a dragon. “You wish to go with Grey Worm instead of me?”

Any other time the incredulous tone within your wife’s voice, causing it to turn almost shrill, would have made you chuckle, but you could see the darkness that was beginning to become apparent — one that had a propensity to turn lethal if it wasn’t dealt with appropriately — and you wanted nothing more than to chase those shadows away; to bring your wife back into the light.

Just a few more hours, you try to soothe yourself. Just a few more hours and this will all be behind you. You’ll be able to tell Dany and everything will right itself.

“Yes,” you reply, maintaining an air of obliviousness in hopes that Daenerys wouldn’t press the issue further. “Besides, I’ve been meaning to let Nox stretch his legs for some time now. You know how Dothraki horses can be, Dany. They’ll only get more irritable the longer they’re cooped up.”

Violet eyes shift from you, to Grey Worm, all the way to the aforementioned stallion across the courtyard, until they land back on you; the expression on her face made you glad that this would be the last day of the Summit, because you know that Daenerys was at the end of her patience, that she wouldn’t let you get away with this one. For now, as the sounds of various voices finally broke in through the haze of everything untold, and Daenerys allows herself to shift back into her queenly stature.

Even though, you knew, that it’d only take one more thing for the bow to break, and then nothing would keep her from finding the answers she’s seeking.

“Very well.” Her tone clipped, detached in a way that stings your heart, Daenerys easily mounts Drogon and stares down at you. “I hope that your journey to the Dragon Pit is fruitful, but do be prepared for the discussions that’ll take place once we return to the Keep.”

And, with those parting words, and one last gentle nudge from Drogon, Daenerys is in the air, soaring higher into the sky until she breaches the clouds. You wish, more than anything, you were with her and your son, but you know that this was the right course of action. Even if it felt like it was the absolute worst.

Grey Worm settles beside you. “I wasn’t aware there would be more talks after the meeting held at the Dragon Pit.”

“There isn’t.” Your stomach twists, meeting concerned brown eyes with a grim expression. “That was a direct summons for me, and only me, by my darling wife.”

The heavy doors of your bedchamber close with a sharp bang behind you, a sound that almost causes you to flinch if it wasn’t for the woman watching you from across the room garnering all of your attention instantly. Daenerys had already changed out of her court attire — wearing a simple dress instead of the black ensemble she had been wearing, the very one she had worn upon conquering King’s Landing — but she looked anything but relaxed.

“You’ve been avoiding me, dearest.” It’s not a question, simply a statement of fact, as Daenerys stalks towards you. “And I’ve been trying to figure out why. Why would my darling wife not wish to be in my presence? Why would my most cherished companion not wish to see me?” She’s closer now, close enough for you to see the rage that’s beginning to build in her slim form. “And do you know what I uncovered? The only possible reason I could come up with?”

You’re not going to like this. “What?”

“Guilt,” Daenerys snarls, lips pulling into a sneer. It’s clear she was trying to rein herself in, that her famous temper wished to unleash itself, but, even now, when she was at her breaking point, she’d never wish to turn it on you. Something that both breaks and reassembled your heart. “You’re guilty about something. To the point that you practically reek with it now. Of course, I truly don’t know what you could feel guilty about, until I remembered the conversation we had a few nights ago.”

Oh no…

She’s pacing in front of you now, a short line that doesn’t take her too far from you, but gave enough room to excise some of the energy bubbling within her. “A conversation wherein I explicitly told you that I believed you and Grey Worm were hiding something from me. Where you told me that I didn’t have to worry.” The sharpness in her tone, the accusation within her eyes, were like physical blows. “So, I truly don’t know what to believe. Should I believe my wife, who’s been pulling away from me, or should I believe my gut instinct and deal with the problem immediately?”

Your eyes snap to look at Daenerys, horror-stricken. “Deal with the problem? What in the Seven Hells do you mean by the that, Daenerys?” Stepping closer to your wife, when she doesn’t answer immediately, you can’t help the desperate lilt from entering your voice. “What have you done to Grey Worm? Did you do something to him? Answer me!”

“Begging for your lovers life already?” Anger twists her face, shrouding the deep love you know she has for you. “I haven’t done anything, but make no mistake that it means I won’t. I’m going to make that man remember that when you swear fealty to House Targaryen it’s for life, and there isn’t any room for dissenters.”

Lover?

An even more horrific realization strikes you like an arrow to the chest.

“You think he’s my lover?” Barring the complications that would already bring due to the environment Grey was raised in, you couldn’t even begin to comprehend him in that manner. Nor could you ever imagine wanting anyone else beside your wife. “No, Dany, no.”

Sighing, you run a hand through your hair and move to settle on the end of your bed. This wasn’t how you wanted to tell her — over a nice dinner, after a nice ride on Drogon, or simply curled up together in this very bed — but you had created this situation and now you had to go with where it’s led you. Looking up, taking note that Daenerys had trailed after you, a gentle smile curls your lips and you beckon your wife closer.

“Grey Worm isn’t my lover, Dany. Nor will he ever be. I know that things have been tense these last few days, but I never wish for you to think that I’d ever be unfaithful to you.” Taking her hand, you tug her pliant body closer, even if you could still see the tension within the rigidity of her shoulders. “You are, and will forever be, my first, my last, and my always.” You place a tender kiss to her clothed abdomen, leaning into her comforting warmth. “Why would I ever want anyone else when I have my Khaleesi?”

Slender fingers run through your hair, the familiar motion allowing your eyes to slip shut contentment. “Then what has been going on, ñuha perzys? You haven’t been yourself and I still have half a mind to take Grey Worm to the dungeons to get him to answer me.”

Looking up, resting your chin on her abdomen, you peer into the violet gaze that you adore. “You’re not going to do anything to Grey Worm, Daenerys. He hasn’t done anything except be a good friend to me and faithfully serve me to the best of his ability.” Standing up, you easily maneuver Daenerys to settle in the position you had just been in, now looking down at your beautiful wife. “Which is something you’ve desperately wanted for me, if I recall.”

“Not if it means that I’m kept in the dark about you.”

The petulant pout causes a tender expression to fall across your features, love and adoration sparking within your heart, as you look at the woman that could turn the world to ash in an instant melting into your gentle touch. And, in that moment, you knew it was time.

So, without preamble, you take one of her hands and gently place it on your abdomen in return. “I didn’t wish to tell you until the Summit was over because it was too important to screw up, and I’m well aware how you get when my health is involved.” Your fingers ghost across her sharp jawline, watching as the beginning of her understanding begins to spark within her gaze. “Add our unborn child’s health too? The Summit would have ended like a Dothraki Wedding if you had your way, and I couldn’t let that happen.”

There’s a beat of silence wherein Daenerys digests the news, a multitude of emotions flickering across her face, before complete and utter jubilation takes its prominent spot.

“You’re pregnant?” Her hand presses gently against the spot you had placed it, wanting to get closer to the life that lay within. “We’re going to be parents?”

You grin. “We’re having a baby, Dany.”

Before you know it, you’re wrapped in the tightest embrace Daenerys had ever given you, happy tears staining the skin of your neck as she nuzzles closer. You’re well aware that she was going to have a talk with you about your secrecy at a later date, especially given the fact that Grey Worm knew before her, but, for now, she was content in simply holding you in her arms, the both of you sharing in the happiness the moment brought.

“Drogon won’t be alone anymore.” Violet eyes look down at your abdomen with utmost affection. “He’ll finally have a sibling again.”

You press your forehead against hers. “The dragons will be returning to Westeros, my Khaleesi, and the skies will once again be filled with dragon song.”

“And everyone will know the power of House Targaryen.”

“Yes,” you murmur, pressing your lips to hers in a chaste embrace. “As well as the woman who leads them.”

“The women,” Daenerys gently corrects. “For I’d still be lost if I didn’t have my darling Queen by my side.”

“And I’d never know that I was cold without the gentle flame of your love keeping me warm.” You lean into her touch, pressing your bodies firmly together. “You brought me to life, Dany, and I’ll never take the love you’ve given me for granted.”

Daenerys smiles. “Together we will bring back what has been stolen from my family, we will right the wrongs that have plagued this land, and we’ll ensure that our children will be able to reap the benefits once we’re done.” She smooths her hand across your abdomen. “Even if it means Fire and Blood will be paid in penance to make it happen.”

“Together.”

For one couldn’t be without the other — the Khaleesi and her Queen — as it always should be.

[the-fiction-witch]

Discussing The Matter

Media - Game Of Thrones Character - Viserys Targaryen Couple - Viserys X OC Reader - (OC) Visenya Targaryen (Twin sister of Viserys) Rating - Smut (Incest) Word Count - 3008

Visenya made her way through Illrio’s large impressive palace in her loose blue gown in the typical pentos style. She matched into viserys chambers seeing his books and weapons lining the place, his large circle marble bath in the centre where he currently sat being attended by maids,

"Go." She demanded and the maids and staff cleared out leaving them alone,

Viserys looked at her, admiring her, she looked like an actual goddess to him. "What a commanding tone, you come into my chambers uninvited and demand my servants to leave?"

"Just because you have a cock! Does not entitle you to make all the decisions regarding our family viserys!" she said as she came over and stood at the steps of his tub meaning he couldn't get out until she was done talking to him

“Did you come all the way here to discuss my cock? or is there a different reason, my sweet sister?"

"viserys. I'm serious." She complained, "You can't really allow illrio to make this match for Dany. The Dothraki are cruel, their Karls take multiple wives, slaves, butchers and bastards to their women!"

Viserys rolled his eyes and leaned back against the bath, his gaze drifting towards the ceiling, "Oh, come on, do you really expect me to care about Dany? She's already a woman flowered, it's time she started fulfilling her duties as a woman."

"... And what of me? I am a woman flowered why did you not sell me?"

Viserys' gaze snapped back to her, his eyes searching her face in disbelief, a hint of anger in his voice as he answered. "You are my twin, my other half, my equal. I would never trade you away to some stinking barbarian."

"Dany is our baby sister. Is she not of your care too?" She said as she slowly stepped up the steps and into his bath with him, crawling over to sit in his lap her dress immediately soaking,

Viserys' breath hitches as his sister straddles him, his hands resting on her hips instinctively and pulling her closer to him in the bathtub. He looks up at her, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and desire, as he speaks, his voice coming out as a hoarse whisper. "You know I would never do anything to hurt you, but that doesn't apply to Daenerys. She might be our sister, but she's still just a woman. Her role is to obey us and bear heirs."

"I am a woman," she whispered against his lips,

His eyes darkened with lust, and a low growl rumbled in his throat as she spoke. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer, his hands sliding up underneath her wet gown to caress the bare skin of her back. "You are the exception."

"am I? I am older. I am ... Arguably more desirable. Dany is a child. And you sell her away, surely illrio has asked you as... The one with the cock. To make arrangements to send me away" she explained playing with running her fingers on his face and hair, as she shifts her hips on him

A sharp intake of breath escaped him as her hips moved against his, his grip on her waist tightening as he tries to keep himself from losing control. His eyes darkened even further, the desire burning inside him making it hard to think straight, the thought of losing her to a stranger, painful to imagine. "He suggested it, yes, but I refused. You're mine, always mine, I'd rather die than let another man have you."

"even if you got your army for me," she cooed moving her hips more knowing she can force his answers out of him

A low, primal moan slipped from his lips as her movements continued to drive him mad with desire, his own hips bucking against her involuntarily, his hands sliding down to her thighs, holding her in place. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his words coming out as a hoarse whisper. "I would burn every kingdom from Qarth to Asshai to the ground before letting another man touch you, to hell with my army."

"but she is sellable? Your own sister?"

His expression hardened, his lust momentarily forgotten as reminders of the current argument returned to his mind. He pulled back, looking at her with a mixture of anger and resignation. "She is. She is younger, more innocent, still pure. She can give me alliances and armies. What can I possibly gain from you?"

she glared and went to move off him

he caught her hips and slammed her down on his lap, the water of the tub sloshing around them. His grip was firm, not letting her move away from him. "Don't you dare. You came into my bathtub and straddled me, you're not going anywhere without me finishing what you started."

"you know what you would gain from me. An army, your crown. More allies in this world. You have two sisters both of which you can sell off and still be open to marry across the sea when you are king."

His hands on her hips held her firmly against him, forcing her to feel the hard length of him, his chest heaving as his breathing quickened. He moved his face closer to hers, their lips just barely touching as he spoke. "Why do you think I want an army or a crown when I have you, hmm? You're worth more to me than all the gold and armies in this world. I don't care about marriages or alliances, I just want you, only you, always and forever."

she turned her face away so he couldn't kiss her "This is cruel to her viserys."

His fingers dug into her waist, his voice coming out as a hoarse growl, frustration and desire mixing in his tone. "Why do you care so much about what happens to Dany? You're mine. You belong to me and I belong to you. She has to do her duty, even if it means offering her body and fertility to a barbarian. Why can't you just accept that?"

"... We ... Are not a possibility"

His grip on her tightened, his eyes narrowing as he watched her, a mixture of anger and hurt in his expression. "And why not? We're both Targaryen, I want you, you want me, we should be perfect together. So why can't we be a possibility?"

"we are siblings." She reminds

Viserys' jaw clenched, his breathing growing ragged. He knew she was right, but that didn't make it hurt any less. "I don't care. I don't care if it's a sin, if the Seven disapprove, if the Gods themselves send lightning to strike us down. All I know is that you drive me mad, that I want you, burn for you, need you more than anything in this world. And you cannot deny that you feel the same."

"targaryen wed brother to sister for thousands of years... But that time is over. No land would allow us to be as we wish."

His hands on her hips trembled as he struggled to hold himself back, his heart aching with frustration and unfulfilled desire. "Who cares what other lands allow, why should we care what the rest of the world thinks? We are Targaryens, dragonsblood coursing through our veins, we are above those pathetic mortals and their pitiful little rules. Why can't we just forget about the world and be together, you and me?"

she sighed and shifted her hips again "We aren't done discussing the matter"

He groaned as her hips moved against him again, his body responding to her unconsciously. He tried to focus on the conversation, but all he could think about was the fact she was on top of him, her body pressed against his, her breath on his face. He took a deep breath and tried to collect himself, his voice coming out as a hoarse whisper. "What further is there to discuss, my sweet sister?"

"when she is married, what will happen to us? She will be forced away with the dothraki as a breeding slave... And us? Are we to remain guests of illiro forever, worried always he is to sell us too?" She got faster

Viserys closed his eyes, fighting the wave of pleasure that washed over him as she picked up her pace, his hands on her hips now almost digging into her skin. His mind was struggling to focus, and he had to take another deep breath before responding, his voice coming out strained and hoarse. "No... I won't let that happen. I'm building an army, we will get our home back. I will be king, and you will be..." he trailed off, his breath catching in his throat as he let the fantasy play out in his mind. He stopped talking, his imagination conjuring up a vision of himself on the Iron Throne, with her sitting on a throne next to him. Him claiming her as his in front of the Seven Kingdoms and no one being able to protest their union. It was a tantalizing, seductive idea, one that made his heart hammer furiously in his chest, and the words spilled from his lips in a reverent whisper. "You will be my Queen."

"as tempting as that is. Where are we to live in the mean time? Here withilliro? With Dany and her horse lord slavers? Or go homeless while you build this army" she whispered against his lips as she moved her hands pulling her dress a little,

Her words broke into his fantasy, but the sight of her nearly naked body straddling him left him too distracted to think about the specifics of their situation. His hands roamed her body, roaming up her thighs, his fingers gripping her hips, his eyes drifting from her face to her chest. "We will stay here, for now. I need time to plan, to gather allies. We'll have to be patient, I'm afraid, my sweet sister."

"and If illrio betrays us?" She moved back down slowly gasping and softly moaning as she moved down his shaft,

Viserys gritted his teeth, his grasp on her tightening as he tried to focus on anything but the pleasure building within him. However, the sight of her sliding down his body, her breaths and noises adding fuel to the fire burning within him, made it near impossible to think straight. His voice came out as a hoarse whisper. "He won't. We need him, and he needs us. He knows that."

she grunted as she finally reached his hilt, "...does he?"

Viserys' breath hitched at the feel of her pressing against him, his eyes darkening with desire as his fingers dug into her hips, his head tipping back as he struggled to keep the last bit of his control. He spoke through gritted teeth, the words coming out as a primal growl. "He does. He better, otherwise he's a dead man."

"... The seven kingdoms will not be thrilled, of a set of twins as long and queen" she spoke as she nibbled his neck and began to ride

Viserys' head lolled back as she moved against him, his eyes closing as his body reacted to her touches and the feel of her mouth on his neck. He fought to keep his voice steady, his words coming out as a ragged whisper, his hands on her hips moving her faster against him, his own hips involuntarily bucking up to meet hers, his body on fire from the feel of her. "The Seven Kingdoms can go to hell, they have no say in what we do." His words dissolved into a deep growl, all sense and reason abandoned in the onslaught of pleasure and need. All he could think about was her, her body, her skin, her gasps and the way she rode him, driving him mad with desire. He moved his hands to her thighs, gripping them tightly, wanting to hold her in place and never let go. "I need you. Now."

she nodded and got faster riding at a decent pace the water moving around them

Viserys groaned deeply, the sound coming from deep within his chest. His hands on her thighs slid up to her hips, helping her move faster against him, his own body meeting hers with a need that bordered on primal. He tried to speak, but all coherent thought had left him, leaving only desire and need. "Gods, yes, keep going, don't stop." His lips found hers in a desperate, hungry kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth, exploring and tasting her as his hands on her hips pulled her closer, desperate to feel more of her, his body pressed against hers. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he panted, the pleasure building and building, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. "You're driving me insane, sweet sister."

her hand trailed Into his hair during the kiss, her hips moving on their own mindlessly searching for pleasure

He groaned as her hand threaded through his hair, the feeling sending jolts of pleasure down his spine, adding to the unbearable ecstasy building inside him. His tongue tangled with hers, his hands on her hips guiding her movements, his own body reacting to her, his hips meeting hers in a frantic, desperate rhythm. "So close... don't stop, don't stop, please..."

she screamed biting his shoulder as she reached her orgasm her body trembling and freezing up clenching around him,

He cursed under his breath as her body shuddered and clenched around him, the sensation of her climaxing driving him over the edge as well, his own release crashing through him in a wave of ecstasy. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, a guttural, primal moan escaping him as he held her tight, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm. "Sweet sister... gods, you drive me mad with desire."

she gasped her head laying against his bare chest "We... We can't keep doing this..."

His hold on her hips loosened, his hands moving up to her waist, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her skin. His body was still thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure, but her words sunk in, and he forced himself to be serious. "Why not? We both want it, we both need it."

"and what happens when my belly grows heavy?" She asked against his lips

His lips brushed against hers, his tongue darting out to taste her skin, his thoughts and feelings swirling within him. The mention of her belly rounding and growing was an image that caused his heart to clench in his chest, a mix of desire and tenderness stirring within him. "Then we will deal with it, together. And when your belly is heavy, I will worship you, my sweet sister, and I will kiss every inch of your body."

she chuckled "Would you sell our baby away for more army, as you do for Dany?"

He froze at her words, a stab of guilt and shame going through him at the thought, at the comparison. He held her tight, his fingers digging into her skin as he tried to form a response. "No, never. Our child would never be sold or bartered, I swear it. I would sooner sell my own soul than let anything or anyone harm a hair on our child's head."

"but our sister?"

He sighed, his heart heavy with guilt and regret at the mention of Daenerys. The reality of their situation weighed heavily on him, and he knew he couldn't deny the truth. "I had no choice," he murmured, his voice laced with pain and regret. "I need alliances and armies to take back my throne. I cannot do it on my own. If it means selling her off, then so be it."

"then why not me?"

His eyes darkened, and his jaw clenched at her words. The thought of selling her off, of giving her away to another man, sent a surge of anger and possessiveness through him. "Because you're different," he growled, his grip on her hips tightening. "You're mine, my sweet sister, and nobody else's. The mere thought of another man touching you, looking at you, claiming you... it drives me mad with rage." He pulled back slightly, meeting her gaze with an intensity that spoke of the depth of his feelings for her. He spoke in a low, hoarse voice, his eyes burning with a mixture of desire and determination. "You're mine, sweet sister, and I'll burn the entire world to the ground before I let anyone take you from me. You're mine to worship, to cherish, to protect. You will never be sold or bartered like a piece of property. You will be my queen, by my side, and none will dare question our union."

She nodded and laid on his chest with a slight sigh

He held her close, his arms wrapped around her tight, his fingers tracing gentle circles on her bare back. He took a deep, steadying breath, the feel of her on his chest bringing him a strange sense of comfort and peace. He spoke quietly, his voice soft and vulnerable. "I mean it, sweet sister. You're the most important thing in this world to me. I'd give up my throne, my crown, everything, just to keep you by my side. I love you."

"I love you too, I just worry for her is all. I worry for all of us." She says

He nodded, his expression somber as he thought of their sister. The weight of responsibility and worry weighed heavily on his shoulders. "I know, sweet sister, and I share your worries. I wish there was an easier path for us, a way to take back the Iron Throne without selling Dany off like cattle. But I see no other way. I need an army, and alliances, and I need them now."

she nodded pulling him into a kiss

He responded to her kiss, his lips moving against hers hungrily. His hands roamed her body, his touch desperate and possessive, as if he couldn't get close enough to her. He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged and his voice ragged. "I need you, sweet sister. I need you now."

[kamykan]

☆ Stay with me — Daenerys Targaryen x Reader 🐉 ⋆｡°✩

Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Request: No

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1103

Summary: You are Daenerys’ closest handmaiden and you help her prepare for bed

. ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The doors to the queen’s bedchamber are heavy beneath your hands, the carved wood cool under your fingertips as you push them open. The room is dimly lit, the golden glow of scattered candles casting soft shadows along the stone walls. A warm breeze from the open balcony stirs the sheer curtains framing her bed, the scent of burning incense and jasmine lingering in the air.

Daenerys stands near the balcony that looks over the city, her back to you, her silver hair cascading down her back like silk. The tension in her shoulders is visible even from across the room, her posture poised but weary. You swallow, stepping forward before dropping into a low curtsy.

“Khaleesi, shall I help you prepare for bed?”

She doesn’t answer immediately, only tilts her head slightly in your direction. Then, finally, she exhales.

“Yes, please.”

You move with practiced ease, already knowing her preferences. First, you light a brazier to heat her bathwater, ensuring it's scorching hot just as she likes it. Next, you add the fragrant oils, selecting the subtle lavender ones she favors, the ones that don’t overwhelm her sensitive senses. When you turn back to her, she has already begun to undo the clasps of her gown, the fine fabric slipping off her shoulders. Without thinking, you step forward to help, your fingers brushing against her bare skin as you ease the garment down the curve of her spine. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t tense—if anything, she leans into your touch, trusting, unguarded.

Daenerys has always trusted you with her comfort. You were gifted to her during her wedding to Khal Drogo, one of her handmaidens alongside Irri, Jhiqui, and Doreah, and you chose to remain by her side after the Khal's death. Irri taught her to ride horses, Jhiqui taught her the Dothraki tongue, and you were there to dress her, tend to her needs, and care for her through every struggle.

You've seen her at her highest and her lowest. Though she's close to all her handmaidens, you've always been different.

When Daenerys struggled to adapt to Dothraki life as a new Khaleesi, you stayed up with her through long nights, soothing her wounds and offering comfort. Once things had settled down after Daenerys took Meereen, she would send away Irri and Jhiqui, leaving only you to perform your handmaiden duties. Sometimes, she would call for you and have you do nothing but sit with her and talk about her day. She would rest her head in your lap, and you would run your fingers through her hair.

Your hands tremble slightly as you take the last of her clothing, folding it neatly before guiding her into the bath. The water ripples as she sinks into it with a sigh, her head tilting back against the smooth stone. You kneel beside the tub, dipping a cloth into the warm water before running it gently over her shoulders.

She closes her eyes. “It has been a long day.”

You hesitate before speaking. “Are things difficult with the council?”

A quiet laugh escapes her, breathy and tired. “Always, you know how men are. Because I am a woman they want to control the amount of power I have.”

You continue your work in silence, trailing the cloth down her arms, over the delicate curve of her collarbone. Her skin is warm beneath your hands, softened by the water. When you reach for the vial of scented oil, her eyes flutter open, watching as you smooth it along her chest, fingertips pressing gently into the knots of tension there.

“You are kind to me,” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. She reaches out and runs her fingers over your knuckles “Always so gentle.”

Your breath catches, but you do not falter. “It is my duty, Khaleesi.”

Her lips curve as she stares at you, but there is something unreadable in her gaze. She gave you that expression a lot these days. “Is it only duty?”

You have no answer for that.

When her bath is finished, you help her out of the water, wrapping her in a soft linen towel before guiding her to the vanity. She sits, allowing you to take the brush and work through the damp tangles of her hair. The rhythmic strokes are soothing, and she relaxes beneath your touch, the tension from earlier melting away.

For a long while, there is only the sound of the brush moving through her hair and the occasional crackle of the fire in the hearth. But then—

“Stay with me tonight?.”

Your fingers still, breath hitching in your throat. You meet her gaze in the mirror, expecting amusement, a test, but there is none of that. Just quiet longing, an unspoken plea.

“Khaleesi—”

“Daenerys,” she corrects softly. “You don’t need to refer to me by my title while we are alone”. 

She gently places a hand on your cheek "I have more enemies than I can count. I want to keep you safe—you, Irri, Jhiqui, Missandei, but you most of all. And yet..." She pauses, her expression tightening with conflict. "I know if I took you as mine, you'd never be safe. There's no way to hide it, no way to shield you from their knives or their whispers. But I can't help it—I know it’s selfish but I cannot help it, I want you to be mine anyway." She quiets again before continuing “I don’t want to be your queen tonight. I want you to treat me as a normal woman would treat her normal lover”

Your hands tremble against her hair. “If anyone were to see—”

She turns in her seat then, looking up at you with something achingly vulnerable in her expression. “No one will. And if they do, let them.”

After a brief moment of silence, the fragile walls between you shatter.

You don’t resist as she reaches for your hand, guiding you toward the bed, her fingers laced with yours. The silk sheets are cool beneath your touch as she pulls you down beside her, close enough that you can feel the steady rise and fall of her breath.

She says nothing else, only shifts closer, pressing her forehead against your shoulder.

You hesitate for only a moment before wrapping your arms around her and pressing a kiss against her forehead, holding her the way you have always wanted to but never dared.

Tomorrow, she will be your queen again. She will sit upon her throne, unyielding and fierce, the breaker of chains, the mother of dragons.

But tonight—tonight, she is simply Daenerys.

And tonight, you are hers.

. ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

An: Post! Post! Post! Don't be afraid to send request!

[irenadel]

And if the devil... 1/10

Making a banner for this finally for the grand finale coming soon. Excuse to rb. Credit for the Aemond screencap goes to the wonderful Liv @barbieaemond Eventual smut, Aemond Targaryen x Maid!Reader

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

“And if the devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent.”

- Farouk Gouida

He’d had nothing but contempt for you the first time he’d seen you: a too tall, mannish girl mopping up baby vomit for Helaena with less tact and grace than a stable boy. He had seen the blotchy red and white of your hands and face and had thought you one of Aegon’s cruel jests for a sister-wife he did not deserve: a freakish chambermaid for a mad princess.

And far too familiar with a lady who was in every way your better.

He told himself it was not jealousy that burnt in the pit of his stomach, brighter and wilder than Vhagar’s fire. No. It was distaste and a healthy amount of distrust, he’d felt when he’d come to visit Helaena and found you rocking her gently in your arms. You’d been in drab servant red, hair escaping your work bonnet, so strangely pale that it had made Aemond squint in immediate suspicion. Whatever it was, you were no noble companion or even one of the prettier handmaidens, just a scullery girl, dress still stained from floor scrubbing, holding a Targaryen princess and gently brushing her hair out of the way.

He’d had to control the urge to snatch her from your arms and snarl at you to leave if you wanted to keep your head… It would not have been becoming. Helaena would no doubt have found it distressing. But most of all, he feared what he would do to you the moment he’d had your pale, sickly hand in his grip. Because you had robbed him of a thing which he had not known belonged to him. His right to his sister’s pain, always so far and yet so close, because he feared the things he could say if his affection were ever to escape him. And here you were, like a thief in the night, snatching his chance before he’d even known it existed.

You’d had the common sense to leave quickly with your bucket of slops, and your eyes fixed determinedly on the floor. As if you’d known your transgression.

Helaena was not half as wise as you. Her tears had been all but gone, not there for a brother to wipe away or avenge. No forthcoming confession about Aegon that he could use as an excuse to stalk his brother’s steps and pick a fight. Just her tongue loosened by the joy of Aemond’s sudden gentleness, brought on by unwarranted competition.

You’d been recently assigned to her quarters, she’d told him and you were very good at putting the children to sleep. You weren’t squeamish like the ladies of the court, would look at Helaena’s insects without problem and think nothing of her muttering under her breath, however strange her words might be. When the children were quiet, when Helaena herself hadn’t known what else to say, you had talked to her about the great locusts of the plains of Essos, told her stories of swarms of them, climbing atop the little babes, eating the grass so thoroughly no horse or cattle could survive on what was left.

But more so, you were kind and strong and willing to put the princess to bed when her head hurt so bad she could barely think. You stayed up with her when her dreams were more a punishment than reprieve from her reality, asleep in her bed besides her or waking up for her to tend to the babies. Not a wet nurse, but you had a good head on your shoulders for fussing and crying. She had come to depend on you really. 

He had not liked it at all.

He’d blamed himself for being too engrossed in weapons training and Vhagar to have noticed your creeping, insidious influence on his sister. He’d questioned his mother and had found only her relief that at least Aegon left you alone, probably less out of kindness than out of distaste. You may have been coarse and rude and perhaps unfit to deal with anything but the lower floors of a castle, but the queen had had enough problems to deal with and at least you had a strong back and a mean glare that kept even princes away.

Not Aemond though.

He’d kept his good eye on you, and a new man-at-arms he trusted always at his sister’s side. Had even thought to corner you and put the fear of the gods in you lest you had thought Helaena alone and vulnerable. Had not even considered replacing your presence with his own, uneasy with how much the prospect thrilled him. 

You’d looked up only once: a lightning quick glare for the One-Eyed Prince before the subservient mask was firmly back in place. And Aemond had been struck strangely silent by your odd red eyes and let you scurry away. Your coarse yellow hair had been escaping its thin bonnet and he’d known immediately.

Not Valyrian blood, not a misplaced bastard, not some political trick as he had suspected…

Albino.

Oh but Helaena did have quite a fondness for broken, repellent things.

He’d been less wary then, but no less watchful. He’d stopped to stare when he saw you carrying the princess’s tray or even one of her children up and down a corridor, infallible technique for getting them to sleep at last. He’d haunted his sister’s rooms, lurking in doorways, listening in to your accent (not Flea Bottom, but not court either, no one had taught you how to speak to your betters or even how to speak well at all, it seemed…) as you told Princess Helaena about having eleven cousins and wrestling them all into bed, about taking in laundry because you couldn’t take in sewing, about a crotchety old uncle who had broken his hip out at sea and needed minding now. An uncle who resented the minding and the niece and wife that kept him and his children fed. An uncle who sounded to Aemond’s hungry, savage loneliness a lot like a father and a king.

He does not hear the other talk, even if allowed to be present for it he would not consider it. He would have dismissed it as women talk, gossip, having seldom let himself dwell on kindness instead of grievance, succor instead of retaliation. He does not hear a beloved sister tell you to stay one step ahead of the dragon, as far away as you can manage, because dragons bring nothing but fire even if they love you, warm enough until it becomes death. She should know.

It does nothing to keep Aemond from following behind you. When you took the children and their mother down to the kitchens for hot milk with honey. When any of them were achy or colicky or cranky and you would put a shawl over them, babies or mother. When you insisted the princess and her children could do with a stroll and some sun, and Aemond found his heart aching with hideous envy because he could hear his sister laughing at your snappish kitchen talk, speaking softly and intimately to you, as hungry to give the attention as to receive it. (Even as his sorry, wicked heart screams out, it was mine, all this was meant for me, how dare you, how dare you take what I didn’t know I needed!) When you sang Helaena’s babies or Helaena herself to sleep and Aemond found he had to cover his  ears against your strange, foreign crooning, that didn’t sound like King’s Landing but sounded treacherously like home. He’d had to flee to the training grounds and take out this all-consuming anger on something, drown out your husky, kind voice with the din of his sword against a shield. Hitting the wood over and over again until he tore it to splinters and Ser Criston had to hold him into stillness, knowing there was no comforting a dragon without getting burned.

“My prince.”

You would say when you fled a staircase he cornered you into.

“My prince.”

When you’d courtesy, clumsily, still too sour-faced and suspicious to do it gracefully, when he managed to catch you on your way out of Helaena’s room.

“My prince.”

The day he had decided that yes, your prince, was exactly what he’d be to you, what you’d say to him, in whatever way he’d manage to tear it from your throat, in spite of Aegon’s taunting and the visceral fear at his own woeful lack of knowledge in matters of the flesh.

Because he had decided if you had no problem taking from him, he would have no problem taking from you.

Because you’d said it to him on your way out of the washing court, bonnet gone and coarse yellow hair sticking out of your pinned braid like a frightful halo, a bright purple bruise already forming on your cheekbone, as you’d glared directly at him, challenge in your head held high, and the water splashed all across your linen apron, sticking to your skin so closely that Aemond should have had you right then and there.

Because you’d said it with a curt nod, like Ser Criston when he approved of a particularly good move Aemond had just learned in the training yard, like a general to a soldier, “My prince.”

Because he’d just seen you swing a chamber pot directly into a stable boy’s face after hearing him call Princess Helaena “daft,” bringing it swinging back to the other side of his face, contents and all, just to take a step back to bring a fist into the stable boy’s friend. Aemond had been too transfixed by the sight of your heaving chest and the splotchy red of your cheeks to intervene after you’d taken a half-hearted punch to the face, returned it in kind and thrown the now empty chamber pot at the whimpering serving boys at your feet.

“And clean up your bloody mess!” You’d said before washing your hands in the fountain and strolling out of the courtyard, about as triumphant and vicious as Prince Aemond himself had ever felt when defeating knight after knight, telling himself he was better, stronger, a more fit ruler than any of them would ever be.

“My prince,” you’d said with your curt, martial nod, with your ruby-red eyes and the split knuckles of your hand, wounds taken in the defense of Aemond’s sister, wounds that should have by right belonged to him.

He’d taken your wrist in his hand, grip monstrously strong, and watched you realize the mistake you had made in the proud tilt of your head. You had forgotten for a second that pride wasn’t for your class of people, less so when confronted by a prince of the realm. He’d watched you realize your danger and how you didn’t care, that if there was a price to pay for pride you might as well pay it… and had realized himself that he didn’t care much either. Because Aemond had decided in that moment that he liked the defiance and stubborn anger in your ruby-red gaze, just as much as he had liked the ringing din of the chamber pot breaking something in that stable boy’s face. The prince had smiled at you then, his hunting cat smile, the one men all over the Seven Kingdoms would learn to fear, as he let you pass. Your prince, you would call him again, he decided as he let you go. Your prince, he would hear you call him, on your knees, on your back and beneath him, anyway he could get you. Because he wanted it. Because he had known himself to be spoiling for a fight and would be spoiling for a fight his whole life, the moment he had gone looking for Vhagar, the largest living dragon in the world, and won her. As he would win you. On your knees, your back or beneath him, as you called him your prince, because you wanted to, not ripped out of you by fear and hope for profit but because you wanted him. He would teach you that. That there were none like him, Targaryen or otherwise. That he was your prince and more than. He would teach you this, just as he had begun to teach the world.

[novaursa]

Khal Drogo Masterlist

main list

- Savage Crown - Khal Drogo comes to see Daenerys, as your brother and Illyrio arrange. But it is not your younger sister that drew his attention, it was you. - mature 16+

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Creating Your Own Language

When writer's set out to world-build, language has a huge role in creating new cultures and lending a sense of realism to your efforts. A world and people just feel more real when language is involved. As the old Irish proverb says "tír gan teanga, tír gan anam”. A country without a language, is a country without a soul. So how can we create one?

Do Your Homework

First things off, you should start by studying languages. Nobody is asking you to get fluent but it's important to understand the basic mechanics of language. You will start to see certain tricks to language, how verbs are conjugated and how gender effects certain words. It will be easier to make up your own when you know these tricks. For example, in Irish one doesn't scold but "gives out to" - "a thabhairt amach". In German, numbers are arranged differently to the English with the smallest digit arranged before the tens for example 21 - Einsundzwanzig. By immersing yourself in an array of different languages (I recommend finding ones close to how you want your language to sound), you can gain the tools necessary for creating a believable language.

Keep it Simple

Nobody expects you to pull a Tolkien or channel the powers of David J. Peterson (hail bisa vala). You're not writing a dictionary of your con-lang. You will probably use only a handful of words in your story. Don't over complicate things. A reader will not be fluent in your con-lang and if they have to continually search for the meaning of words they will likely loose patience.

Start Small

When you're learning a language, you always start with the basics. You do the exact same when writing one. Start with introductions, the names of simple objects, simple verbs (to be, to do, to have for example) and most importantly your pronouns (you will use these more than any other word, which is why I always start with them). Simple everyday phrases should always be taken care of first. Build your foundation and work your way up, this is a marathon not a race.

Music to the Ears

If your creating a new language, you're more than likely doing it phonetically. Sound is important to language and especially a con-lang because you want to trick your reader into thinking of a real language when reading the words on the page. I suggest sitting down and actually speak your words aloud, get the feel of them on the tongue to work out the spelling. Spellings shouldn't be too complicated, as I said before the readers aren't fluent and you want to make it easier for them to try it out themselves.

Also when you're creating the con-lang, it's important to figure out how it sounds to an unsuspecting ear. If a character is walking down a street and hears a conversation in a strange language, they will likely describe to the reader what it sounds like. It might be guttural or soft, it might be bursque or flowery. It's always interesting to compare how different languages flow in the ear.

Writing in Your Language

Now that you've written your language and created some words, you will want to incoperate them into your story. The way most writers do this is by italicising them. As a reader, I generally prefer authors not to go too overboard with their con-lang. Swathes of con-lang words might intrigue a reader but it can leave them confused as well. It is better to feed con-lang to your readers bit by bit. In most published works writer's tend to use words here and there but there are few whole sentences. For example in A Game Of Thrones by George RR Martin, has actually only a handful of short sentences in Dothraki despite the language being prevalent throughout the book. Daenerys Targaryen pronounces that "Khalakka dothrae mr’anha!"/"A prince rides inside me!" and it's one of the only sentence we actually see in actual Dothraki.

There's also nothing stopping you from just saying a language has been spoken. If you're not comfortable writing out the words, then don't make yourself. A simple dialogue tag can do the trick just fine.

Know your Words

I do recommend keeping an actual record of your words. Make a dictionary if you want or a simple list of words you need. This is one of the most entertaining aspects of world building, have fun with it, go mad if you like. Also here's a short list of questions you can ask yourself about language in general which might help your juices flow.

[k4marina]

— vii. Eastwatch || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: the arrival of an old friend marks the beginning of a cold and eventful journey north

warnings: language, night king, game of thrones cannon events, spoilers to the episode Eastwatch, pretty tame chapter ngl

all dialogue in italics are in Valyrian

a/n: note with an update at the end pls read.

HAPPY NEW YEAR !!!

series masterlist || next part

game of thrones x fem!modern!reader

8k word count

[gif found on pinterest]

Weeks had gone by since the attempted sacking on Highgarden and both Tyrion and the Unsullied had returned from Casterly Rock after successfully securing both regions of the west. The entire castle was bustling, Jon and his men mined and prepared the Dragonglass, forging it into weapons and to transport it to Winterfell for when the time was right. Daenerys was busy planning ahead for her battles against Cersei and now the Night King as well. 

During the last few weeks I’d been extra careful of whose eyes were on me, considering that there’s a high chance they’re one of Varys’ spies. The young girl, Alana, had periodically come back to do Varys’ dirty work while giving Dany and I information. Like I had suspected, the young girl's parents were killed by Stannis for refusing to take him as their Lord and as Robert for their King. 

Regardless, it was clear that Varys wasn’t to be trusted (which I already knew) and that he had eyes and ears everywhere, even on those closest to Daenerys.

I walked around the outside of the castle, taking in the fresh air while clearing my head. Who knew planning for a war that you already knew everything about was so hard. I paused, catching the dragons flying around in the sky. My gaze traveled downwards, spotting Daenerys, Jon, a Dothraki guard, and another man. 

Is it time? I carefully made my way to where they stood. He did show up to Dragonstone after the Sack of Highgarden. 

Daenerys and I briefly made eye contact as the man bent the knee to her. 

“Your Grace,” he slowly stood. Despite only seeing the back of his head and back, I could tell exactly who this was. His voice was deep, a light gravel to it. His hair, a mix of ginger, blonde, and gray. 

“Jon Snow, this is Ser Jorah Mormont, an old friend.” 

“I served with your father,” Jon said. “He was a great man.” 

Jon and Jorah nod, acknowledging both of their prowess. 

“And this,” Daenerys motions towards me. “Is Y/n Vellarys. She’s been a trusted advisor of mine and a very close friend.”

Jorah turns, spotting me. He doesn’t bother masking his confusion and shock, thinking that I’d be someone else. I watch him look over my hair, clothes, and the sword on my hip. It’s only when I subtly raise a brow does he snap out of it. 

“My Lady, it’s an honor to meet you.” He bows his head. 

“You look strong.” Says Daenerys. “You found a cure?” 

Jorah bows his head, bashfully at the small compliment. “I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t. I return to your service, my queen. If you’ll have me.” 

“It would be my honor.” Daenerys smiles. 

My eyes roamed down his exposed arm, wrapped in bandages, but overall looking good. 

“It seems that Sam has done a fine job.” I commented.

“Sam?” Jon repeats, asking, my Sam?

“He was the one who healed Ser Jorah. Isn’t that right?” 

Jorah slowly nods. “How did you know that?” 

“I just do,” I shrug, nonchalantly. 

“Does that mean that Sam is still at the Citadel?” Jon asks.

“Yes.”

“No.” 

Jorah and I respond at the same time, the former looking at me confused again. 

“He was there when Ser Jorah left, but by now he’s left the Citadel.” I explained. “A raven from Winterfell has to have arrived by now, which means he’s preparing for his departure for Winterfell.” 

“Oh,” I caught myself before I forgot. “Speaking of ravens, one has arrived for you, Jon Snow.”

“Then we should converse further by the table then.” Daenerys steps forward, and everyone follows suit. 

I walked beside her to her left while Jorah was a little back and to my right while Jon was to the left of him, behind me. 

“You don’t seem surprised that he’s here.” Daenerys says, loud enough for me to hear. 

“Not at all. If anything I was waiting for his arrival.” 

“What do you know?” 

“After you sent him away he traveled to the Citadel. There, he was given the diagnosis that he’d only have a few months left, but he met Samwell Tarly who found a cure and saved him.” 

“Samwell Tarly? As in the son Randyl Tarly sent to the wall?”

I nod. “He and Jon are very close friends, brothers even. And, he was the first man to kill a White Walker at the Fist of the First Men.” 

“How do you think he’ll feel once he knows the truth?” 

“As any son would. But I’m sure if you are clear with what happened he won’t be as.. distraught.” 

––

Daenerys and I sat side by side while Varys sat further down. Tyrion and Jorah stood near Daenerys and Jon and Davos stood by the end of the table. Everyone watched as the King in the North read over the raven for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

“I thought Arya was dead. I thought Bran was dead.” Jon sighed, relieved. 

“I’m happy for you. You don’t look happy.” Daenerys points out. 

Jon shook his head. “Bran saw the Night King and his army marching towards Eastwatch. If they make it past the wall-” 

“The Wall has kept them out for thousands of years.” Varys says as if he’s correct. “Presumably-” 

“They’ve never traveled down this far.” My eyes glanced down at the table where Eastwatch was marked. “And if the Night King can raise the dead for his army then a wall of ice made of magic is nothing.” 

Jon clenches his jaw, looking up at Daenerys. “I need to go home.”

Daenerys furrowed her brows. “You said you don’t have enough men.” 

“We’ll fight with the men we have.” Jon sighs. “Unless you’ll join us.”

“And give the country to Cersei? As soon as I march away she marches in.” She shook her head. 

“If it’s the West you worry about, we have men protecting it. You can call upon Dickon Tarly to defend Highgarden and Casterly Rock.” I say. 

“Cersei thinks the Army of the Dead is nothing but a story made up by wet nurses to frighten children. What if we prove her wrong?” Tyrion suggests. 

Jon shook his head. “I don’t think she’ll come see the dead at my invitation.” 

Tyrion walks around the table, closer to Jon. “So bring the dead to her.” 

“I thought that was what we are trying to avoid.” Daenerys frowns. 

“We don’t have to bring the whole army. Only one soldier.” I nod. 

Davos turns to Jon. “Is that possible?” 

Jon thinks back. “The first White I ever saw was brought into Castle Black from Beyond the Wall.” 

“Bring one of these things down to King’s Landing and show her the truth.” Tyrion says. 

Varys shakes his head. “Anything you bring back will be useless unless Cersei grants us an audience and is somehow convinced not to murder us the moment we step foot in the capital.” 

Tyrion purses his lips into a line. “The only person she listens to is Jamie. He may listen to me.” 

“And how would you get into King’s Landing?” Daenerys asks. 

The room falls silent and everyone looks to Ser Davos. “I can smuggle you in, but if the Goldcloaks were to recognize you, I’m warning you, I’m not a fighter.” 

Tyrion nods his head, understanding. 

“Well, it will all be for nothing if we don’t have one of these dead men.” I said. 

“Fair point. How do you propose to find one?” Varys asks Jon. 

Jon pauses and stares at the ground, but Jorah answers before him. He turns to Daenerys, “with the queen’s permission I’ll go north and take one.” Daenerys turns to him, surprised. Jorah continued. “You asked me to find a cure so I could serve you. Allow me to serve you.”

Jon nodded. “The free folk will help us. They know the real north better than anyone.” 

“They won’t follow Ser Jorah.” Davos reminded Jon. 

“They won’t have to.” Jon replied. 

“You can’t lead a raid beyond the wall.” Davos shakes his head. “You’re not in the Night’s Watch anymore. You’re King in the North.” 

“I’m the only one here whose fought them. I’m the only one here who knows them.” Jon double downed. 

“I’ll go as well.” I nodded towards Jon. 

Daenerys shook her head. “I haven’t given permission to leave.” She gives Jon and I a pointed look. “To either of you.” 

Jon straightened his back. “With respect, Your Grace, I don't need your permission. I am a king. And I came here knowing that you could have your men behead me or your dragons burn me alive. I put my trust in you, a stranger, because I knew it was the best chance for my people, for all our people. Now I'm asking you to trust in a stranger because it's our best chance.”

Daenerys pauses, everyone looking her way. She looks down in thought for a moment before looking up at Jons pleading eyes, nodding. 

“Alright.”

––

“You’re insane.” 

Daenerys paces back and forth while I sit in my chair, watching. 

“No I’m not.” 

She stops, turning to glare at me. “You want to go North and fight an Army of the Dead. That is insanity.” 

“So does Jon and his men, does that mean he’s insane as well?” 

“That’s different.” 

“How?” I huffed. “It’s exactly the same.” 

“No it’s not.” She shakes her head. “This conversation is over. You are forbidden to go.” 

“Are you saying that as my queen or my sister?” 

She purses her lips, sighing out of her nose. “Why do you want to go so badly?”

“There’s something I’m looking for.” 

“In a vast tundra?” She raises a brow. 

“Yes.” I sighed, standing up and walking to her, grabbing her hands. “Trust me. I wouldn’t be going if I didn’t think it was important. Besides, those boys won’t last long in the North without me.” 

She looks down at our hands, nodding. 

–––

I stood by the docks, watching as Tyrion stepped onto a small smuggler boat. Davos reached over to untie the mooring line. 

“Be careful, the both of you.” I remind them. “And Ser Davos,” he looks up at me, “don’t waste your time wandering around and go straight to the Street of Steel. He’ll be there.” 

He frowns, confused, but understands what I’m saying. “I will, My Lady.” 

He pushes the boat away and begins to row. I look up to see the sun getting closer to the horizon. By the time they reach the shores of King’s Landing it will be nightfall. I watched them go, before turning back and spotting Jon not too far away, giving orders to his men preparing for their departure for Eastwatch.

“All’s well?” 

Jon turned around. “We should be ready to leave by the time Tyrion and Davos return.” 

We fell silent andI could tell by the look on his face that he’s itching to say something to me.

“Out with it, Snow.” 

He looks down, debating, and then back up. “How do you know?” 

“Know what?”

“All of these things. When I first told Daenerys about the Army of the Dead everyone except for you looked shocked, as if you’d already known. You knew about Ser Jorah and Sam, as if you were there yourself.” He shakes his head. “How?”

“I can’t tell you how I know things, but know this; I won’t lie to or betray you and Daenerys. Just trust me and listen to what I have to say and all will be fine.”

He stares at me for a moment and then nods his head, accepting my answer for now but it was clear there was still more on his mind. 

“Keep your chin up, things are going to progress fast and we all need to be in shape.”

He nods, “thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me. We’re all fighting a war against a common enemy.” 

“Yet Daenerys seems to be more concerned with Cersei.”

“She does care. If she didn’t you wouldn’t be standing here.” I said. “But you have to understand that all her life, all that she’s wanted is to come back home. And while Dragonstone is her family's home, so is King’s landing. She’s the last of her house and the people responsible for that are sitting on her family's throne. You can’t blame the girl for having her priorities in line.”

–––

Once Tyrion and Davos had returned Jon and I were ready for our departure. I stood by the steps, watching Davos and a young looking man speaking to one another. His hair was short, but jet black and he carried a hammer. 

“You can back out, if you want.” Daenerys came to stand beside me. 

“We both know that I can’t do that.” 

“Will you at least tell me what’s so important that you have to go?” 

“A sword.” 

“A sword?” She frowned. 

I nodded. “It’s really pretty, too.” 

Daenerys gives me a funny look, but doesn’t say much after that. We both descended down the steps and onto the beach. There were two landing boats on the beach, surrounded by two groups of men. A large sailboat was anchored in the water. Tyrion and Jorah talked among themselves as we approached them.

“We should be better at saying farewell by now.” Daenerys says. 

“Your Grace, I-” Jorah’s expression flatters. 

Daenerys reaches over and takes Jorah by his hands while Jon, Davos, and the black haired man come out of the cave and to us. Jorah bends the knee and kisses Daenerys’ hand as a goodbye. He stands and turns back to the boat, readying it. Davos and the young man both get into the boat. Jon turns to Daenerys, a soft look in both of their eyes. 

“If I don’t return at least you won’t have to deal with the King in the North anymore.” He joked. 

Daenerys smiled. “But I’ve grown used to him.”

He returns the smile. “I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, Your Grace.” 

They share one last look before Jon walks off to the head of the boat. Daenerys watches him, almost longingly and I try my best not to smile. I loudly cleared my throat, catching her attention. 

“Ahem!” She turns to me. “I wish you good fortune as well, Your Grace.” I teased. Daenerys’ face turns red and she looks away. 

“Enough,” she lightly swats her hand against my arm. “You be safe. Now, go and hurry back.”

I laughed, and nodded. I gave her a formal bow and turned back, making my way to the boat. I sat down next to Davos who left a seat for me. 

“Heave!” Jon commands. 

The men push the boat into the sea and step on, rowing to where the ship was anchored down. I looked back at Daenerys and Tyrion on the beach, giving them a small wave. A loud roar caught my eye. I glanced atop one of the castle turrets where Viserion stood. He lets out another cry before taking off into the sky. 

“He will be joining us?” Ser Davos asks. 

“Of course.” 

How else would we be leaving the North?

–––

The boat was filled with men to the point it smelt like them; dirty and musty. I stood on the upper deck, watching as Dragonstone got smaller and smaller. 

“Already feeling sea sick?” 

I looked to my left as Ser Davos approached me. I shake my head. “Not yet. I was just thinking.” 

“Mind sharing, My Lady? I’ve been told I’m a great listener.” 

“It’s weird.” I said. “Being away from Dragonstone for this long.” 

“Ah,” he nods. “First time being far away from home.” 

“It is. It’s fine, though, I’ll get over it. I saw that you got what you were looking for in King’s Landing.” 

He nods. “I did. Thank you, for the advice. But, if I may, how did you know?”

I smiled. “I just do. It’s funny, I said the same thing to Jon when you had left with Tyrion. I’m surprised you were able to hide Robert Baratheon's bastard so well.”

“We hid him in plain sight.” 

“And it worked in your favor. Congratulations.” 

“Thank you. I have to say, I thought that Cersei would have  found him by now. The boy was right there.” 

“She’s dumb.” I said, dismissively. “Did Jon and him already meet?” 

“They did. They were reminiscing over their fathers.” 

I hummed. “The honorable Ned Stark and the Usurper.” 

“I take it you’re not a fan.” 

“That’s putting it mildly.” I shook my head. Everyone praised Robert as if he was some hero, even in the future people still thought of him as some sort of  “alpha” and disregarded his actions after taking the throne.

“You won’t hold that against him, will you?” 

I frowned. “Who? Gendry?” I shook my head. “His fathers sins aren't his to suffer. And if we’ve learned anything about the children of questionable men, it’s that we shouldn’t judge them so quickly.” 

The sun dips below the horizon and the stars start to come alive.”It’s getting late. I’ll be in my cabin.” 

Davos bows his head as I turn back and walk below deck. It was my first time in a boat, let alone made of this time period. It creaked and moaned and I swore the further down I went I could hear the water. The hall, or rather walk way was narrow, big enough for two people to sideways cross each other. The doors to the other rooms were filled with men talking. 

At the far right was a closed door with the Stark sigil. I knocked once, hearing a muffled “come in.”

Jon stood by a large desk, papers thrown around. I closed the door behind me and stood across from him at the table. I looked down at the map he was glaring at. Circles were drawn on the map, all north of the wall. 

“Is this where they’ve been?” 

“Aye.” Jon sighs, crossing his arms. “They’re moving fast and we don’t have enough men-” 

“We do. We have a gaggle of them.” 

“But-”

“No but’s. We’re going to defeat the Army of the Dead and then we’re going to deal with Cersei and then Daenerys is going to ascend the throne and everyone will live happily ever after.”

Jon frowned. “How are you so sure? What if we lose? What if Cersei wins?” 

“Because I have to be sure. I have to believe that all will turn out fine. The more I think about the what if’s the easier it is for me to lose sight. And neither can you. We’re going beyond the wall, into White Walker territory and I need to make sure you’re fit to lead us. Are you?”

“I am.” 

“Good.” I smiled. “Besides, a certain dragon queen is waiting for your return.” I said in a lighter tone, teasing him. 

Jon visibly blushed, looking down at the map. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Uh-huh.” I say, not convinced. “Honestly, what are your thoughts on her?” 

I could see heat creep up his exposed neck. He clears his throat, “she’s beautiful.” 

“That she is.” 

“And charming. Ahem, and kind.” Jon smiles to himself. “She’s witty, and has a child-like wonder. She’s also brave, not just because of the dragons, but because of what she’s gone through. She’s resilient and a true leader, everyone holds her in such high regards not because of her birthright but because of her character and morals.” 

“If I knew any better I’d say that Jon Snow has grown to fancy our queen.” I laughed at his face turning red again. “That’s enough fun for now, I guess. I’ll leave you to do your duties.” 

Jon smilies, shaking his head as I take my leave. The hall is a lot quieter now, mostly because everyone was in the mess, eating their dinner before some settled into the night or prepared for night duty. A door in front on the left swung open and out stepped Gendry. He makes eye contact with me, but quickly looks away and rushes past me. He makes it a few steps before I stop him. 

“Stop.” 

His footsteps flatter. I turned around, his back to me. “You’re not going to greet me properly?”

I could see his shoulder tense, but he turned around, bowing his head, still not making eye contact. 

“Apologies M’lady. I mean no disrespect.” 

I hum. “What’s your name?”

“Clovis,” he responds quickly. I almost laugh at the name. 

“Clovis,” I repeat. “Clo-vis. You don’t look like a Clovis.” I stepped closer. “More like a Gendry.” 

His head snaps up, shocked. He looked as if he’d been caught with his pants down. “How?”

“Doesn't matter. I wanted to see you for myself.” My eyes roamed across my face. It was clear as day he was a Baratheon. The jet black hair and the clear blue eyes. How Cersei's goons didn’t find him was beyond me. “You sure are a Barathron. Just a little leaner, but I’m sure with a little work you’ll beef up.”

“I’ve got muscles.” He argued. 

“Are you sure?” 

He flexed his arm at his side to show me his muscles. They were there, but considering that Baratheon men were built like brick walls, it was nothing. 

“That?” I shook my head. “I’ve seen little girls with bigger biceps than that.” 

He glared at me, hot headed. “What do you know about muscles? You sit on Dragon all day.” 

“No I don’t actually, it’s very uncomfortable to do that. But I can show you mine, they’re very impressive. Even the Dothraki are impressed.” 

Gendry looked like he was about to blow a fuse and I couldn’t stop the smile on my face. Quickly, he caught on to what I was doing. 

“You’re messing with me.” He huffed. 

“Guilty.” I grinned. “I couldn’t help it.” 

He shook his head. “I didn’t think you’d be so.. friendly.” 

“Am I not supposed to be?” 

“Well, considering our alliances.” 

“To Jon?” 

“No. My father.” 

“You’re fathers actions aren’t yours, I have no reason to hold any hostility towards you. Anyhow, it’s late and we have a long journey ahead of us. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, M'lady.” 

I turned back and headed for my own room, pleased with the progress I’d made with the young Baratheon. Originally, in the future and after the whole Burning of Kings Landing, Gendry takes the Stormlands as its next Lord. He grows into a formidable man and becomes a fair and just man while bettering the lives of the people in his domain. 

If Daenerys takes the throne this time, he’d be a good person to have around as an ally. Not only do the Baratheons have a long history with the Targaryens, having them close would also show that we’d put a collar on the house that led a rebellion against the Targaryens. 

–––

Viserion screeches above head, fire erupting out of his mouth and raining onto the army of White Walkers, turning them into ash. The fire melts the frozen lake causing the charging Wights to fall and drown in the freezing lake water. Up on a hill, a White Walker calmly unsheathes a spear made of ice from his undead mount and hands it to the Night King who strides forward. 

The men on the snowy ground continued to fight off the undead as Viserion circled above, looking for a place to land and let everyone climb aboard him. The Night King approaches the edge of the hill, an unsettling calm to him and readies the spear in his undead hands, his eyes trailing Viserion. 

With a swift throw, the spear cuts through the air and pierces through the green and gold scaled dragon, a flame erupting where the spear hits him. A pained screech rips through the air and everyone goes to cover their ears. Blood pours out as the dragon falls to his death, crashing into the frozen lake. The ice shatters and the dragon sinks down to the bottom of the frozen lake, lifeless. 

Everything goes eerily silent and the Night King mounts his horse and trots down to the lake while the wights labored together, a few jumping into the lake with large metal chains. They work hard to wrap the chains around the dead dragon's neck. The rest of the White Walkers pulled the chains, slowly dragging the dragon up. The ice breaks as Viserion’s head is pulled up. The undead continue to pull until the lifeless dragon is completely out of the water and clear the way for the Night King. He approaches his corpse, his glowing blue eyes locked onto Viserion’s form. Wordlessly, he reaches forwards and touches the dragon's head and Viserion’s eyes snap open, icy blue as a White Walker.

My eyes snap open, my body covered in a cold sweat. My chests heaved, my lungs screaming for air. I could hear my heartbeat loud in my ears as I pulled the sheets back and out of bed. My throat felt dry and I staggered to the table in the middle of the room, pouring myself a glass of water, downing it in seconds. I took a moment to myself, letting my pounding heartbeat slow down and for the room to stop spinning. My hands trembled as I set the glass back down and I sighed, walking over to the window. 

All these days on the sea must have started to finally take a toll on me.

I glanced up to the stars and moon shining bright. Even with the window in between, I could still feel the chilly air of the night, the smell of the sea lingering in the air. I let my eyes travel down from the stars and to the horizon..

Out in the distance I could see land and the edge of the seven hundred foot wall of ice. 

––

After nearly a week of sailing up through the Narrow Sea we’d docked on the beach of Eastwatch in the early hours of the day, just as the sun rose. Everyone disembarked the ship, and I couldn’t be anymore grateful that I was finally on the ground. Everyone collected their things, as I looked up at the old castle on top of a large rocky hill. 

We were dressed in thick furs and multiple layers as much as we could be. I wore a black long sleeve wool dress with a thick outer cloak. A leather belt with a circular clasp with the Targaryen sigil was hung around my hips, my sword at my side and a heavy black furred cloak with a hood was on my shoulders. My forearms were wrapped in leather for added protection and to secure the thick black gloves. 

I shuddered out a breath, watching it come out as fog and dissipate into the cold air. We trekked up the stone steps and into the castle. The men of the Night's Watch glanced at me warily wondering what a woman, nonetheless a silver haired woman, was doing at the Wall. 

We entered the great hall, where a group of men were already there waiting. A tall wildling man stood by the fire, watching as we entered. He wore mostly furs, a leather belt hanging around his waist, and had wild ginger hair and overgrown beard. 

“Crow!” He grinned happily. His voice easily bounced off of the walls and he opened his arms wide open, giving Jon a large bear hug. He shakes hands with Ser Davos and turns his attention towards the rest of us. His eyes land on me. 

“You’ve brought the dragon queen?” He sounded impressed, glancing at me. “She’s small.” 

“Wrong person.” I said.

“This is Y/n Vellarys, Queen Daenerys’ trust advisor, she’s here to help us.” Jon said.

“Advisors? We need warriors, Crow, not advice.” 

“Tormund-”

“I can assure you I’m here to fight.” I said. “And if it’s any comfort, I’ve brought a dragon.” 

Tormund pauses and turns to Jon. “I like her.” 

Jon shakes his head and moves everyone to sit at one of the tables. We reiterated the plan to Tormund, who seemed to be listening quite intently. 

Once done he turned to Ser Davos. “Isn’t it your job to talk him out of stupid fucking ideas like this?” 

I stifled a laugh, completely taken aback. 

Davos sighs, “I’ve been failing at that job as of late.” 

“How many queens are there now?” 

“Two,” Jon replied. 

“And you need to convince the one with the dragons or the one who fucks her brother?” 

I silently laughed at how he remembered Daenerys and Cersei. Jorah, besides me, smiles my way, very amused himself. 

“Both.” Jon replied. 

“Well, the one with the dragons believes you.” I corrected. “It’s the one who fucks her brother we have to convice.” 

Tormund nods. “How many men did you bring?”

Jon glanced around the table. “Not enough.” 

“The big women?” Tormund asks, expectantly. 

Jon smiles, but shakes his head to Tormund's disappointment.

“We were hoping some of your men could help.” Jorah says. 

“Why? You have a dragon. She said so.” He points to me.

“I did, but it’s a big risk. If the Night King see’s him, he’ll come charging towards us with his army. We can only use the dragon when necessary, otherwise none of us make it out alive.” I explained. 

“I’ll be staying behind.” Davos says. “I’m a liability out there as you well know.” 

Tormund nodded, “you are.” He turned to Jon. “You really want to go out there again?” 

Jon nods, sure of himself. 

“You're not the only ones.”

––

We were led down, deep beneath the castle into its underground dungeons. Tormund led us down the rows of cells. “My scouts found them a mile south of the wall. Said they were on their way here.” 

He stopped in front of a cell and we all peered in, spotting three men. Two stood out to me, one with the eye patch and the other with a burn scar on the side of his face. They looked familiar, reminding me of the description of a small group of men that traveled with Jon and his men Beyond the Wall.

“You're the Brotherhood Without Banners.” I realized, raising my brows.

Jon gazed over to the man with the scars. “You’re the Hound. I saw you once at Winterfell.” 

The Hound, Sandor Clegane, pulls a blanket tight around himself, shielding himself from the cold, and sits up from the table he was laying on. 

“They want to go beyond the wall too.” Tormund said. 

“We don't want to go beyond the wall, we have to.” The one with the eyepatch says. “Our lord told us the great war is coming.” 

Gendry shakes his head. “Don’t trust them. Don’t trust any of them.” Everyone turns to him as he walks up and presses his face to the bars of the cell, glaring at the three in the cell. “The last thing their Lord told them to do was sell me to a Red Witch to be murdered.” 

Melisandre. She must have a thing for Baratheons. First Stannis then his nephew.

“Thoros?” Jorah finally spoke, stepping closer to get a better look at the man he’d been staring at for the last minute. One of the men, Thoros, sits up from a dark corner and glances at Jorah. “I hardly recognize you,” Jorah says to him. 

“Ser Jorah Mormont.” The man recalled, a mix of relief and surprise in his voice. Tormund turns and angrily looks at Jorah.

“They won’t give me anything to drink down here. I haven’t been feeling like myself.” Thoros says. 

Jorah didn’t have the opportunity to respond as Tormund finally piped up. “You’re a fucking Mormont? Like the last Lord Commander?”

“He was my father.” Jorah nods, a slight edge to his voice. 

“He hunted us like animals.” 

“You returned the favor, as I recall.” Jorah quipped back. 

“Here we all are at the edge of the world at the same moment heading in the same direction for the same reason.” The man with the eyepatch interrupted. 

“Our reasons aren’t your reasons.” Davos quickly adds. 

“It doesn’t matter what we think our reasons are.” The man stood up and walked towards the bars of the cell. “There's a greater purpose at work and we serve it together whether we know it or not. We may take the steps but the Lord of Light-” 

The man's preaching is interrupted by an annoyed Hound. “For fucks sake, will you shut your hole.” He turns to look at Jon and cuts straight to the point. “Are we coming with you or not?”

“Don’t you want to know what we’re doing?” Jorah asks. 

“Is it worse than sitting in a freezing cell waiting to die?” Thoros said. 

Jon glanced at me, debating. I subtly nodded, agreeing with him. “He’s right.” I said aloud. “We’re all on the same side.” 

Gendry frowned. “How can we be?” 

“We’re all breathing.” Jon replied.

Tormund hands the keys to the cell to Jon and he opens the doors, letting the men out. The four of them step out, stretching their limbs and grunted in satisfaction. They were escorted up to the castle courtyard where some of the Night's Watch men were preparing the new Dragonglass weapons. Jon and Tormund led them to the main hall to warm them up and feed them while the others dispersed around the castle. I stood off to the side, watching everyone work, and leaned around the stone baluster. 

I took a moment to myself and thought back to the dream I’d had the night before. At first I chalked it up to my imagination going loose. It made sense, after all, all the stress of the past few weeks could make anyone have the most imaginative dreams. But this wasn’t that; it was too clear, too vivid to just be a dream. There was the other possibility of it being a dragon dream, but I’d brushed that off just as soon as I’d thought it. If I was a dreamer, and that was a big if, there would have been signs and patterns, but there weren’t. 

Which only meant the dream was one thing; a warning. 

From who? I don’t know. Maybe it’s the Gods, or maybe it’s my subconscious warning me what would happen if I let Viserion wander too far, leading to the Night King claim him for himself and shift the tides of this war for a second time. 

Regardless, one thing was clear; the Night King can not get his hands on Viserion. If he does, we run the risk of going down the same path that’s written in history books. 

A hand reached out to grasp my left shoulder. “M’lady?” 

I snapped my head to the left to a confused Gendry. He slightly fornwed and gave me a once over to see if I was hurt. 

“Are you alright? I’d been calling you for a moment, but you didn’t respond.”

“What? No, I’m fine.” I shake my head, straightening my back. “Sorry, I was just thinking. What’s going on?”

“His Grace has summoned everyone to the map room so we can all further discuss our plan.” 

“Alright, lead the way.”

He gives me one last glance before turning to the left and silently leading me to where the others were. He held the thick wooden door open for me and I gave him a silent thanks. The inside of the room looked damp and dreary, the candlelight adding to its ambiance. Everyone stood around an old wooden table with a map of the wall and whatever was known north of the wall. I stood in between Jon and Davos. Tormund stood on Jon’s left with a few Wilding men besides him. Jorah and the Brotherhood stood besides Davos. Gendry closes the door behind him and comes around to stand in between the Hound and the Wildling men.

“Last we saw the Night King was at Hardhome where he laid waste to Mance Rayder's camp.” Jon drops a stone marker at Storrold’s Point. “It’s best to assume that they’ve traveled down the peninsula and are roaming through the Haunted Forest.” 

“We should travel around the edge of the forest perimeter,” I ran my finger down the edge of the treeline. “We have a better chance at catching anything by this route. Besides, If we go any deeper into the forest then extraction will be too difficult.” 

Tormund reached over and poked around the map. “This is the best path we can take, then. It’s clear, we’ll have the high ground, and it's by the forest.” 

“How do we catch one?” Gendry asks. 

“We have to gag it for starters,” I explained. “If it screams it can alert the others and then we’ll be fucked.” 

Jon nods, “we can tie it with chains and toss him into a crate that one of us can carry on our back.” 

There’s a few grunts of agreement around the table and the conversation shifts to supplies and to what we’ll take. We planned enough for at least a week's ration and planned ahead where we’d spend the night if needed. By the time we’d finished our planning, night had fallen and I had opted to retire to my room for the night with my dinner.

After an early morning breakfast everyone was ready to leave. We made our way down to the ranger gates that led into the true North. I had my sword fastened to my side as well as a new Dragonglass dagger. I looked at the raiding party made up of Jon and I, Tormund, Gendry, Jorah, Thoros, Sandor, Beric, and a small group of Wildling scouts. The gates open to the true north, a blizzard raging over the tundra. Jon looks back, glancing at everyone. We hold each other's gaze for a brief moment before he nods and he begins to march into the wild.

––

We marched in the blizzard for what felt like hours, my face feeling as if it was covered in a layer of ice. We trekked through a frozen valley of jagged rocks at the base of a steep snow covered mountain. Everyone carefully climbed up, making sure each step was planted firmly. I let out a labored breath after a difficult step. 

“Are you all right?” Jon asks me. 

I nodded, “nothing I can’t handle.” 

He’s quiet for a moment before speaking again. “Why did you leave Viserion behind?” 

“Historically, dragons have never done well this far north. There have been plenty of times when rides have tried to bring their dragons north of the wall, but they’ve all refused.” 

“And you think Viserion won’t come north?”

I shake my head. He’s done it before and he’ll do it again. “No, I just don’t want to expose him too much to whatever is up north. He may be my dragon, but he’s Daenerys’ son and the last thing I want to do is go back to Dragonstone and tell her her son is dead.” 

Jon only nods, understanding. 

“Ever been north before?” Tormund suddenly asks, leaning down towards me. 

I had, plenty of time at ski resorts and winter camping trips. I’d even traveled beyond the Wall to the Fist of the First men and other places. It wasn’t as restricted as it was nowadays, but still a desolate tundra if you stray too far north. 

“No.” I replied. 

“Beautiful, eh?” Tormund smiles. “I can breathe again. Down south the air smells like pig shit.” 

“You’ve never been down south.” Jon corrects him from my right. 

Tormund scoffs and plainly states, “I’ve been to Winterfell.” Jon huffed, shaking his head.

We continued up north and climbed a steep mountain. The view at the top was breathtaking, quite literally due to the high altitude. The snow sparkles and glistens in the sunlight almost blinding me. A few trees were scattered about and some lakes had frozen over, a thick layer of ice and snow on the top. Off into the distance you could see the treeline of the forest.

“How do you live up here?” I asked Tormund. 

“More importantly, how do you stop your balls from freezing over?” Gendry asks from behind us. 

“You have to keep moving. That’s the secret.” Tormund says. “Walking is good, fighting is better, fucking is best.” 

“There's not a woman within 100 miles of here.” Jon comments.

Tormund turned to Jon and then back to Gendry and I. “We have to make due with what we’ve got.” He hints. Gendry, surprised and slightly weirded out, backs off. I shake my head, realizing that Tormund was mostly joking, or at least I think he was. 

Tormund turned back at Jon. “This one is maybe not so smart.”

“Davos says he is a strong fighter.” 

“Good,” the Wildling nods. “That’s more important than being smart. Smart people don’t come up here looking for the dead. So, you met this Dragon Queen, huh? And?”

“She’ll only fight beside us if I bend the knee.” 

"You spent too much time with the free folk and now you don't like kneeling.” Tormund says. “Mance Rayder was a great man, a proud man. The king beyond the wall never bent the knee. How many of his people died for his pride?”

Jon doesn’t respond, only nodding and thought over Tormunds words. I didn’t say a word and just glanced between the two. It seemed that if I couldn’t get Jon to agree to bending the knee then I may be able to use Tormund in some way.  A gust of wind  blew past us causing me to shiver. I wrapped my arms around myself. Despite the thick clothes and multiple layers I was wearing, the cold still found a way to seep through. No doubt if I was flying with Viserion I’d be warm. 

“So you have a dragon?” Tormund asks out of the blue. 

“I do.” 

“How? You're small and dragons are supposed to be big. If I were a dragon I’d want someone big, not small.” 

I shrugged. “I didn’t pick him, he picked me.”

“Dragons can pick?”

“They can. The dragons get to decide who they want to bond with. If they want you, they make it known, and if they don't then they really make it known.” 

“How long do you bond?”

“Until either the dragon or I die.”

“Is yours big?”

“It is. It’s also the eldest of the three dragons that Daenerys has.” 

“You said that the dragon is yours.” 

“Yes, I’ve bonded with it, but ultimately, he’s Daenerys’ son.” 

“She gave birth to dragons?” He asks with a mixture of confusion and interest. 

“No, it’s like a figure of speech. She had three dragon eggs turned to stone. When her husband died she took them and sat with them in the funeral pyre. When the fire died down the eggs had hatched and she was called ‘Mother of Dragons’ because she brought stone eggs back to life. I may have bonded with one of her dragons, but he still listens to her and protects her with his brothers.”

“Like a son?”

“Like a son.”

He stays silent for a while, but speaks up again. 

“I want a dragon.”

––

We continued walking for a few more hours, taking breaks whenever necessary for either food or water. The trek was getting a bit easier now that the terrain was starting to level out. I'd migrated somewhere behind the pack, wanting to go at a more steady pace and a clear path so that snow wouldn’t clog my shoes again. 

“You seem to be taking this journey well, My Lady.” Joarh says, stepping in line with me. 

“I’m trying. The most walking I do is around the castle.”

He stays silent for a moment. “How did you manage to serve Her Grace?” 

Well, I was brought back in time and bent the knee and pledged to get her the throne with my knowledge of future events. 

“I bent the knee.” I say. “And swore to get her the Iron Throne. The rest was up to her.” 

“That’s it?” 

“Well I guess it also helped that my ancestor was Gaemon the Glorious’ mother.”

“What?” 

I nod, reaching into my neckline and fishing out my necklace. It sparkled in the sunlight as I held it up. “Vellarys of Old Valyria, but we’re currently in Volantis, y’know after the whole doom thing.” 

Seemingly satisfied (for now), Jorah nods and the conversation ends there. The raid party comes to a halt and Sandor looks off to the distance. There's a steep mountain that looks like it climbed up into the clouds. 

“That’s what I saw in the fire.” He points to the mountain. “A mountain like an arrowhead.”

“Are you sure?” Thoros asks. 

Sandor nods, “we’re getting close.” 

Everyone starts walking again, now towards the base of the mountain. The weather had significantly worsened over the hours, snow blowing past us, making it hard to see past a few feet ahead. 

The wind blew around us, wailing in our ears and the clouds covered the sky giving everything a muddled blue haze. A wildling scout was sent ahead to lead the way, armed with a spear. Jon, Tormund, and I were at the front of the group when Tormund saw the scout’s feet flatter. He places a hand on Jon’s shoulder, his other hand motioning everyone behind him to stop marching.

“Look!” 

We all tried to look through the whirling snow, squinting our eyes. Up ahead, a shadowy figure emerged. It was hard to make out what it was. 

“A bear,” Sandor realizes. 

“Big fucker,” Tormund comments. 

“Do bears have blue eyes?” Gendry asks wearily. Everyone looked further at the bear, now seeing its glowing blue eyes. 

“No.” I replied aloud. 

The bear begins to charge towards us and the terrified scout who began running back towards the rest of the group. Everyone draws their swords, holding it out in front of themselves, ready. Despite the scout's best, the bear lunges forwards and catches the scout and tackles him towards the ground and into the snow. Everyone runs to where the bear had dragged the scout, only to find a patch of bloody snow and his spear. A bear grunts in the distance and everyone searches for it, turning their backs towards each other in a tight circle. 

The wind howls and the snow makes visibility almost impossible, but everyone keeps their position, eyes alert for the bear. I stood in between Jorah and Tormund, watching ahead when a bear screams and leaps from the snow behind us, tearing into another scout with its teeth. Tormund lunges forward to attack but the bear knocks him aside. Sandor runs to check on him while Beric and Thoros ignite their swords and advance to the bear. The bear mulls another scout, throwing his corpse aside with a gruntled roar. Beric dodges the corpse and plunges his flaming sword into the bear, who catches fire. The flaming bear roars and moves erratically and locks his eyes on Sandor who hesitates, his steps flattering. 

The bear launches towards him but Thoros throws himself in between the two and the bear jumps on top of him trying to eat his face. Thoros braces his flaming sword in the bear's mouth, using all his strength to push the bear back. Out of nowhere, Tormund swings his axe into the bear, only for him to be thrown aside, again. Taking it as an opening, I lunged and drove my dragonglass dagger into the bear’s neck, finally killing it. 

The bear falls onto Thoros and Jorah and Beric pull it away and help Thoros onto his feet. Beric extinguishes his sword in the snow and I turn to where Jon and Tormund stood by the dead scout, looking down and following the bear's paw prints with their eyes. 

“We’re getting close.” Jon said.

a/n: happy new year to you all!! i hope this year is a thousand times better than the last for all of you :) tbh i had planned for this part to come out on the first, but then i remembered who i was and decided to wait a bit.

hopefully, you all enjoy this chapter. lmk your thoughts on the dynamic between the MC and a certain ginger haired wildling man ;)

ALSO, i with bad news. i will be gone for all of febuary to the first week of march. i will be traveling out of the country (usa) and won't be able to update. so to make sure you're all fed, i'll be uploading another chapter before i leave and when i'm back in march i'll give you two more again.

i was thinking that while i was gone why don't you guy leave me any questions? sorta like a Q&A for this series. you can send them as asks or through my dm's or comment them, idc, i'll do it if you guys want.

anyways, happy new years, and enjoy the chapter :)

@wotcherpeak @music-luver25 @your-favorite-god @radiantdanvers @cluelessteam @daenerys713 @ministark @laanswife @idohknow @jromanoff @bdudette @bitchyfestivalbouquet @glitteryobjecttaco @cantbecreative @lovelyteenagebeard @the0twst0shrimp0mc @sucker4seresin @marytargaryen @naneko31 @9tailedfoxfire @iilsenewman @ivyrose9194 @coffee-is-my-oxygen @mysterypotatoink @bitchycolletorvoid @nattysplatty @wifiatthetrainstation @nymeriiiia @llynx7 @pookynknowntranger @riley-625-bell @myathegoat @evilunicorns4minions

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Burn with Me

Pairing: Viserys III Targaryen (Game of Thrones) x f!reader Warnings: Smut, imbalanced power dynamics, abuse of power. Word count: ~2k

Summary: Viserys shares a piece of his ancestry with his concubine.

Author's note: Day one of Smuffmas - candlelight and collaring. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She steps into the tent that has been erected to serve as Viserys’ personal bathhouse and is immediately enveloped in humidity that clings to her skin like a shroud, as the opening falls closed behind her. True to his Targaryen nature, he favours the heat and, as such, always demands that the water be scalding before it fills the wooden tub, with as many candles lit as the surrounding space will allow, to ensure that it retains its heat.

The atmosphere within the canvas walls is one of resplendence; the rounded tub that sits in the far corner wafts viscous steam up into the air. The water’s surface reflects the vibrant orange glow of more candles than she can possibly count, all casting flickering shadows that dance upon the ceiling. The heady fragrance of Myrish oils lingers in the air, a potent aroma of cinnamon and ginger. Viserys refuses the use of Dothraki spiceflower in his bathwater, despite it being in abundance, and far less costly than oils and spices from the Free Cities.

“It is insult enough that I must exist among these savages,” he had once told her, “I will not smell like them too. See that my command is heeded, or you shall wake the dragon.”

He stands beside the bathtub, spine rigid and eyes narrowed in annoyance. She had come to him the moment she was summoned, yet she can tell from the subtle flare of his nostrils that he is impatient already.

Despite the gossamer fabric of the dress that drapes over her body, she can feel sweat prickling the back of her neck, dampening the hairs that rest at the base of it. She knows this is due to the stifling heat of the bathing tent, but the fearful hammering of her heart as Viserys eyes her in displeasure only serves to exacerbate it.

“About time,” he snaps irritably, beckoning her closer with a restive click of his fingers.

“Your grace,” she greets courteously, before he has the chance to scold her further, “allow me to help you.”

She steps in front of him, deft fingers moving over the forest green wool of the tunic that covers his lithe frame. It is a wildly impractical choice of fabric, considering the climate of Vaes Dothrak, but Viserys shuns more traditional garb in favour of wool and silk. One by one she pulls open the clasps, revealing the creamy, white flesh beneath.

During her time in the pleasure houses of Lys, she had lain with many men and grown accustomed to the sight of skin marred by battle scars and hardened by the ravages of hard labour. Viserys bears no such afflictions. He is thin, an unfortunate consequence of a life lived in squalor, but he has never known battle, he is soft and smooth, unblemished by conflict. She has silently wondered on many occasions how he could possibly ever hope to rule as king of Westeros if he is not competent with a sword, a musing she will never give voice to, lest she pay with her life for it. She has no doubt he will take no issue in wetting his blade with her blood, if provoked into doing so.

Despite his rakish appearance and short temper, she cannot help the appreciative gaze she casts upon him as she strips him of the remnants of his clothing. For all his flaws, Viserys is a handsome man; soft, silver waves of hair frame the hard lines of his face, a strong nose and chin accentuate the pierce of his gaze. His eyes carry madness within them, enticing with dangerous allure.

“Careful with that,” he commands, nodding to the tunic which she has picked back up to fold, “what’s in the pocket is worth at least five times more than what I paid for you.”

“Of course, your grace,” she replies simply, noticing the subtle weight the garment has to it that isn’t usually there.

“Bring it here,” he says to her, stepping into the tub and sitting down. The motion causes steamy water to slop over the sides, soaking into the clay coloured earth of the ground below, as he leans back, resting his elbows behind him on the edge.

“Not the tunic, stupid girl,” he spits, scowling as she steps forward with it, “just what’s in the pocket.”

She blinks rapidly, bowing her head, a fruitless attempt to will away the humiliation that burns hotly at her skin. Reaching into the pocket, she wraps her fingers around something hard, that feels cold against her skin despite the heat that hangs heavy in the air.

Pulling it free, she can see that it is a steel choker. Thick silver plates inlaid with large rubies make up the bulk of it, with a dainty chain that fastens it at the back. She has never held anything so valuable in her hands before, the very weight of it feels representative of its significance.

“I don’t suppose you have ever seen such opulence before,” Viserys tells her, drawing her attention back to him, to where he reclines in the bath, a smug smirk upon his face as he regards her pridefully.

She places the choker in his upturned, waiting palm. “Won’t it rust if you get it wet?”

Viserys grins, the gesture lighting up his face in a way that seems almost unnatural, as the ever present madness dances within the lilac of his eyes. “It is Valyrian steel, forged in dragon fire, it won’t rust, it can’t. Now disrobe and join me.”

He plays idly with the choker, running the chain through his fingers and holding the rubies up to the candlelight as she undresses, though it does not take her long. The near translucent dress is the only item of clothing that he will allow her to wear when tending to him, and it is rare that it stays on for long.

She hisses quietly at the burn of the water against her flesh as she climbs into the tub, the all encompassing heat making her legs tingle. She does not understand how Viserys can stand it, but then there is blood of the dragon coursing through his veins, so she supposes he barely notices it.

“Turn around,” he instructs, and she does as she’s told, presenting her back to him as she faces away. She can hear the splash of the water as he advances upon her within the small space, feel the water moving with him.

Dampened hands scoop her hair away from her neck, before he places the choker around it, carefully fastening it. It chills her skin, a strange juxtaposition to the clamminess that their surroundings elicit. It feels heavy and tight around her throat, more like a collar than a necklace, and as Viserys turns her roughly to face him, sending yet more water cascading over the sides of the bath, she can see that that was precisely his intent.

His eyes are wild as he appraises her, lips slightly parted. “This is hundreds of years old, it would have been worn by a Targaryen princess from the days of Old Valyria,” he tells her, his voice lowering, taking on the seductive timbre that he affects only when aroused. He hooks two fingers beneath the centre ruby, giving it a tug. “How does it make you feel?”

She swallows thickly, considering her answer, wanting to offer words that will please him. “It makes me feel…fortunate…to have the opportunity to wear something of such significance.”

He hums, clearly satisfied with her answer, giving a slight nod as he grasps her hips beneath the water and manhandles her into his lap. She can feel his hardened cock prodding insistently at her most intimate area as she settles into the position of straddling him, winding her arms around his neck, as his hands keep a firm grip of her.

“Ser Jorah came by this on his travels,” he tells her, eyes fixated upon her throat, “he was going to give it as a gift to my sister, but I have taken it for myself. I do not see why she should lay claim to such a valuable piece of our shared ancestry, just for spreading her legs and siring a whelp for that savage, Drogo.”

The tone of his voice drips with jealousy, and it makes her uncomfortable to be faced with his arousal, not for the first time, while he speaks of Daenerys. She knows that the Targaryens existed on a foundation of bloodline purity, however, those customs are queer to her and to be faced with the reality of their incestuous nature makes her stomach churn.

All thoughts leave her mind, however, as he tugs her downwards to meet his upward thrust, spearing her open on his cock with a grunt elicited through gritted teeth. She moans at the exquisite stretch, nuzzling into the crook of his neck as she clings tightly to him, her breaths hot against his wet skin.

Viserys keeps his hands upon her hips, helping to guide her movements as she rolls her pelvis against his, bouncing herself upon his aching length. Though he is often cruel to her, when he holds her close like this, and it is just the sounds of their mingling pants for breath and the slap of their skin, it is easy for her to forget that she was purchased for his pleasure, a means to distract him from the want to defile his sister.

When he holds her close, his harsh features contorted in ecstasy, the madness that dances within his eyes conveying only lust, she can allow herself to believe that she is special, that he chose her alone to travel with him and warm his bed because he wanted only her, not because the Beggar King could not afford more than one concubine. 

In her own foolish heart, she has allowed gratitude to be misplaced for love. The fondness she feels towards him for him having taken her from the pleasure houses of Lys, and rescuing her from the life of a common whore, in her mind, is romantic. 

So when he takes one of the stiffened peaks of her nipples between thumb and forefinger and pinches harshly, she mewls wantonly as the sensation causes her sensitive walls to clench around him, wanting him to know just how good he makes her feel, how eager she is to please him.

If he did not return her affection, why else would he allow her to wear the choker that currently sits snug against her throat?

She speeds up her movements, the bathwater undulating around them with more intensity. The head of his cock bullies relentlessly at a spot inside of her that, coupled with the lightheadedness she feels from the heat of the water, makes her forget herself entirely. Before she can stop them, the words tumble carelessly from her lips.

“I love you.”

He halts all movements, and she freezes, her heart hammering wildly against her ribcage as she realises what she has just said. She opens her mouth, wanting to apologise, to take it back, to beg for forgiveness, but before she can he’s grasping her jaw, forcing her to meet the intensity of his stare.

“Say it again,” he orders quietly, leaving no room for argument.

She is hesitant at first, but he tangles his fingers into the back of her hair, not allowing her to look away, so she relents. “I–I love you.”

He snarls, tugging harshly at her hair as he resumes his brutal thrusts up into her. “That’s right, you fucking do.”

For the briefest of moments, she had allowed herself to believe he might say it back, and is not even given the respite to experience disappointment, as he chases his release within her. Her confession of love having been enough to stroke his ego to the point of climax, evidenced by the insistent pulsating of his member as he pumps it in and out of her with renewed vigour.

He holds her tightly against himself, pushing himself as far up into her as he can go as he peaks, spilling inside of her with a shameless groan, before settling back down, her body pliant against his as they both catch their breath.

“I’m finished with you for tonight. Leave me,” he says despondently, as his rapidly softening cock slips free of her.

She offers a curt nod, disentangling herself from him and climbing on shaky legs from the tub, bathwater and Viserys’ seed both dripping down her thighs, as she reaches for her dress, clutching it to herself to protect what little remains of her modesty.

“Wait,” he snaps, and for a moment she believes he will tell her he has changed his mind, that he longs for her company. Instead he snaps his fingers, gesturing to her neck. “The necklace.”

Her heart sinks, but she forces her expression to remain stoic, unclasping it and depositing it back into his outstretched palm. Her neck feels immediately lighter, having been freed from the weight of it. However, as she walks from the tent, it is replaced with a heaviness upon her heart that reminds her irrevocably of her place - or lack thereof - in the world of Viserys Targaryen.

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[lady-pug]

The Ballad of Green Snakes and Honey Badgers

Prologue

Summary: When your former friend and current Triwizard champion Aemond Targaryen sends you a note asking you to meet him after years having last spoken to each other, you are left wondering what he could possibly want. So when, to your surprise, he asks you to be his date to the Yule Ball, you make a decision that will either mend your broken friendship with the Slytherin boy or irreparably shatter it forever.

Pairing: Slytherin!Aemond Targaryen x Hufflepuff!Tully!Reader

Word count: 2,1k

Warnings: none

Notes: Hello hello, dearest readers! How have you all been? 

I offer you the prologue to a new story I am now incredibly excited to write. The idea for this came from the lovely @peachysunrize, whom I admire very much and love her works (I’ve actually been saving Tangerine Dreams for when I have enough free time to binge read it, ‘cause I know once I start I won’t be able to stop), after Mr. Ewan Mitchell was spotted serving cunt looks at the British GQ’s Men of The Year last night. It was supposed to be a one-shot howeeeeever I ended up getting a little carried away and dicided to go for a slightly longer story (so I’m so so sorry, Aemond actually wearing the infamous outfit at the Yule Ball won’t show up for a few chapters, please forgive me).

Just to explain a few details of this story: Hogwarts is in Westeros, located in the Crownlands near the border between these lands, the Reach, the Riverlands and the Stormlands. Volaena Academy of Magic is situated in Volantis, houses female students from Volantis, Pentos and Lys (equivalent to Beauxbatons) and Green Grass Institute is situated in Braavos, houses male students, mainly Dothraki, from Braavos, Pentos and Tyrosh (equivalent to Durmstrang)

I never thought I’d write a Hogwarts!AU but here we are! Although the HP/WW universe was a very important part of my childhood, I haven’t consumed any content related to it in a very long time (except for random memes on ig I often trade with a friend) because that woman (you know which one) pisses me the fuck off. But since no one will be profiting from me writing this (at least I don’t think so), and I still quite like the universe even if my love for it got diminished somewhat, I decided to give it a try. I won’t lie, I had fun!

I’d just like to warn that the next update for this series will take a little while, as I have quite a lot of work to get done (the semester is ending and Uni is kicking me in the butt once more, what’s new) and I’d like to finish writing a new chapter of Written Between the Lines, the other Aemond series I have on going, first.

Although Reader is a Tully I didn’t write her with a specific appearance in mind, and the same goes for Kermit Tully, so it is up to you to imagine what she looks like. I really hope you, dear reader, enjoy this and have fun while reading it! And thank you so much @peachysunrize for coming up with the idea in the first place! If you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I’ll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. I hope you truly enjoy this story.

Reader is female, but no physical descriptions provided

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When you woke up on that rainy morning, you had expected it to be just another normal Tuesday, only barely over a week into the school year. The day had started out like any other: you had met with Oscar for breakfast at the Great Hall, being joined shortly after by Kermit and Davos, and avoided at all costs glancing in Cregan’s general direction. Then you had headed for your classes of the day, being paired with Doreah, a lyseni girl from Volaena, for your year-long Herbology project. 

While Doreah seemed nice, and you believed you would find a friend in her still, it was moments like this when you found yourself missing Helaena the most. You had promised to write to one another, of course, with you assuring you’d keep her updated in all the latest gossip around Hogwarts, yet it just wasn’t the same. You had become so used to seeing her at the farthest corner of the Ravenclaw table, waiting for you at supper, or sneaking out of the Hufflepuff common room together and into the kitchens to arrange snacks for your late night study sessions that you didn’t realize how much you’d miss this small things until she was actually gone, only just starting her career as a Magientomologist. Still, all you had to do was survive one more year until you could take your N.E.W.T.s and leave this place to search for a career of your own, and perhaps achieve your dream of sharing a flat with your best friend.

It was only after you left your Defense Against the Dark Arts class, having been squished between two quite large dothraki students from Green Grass, that you noticed something was different. A small piece of parchment was sticking out from inside your book, yet you didn’t remember putting it there; while you often used random papers as bookmarkers, it didn’t seem to be the case here, as the pages holding the parchment were ones you did not remember having ever read. As you turned the paper around you realized it was not just some paper, it was in fact a note, and you wondered how someone managed to place it inside your book, as you hadn’t left it unattended at all. But as you read the words, it would soon become clear to you.

Meet me at the library after dinner ~ A. T. 

The note carried a neat, flourished handwriting, written in expensive green ink. And yet, as your eyes skimmed over the words once more your heart started beating faster and faster, the flow of blood seemingly thundering on the inside of your eardrums. A. T., the person had signed. 

Aemond Targaryen.

What could he possibly want with you? Him, of all people? After all these years? Why did he want to speak to you now? It made sense then, how the note had appeared in your book without you realizing it; Aemond was quite good at Transfiguration, one of the top students even (but was there anything he wasn’t good at?), he excelled in it so for him to conjure a note inside your book was a piece of cake. But that didn’t explain what he wanted.

Sighing, you crumpled the paper in your hand, pinching the bridge of your nose as you pondered upon a decision you were most likely to regret.

There was only one way to find out.

You were quiet during supper, deep in thought as you poked at your food. Kermit and Davos both believed it had to do with the fact that Cregan and Alysanne were sitting right in front of you at the Gryffindor table, choosing then to sit on the bench across the table from you to try and block your view from the happy couple. But only Oscar knew the real reason for your silent demeanor.

Even though Kermit was your twin, you often felt closer to your younger brother, especially after you and Kermit got sorted to different houses on your first year, him being a Gryffindor through and through and you becoming the true embodiment of a Hufflepuff, and Oscar being selected for the same house as yours a year later. In truth, Oscar just understood you better and the other way around was also true, so you ended up becoming one another's confidants, telling each other everything and anything. So once you got back to the common room you had immediately spilled the beans about the mysterious note you had received.

He had begged you not to go. He just knew that whatever Aemond wanted couldn’t possibly be good. Not after everything. But you were curious, and although he would never admit to it, his curiosity on the back burner in face of his concern for you, so was he. So he agreed to your plan of simply listening to what Aemond had to say and leaving. 

Or that would have been the plan, had what Aemond asked not left you completely flabbergasted.

Arriving at the library, now almost completely void of students, save for one or two first year nerds, you noticed Aemond was already there, punctual as ever.

“You came.” he seemed surprised as he raised from his chair, the book he had been absentmindedly flipping through forgotten over the hardwood table.

You shrugged, not willing to let him see how affected you were by his presence.

“Let’s hear it then.” you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to appear more confident than you felt.

“What?” 

“You called me here for a reason, right? What do you want?”

“Can I not just wish to see an old friend?” it was his turn to shrug.

You scoffed, gritting your teeth as you glanced away from him. Old friend my ass, you thought. You weren’t friends. Not anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time.

“Right.” he must have noticed something in your expression, for he dropped the innocent act “I need your help.”

What could he possibly need your help with?

“Be my date for the Yule Ball.”

What?

“What, why?” you were honestly dumbfounded by his suggestion, because that was what it was; it wasn’t a question, it was closer to a demand. And how dare he demand something from you?

“It is mandatory for the champions to dance at the Ball. And for that they need a partner.”

That’s right, Aemond had been selected as the champion to represent Hogwarts in the Triwizard Tournament against Green Grass and Volaena. The professors had explained what that entailed, and how dangerous it could be, and for a fleeting moment, your heart twinged in worry over him, before it was snuffed out and replaced by the usual cold indifference you felt towards him. Furthermore, they had let all students know that a special ball would be held at Christmas, and that all three champions were required not only to attend but to dance as well.

“I know that.” you huffed, feeling a little offended “I mean why me?”

His stare turned quizzical, as if he couldn’t quite possibly understand what you were implying.

“Why not take your girlfriend?” you asked, confused “I mean, she may have graduated already, but professor Mellos said we could bring dates from outside the school.”

He glanced away from you, his expression turning dark for a split second, before returning his gaze to you.

“Alys and I broke up over summer.” he said with a nonchalance you suspected to be fake.

You wanted to ask, you were desperate to know why, but you had to remind yourself it was none of your business. His life was none of your business and it was better that way.

“Why not some other girl then? They seem to line up for your attention nowadays. Floris has always had a thing for you.”

Aemond was already considered a pretty boy even for normal standards, always having one admirer or another. It lessened a bit after he started dating Alys, a sixth year student, in his fourth year in school, but you knew for a fact people still pinned after him in silence. But after he was named Hogwarts’ triwizard champion, a lot of girls and even some guys flocked around him, vying for his undivided attention. You knew most of them would die for a chance to be his date at the Ball, to be his even if only for one night.

“It would give them the false hope that something more could happen when it won’t.” he tipped his chin, staring at you from under his lashes, and something in the way he was looking at you was deeply unsettling “At least we know where we stand with one another.”

Ouch.

“Why would I ever agree to go with you?”

“Well you certainly aren’t going with Stark, that’s for sure.” the corner of his lip twitch in the tiniest of smirks.

A pang of shame assaulted your heart, heat spreading in your chest and settling in your cheeks.

“How do you know about that?” your voice faltered, small and almost afraid. 

His face fell, then, as if he didn’t expect this reaction from you.

“Everyone knows about it.” 

Humiliation burned in your chest, the sting of tears steadily brimming in your eyes forcing you to glance away from him to stop yourself from breaking down in front of him. Great, now the whole school (and perhaps even the other two guest schools) knew how your boyfriend of four, almost five years had dumped you and practically immediately after started dating your cooler, prettier, hotter cousin. He couldn’t even be bothered to show his face, he had broken up with you through a letter, a majestic white owl bringing the news one summer morning.           

“No.” you sniffled, daring yourself not to cry, and turning away from him, ready to leave and forget this conversation ever happened.

“Wait!” he grabbed your arm, halting your movements. His face was soft when you glanced back at him, something akin to guilt clouding his own features “Please. Just- please.”

That was new. For as long as you had known him, you knew one thing was certain: Aemond Targaryen didn’t beg. For him to stoop this low, at least for his standards, must mean he was indeed desperate.

“What’s in it for me?” you asked in turn.

He pondered for a moment, a surprised look on his face, as if he didn’t expect to get this far into the conversation.

“You’ll get to make Stark jealous?” he offered, and you chuckled mirthlessly in response.

“I don’t want to make him jealous.” and you couldn’t even if you tried, not in comparison to Alysanne of all people “I just want to move on from him.”

“Then you’ll get to show him just that. That you have moved on from him and are already seeing new people.”

His reasoning made sense and you were intrigued, sure, especially considering you weren’t totally over Cregan just yet. But it definitely wasn’t worth the hassle.

“And I’ll help you study for your History of Magic N.E.W.T!” he was quick to add.

Now that was a really tempting offer. History of Magic was one of the subjects you struggled with the most, having a really hard time memorizing all the dates and events, ever since your very first year. And you knew he was well versed in history; he studied the subject even when not required, just for fun. To have someone like him help you study would definitely help you not fail the test.

“Okay.” you sighed out between, biting your tongue “I’ll be your date to the Yule Ball.”

His face lit up then, almost bouncing in his heels from excitement, before feigning indifference.

“Good.” he nodded to himself “We’ll have to spend more time together until then.”

“I didn’t agree to that!” you squealed, the thought of spending any more time than necessary with him making you uneasy.

“We need to be convincing. Otherwise Stark will see right through it.”

He was right. Of course he was right.

“Fine then. When do we start?”

He smiled brightly then, and for a moment you saw that young boy he once was, the one who held your hand on the first train ride to school all those years ago.

“I’ll find you for breakfast tomorrow then and we can go to Potions together. After lunch we can start revising History. How does that sound?”

It could be worse.

“Alright by me, I guess.” 

Aemond grinned cheekily, and you knew then that you were screwed. 

“It’s a date then.” he sauntered away, but not before throwing you a quick wink to match his smirk.

Oscar was going to kill you.

[the-fiction-witch]

My Dragon

Media - Game Of Thrones Character - Viserys Targaryen Couple - Viserys X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - 18 + riding/ pinv/ full sex/ ejaculate/ breeding kink / C*ckwarming/ frustrated sex / fingering / nipple play Word Count - 2644

Viserys was angry! Full of rage at his sister's actions against him. At her Dothraki husband giving him orders! He was the last dragon, who dared those savages to order him around.

He forced his way into his tent and threw his sword across the room in frustration.

The sound caused Y/n to sit up a little, as she lay on the raised bed covered in pillows, blankets and other such fabrics, her body covered only by a thin sheer sheet, her hair messy. She picked her head up from the pillow she'd been sleeping on while viserys was gone and sat up just enough that she was still concealed,

"Uuummm... What is wrong my dragon?" She asked sleepily

Viserys stormed towards her, his face red with anger, “My sister, has seen fit to disregard my authority and now this...this savage thinks he can give me orders?” he spat, his voice venomous.

"ohh" she nodded, "what is it she said my dragon?"

Viserys's eyes blazed with fury as he leaned in close to Y/n, his hot breath caressing her skin, “She refused to give the gold I requested...the gold that is rightfully mine!” his voice dropped to a growl, “And now this...this beast thinks he can dictate terms to me.” Viserys's hand reached out, his fingers brushing against Y/n's cheek, “I need your help, my love,” he whispered, his eyes burning with intensity

She pulled him to sit on the bed and she wrapped her arms around him kissing his tender skin as her hands slowly undressed him "You are my dragon, the last male of house Targaryen, the last man who is the blood of old Valyira. She may feel she has the power to deny you gold but you can deny her the world, you are the dragon. No horse lord husband of hers will ever command you, you are his king. And all of them shall bow to you and beg your forgiveness when you have the crown on your head" she cooed massaging his ego

Viserys's eyes fluttered closed as Y/n's touch ignited a fire within him, her words fueling his desire for power and revenge, “Mmmm...yes,” he moaned, his hands tangling in her hair as she kissed his neck, her lips tracing the curve of his ear. “No one commands me,” he hissed, his voice low and menacing. “I am the last dragon, the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms.” Viserys's hips bucked upwards, pressing himself against Y/n's hand as she stroked his skin, her touch sending sparks flying through his veins. “And soon,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin, “soon I will claim what is mine.” Viserys's eyes snapped open, blazing with ambition and lust, as he looked down at Y/n, his heart pounding in his chest.

"of course you shall, you will claim what you are owed, and my dragon will sit on the throne he wants born for. Will you not? And your sister and her Dothraki husband will bow to you, fall on your mercy. And of course, you shall Gant their mercy as you are a wonderful and caring king. One day they will understand but that is not today." She explained as she guided him down to lay on the bed "but it will not be forgotten and it will not go unpunished once my dragon is king" she cooed as she mounted him, let him slip inside her and she began her gentle riding

Viserys's eyes rolled back in his head as Y/n sank down onto him, her warm, wet heat enveloping him like a vice “Ahhh…” he groaned, his hands grasping for her waist as she rode him, her movements slow and deliberate. “Yes...yes... you're so tight,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own ragged breathing. Viserys's hips lifted off the bed, meeting Y/n's downward motion with a thrust of his own, driving deeper into her slick folds. “My kingdom.”

"your kingdom, your throne, your crown, your men, your armies. My dragon" she cooed

Viserys's eyes flashed open, his gaze locking onto Y/n's as she rode him with increasing passion. “All of it... mine.” Viserys's hands tightened on Y/n's waist, pulling her down hard onto him as he drove upward, filling her. “Yes... yes... take it all,” he hissed, his teeth bared in a feral snarl.

She rode him slowly and passionately letting him work all his frustration out on her while she pleasured him "this." She smirked stroking his shaft before she slipped down it again "this is worth more than all things in the seven kingdoms, all gold she denies, all orders he commands. You my dragon are the blood of old valyira. Your seed is fire, dragon blood, your cock is worth more than anything they will ever know."

Viserys's eyes went wide, his pupils dilating as Y/n's words washed over him like a wave of liquid fire. “Ahh...yes…” he groaned, his body arching up off the bed as Y/n rode him with renewed ferocity. “You're right,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “This is worth everything.” Viserys's hands flew to Y/n's breasts, cupping them in his palms as he squeezed, feeling her nipples peak beneath his touch.

she softly moaned arching her back,

Viserys's mouth dropped open, his tongue darting out to lick the sweat-dampened skin of Y/n's chest. “Mmm…” he murmured, his lips tracing a path across her collarbone as he savored the taste of her. His hips snapped forward, driving deep into Y/n's warmth as he felt himself building towards release. “I'm going to come,” he warned, his voice low and husky. Viserys's hands slid down Y/n's sides, his fingers digging into her hips as he pulled her down hard onto him. Viserys's eyes locked onto Y/n's, his gaze burning with intensity as he felt himself on the brink of climax “No,” he whispered, his voice a mere breath away from her ear. “Don't move.” Viserys's hands tightened on Y/n's hips, holding her still as he buried himself deep within her. He closed his eyes, focusing every ounce of energy on the sensation building inside him. And then, in a burst of flame and fury, Viserys erupted, spilling his seed into Y/n's waiting womb.

She cooed as he filled her to her brim, she stroked his bare chest comfortingly and shifted her hips just enough to let him ride out his orgasm "My dragon feels better now?"

Viserys's eyes fluttered open, his gaze drifting lazily back to Y/n's as he felt the aftershocks of his climax begin to subside. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice weak but satisfied. “He does indeed.” Viserys's hands relaxed their grip on Y/n's hips, his arms wrapping around her instead as he drew her close. For a moment, they simply lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, the only sound the gentle rise and fall of their breathing. “Perhaps...perhaps it is time I claimed my rightful place upon the Iron Throne.”

she nodded as she laid beside him in the bed snuggled in his arms "perhaps it is"

Viserys's arms tightened around Y/n, holding her close as he gazed out the window at the darkening sky. “We will conquer Westeros,” he whispered, his voice full of conviction. “And I will rule with fire and blood.” Viserys's eyes burned with a fierce inner light as he spoke, his heart pounding with excitement at the prospect of reclaiming the throne. But as he looked down at Y/n, he saw something else in her expression a hint of concern, perhaps, or doubt. “What troubles you?”

"nothing my dragon" she smiled clearly lieing to make him feel better

Viserys's face softened, his expression relaxing into a warm smile as he gazed at Y/n. “You're so beautiful when you lie to me,” he teased, his voice dripping with affection. Viserys leaned in, his lips brushing against Y/n's ear as he whispered “But I know you too well, my love. You can't fool me that easily.” He chuckled, the sound low and husky, sending shivers down Y/n's spine. “Now tell me the truth. What's really troubling you?”

"my dragon will have no use for me when he is king"

Viserys's smile faltered, his expression turning serious as he gazed at Y/n.

“What are you talking about? You're my queen, my partner, my everything.” He sat up, his eyes blazing with intensity as he took Y/n's face in his hands. “I don't need anyone else,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “You're the one who makes me whole, who completes me.”

"would you not need to marry a westeros lady? Spread your dragon seed Into as many high born ladies as possible? You will be king, all the women of westeros will beg for your seed and your bed. Why would you bother to keep a chubby lyseri whore like me?" She said sadly

Viserys's face twisted in anger, his eyes flashing with hurt as he heard Y/n's words. “You're my queen, my lover, my everything. You're the one who has given me strength, who has made me feel alive.” He stood up, towering over Y/n as he glared at her. And then, in a voice that sent shivers down her spine, “You're right. I won't need you anymore once I'm king.” Viserys's eyes seemed to darken, his gaze burning with a fierce inner fire as he loomed over Y/n “But that doesn't mean I don’t want you,” He reached out, his hand closing around Y/n's hand “You'll come with me to King's Landing,” he cooed,

“And there, you'll serve me. You'll dance for me, sing for me, and spread your legs for me whenever I desire it. You'll learn to be the perfect queen, the perfect wife.” His lips brushed against hers, r.

she giggled "if you make me your queen you will not be able to marry any other ladies"

Viserys's eyes flashed with anger, but beneath the surface, a spark of excitement flickered to life. “But what if I didn't want to marry anyone else? What if I wanted to keep you all to myself?” His lips curled into a cruel smile as he pulled back, his eyes gleaming with a sinister light. “In that case,” he purred, “you'd be very lucky indeed.”

she nodded "very lucky my dragon" she cooed stroking his chest and kissing his lips

Viserys's eyes fluttered closed, his body relaxing into her touch as he savored the sensation of her lips on his “Mmm,” he murmured, “yes...kiss me like that. Make me forget about the Iron Throne, about the war, about anything except you.” His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with hers in a passionate, desperate dance.

she happily kissed him back climbing back up onto his lap as they kissed, rubbing her folds against his half-hard cock "Would this make you forget my dragon?"

Viserys's hands roamed over her body, cupping her breasts and squeezing them gently as he broke away from the kiss “Oh, yes,” he whispered, “this would definitely make me forget. Nothing makes me forget like the feel of you, Y/n.” His fingers dipped lower, tracing the curves of her hips and thighs before coming to rest on the soft flesh between her legs. “I want to see you ride me again,” he growled, “to feel your heat surround me. To watch you come apart under my touch.”

she moaned throwing her head back as his fingers torment her, but she moved and sank down on him once more shifting her hips to ride him again

Viserys's eyes rolled back in his head as she sank down on him, his cock throbbing with pleasure inside her warm, wet depths “Yes,” he hissed, “ride me like that. Take me deeper, harder.” His hands grasped her hips, holding her in place as he thrust upward, meeting her downward motion with a series of swift, powerful strokes. “Y/n,” he groaned, “you feel so good. So tight, so hot.” Viserys's grip on her hips tightened, his fingers digging into her skin as he quickened his pace. “I'm going to come already,” he warned, “and I want you with me. Come now, Y/n. Let go.” His mouth descended upon hers once more, their lips crashing together in a fierce, urgent kiss as he pistoned himself upward, driving deeper and deeper into her willing body. Suddenly, he felt it building the familiar rush of pressure, the tingling sensation that signaled the onset of orgasm. With a triumphant cry, Viserys exploded within her, his seed bursting forth in a torrent of release as he shuddered and convulsed under her.

As the last tremors of his climax faded, Viserys leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. His gaze drifted lazily over Y/n's features, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. “Fuck… you are too good at that,”

she nodded kissing his neck softly and lazily, often squeezing around his cock to keep him pleasured,

Viserys's eyes fluttered closed, a low hum of pleasure vibrating through his chest as she squeezed around his still-hard cock. “Mmm,” he murmured, “keep doing that. It feels... amazing.”

"ummm" she nodded her hips slowly squirming, just enough to pleasure him keeping her movements slow and deep

Viserys's eyelids snapped open, his gaze locking onto Y/n's face as she rode him with slow, deliberate movements. His breathing quickened, his heart pounding in time with the rhythm of her hips. “Oh, god,” he whispered, “you're killing me. Keep moving like that. I'm...I'm close again.” His fingers dug into the bed, his knuckles creaking with strain as he fought to hold on to control.

"yes my dragon" she cooed as she continues her slow and deep movements, riding him only to please him and nothing else

Viserys's eyes blazed with intensity, his pupils constricting as he gazed at Y/n with a mixture of desire and adoration. “My queen,” he breathed, “my love. Ride me like that forever. Make me yours.” His voice dropped to a whisper, his words barely audible as he spoke them into her ear. His fingers wrapped around her waist, pulling her down onto him with a gentle yet insistent pressure. “Squeeze me tighter,” he commanded, “suck me dry with that cute little cunt,”

she giggled as she continues her slow movements in-between her pussy clenching around him to milk his cock with squeezes "Forever, if my dragon demands it I shall never leave his cock" she cooed

Viserys's face contorted in a mix of ecstasy and frustration, his body arching off the bed as she clenched around him with each squeeze “Yes,” he hissed, “like that. My queen, you're...you're... killing me.” He bucked upward, driving himself deeper into her warmth as she continued to ride him with slow, deliberate movements. “I demand it,” he growled, “never leave my cock.”

"yes my king" she whispered in his ear

Viserys's grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin as he pulled her down onto him with a fierce urgency “No,” he whispered, “don't nod, don't whisper. Say it loud, say it proud. Tell me you'll never leave my cock.” His breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling with the effort of holding back as she continued to milk him with her slow, squeezing movements.

"I shall never leave your cock My king, your queen shall have you inside her every moment I promise" she cooed as she moved

Viserys's eyes rolled back in his head, his vision blurring as he felt himself teetering on the edge of release. “That's it,” he groaned, “that's it. You're mine now, forever and always. No one else will touch you, no one else will claim you.” His body tensed, his muscles coiling like a spring as he prepared to unleash himself into her depths.

Viserys's chest heaved with exertion, his face twisted in a mask of raw pleasure as he waited for the inevitable. And then, in a burst of explosive release, he spilled himself into her depths, his body shuddering with the force of his climax As the aftershocks faded,