#THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE OF THE HOUSE ALICENT. INSIDE OF THE HOUSE

[floodonthefloor]

Alicent: why was I paired with a woman

Also Alicent: *fondles Rhaenyra’s strap in secret*

SJKDGHO8TYWCOERGHUDXGHLFD

[thestarlightforge]

“Another universe” 💀

She was probably talking about several things at once, Criston among them— but girly pop counseled with Rhaenyra in hushed tones/as they both body checked each other for 4 continuous mins in full blown church cosplay & within days, she came to him with this, eye—

In another universe

[nebulaafterdark]

The Succession (Part 3)

Summary: After the battle of Rook’s Rest, Queen Y/N is forced to rule alongside Prince Regent Aemond, in an attempt to keep her children safe and eventually seat her mother, Rhaenyra, on the throne. While attending her husband, on what appears to be his deathbed, she begins to unravel the dark truth of his near passing.

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2

Alicent’s idea of a procession to gain support for their wounded King, has quite the opposite effect. The smallfolk swam them, knocking the attending members of the royal family from their carriage and down onto the streets with them.

The Dowager Queen clings to Helaena and her daughter by law. With gold cloaks of the city watch forcing the crowd away from them. Making a path back toward the Keep.

Chérie watches in horror as it unfolds, amongst the sea of people, she spots a familiar face. One of Rhaenyra’s ladies-in-waiting. “Elinda?”

“Chérie?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to deliver a message to Princess Y/N, from Queen Rhaenyra.”

“May the gods be with you,” Chérie remarks.

“Where is she?” Elinda asks.

Chérie points toward the center of the mob. Alicent, Helaena and Y/N covered by guards attempting to protect them. “There.”

“Give us the Queen!”

“We want the Queen.”

“Back, all of you!” The guards demand, preparing to draw their swords.

Y/N tries to step forward, give the people what they want.

“Y/N,” Alicent keeps a firm hold on her, shaking her head. “It is not worth the risk.”

“You drug me away from my husband’s sick bed for our people to see me.” Y/N reminds her. “Let them see me.”

Alicent releases her, against her better judgment.

The mass of commoners threaten to engulf the Queen, with the banner of house Targaryen held proudly in their midst. “We want meat.”

“The King makes false promises!”

“You feast in your castle as we starve!”

The shouting builds to a crescendo.

“Do you want my help, or simply to hurl insults at the crown?” Y/N waits until they fall silent before she continues. “Before the King’s coronation, I was told the realm would never accept a ruling Queen. I heard this same sentiment recently, as my lord husband returned from battle, grievously injured. Yet you raise my mother’s banner in my husband’s streets.” Y/N says, loud enough for all to hear. “War is a terrible thing, that costs us all that which we love. It drives a wedge between our houses, makes fools of us all.”

“Stop the war!”

“End the blockade!”

Y/N hesitates, “I have no more agency over that than any of you, I fear. But I believe, as I know my husband does, that our victory relies on the smallfolk. We take to the woods, this day. We will hunt for our meat and we shall feast upon it together.”

The smallfolk murmur to each other.

“Most of you are not trained for the hunt, to which I say, neither am I. But we must stand together, not tear ourselves apart. We are one people, we are one heart.”

Slowly, the townsfolk begin voicing their approval.

“Take to your houses,” Y/N instructs, “gather your weapons and join me at the gates. They will open for us or we will break them down!”

“If you want a word with the Queen, now is your chance.” Chérie whispers.

“And you?”

“I must stand watch over his grace, until her return. After what I have learned this day…he mustn’t be alone.”

The mob cheers as they disband, knocking Chérie and Elinda apart.

Alicent rushes Helaena inside as Y/N heads for the gates.

“She should not be alone.” Helaena says.

“No, she shouldn’t.” Alicent presses cups her daughter’s face in her hands. “Ser Criston.” She calls.

“Your grace,” he stands at the ready.

“You are to accompany the Queen on this venture.” She tells him. “Y/N is not to be out of your sight, no harm must come to her.”

“Of course, your grace.” Cole nods, excusing himself to meet the Queen at the gates. They remain closed as commoners fall in line behind her, pushing at one another as she fights her way to the forefront.

“Where is it you think you’re going?” Aemond asks his niece.

“To give our people meat.” Y/N sneers, spotting her husband’s dagger on his hip. Without hesitation she reaches across, staring him dead in the eye as she yanks the blade free of its sheath. “You are welcome to join us.”

Aemond cocks his head to the side, knowing he has the final say in directing the King’s guard, “open the gates.”

————————————————————————

When Daemon receives Rhaenyra’s letter, detailing her plan to secure Y/N’s safe passage from King’s Landing to Dragonstone, he believes it is a terrible idea.

What they need is for her to hold the throne, the moment she abandons it, any claim Rhaenyra or Aegon holds over it will be lost to the Prince Regent. He knows better than anyone that the realm will suffer if Aemond, one eye, rules.

Instead he plans to enlist help of his own to secure his grandchildren’s safety. With Y/N and Aemond out roaming the woods, taking over half the King’s guard with them, he finds his opportunity.

Whistling through the gates to one of the white cloaks, who harbors a strong dislike of the Hightowers. The man abandons his post, meeting Daemon at the bars.

“How would you like to make a year’s worth of gold in an hour?”

Blood swallows harshly, “what would you have me do?”

“You can start by opening the fucking gate.”

The man does as he’s told.

“Follow me.” Daemon leads him down the alleyway to another man, whom he calls Cheese. “This is an old friend of mine, tonight he’s going to be your friend.” Daemon tosses them each a sack of gold.

“You said a year’s worth.”

“Half now, half when the job is done.”

Blood and Cheese count their bags of coin before nodding their agreement.

“What I need of you is simple. Enter the castle, find my grandson, Aegon.”

“The King?”

“Prince Aegon. He is a babe with dark hair.” With his father incapacitated, they have a good shot at it. “If you cannot retrieve him safely, leave.”

“Is that all?”

“Be sure to scare the seven hells out of the maids while you’re at it. But you are not to cause harm. This is a ploy to increase protection of the Queen’s heirs. Nothing more.”

“What is it they need protecting from?” Cheese wonders.

“Do you want the job or not?” Daemon snaps.

“Y-yes.”

“I will be waiting to collect him at the north gate.” The prince informs them. “You have one hour.”

————————————————————————-

“Disperse and take your share, all of you.” Aemond gives the smallfolk his blessing. They scatter in all directions, desperate and searching.

Y/N sets off with a pack of them into the east woods. Cole follows.

Aemond stays with the masses, showing his good faith. Hoping to win back their support of his claim.

Y/N is the first to spot a deer, running from them, “just there.” She sets off toward is. “Who wants it?”

“I, your grace.” A man with silver, gray hair marches toward it.

“Very well!” Y/N praises, “everyone come round, be sure it does not escape.”

“Together, now.”

They take the first, with some difficulty. Each to follow becomes easier.

Aemond makes his kills alone, happening upon the group eventually. Just in time to see the gleam of the White Hart, watching on from a safe distance. Willing him to slain it, prove himself once and for all, as Y/N toils in servitude of the smallfolk.

“Your grace!” One of the men yell, pointing to the stag. “For you.”

“For us,” Y/N pats his shoulder before hiking up her ruined skirts, “for us.”

“For us!”

Aemond draws his sword, spooking the animal into hiding.

The Queen’s eyes widen.

“May the beast be slain by the true heir, as a sign of good faith.” He says, taking off in search of it.

Y/N runs after him.

“My Queen!”

“Stay with the Queen!”

She chases Aemond deeper into the woods, but the stag cannot be found.

In an instant, Aemond turns on his heels. Leaving the end of his blade pointed at Y/N’s belly.

She flinches as his sword grazes her cheek on it’s upward swing.

Aemond smirks, watching the blood bead on her skin as her eyes well with tears. “Behind you.”

The stag bolts away.

“Aemond!” Ser Criston calls.

The Prince Regent sheathes his sword. “It got away.”

Y/N’s knees buckle, she does not fight as she falls to the ground. It was him. He who would sooner shroud his brother in dragon fire than fight at his side. He who jumped the line of succession to turn the war in his favor.

“Your grace,” Cole moves to her as Aemond retreats. “You’re injured.”

Y/N holds a hand up between them.

“Let me help you stand.”

“Why?” Y/N asks, “each time I stand I am struck down.”

“Because you keep rising.” Cole tells her. “You know, I may not have fathered them, but I raised both Aegon and Aemond as my own. He would not want to see you this way.”

“He may never see me again.”

“I do not believe that is true.” Ser Criston sighs, “so long as you live, he will find a way. My responsibility to Aegon now lies in ensuring he has something to wake up to.” He says, pointedly. “You have not made it an easy task.”

“I overheard you call my mother a spoiled cunt once.” Y/N scrubs a hand over her face, “be forewarned, I am worse.”

Despite himself, Cole smiles. Something just beyond her catching his eye. “My Queen.”

She follows the direction of his finger.

“This will be the sign we all desperately need, they would fall in line behind you. There will be no further question.”

The White Hart stares back at her, unblinking. “Have you come to die for me too?” She pushes up to her feet, flashing the blade before the animal’s eyes in warning. But the stag comes closer, she strokes its bowed head, plunging the dagger clean into its heart, allowing the stag to collapse onto her. Rocking the creature as best she can. “Thank you for all you have done for me. Your sacrifice is not in vain.”

Cole carries the slain stag behind Y/N, trudging through the forest, covered in its blood. The smallfolk know what this means. There is no need for a Prince Regent, they have a Queen.

Aemond nods. She’s won the battle, but he’ll win the war.

————————————————————————-

With the smallfolk contented, Y/N retires to her rooms, allowing the bath water to soothe her muscles and her mind. Chérie is still about, therefore the Queen allows another of her ladies to scrub the dirt and blood from her skin.

“It is done, my Queen.” Livia nods, “should you like a towel, or to soak a while longer?”

“The water is filthy,” Y/N murmurs.

“We might draw you a new bath, your grace.”

“No,” Y/N shakes her head. “Just the towel please.”

“At once, your grace.” She reaches for the plush cream fabric, holding it open for her majesty.

Y/N wraps herself in it, as her hair is rung out over the tub.

“Are you thinking of braids, your grace?”

No. Not in the least. “You may leave it hang.”

“Are you certain?” Livia blinks at her.

“Yes, help me dress in my nightgown, please. I am quite exhausted.”

Livia nods, scurrying to the dressing area and returning with a pale purple gown. “Is this to your liking, my Queen?”

Y/N smiles, “it is lovely. Thank you.”

The woman returns the gesture.

“You needn’t always address me so formally when we are alone. I wish for us to be friends.”

“A Queen is not expected to be friends with her servants.” Livia says, “my mother has served the dowager Queen Alicent for many years.”

“My mother was always kind to her ladies.” Y/N tells her. “That is the Queen I hope to be.”

Livia nods, easing the material over the Queen’s head, followed quickly by her robe. “I should like that very much.”

“I understand how difficult it can be, taking on a new role without knowing what’s expected of you. If you’ve questions, please voice them to me, I am more than happy to answer.”

“I have heard whispers from other ladies…that Chérie joins you and the King in your bed.” Livia stammers, “you are both very lovely, your grace, but I would not know how-”

“Oh no,” Y/N huffs a laugh. “Livia, that will never be asked of you. Chérie is very dear to the King and I, but that is not a task expected of my ladies.”

“Forgive me for assuming.”

“It’s quite alright, I am glad to clear the air between us. I would hate for you to be nervous in my presence over a misunderstanding.”

Livia exhales, “thank you for being so kind.”

Y/N takes her hand, “of course.”

“Y/N,” Chérie pants, having rushed past the guards. “It’s Aegon.”

Y/N moves, as if in slow motion, taking the bloodied dagger from the floor. Down the hall, to her husband’s rooms, shoving open the door.

“You’re hurt.” He says, taking in the sight of her, freshly dressed, hair still dripping from the bath.

She gawks at him. Willing her legs to move and dropping to her knees at the side of his bed, casting the weapon aside. Y/N rests her cheek against the coverlet, not daring to touch him.

Carefully he reaches for her, feeling the charred skin of his chest pull as his hand passes over her hair.

“I thought you were dead,” Y/N whispers. “Chérie rushed me out of my rooms to you. I thought you were dead.” She sobs, violently enough that any shred of anger Aegon harbors for the disregard of her own safety is forgotten.

“I’m going to look in on the children.” Chérie excuses herself.

Aegon whispers, as the doors close, “come round this side.”

“I can’t.” Y/N struggles to draw breath, shuttering as she does.

“I wish to hold you.”

“I will hurt you.”

“Hearing you sob on the floor, while I am no more than a foot away, is worse than any pain I am in. Let me comfort you.” Aegon insists, “please.”

Y/N stands, climbing carefully onto the bed, lying her head on the pillow beside his.

Aegon’s neck aches as he turns his head to face her, left eye swollen shut.

“I do not see where it is safe to touch you,” Y/N admits. The unmarred half of his face now rests against the pillow.

“Rest your head upon my shoulder.” Aegon sighs, “but let me look at you first.” He’s just taken milk of the poppy, enough to dull the sharp edge of pain.

“I am a mess.” Y/N lets out a watery laugh, dragging the back of her hand over her face, mindful of her graze.

“You are beautiful,” Aegon half smiles. “Tell me what’s happened.”

Y/N sucks in a breath, “the small council appointed Aemond as Prince Regent. The smallfolk were discontented in their hunger, I took them to hunt. I happened across a white stag and followed it into the woods. Aemond as well. He drew his sword once we were far enough out though Cole found us before anything happened. I think he meant to kill me.”

Aegon swallows, “you must stay away from Aemond, do you understand?”

Y/N nods.

“When I am well enough-”

“Has he done this to you?” Y/N needs to hear it plainly.

“Sunfyre and Meyles were locked together. There is no way of knowing what his intentions were, but it was Aemond who gave the command.” Dracarys.

“I’ll kill him.”

“You cannot.”

Y/N begins to protest.

“Listen to me now.” Aegon presses on, “I want you out of King’s Landing. I want our children out.”

“No, I will not leave you.”

“Go to your mother on Dragonstone.”

“No.”

“Shh,” Aegon gentles her. “I need you to hear what I am saying to you. This is the only way she can take back the throne. She wants Aemond’s head more than any. It will ensure your safety and the kill. I hate being parted as much as you do, but I cannot protect you here.”

“Who will protect you if I go?”

“My mother.”

“She would stand against Aemond, if it comes to it?” Y/N challenges.

“I do not want you here if it comes to that.”

“Why?”

“I will not have you stand between me and a blade. I will not allow you to be harmed or mistreated. I will protect you and our children at any cost.” Aegon says.

“The White Hart appeared for me,” Y/N is sure of it. “It fled from Aemond, returned for me and I killed it. For you, for our house and our people. I am not weak.”

“My concern is not because you are weak.” Aegon tells her, “at present, you are the largest threat to Aemond. He could end me now with a pillow held over my face.”

Y/N’s eyes widen.

“I jest, I jest.”

“I will do it myself if you dare say that again.”

He chuckles, “ah!” The movement is horribly painful. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“I promised the girls they could come visit you.” Y/N tells him, lowering her head to his shoulder.

“Are you certain that’s a good idea?” Aegon nuzzles against the top of her head. “They should not have to see me this way.”

Y/N sighs, “you are their father. They love you no matter what.”

“And you?” Aegon whispers, “you would have me still? They say I may never walk again.”

Y/N pulls away to stare at him with furrowed brows. “Aegon, of course I will have you. I love you.”

“I know that you love me.” Same as he would love her with roles reversed, “but will you…desire me? As your husband?”

Y/N presses her lips to his, oh so gently. “Of course. When you have recovered, we shall make up for lost time.”

Again he nods, not entirely convinced. “I should like that very much.”

“I speak true, husband.” Y/N insists. “Surely my body is different now than it was before our babes and you desire me still, do you not?”

“I desire you more.”

“We’re going to grow old together, you and I. In which time we will both surely change, that is the way of things.”

“Your grace!” Chérie calls, rapping her fist against the door.

“Come,” Y/N wills her.

The woman charges in, clearly distraught. “My Queen,” she says, without realizing Aegon is still lucid. The maesters warned his moments of waking will be few and far between. “Something awful has happened.”

“What is it?” Y/N springs from the bed.

“Prince Aegon…he’s been taken.”

“Taken where?” Y/N demands.

“I cannot say, the maids reported two men in hoods. They came with knives, threatened them and took the babe.”

“Bring us Dahlia, Visera and Laenor.” Aegon insists. “Send in the guards, they are to tear apart the Red Keep until my son is found.”

“Of course, my King.” Chérie bows.

Y/N steals the abandoned dagger, making for the door.

“Where are you going?” Aegon calls after her.

“To kill your brother.”

Part 4

Series Taglist: @oh-you-mean-me @barnes70stark @lovelyteenagebeard @niyahnotnia @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @callsignwidow @hyde-jpg @novelswithariana @klutzylaena @ynbutbetter @ravenqueen27 @danart501

[missnightshade]

❝ MY LOVE? ❞

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Requested? Yes!

Summary: Jokes about the confusing status of your friendship with Agatha unveils a newfound dynamic between the two of you.

Warnings: Fluff with a very subtle mention of smutty times (wasn't in the mood for he whole thing, sorry :c). English not being my first language.

Word count: 1.5K.

The coven gathered around Agatha’s living room. The house, after many months, was finally back together and redecorated as she enjoyed. No more of Agnes in the bits and pieces, but rather a collection of small details that exuded everything that Agatha Harkness was; a witch surviving history itself, exuberant, full of dark colors and natural particularities that danced upon shelves with pots of herbs and dried flowers, firelights with a warm yellow glow making the walls breathe as if life was given to them.

Lilia was sat at the armchair side while Billy, Jen and Alice, the later being the only one at the floor, stood across from you and Agatha, the table full of snacks and whine glasses separating you. The night of games and chattering died down slowly as a soft hum of laughs and shared conversations made space to the swift of the midnight into the dawn. Agatha was there, almost thrown against the back of the sofa as her legs were over your tights. Your hand pressed pointedly against the soft skin lf her ankles as your fingertipes traveled mindlessly up her calf.

Looking back at Agatha, recounting something you’ve heard before on your own private covenless parties when the rest was unavailable, the gleam in her eyes was almost screaming at you. Seeing her there, smiling to those same people she swore to get rid of — including yourself — made you realize again that Agatha Harkness had found her people. She was carefree. Unapologetically truthful and open with the collection of woman (and a boy) like she’d never been before. Most of them, meeting her for the first time, had a figure of her in their minds that made them suspicious while walking the road and maybe even a bit afterward. They had grown to love her just as much as she’d grown to love them in her crocked way. But not you. As unfair as it was to your own well-being, you’d trusted the goodness inside of Agatha from the first encounter, hours before entering the road. Something in her eyes glared at you then... a desperation, a seek of help that was beyond her powers. You hoped for her. Yearned to be able to see that blissful shimmering dot in her own existence come to life under the right circumstances. Back then, the recently built Coven called you empathetic, soft, and innocent. And perhaps you were full of empathy but, even then, before getting to share the moments that came to build a friendship full of beautiful moments, you knew that your heart was on a path of loving Agatha more than any of those Witches could ever love her. But as silently as the feeling came, silently you stood, enjoying what this new life gave you. What you asked for the road, itself: not being alone anymore

Teen snickered at Jen’s comment of the stain of wine on Lilia’s shirt, and as your tipsy self chocked on your own glass trying not to laugh to hard, Agatha’s body searched for yours with a playfully pat on the back.

“Careful darling. Don’t want you dying on me.”

The comment made you laugh even harder, eyes forming small droplets of tears. Her fingers gently cared for them, whipping them away. The moment stood with lightness before William’s voice erupted in the room in tangled words.

“For fuck’s sake…you too really look like a married couple.”

It was a recurrent joke inside the Coven. Even with your age gap with teen being the smallest among you all, it was not occasionally that you and Agatha would play the part of parenting him into being a young man with principals, but also a great witch. While doing so, you would partner with each other like you belonged together for that task, but a lot of others too.

You had convinced yourself that Agatha was the thing the road gave you. Even with all the other girls, she had become the most beautiful constant of your life. Where she failed, you made her succeed. Where you fell, she would be there to catch.

“Oh please. You act like you don’t know we belong together. Right, dear? ” she flattered while playfully messing around, smiling while running her fingers through your hair. If felt nice, and you grinned, gently laying your head against her hands.

Agatha looked back at you, asking for a backup as she always did. You laughed lowly.

“They don’t get it, my love.”

The whole room lost its colors. Agatha’s eyes searched for yours as if you had just pronounced a wedding vow. There was something in her eyes that no one could see. But you did. Happiness but, also, shock. You would always call each other dear, darling. But not ever the word love was used. Let alone with how your voice claimed her in the most precious way. The older witch felt her insides burning, giddiness making her shoulders bounce as her whole face flushed. Agatha could listen to her heartbeat and feel it in her bones as she tried to control her breathing. The room was not silenced as the environment that resolved around the two of you was.

Agatha, blushing and a complete mess, broke the stare contest when your smile became too much for her. And by that time, Alice was already trying to guide a drunk Lilia to the front door and into her car, while Teen promised to drive Jen back home.

“See you on Monday for potions practice!” was all you both heard from Billy as the door closed, Agatha finally getting up from the couch.

She tried to engulf herself with the task of tidying up the space, but you knew she was trying to run from being confronted by you. So, instead, with a swift motion of your hand, the magic you possessed swayed around the room, fixing everything for her. Agatha eyed you, a soft, thankful, yet guilty smile at her lips.

“You know. You also have magic. Could’ve done the same.” You raised from your place on the couch, standing face ti face to her. Agatha knew what was coming when your usual bratty smile adorned your lips. “But you rather run from me, don’t you, my love?”

She breathed out shakily, blue eyes fixed on your smaller form as if there was something painful keeping her just millimeters away from breaking the fragile wall that separated friendship and relationship. Agatha felt she could bear another heartbreak if it was with you. And you felt that Agatha could never look at you the way she was looking right now. Yet, you saw it. The longing. The fire burning inside. The small tilt to her head as she heard those words again.

“Don’t. Don’t call me that.” She said fiercely like never before. Never to you. But all her attempts of pushing you away resulted in warm hands around her face.

“Why?” Your voice traced, hazel eyes pure and lovingly, like an open door. “What if you are, indeed, my love?”

“Pretty girl…” she called ten times softer now. There was a frown between her eyebrows that only ever appeared when there was an intrinsic self-doubt. Agatha felt you there. Felt the need. The bursting of her feeling, growing tired of being kept at bay. “This…you are too precious to love me.”

“That wasn’t my question, Agatha.” You stood, hand griping the hairs on her nape, pulling her to you. Harkness eyes darkened, and she knew, there and then, that whatever distance she dreamed to keep with you, it never really existed.

She wanted to scream and cry. Love, for her, was complicated. And painful. And you weren’t any of those things. She couldn’t break you. Yet, as you held her that close, bodies flushed, the fears and restraining flew off her own road. Funny thing how the heart is such and uncontrollable little bitch, she thought while hungrily catching you into her arms as her mouth pressed to yours.

Agatha was fervent in claiming your soul as hers. It was as if her kiss, sweet and bitter with the taste wine, outlined every nuance of your existence. Her hands touched the fragile but infinitely provocative body that you hid from her sight under a vintage dress. With her palms, the witch recognized the curves that even without knowing, she had dreamed of for months. The kiss wavered between one touch or another that Agatha spread across your thighs. Your dress was lifted along with her fingers in a rhythmic rhythm that seemed more like torture than the way her lips skillfully immersed themselves in yours.

Agatha expected you to push her away, but when it was your body that pushed her onto the same couch, she knew it was over. All her carefully constructed control was over. Your gaze looked down at her with a display of longing and desire that didn’t fit the same innocence of her precious girl. Always so sweet, so untouchable. There, Agatha saw you as a woman. A beautiful woman who claimed her as she would claim you.

Maybe she could break you. As long as you intended to break her too.

[moonlightrafe]

High Infidelity

summary: When Aegon goes AWOL, you find yourself at his house searching for answers when you stumble across his not so-baby-brother.

pairing: Modern!Aemond x Aegon's girlfriend!Reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: Explicit smut, alcohol consumption, cheating, angst, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, 18+ MDNI

note: Haven't written about Aemond in months?? omg hi I missed him <3 apparently the fandom is dying down a bit? Idk, enjoy!

The phone rings and rings, but there’s no answer, not even a quick text to explain his silence. Your trust with Aegon had always been on shaky ground, but this time feels different. You remember the stories, the warnings from your friends— Even his own sister had her doubts. One night after too many glasses of wine, Helaena had slipped up and told you she wasn’t sure of his intentions with you. But none of it mattered, you were determined. You swore you could fix him, that things with you would be different.

Now, every second of silence feels like confirmation of what you’ve tried so hard to ignore. This isn’t the first time he’s blown you off for his friends and part of you wants to believe there’s an innocent explanation, but another part can’t shake the feeling that this is just him being who he’s always been.

Before you drive yourself crazy, you decide the best course of action is to just go to his house and demand an answer… If he’s even there.

When you pull up, the house is dimly lit. You know Alicent is out of town for the weekend, so the only people who might be home are Aegon and his siblings.

The front door is left unlocked, probably Aegon’s doing, so you are able to let yourself right in.

“Aeg?” you call down the hallway as you open the door to the foyer, but you only receive silence in return.

Once you make your way up to Aegon’s bedroom and peer inside, it’s empty; save for Sunfyre, Aegon’s golden retriever.

“Hi, baby,” you greet the sandy dog with enthusiasm, leaning down to pet his head.

“Where’s daddy off to now, huh?”

He just tilts his head at you and you sigh.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do with him.”

You’re startled as the door opens, your heart lurches in your chest thinking it’s Aegon, but instead you find yourself face to face with his younger brother, Aemond.

“Looking for Aegon?”

“Yeah,” you reply, trying to hide your disappointment, “he hasn’t been answering me. Do you know where he is?”

Aemond shakes his head, leaning against the door frame.

“Out, I assume. He left earlier with no explanation.”

His tone carries a trace of bitterness, though it’s not directed at you.

“Right,” you sigh, “typical.”

Aemond tilts his head, studying you for a moment before speaking.

“You could wait around for him, but I wouldn’t count on him showing up anytime soon. He’ll come back when he feels like it.” His lips twitch into a faint smirk, “or when he runs out of bad ideas.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, despite your frustration.

“Yep, that sounds like him.”

There’s a beat of silence before Aemond pushes off the door frame and steps closer. You’re not his problem, he should walk away, leave you here—and yet, the words spew out of him like vomit: “You don’t have to sit here, drowning in Aegon’s mess… You can chill with me.“

His offer catches you off guard.

“I don’t know,” you say hesitantly, though the idea of not sitting here stewing in your irritation is tempting, “wouldn’t that be weird?”

Aemond shrugs, his gaze steady.

“Only if you make it weird.”

“I need something to take the edge off.”

“Yeah, sure. Um, we can check downstairs, I’m sure my mom’s got something—"

“That won’t be necessary,” you tell him, “I know Aeg has got to have something in here.”

You open Aegon’s closet, revealing a cluttered mess as the scent of unwashed clothes hits your senses. You look at Aemond with a shit eating grin, revealing a large bottle of tequila.

"Come on, then," Aemond says as he nods toward the hallway.

"Alright, lead the way."

You follow him out of Aegon’s room, bottle in hand. You didn’t know much about Aemond, you had rarely spent time with him. Except for family holiday parties or vacations, but he typically kept to himself.

Aemond’s room, to no surprise, was the total opposite of Aegon’s. His bed was neatly made, the floor freshly vacuumed and the smell of fabric softener lingered in the air. It was comfortable, easy to relax in.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea," you admit as you slide down to sit on the floor, your back resting against the edge of Aemond’s bed.

Aemond rummages through the mini fridge he has sat in the corner before setting a can of cola in front of you.

“You don’t have to hang with me,” he shrugs as he slides down beside you, a soda of his own in his hand.

Before you answer him, you quickly crack open your drink and take a large swig of the liquor in front of you, grimacing as it burns the back of your throat.

“No, no,” you choke out, passing the bottle to Aemond, “I want to. Aegon is out doing Gods knows what, why shouldn’t I enjoy myself? Like you said, I don’t need to sit and stir in his mess… And I’ll drink his stash while I’m at it.”

Aemond smirks at your comment, cracking open his soda before taking a swig.

“I doubt he’d even notice. Half the time, I think he forgets what’s in there.”

He takes a sip, his sharp profile illuminated by the faint glow of the desk lamp across the room.

You tilt your head to look at him.

“You and Aegon really are opposites, huh?”

“That’s putting it lightly,” he scoffs, his tone carrying a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

“I like being around you,” you admit quietly.

“You’re…different. In a good way.”

The bottle is in your possession again, this time you chug it.

“Different,” he repeats, his tone unreadable, “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

“It is,” you assure him, slightly coughing as you do so.

“You’re smart. Thoughtful. You’re not… The mess that Aegon is. It’s…refreshing.”

Aemond’s lips twitch in the faintest hint of a smile, and he leans his head back against the bed, studying you with an intensity that makes your skin heat.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever been called ‘refreshing’ before.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” you tease, though your voice wavers slightly under his gaze.

The air grows heavier between you, silence stretching but not uncomfortable. You feel his shoulder brush yours as he shifts slightly closer.

“You’re different too,” he says, his voice softer now.

“You’re way better than any of Aegon’s past girlfriends, my entire family agrees. You don’t just…blend into the background. You make people notice you. You made me notice you. Honestly, I don’t know why you put up with Aegon.”

You blush furiously at his words. Now things are taking a different turn, forcing you to take yet another swig from the bottle.

“And you can hold your liquor,” Aemond notes, and you ignore him, going back to his original comment.

“I don’t know," you sigh, “I mean, we have history… Aeg and I,” you wince as memories of the two of you flood your mind.

“He’s really not that bad... Plus, the sex is good,” you explain as your cheeks flush.

Aemond raises a brow at your words, his lips twitching into a sly smirk as he leans back against the bed, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

“History, huh?” he muses, his tone laced with something that feels dangerously close to mockery.

“Sounds to me like you’re defending a bad investment.”

You roll your eyes, feeling the heat rise throughout your entire body.

“I’m just saying, Aegon has his moments. When he’s not being… well, himself.”

Aemond chuckles, the sound low and smooth.

“Moments. Right. I’m sure those are worth the chaos he drags behind him like a storm cloud.”

You narrow your eyes at him, though the corners of your lips threaten to lift.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to make a point?”

“Maybe I am,” he counters, shifting slightly so his shoulder brushes against yours, "tell me, does ‘not that bad’ really sound like a glowing endorsement? Or are you settling because it’s easy?”

You are unable to tell if Aemond is trying to help you, or if he’s just being cruel and judgemental.

Your eyes stay locked on his as he takes a swig from the bottle.

“Easy doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

“No,” Aemond agrees, his voice dipping lower as his smirk deepens, “but it doesn’t make it right, either. Or satisfying. At least, not in the way you deserve.”

There’s something heavy in his words, and the way he looks at you makes your stomach flip. You try to keep your tone light, teasing.

“And I suppose you think you know what I deserve?”

He leans in just slightly, his eye flicking to your lips before meeting your gaze again.

“Maybe. Or maybe I just know you could do better.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as the air between you grows charged. His voice drops even lower, barely a whisper now.

“If the sex is all that’s keeping you interested, then maybe you’ve been wasting your time.”

You’re caught between wanting to retort and being completely undone by the intensity of his stare.

“And what would you suggest, Aemond?” you ask, your voice faltering slightly.

His smirk softens into something more genuine, his gaze never leaving yours, “I’d suggest you let someone show you what it’s really supposed to feel like.”

Your breath hitches, and you turn to face him fully.

“Aemond…”

His eye drops to your lips for the briefest moment, and then he’s looking at you again, his expression unreadable but his intent clear.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible but filled with restraint.

You don’t. Instead, you lean forward, closing the space between you. His hand lifts, brushing against your cheek as his lips meet yours, soft but insistent.

When you finally pull back, breathless and heart pounding, his forehead rests against yours, a rare vulnerability in his gaze.

“This,” he murmurs, “might not be a good idea either.”

“But it feels right,” you whisper, surely the tequila talking for you, but he nods, a small smile tugging at his lips before he kisses you again.

“Come on," he says before rising to his feet, grabbing your hands to pull you up with him.

You wrap your arms around his neck, the two of you falling backward onto his bed, with Aemond top of you, his lips crashing against yours again, pressing you hard into the mattress.

His hands snake underneath your shirt, squeezing at your tits, tugging at your bra before he removes the garment from you completely. He groans, his hands moving cupping your tits, squeezing them, kneading the flesh between his hands almost desperately. He is then busy fumbling with the zipper on your jeans, pulling them off you, leaving you in just your panties.

Aemond moves off of you and pulls his sweatpants down hastily, revealing his cock to you. He’s thick, hard, and throbbing — ready for you to take. He takes his hand and wraps it around the shaft, stroking it slowly. His eyes meet yours and your heart rate goes through the roof, blood roaring in your ears.

You sit up on your knees, moving toward him, your hand reaching toward his cock. His head falls back as you grip it with one soft hand, stroking gently, running your thumb along the most prominent vein.

Aemond grits his teeth, watching as you lean in, your tongue darting out to lap at the tip of his cock, spreading the pre cum that’s already leaking from him. His hand moves to collect your hair into a makeshift ponytail, watching as you take his cock into your mouth. You gaze up at him, your lashes fluttering as you hollow your cheeks, taking him in far enough to hit the back of your throat. Your mouth is so fucking wet and warm that Aemond doesn’t know what he can do except twist his hand in your hair and buck his hips slightly as you suck him off.

Your hands move to cup his balls, squeezing gently, massaging them, before you pull your mouth off his cock, replacing it with one of your hands as you mouth at his balls. He lets out a low moan of your name, his free hand tugging at his own hair, the feeling of your mouth being almost too much for him.

Just as he feels his body tighten, about to reach his end, He pulls away, pinning you back down to the bed, a grin on his face, “Uh uh, baby, I’m not letting the fun end this soon.”

Aemond pushes you backwards onto his bed. He eagerly glides your panties down your legs, revealing your pussy to him and you hiss at the exposure. All swollen and wet with arousal, a growl erupts from his chest at the sight.

“My brother is a fucking idiot,“ he groans as his eyes scan over you and he gently spreads you open with two of his fingers.

As he maneuvers himself to line up with your entrance, he taps his cock against your velvety skin, eliciting an embarrassingly loud moan from you.

“You’re sure you want this?” he questions, his eyes darting back and forth between yours.

“Yes, I’m sure! Just, please —”

He takes no time to run his cock through your thick folds a few times, and they wrap around him perfectly. So warm and inviting, he can’t help but let out a whimper at the contact. You watch him eagerly as you bite down on your bottom lip. You both know he won’t last long once he’s fully inside of you.

He slaps the head of his cock against your clit, watching the way your whole body quivers before slowly pushing the tip inside you. You’re so fucking tight, he thinks he might just cum from this alone, but he grits his teeth, slowly pushing, inch by inch, until he’s balls deep inside of you.

You cling to him, your arms around his neck as he begins to cant his hips against yours, slowly at first, then faster and faster. He hears your breathy little gasps as he pounds into you, your pouty lips forming into a perfect ‘o’ shape.

You look so gorgeous like this, he muses, as he rasps against your ear, “so perfect for me, baby, tell me how good I make you feel.”

“Feels so good, Aem,” you babble mindlessly, rolling your hips against his, your eyes rolling back.

Aemond’s ego is currently through the roof. Comforting Aegon’s girlfriend with his cock buried inside her? He wishes Aegon could see him right now.

His large palm rests on your lower belly, adding pressure to each thrust. With each snap of his hips, you feel yourself on the brink of insanity. Each drag of his thick length has you closer and closer to coming undone as a coil builds inside you, threatening to snap at any moment.

In one swift motion, Aemond now has your thighs up to the level of your breasts, allowing him to pound deeper into you, the weight of his body against yours is intoxicating — making you a drooling, babbling mess.

The tip of his cock continues to prod your sweet spot relentlessly and with a perfectly angled thrust, you’re soaking his cock, clenching down on him with force.

“Gods, such a good girl for me,” he says proudly, still pounding into you through your orgasm, “that’s it baby, cum on my cock.”

You keen at his praise, shaking around him as your cunt sucks in his length. You quickly pull his own release from him. He’s muttering profanities as he spills himself inside of you.

Once he pulls out of you, you move to lay next to him, smiling when he cuddles into you. His head rests on your chest, with an arm slung around your waist. Your legs are intertwined. You feel at ease.

Everything is going to be crazy when you have to terms with what just happened. But for right now, safe and sound in Aemond’s arms. The pain of Aegon’s absence is long forgotten.

“Thank you,” you murmur softly.

“For what?” his tone casual, although you swear you catch a hint of a smirk on his lips.

“For not being like Aegon.”

[xetlynn]

Twilight Imagines- Jasper x Reader

Curiosity

[Masterlist]

Requested by: @futurequeen2018-blog

“Are you sure you want to come?” Bella asks me as we had just gotten into her truck. “Isn’t this against your guys' agreement or something?” Starting up the vehicle but also not glancing my way. I hum softly, not really knowing how to respond. It is against the treaty to go on one another’s land they claimed. 

Technically on the other hand if they get permission it is different. And I have permission from the one and only. Carlisle Cullen. I know my family would be angry. 

Very angry. But what they don’t know won’t hurt them. “Just go, questions will be answered in due time.” I joke with Bella, snapping my seatbelt on. Surprisingly she takes it and reverses out of my mother’s driveway. 

The only reason I got permission from the vampire was because I was with Bella when Edward came over. I pleaded with her boyfriend to let me talk with his “dad.” I needed to know their side of the story. Everyone’s history. I believe my people of course. I had to know more. I got to call the sculpture of a man. His voice was sultry, smooth and almost angelic. I felt safe instantly and I now understand why Bella trusted them so. 

I explained my curiosity, my interest in learning about them, he told me the dangers. On both sides. I knew what I was getting into. It wasn’t difficult to push though, with a sigh from him he told me I was welcome to come over with Bella, to keep it a secret. 

“We’re here.” Her voice startles me, my eyes widen but I quickly calm myself. Giving a small smile and exiting the loud red vehicle. “Oh.” I mumble, slamming the door shut behind me. Four of the Cullen’s were already outside to greet us. Edward rushed to his lover as I walked toward the other three. Carlisle reaches a hand out and I take it. Curtly shaking it, then letting it drop to my side. “An honor, [Name].” He nods his head, I do the same. “Thank you.” I say. 

“This is Esme and Emmett.” He introduces me to the pretty duo beside him. His wife and other “Son.” Esme gives me a gentle smile, not offering her hand though. “Nice to meet you again.” 

Oh, right. We’ve met before. “Yes, it is.” I attempt a smile but now I’m beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea after all. “Don’t go all wolf on us now, come inside.” Emmett’s voice booms loudly, motioning for me to follow him. I glance back to Bella’s red truck then over to Carlisle who gives me a reassuring expression. I let out a breath, letting my feet take over. 

As beautiful as their house is outside it’s even more gorgeous inside. I soak everything in, my eyes wandering everywhere. I notice the other three Cullen’s in the living room as we get to the kitchen. They were talking amongst themselves. The blonde’s beauty was almost overwhelming and then my eyes landed on the other girl. Her eyes are already piercing into mine. 

Once she sees me look at her she gives me a genuine smile which I wasn’t expecting. I smile back, shortly waving. As I went to look at the guy he was walking away. Seemingly… upset? “Hi, I’m Alice! You strangely don’t smell awful.” The girl from before is now in my face and I take a step back, alarmed. 

“...hi, and thanks?” I shyly respond. Jacob told me they despised wolves, why are they being so nice to me? “It is weird that you smell decent.” The blonde interjects the conversation that I think I was going to have with the short brunette. “Um- I don’t know how to respond to that.” I awkwardly chuckle, avoiding eye contact with them. 

“I thought it was just going to be Carlisle and I.” I rub the back of my neck, changing the subject. I didn’t expect to meet everyone. Well almost everyone since that one guy didn’t want to meet me. For some reason it kind of hurt my feelings? I don’t understand why. 

“That is what was supposed to happen but they are nosey. Felt entitled to meet you.” Carlisle steps in, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Oh, well if they want to stay for the time being I don’t mind hearing everyone’s side of things. That’s why I’m here.” I smile, folding my arms in front of my chest, mainly to comfort myself.  “If you’re alright with it.” He repeats, I glance at everyone who was kind of staring me down. I swallow thickly, looking back up to him. “It’s fine.” I almost whisper. “Let’s go to the couch, to get more comfortable.” Esme leads the way into the living room. “I’m Rosalie by the way.” The beautiful woman says, nudging my arm. “[Name].” I say back. 

We all sit down as a group, except Emmett who stays standing behind his wife. Rubbing her shoulders every now and then. 

And this is kind of how it’s been since that day. We talk in the living room of their house, telling me their stories. Carlisle always has more to say due to being the eldest out of all of them. Hearing the heartbreaking things they’ve been through to be who they are now just makes me not understand why we hate them so much. Not all of them are evil, just like not all humans are evil. It’s a 50/50 chance to meet someone bad. You never truly know who you are going to meet. It’s scary but that’s the price of living. Or not living in their cases. 

Everytime I come over, there’s that one guy who always leaves the house. I learned his name is Jasper. There’s only been two times where he has stayed, It’s not for a long time either. For thirty minutes at most and it seems like if I look at him too much he tenses up and that’s what causes him to leave. I ask Rosalie and Alice about him quite a bit. Curiosity getting the best of me. Emmett makes fun of me, telling me I have a puppy crush on him. Insulting if you ask me. 

Alice always tells me it’s nothing personal with him; he just has a hard time opening up to people. Especially when he finds them interesting himself. Or threatening and I hope it’s the first one because I only want to be his friend. Like I became with the three, more Rosalie, kind of Emmett as well. 

Alice has been leaving with Jasper more recently, I don’t know why. She didn’t explain it but I can tell something serious is going on. Something to do with Bella. No one will tell me anything though. I think it’s because of me being a wolf. 

With that being said it’s also been hectic at the Rez. Paul, my cousin keeping a closer eye on me. Making me stay with the pack to train. Again it is kept a weird secret against me. Until I found out from Jacob and Leah talking. Some vampire is making an army of newborns to kill the Cullen’s. Wanting Edward and mainly Bella dead. They’re tracking her scent and everything, someone’s been in her room. 

When I found out I ran to my car, driving to the Cullen's place, I didn’t know someone was following behind me though. Shoving my gear shift into park I run up to the front door, knocking like a mad man. The door opens and I immediately begin talking. “Why didn’t anyone tell me that’s what we’re training for? Supposedly I was training to literally do nothing too.” I glare at the person before me. It was Jasper. When my eyes landed on him something felt different. The world getting brighter. My heart rate quickened. My breathing stunted. “I- What?” I whisper, before I can say anything else though I hear a scoff behind me. 

“Are you kidding me, [Name]!?” My cousin Paul shouts behind me, Jasper and I look at him with wide eyes. “I don’t know what happened! Wait! Calm down!” I step off the porch, Jasper right next to me, trying to explain what I just did. We’ve never even talked to one another and I just imprinted on him. How stupid am I? Can a wolf even do that with a vampire? Is that natural? Is that okay? 

“You imprinted on a vampire, [Name]. What the fuck is wrong with you?” He screams in my face, Jasper places a hand on my cousin’s chest. “Hey, it’s not her fault and you know that.” He sticks up for me. I tense up as Paul glares at him. “Don’t touch me, freak.” He shoves the guy. I feel my skin get hot. 

“Don’t touch him!” I scream and push Paul back, causing him to stumble. 

All of a sudden I’m not onto the steps of the porch, hurting my back. I look back to see the Cullen’s getting in defensive stances. My eyes go back to the guys in front of me. Paul backs up and I think he’s going to walk it off but instead he runs back toward Jasper, shifting into his wolf form. Jasper braces himself for impact but I quickly get up shifting in my own form. Attacking Paul from the side. 

Both of us get up after rolling in the dirt. I shake it off, getting in front of Jasper protectively. Baring my teeth at my cousin. Snapping when he gets too close. “You’re going to fight for him over your own family!?” He questions me. “He’s my mate now, I have no choice.” I growl. He gets close to me but I snarl. Standing my ground. “It’s in our rules. You can’t harm my imprint, Paul.” I remind him. He attempts to get at me again but when I don’t move he pauses. Not responding to me. Just staring me down. I do the same, not losing my stance. Then suddenly he huffs, running off. 

I look back to the Cullen’s whimpering as an apology, bowing my head down. Closing my eyes. Not believing the mess I just made. How could I imprint on Jasper? Why did I have to do that!? He probably resents me now, I screwed up my every chance of being normal to him. 

“It’s okay, hun.” A country accent rips through the air, a hand petting under my chin and I look up to see Jasper giving me a gentle smile, his dimples forming. “You did nothing wrong, [Name].” Edward tells me, shocking me. I just wish I was in my human form but I know if I shift back I’ll be naked. 

“Go get her a blanket.” Jasper says, as if he was reading my mind. I know he can feel my emotions, but not read my thoughts like Edward. Alice comes toward me with a large blanket, wrapping it over me back giving me enough privacy to go back to my human form. 

When I do I grip the blanket, covering myself. “Thank you.” I huff, feeling sweaty and gross. “No problem, love.” Jasper helps me up, keeping an arm wrapped around me. “I understand if this is weird for you.” I automatically say to him. He breathes out a quiet laugh. 

He looks around at the others, giving a look as if to tell them to leave us for a moment. They do so, going back inside. “We never even spoke and now we’re supposed to be mates.” I drop my head, embarrassed with myself. “It’s definitely interesting.” He squeezes me closer to him. 

“Don’t you find it weird?” I ask, hiding my face in the blanket, we both sit down. “Mm, I was fond of you before you imprinted. I think this just gives me a push to get to know you.” He tells me, I gasp quietly, still hiding my face though.

“You were?”

“Yeah, nerves got to me, I couldn’t read your emotions when you looked at me. You were happy when you spoke to everyone but when you looked at me it was confusion..? I don’t know.” He explains. It grows quiet as I begin to register what he’s telling me. “Can I see your face?” He asks. I slowly do it, looking up at him. 

“You’re embarrassed.” He states. My face grows warm. “Who wouldn’t be in my position? I’m naked and I just imprinted on this handsome guy that also happens to be a vampire?” I dramatically explain, almost dropping the blanket but he lifts it back on my shoulder before that happens, leaving me with an even warmer face. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’m happy with what happened.” He stares into my eyes to prove his being genuine. “Are you sure?” I quiz. 

“Positive.” He snickers. “Can I kiss you?” I blurt out, only making him laugh more. “Yes, you can.” 

I reach out with a covered hand and touch his face, pulling him into a kiss.

---------------------

I'm super sorry this took forever to come out, I've been busy with another move, along with a bunch of other personal stuff. I have been working on writings during this time I just haven't had time to edit and post it. Expect a few things to be posted within these next few days. Hopefully at least:)

[aphroditelovesu]

Yandere Viserys I Targaryen w/Second Wife!Reader Headcanons (Romantic)

❝ 🐉 — lady l: Happy New Year!!! First headcanons of the year and I hope you like it. I hope you have a great year, good things come to you and good reading! Forgive me for any mistakes ❤️✨️.

❝tw: unspecified age gap, overprotection, not compatible with canon and Reader is the mother of Aegon, Helaena, Daeron and Aemond.

❝🐉pairing: yandere!viserys i targaryen x female!reader.

Viserys never wanted to remarry after the death of his beloved Aemma. The idea of ​​replacing her with another woman made him sick. He didn't want to get married again, but he was the King and he had his obligations to the Realm. To have a strong bloodline and strengthen the House Targaryen.

Although he didn't like the idea, Viserys after a period of time began looking for a potential bride. He received several powerful offers, such as the Velaryon and the Hightower, but he did not feel comfortable marrying Lady Laena or Lady Alicent.

So he kept looking and that's how he met you. An attractive young woman, but older than the last ones, and from a house powerful enough to provide strength to the Realm. Viserys was immediately attracted to you and knew he wanted to marry you.

The preparations were made quickly and well, Viserys was excited to be able to call you his wife, but in the days before the wedding, he spent time by your side, getting to know you better.

With that, Viserys found out as much as he could about you, about your childhood, your family, and your likes and dislikes. He was more than pleased, especially seeing that you were as interested in history as he was.

Rhaenyra also liked you, although she was apprehensive about the idea of ​​a stepmother, about the possibility of you providing a male heir, she liked you. You were kind to her and assured her that even if you have a son, you will not try to replace her on the Throne.

When you became the second wife of Viserys, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, he was already in love. Much faster than he would like to admit, Viserys was already in your domain and became yours even sooner than anticipated. At first, he felt guilty, guilty that he might be betraying Aemma's memory, but quickly, those thoughts went away. Aemma was dead and you were alive.

Viserys was more than happy to see that you and his daughter were getting along, it made him feel relieved inside. He couldn't wait to have children with you, to grow his family. When he learned of your first pregnancy, Viserys almost cried with happiness, but there was concern. What if you died during childbirth? He couldn't take another loss, couldn't lose you.

You were very much in love with each other, you had learned to love your husband and he was deeply in love with you. Your mannerisms, your personality, everything enchanted him. Your favorite moments together were when you talked about history, whether it was your House or House Targaryen. Viserys cherished every moment, every smile and look shared.

When you gave birth to a healthy son, Aegon, Viserys was very happy, not only because he had a son, but because you were alive and the birth was peaceful. The next pregnancies were no different, with Helaena, Daeron and Aemond.

You assured him, assure Rhaenyra, that you would not let Aegon usurp or anything like that happen when it was time for Rhaenyra to take the Throne. You adored your stepdaughter and she adored you too, seeing you as a second mother. Viserys would never admit it, but if you asked, he would name Aegon his heir if that was your wish. This shows how much he is in love with you.

You tried your best to fulfill your duties as Queen, mother and wife as best you could, discouraging any possible rivalry the children might have and reassuring your support for Viserys and your stepdaughter. Your main priority was to avoid a war. You presided over the Small Council, advising your husband as best you could.

You hold all power over Viserys, it soon became clear to everyone who really ruled the Seven Kingdoms. You could ask for anything, from the most insignificant to the most absurd thing, and Viserys would fulfill it instantly.

He is extremely overprotective, Viserys fears losing you more than anything and every time you have an entire armada comes out after you. When you are sick, he sends the best maesters to take care of you and will not leave your side until you get better.

If something were to happen to you or one of your children, may the gods be good. Viserys tries his best to avoid war and resolve any conflict with diplomacy, but all that changes when it comes to you. Any insult to you is like an insult to him and any way of hurting you will not be taken lightly.

No matter how peaceful he is, no matter how calm and rational, Viserys is still a Targaryen, a dragon and you should never mess with one of them if they don't want to get burn. Not only will you have your overprotective husband by your side, but also your children who love you deeply and will do anything for you.

You are not Aemma's replacement and Viserys doesn't think so. He thinks of you as yourself and loves you for it. He will always love Aemma, but he loves you in a different way. A more overprotective and possessive way. He can't lose you and he won't.

[hisfavegirl]

Beneath The Crown - Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader

Summary : You became more than just the daughter of Otto Hightower and the sister of Alicent—you became the woman who had captured the heart of Daemon Targaryen, the woman who would stand beside him in the face of the dangers and challenges that lay ahead. But love, especially one born of such fire and conflict, was never easy. The world around you was shifting, and as much as you wanted to embrace this new chapter of your life, you knew that the path ahead would be fraught with obstacles. Yet, in Daemon’s eyes, you saw a future that was worth the fight.

Daemon Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

It had been a year since your father, Otto Hightower, had decided to send you to King’s Landing. A year after Alicent had settled into her new life as Queen, after all the adjustments and challenges had been faced and overcome. Now, it was your turn to step into the complex world of the royal court. But unlike your sister, you were not as eager to embrace it all.

You had learned to navigate the winding corridors of the Red Keep, and although there were many unfamiliar faces, you had grown accustomed to this new life. You were beautiful, much like your sister, with the signature appearance of House Hightower. The people had taken to calling you the “Gem of Oldtown,” a title that carried with it both praise and pressure. The men of the court, and even those from other noble houses, flocked to your father with offers of marriage, eager to make you their bride.

But Otto, ever calculated, rejected every offer. You were not just any woman; you were a pawn in a much larger game, and your father had bigger plans for you than a simple marriage. Every suitor, no matter their rank or wealth, was turned away. But with each rejection, you felt the weight of your father’s ambitions press heavier on your shoulders.

Still, despite the countless men who courted you, there was only one who caught your eye—Daemon Targaryen. The infamous Prince of the Targaryen family, whose reputation preceded him. Daemon, with his sharp wit, silver hair, and mischievous smirk, was different from the others. He was not like the polished, calculating men who sought to marry into power. There was something untamed about him, something that intrigued you.

Your encounters with him were brief—fleeting moments before he left for the Stepstones, where he waged war on the free cities. The two of you would exchange words in passing, but it was enough for you to notice the way his gaze lingered, the way his smile was both playful and knowing. It was a connection that felt electric, and each time he left, you found yourself thinking about him long after his departure.

But you knew better than to act on these feelings. Daemon was not a man you could trust in the way you could trust a suitor brought to you by your father. His world was one of violence, ambition, and danger. He was no mere pawn in Otto’s game. He was his own master.

Still, despite your better judgment, you couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward him. Every glance, every word exchanged between you, ignited something deep inside you, and you found yourself eager for the next brief encounter.

As you sat in your chamber, gazing out at the bustling streets of King’s Landing below, you couldn’t help but wonder what your future would look like. Would your father’s plans for you come to fruition, or would you carve your own path? And if you did, would Daemon Targaryen play any part in it? The possibilities seemed endless, but one thing was certain—your life was about to change in ways you could never have imagined.

The evening air was cool and fragrant as you walked through the gardens of the Red Keep. The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the meticulously maintained greenery. The soft rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds provided a serene backdrop to your thoughts.

You had just spent the afternoon with Alicent in her chambers. She was glowing with the joy of motherhood, having recently given birth to her second child, a beautiful baby girl. The bond you shared with her had only grown stronger since your arrival, and it warmed your heart to see her so content. Yet, as you left her chambers and wandered into the gardens, a different set of emotions began to stir within you.

As you meandered through the winding paths, your eyes were drawn to a familiar figure standing beneath one of the ancient trees. His silver hair caught the last rays of the setting sun, glinting like polished metal. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back slightly as if savoring the tranquility of the moment.

It was Daemon.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. It had been some time since you last saw him, and his sudden presence here felt almost surreal. You took a hesitant step forward, then another, until you were standing just a few paces away from him.

“You’ve returned,” you said softly, your voice carrying a hint of surprise and warmth.

Daemon’s eyes opened slowly, and for a moment, he simply looked at you, as if making sure you were truly there. Then, a smile curved his lips, a smile that was both familiar and disarming.

“I have,” he replied, his voice smooth and calm. “It seems the Stepstones can do without me for a while.”

There was a glimmer in his eye, a spark that made your pulse quicken. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but you held your composure. It was difficult not to be captivated by him, standing there so effortlessly commanding yet at peace.

“I trust your campaign was successful?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation light, though your heart was pounding in your chest.

Daemon shrugged, a casual gesture that belied the weight of his accomplishments. “Success is a relative term. The battles are never truly over.”

His gaze remained fixed on you, intense and unyielding, as if he were trying to read your thoughts. There was a tension in the air between you, an unspoken understanding that neither of you dared to voice.

“And you?” he asked, his tone softening. “How have you fared in my absence?”

“I’ve been well,” you replied, though the words felt inadequate to convey the myriad of emotions you’d experienced since he left. “King’s Landing has its charms, though it can be… suffocating at times.”

Daemon nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I can imagine. This place has a way of making one feel trapped.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was comfortable, filled with the unspoken connection that had always lingered just beneath the surface. It was in these quiet moments that you felt most drawn to him, to the man behind the legend, the man who seemed to understand you in ways few others could.

As the last light of day faded into twilight, Daemon extended a hand toward you. Hesitant but curious, you placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours.

“Walk with me,” he said, his voice a gentle command.

You nodded, your heart racing as you fell into step beside him. Together, you strolled through the gardens, the world around you fading into the background. In that moment, it was just the two of you, bound by something deeper than words, something that neither of you fully understood but couldn’t deny.

The soft rustling of leaves accompanied the rhythmic sound of your footsteps as you walked alongside Daemon through the garden. The scent of blooming flowers filled the air, and the cool breeze caressed your skin. The tranquility of the evening seemed to wrap around you both, creating a bubble of quiet intimacy.

After a few moments of silence, Daemon’s voice broke through the calm. “I hear your father has been turning down every marriage proposal that comes your way,” he said, his tone casual but laced with underlying tension.

You glanced at him, noticing the way his jaw tightened slightly, a subtle sign of his discontent. You nodded, keeping your expression neutral. “Yes. He says he only wants what’s best for me.”

Daemon gave a short, humorless chuckle, his gaze fixed ahead. “Otto Hightower always does have a peculiar way of defining ‘what’s best.’”

You could sense the bitterness in his words, the disdain he held for your father. It was no secret that Daemon and Otto were often at odds, their ambitions clashing in the complex game of power that unfolded within the Red Keep. But beyond the political rivalry, there was a personal animosity that seemed to fester between them.

“I know how you feel about my father,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his. “And perhaps my sister as well.”

Daemon stopped walking, turning to face you fully. His eyes, sharp and piercing, locked onto yours. “It’s no secret that I don’t hold either of them in high regard. Your father… he sees you as a pawn, a piece to be moved on his chessboard. And your sister, well, she's too easily swayed by Otto’s manipulations.”

You felt a pang in your chest at his words, the truth of them cutting deeper than you cared to admit. “They are my family,” you replied, your voice steady but tinged with sadness. “I cannot simply turn my back on them.”

Daemon’s expression softened, and he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. “I don’t ask you to. But know this—your life is your own. You are not a piece to be played in their game.”

His touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself leaning into it, drawn to the warmth and sincerity in his eyes. In that moment, it was as if the weight of expectations, of duty and loyalty, fell away, leaving only the two of you and the unspoken connection that bound you.

“I wish things were simpler,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Daemon’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “Simplicity is a rare luxury in our world. But perhaps… we can find moments of it, here and there.”

He stepped closer, his presence commanding yet comforting. “You deserve to choose your own path, to live for yourself and not for the ambitions of others.”

For a fleeting moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of your heartbeat and the intensity of Daemon’s gaze. In that space between words and actions, you felt a flicker of something more—something that both thrilled and terrified you.

“Walk with me a little longer,” you said, your voice steady but filled with a quiet plea.

Daemon nodded, offering his arm once more. As you resumed your stroll through the garden, the tension between you eased, replaced by a mutual understanding. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with challenges and choices that would shape your future. But for now, you took solace in the presence of the man beside you, and the shared moments of simplicity that seemed to defy the complexities of the world you lived in.

Your steps faltered as you and Daemon came to an abrupt halt. Standing before you, with his usual stoic expression, was your father. His gaze flickered briefly to where Daemon’s hand rested lightly on your arm before returning to your face.

“The King is waiting for you both in the council chamber,” Otto announced, his tone formal and devoid of warmth.

You exchanged a quick glance with Daemon, noting the subtle tightening of his jaw. His distaste for your father was evident, but he kept his composure, offering a small nod of acknowledgment.

The furrow in your brow deepened. It wasn’t unusual for the King to summon Daemon, but to include you in such a meeting was puzzling. What could King Viserys possibly need to discuss with you?

“Me?” you asked, unable to mask the surprise in your voice. “What does the King wish to speak with me about?”

Otto’s expression remained impassive, though there was a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. “You will find out soon enough. It would be unwise to keep him waiting.”

With that, he turned on his heel and began walking back toward the Keep, expecting you both to follow. Daemon’s hand lingered on your arm for a moment longer, a silent gesture of reassurance, before he too began to move.

As you followed your father through the winding halls, your mind raced with questions. The Red Keep’s stone walls seemed colder, more imposing, as you approached the council chamber. The weight of the unknown settled heavily on your shoulders, each step bringing you closer to whatever fate awaited.

Daemon walked beside you, his expression a mask of calm, but you could feel the tension radiating from him. His presence, though steady, did little to quell the unease that coiled in your stomach.

Finally, you reached the great doors of the council chamber. Otto pushed them open, revealing the grand room beyond. At the head of the table sat King Viserys, his crown glinting in the dim light. His expression was kind, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that set your nerves on edge.

“Ah, there you are,” Viserys greeted, his gaze settling on both you and Daemon. “Please, come in.”

You stepped forward, your heart pounding in your chest. Whatever this meeting was about, it was clear that it was significant. You could only hope that whatever the King had to say would bring clarity to the storm of uncertainties swirling around you.

Your breath caught in your throat as Viserys’ words echoed through the chamber. “I have annulled Daemon’s marriage to Lady Rhea. It is my wish that Daemon marry you, to solidify the bond between House Hightower and House Targaryen.”

The room seemed to tilt around you, the weight of his declaration pressing down on your chest. You stood frozen, your mind racing to comprehend the gravity of what had just been said. Daemon, your confidant, the man whose presence had always been a source of comfort and intrigue, was to become your husband.

You cast a glance toward your father, who stood silently at the side of the room, his face unreadable but his intent clear. The puzzle pieces began to fall into place—the countless suitors turned away, the meticulous grooming of your image, the careful orchestration of your future. He had been maneuvering toward this moment, toward securing an unbreakable tie between his lineage and the Targaryens.

Daemon remained silent beside you, his expression unreadable, though you sensed a flicker of something in his eyes—was it surprise, or something else? His demeanor, however, was composed, as if he had anticipated this turn of events.

Viserys’ voice softened, attempting to alleviate the shock that he must have seen on your face. “I believe this union will bring strength and unity to both our houses. You are a remarkable young woman, and I can think of no better match for my brother.”

Your gaze dropped to the floor, your thoughts a whirlwind. The idea of marrying Daemon, a man who had always held a complicated place in your heart, was daunting. Yet, the political implications, the expectations of your father, and the desires of the King left little room for refusal.

Finally, finding your voice, you lifted your eyes to meet Viserys’. “Your Grace,” you began, your voice steady but laced with uncertainty, “this is… a great honor. But I must admit, I am taken aback. I would need time to… adjust to such a change.”

Viserys nodded, understanding in his gaze. “Of course. This is a significant decision. Take the time you need.”

Otto, however, took a step forward, his tone firm but respectful. “Your Grace, my daughter has always understood her duty. She will do what is necessary for the good of the realm.”

You felt Daemon’s hand brush lightly against yours, a subtle gesture that brought you a sliver of comfort amidst the turmoil. His eyes met yours, a silent communication passing between you—one that spoke of understanding, of the shared burden now placed upon both your shoulders.

As the meeting concluded, you followed Daemon out of the chamber, the weight of your father’s ambitions and the King’s decree settling heavily upon you. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with challenges and choices that would shape not only your future but the fate of two great houses.

Leaving Daemon and your father behind at the doors of the council chamber, your steps carried you swiftly through the corridors of the Red Keep. The weight of the King’s decree pressed heavily on your mind, each thought a whirlwind of uncertainty and emotion. You needed someone to confide in, someone who could offer you solace and understanding.

Reaching Alicent’s chambers, you knocked softly before pushing the door open. Inside, you found your sister seated before her mirror, brushing her auburn hair with a calm, methodical rhythm. She looked up at your reflection in the mirror, her brows knitting in concern as she noticed the tension in your posture.

“Sister,” Alicent greeted gently, setting her brush down and turning to face you fully. “What troubles you?”

You crossed the room, sitting on the edge of her bed, your hands nervously clasped in your lap. “Alicent,” you began, your voice trembling slightly, “something… unexpected has happened.”

Her expression softened further, and she reached out to take your hand, offering a comforting squeeze. “Tell me,” she urged, her voice warm and soothing.

Taking a deep breath, you recounted the events that had transpired in the council chamber—the King’s announcement of Daemon’s annulment, the proposed marriage between you and Daemon, and the realization that your father had orchestrated it all. Alicent listened intently, her eyes wide with surprise and concern as you spoke.

When you finished, there was a moment of silence as Alicent absorbed the weight of your words. She reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, her gaze filled with empathy. “I cannot believe he would do this without speaking to you first,” she murmured, her voice tinged with frustration. “Our father… he always has his plans, but this…”

You nodded, the knot in your chest loosening slightly under her understanding gaze. “I don’t know what to do, Alicent. Daemon… he’s always been… complicated. And now, to marry him?”

Alicent leaned closer, her hand still holding yours. “Daemon is many things, but he cares for you. I’ve seen it in the way he looks at you, the way he speaks to you. This may not be what you wanted, but perhaps… it could be something good.”

Her words were meant to comfort, to offer a glimmer of hope in a situation that felt overwhelming. You appreciated her kindness, but the uncertainty remained, a constant hum at the back of your mind.

“I need time to think,” you whispered, your gaze dropping to your lap.

Alicent nodded, her hand resting on your shoulder in a gesture of support. “Take the time you need. And remember, you don’t have to face this alone. I’m here for you, always.”

Her reassurance brought a small smile to your lips, a fleeting moment of peace amidst the storm. For now, you had a decision to make—a decision that would shape the course of your life and the future of your house.

A month had passed since King Viserys’ announcement of your betrothal to Daemon, and the court was abuzz with whispers wherever you went. Every step you took seemed to draw the attention of nobles and servants alike, their eyes following you, their voices low with speculation. Despite the scrutiny, there was a surprising shift within you—a growing affection for Daemon that you hadn’t anticipated.

At first, your interactions were formal, marked by the awkwardness of an arranged match. But gradually, the walls between you began to crumble. It started with simple gestures—Daemon inviting you to ride Caraxes together, the exhilarating flight through the skies creating a bond that only the shared thrill of dragon-riding could forge.

The first time you soared on Caraxes, you were both terrified and exhilarated. Daemon’s reassuring presence behind you, his hands steadying you as the wind whipped around you, made you feel invincible. As the dragon dipped and soared, you felt a freedom that you hadn’t known you craved.

When you weren’t in the skies, Daemon often suggested horseback rides through the lush countryside surrounding King’s Landing. These rides were your favorite moments—just the two of you, away from the prying eyes and endless expectations. Daemon’s wit and charm surfaced during these quiet times, revealing a man who was not just the fierce warrior and unpredictable prince but also someone capable of tenderness and understanding.

It was during one of these rides that you realized how much you enjoyed his company. As the sun set over the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the fields, you felt a sense of peace and contentment in his presence. Daemon, ever perceptive, noticed your smile and leaned over, his voice soft and teasing. “You seem happy,” he observed, his violet eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

You nodded, meeting his gaze with a sincerity that surprised even you. “I am,” you admitted, feeling the truth of your words settle over you like a comforting cloak.

Daemon reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch lingering. “I’m glad,” he murmured, his tone unusually gentle. “I want you to be happy, truly.”

The simplicity of his words struck a chord within you, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to hope that this union might be more than a mere arrangement. It might be the beginning of something deeper, something genuine.

As the days turned into weeks, the bond between you grew stronger. Daemon’s presence became a constant in your life, his unpredictable nature tempered by a growing affection that mirrored your own. In his company, you felt seen, understood, and valued—a feeling that was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

Despite the whispers and the ever-watchful eyes of the court, you found solace in the knowledge that, in Daemon, you had a partner who cared for you beyond the obligations of duty. And as you prepared for the next chapter of your life, the possibility of love no longer seemed like a distant dream but a burgeoning reality.

The preparations for your wedding were a constant buzz throughout King’s Landing, with every noble and servant whispering about the grandeur and significance of the upcoming union. As the younger sister of Queen Alicent and betrothed to Prince Daemon, your wedding was set to be one of the most spectacular events the realm had ever seen.

Alicent, ever the meticulous planner, took it upon herself to ensure that every detail was perfect. From the lavish decorations to the feast that would rival any in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, she left no stone unturned. But her most fervent attention was on your wedding attire.

You often found yourself being whisked away by Alicent to the royal seamstresses, where you were fitted for the most exquisite gown you had ever seen. The gown was a masterpiece, a stunning blend of white, gold, and silver threads intricately woven together. Each color held deep significance: white symbolized purity and new beginnings, gold represented House Hightower’s wealth and prestige, and silver reflected the Targaryen blood that now coursed through your veins by your impending marriage to Daemon.

Alicent watched every fitting with a critical eye, ensuring that the gown was nothing short of perfection. She would adjust the drape of the fabric, examine the embroidery, and insist on the finest embellishments. “This is not just a wedding,” she reminded you, her tone both stern and loving. “It’s a statement. A union of two great houses, and it must be reflected in every detail.”

Despite her stern demeanor, you could see the genuine care behind her efforts. She wanted you to shine, to be the epitome of grace and beauty as you walked down the aisle. You appreciated her efforts, even when the endless fittings became tiresome.

One afternoon, as you stood on the dais, the seamstresses bustling around you, Alicent approached with a soft smile. She adjusted a stray strand of hair from your face and said, “You’ll be the most beautiful bride the realm has ever seen.”

Her words, filled with sisterly pride and affection, warmed your heart. You reached out, taking her hand in yours. “Thank you, Alicent. For everything.”

Alicent squeezed your hand gently, her gaze filled with a mix of pride and wistfulness. “You deserve this happiness,” she whispered. “And I will ensure that you have it.”

As the days drew closer to the wedding, the anticipation grew. The palace buzzed with excitement, and you found yourself looking forward to the day not just as a duty, but as a promise of a new beginning. The whispers and glances no longer bothered you; they were the murmurs of a realm eager to witness the union of two powerful houses.

And in the midst of it all, Daemon’s presence remained your constant. His occasional smirks and whispered comments during the preparations reminded you that, beyond the pomp and ceremony, this wedding was about the two of you—a bond that had grown stronger with each passing day.

The day had arrived faster than you could have anticipated. As the morning sun bathed King’s Landing in a golden glow, the realization that you would soon be wed to Daemon filled you with a mix of nerves and excitement. The grand ceremony was set to take place in the Throne Room, a choice Daemon had insisted upon, refusing to set foot in the Great Sept.

In your chambers, a flurry of activity surrounded you. The seamstresses and handmaidens worked meticulously, ensuring every detail of your gown was flawless. The luxurious fabric shimmered as the light hit the intricate embroidery, each thread of white, gold, and silver representing the unification of your house with Daemon’s.

You stood before the mirror, taking in your reflection. The gown hugged your form perfectly, the delicate embroidery accentuating your figure. Your hair was styled elegantly, adorned with a few subtle, yet exquisite, pieces of jewelry. Despite the whirlwind of preparations, there was a calmness in the air, a sense of purpose that steadied your nerves.

As you adjusted the last piece of your attire, the door creaked open, and Alicent stepped into the room. Her gaze swept over you, a soft smile gracing her lips as she approached. “You look radiant,” she said, her voice filled with warmth and pride.

You turned to face her fully, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Thank you, Alicent. I’m… nervous, but excited.”

Alicent reached out, placing a reassuring hand on your arm. “It’s natural to feel that way. But remember, this is your day, and you are ready for it.”

She moved closer, adjusting a strand of your hair before pulling you into a gentle embrace. “Daemon is a complex man, but I can see how he looks at you. There is something real there. Trust in that.”

Her words brought a sense of comfort, a reminder that amidst the grandeur of the ceremony and the expectations of the realm, the union was ultimately about the bond between you and Daemon. You nodded, drawing strength from her encouragement.

As she pulled back, Alicent gave you a final once-over, ensuring every detail was perfect. “It’s time,” she said softly, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions—pride, hope, and perhaps a touch of wistfulness for the journey you were about to embark on.

You took a deep breath, steadying your nerves. The moment you had been preparing for was here. With a final glance in the mirror, you straightened your shoulders and turned toward the door, ready to step into the next chapter of your life.

As you made your way to the Throne Room, the weight of the moment settled over you, but so did a sense of anticipation. The doors would soon open, revealing Daemon waiting for you, and with him, a future that promised both challenges and possibilities.

The grand doors to the Throne Room swung open, and you walked forward, your heart pounding with each step. Your father, Otto, stood by your side, his presence unwavering as you made your way down the long, imposing aisle. Every eye in the room was on you, the whispers of nobles and courtiers filling the air, but you hardly noticed. The only thing that mattered in that moment was the man waiting for you at the end of the aisle—Daemon.

His figure was regal, standing tall in his formal attire, his gaze locked on you as you approached. The way he looked at you, intense and unwavering, made your heart race. The noise of the room seemed to fade as you drew closer, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. Your thoughts blurred together, and all that remained was the certainty that you were about to marry the man you had come to care for so deeply.

As you reached the altar and stood beside him, the whispers died down, leaving only the echo of your footsteps in the vast hall. Daemon’s presence beside you was steadying, though his usual air of confidence seemed tempered by something else. He looked at you with a mixture of affection and quiet anticipation.

His voice, a low whisper, reached your ear, ensuring no one else could hear his words. “You are more beautiful than I imagined,” Daemon murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You felt your cheeks flush, your heart fluttering with both excitement and the hint of nerves. You tried to steady yourself, but Daemon’s words lingered in your mind, calming your restless thoughts.

As the ceremony began, you focused on him, the man who would soon be your husband. There was no more doubt, no more uncertainty. With Daemon, you had found a place where you truly belonged.

The ceremony began, the High Septon’s voice echoing through the Throne Room as he led you through the ancient vows. Each word spoken brought you closer to the moment where you would be bound to Daemon, not just by the will of your families, but by your own choice.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby see you these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words."

"Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his/hers, and s/he is mine, from this day, till the end of my days."

As you exchanged vows, Daemon’s eyes never left yours, his hand gripping yours with a firmness that spoke of his resolve. When it came time for the rings, he slipped the band onto your finger with a gentle touch, sealing your bond with a promise.

Daemon turned toward you, his eyes alight with something deeper than the ceremony could capture. “You are mine now,” he whispered, as if sealing the promise that had been made not just in front of the court, but in the quiet moments between you two.

As the High Septon’s final words echoed through the Throne Room, declaring you and Daemon husband and wife, the tension that had hung in the air all evening melted away. The weight of tradition, the whispers of the court, and the eyes of the realm were no longer on you. The only thing that mattered was the man standing beside you.

Daemon’s gaze was fixed on you, his eyes dark with emotion. Without hesitation, he reached for you, his hand sliding around your waist as he drew you closer. The silence in the room felt heavy, the world outside of the two of you vanishing entirely.

He didn’t need to say a word. His lips found yours in an urgent, possessive kiss. It was everything you had imagined, and more. His kiss was a promise, a culmination of everything that had led you both to this moment. It was fierce and tender at once, as if he had been waiting for this kiss for a lifetime, just as you had.

You kissed him back, feeling the strength of his embrace, the warmth of his body pressing against yours. In that moment, you understood. He had waited for you, respected your decision, your wish to wait until you were truly married. And now, as his wife, you could feel the intensity of his feelings, his affection for you pouring through the kiss.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, Daemon’s hand gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. His eyes were filled with a mixture of passion and affection, his smile slow and genuine.

“You are mine now, fully and completely,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You nodded, your heart racing in your chest. In his arms, everything felt right, as if the world had finally come into alignment. The decision to marry him, to give him your heart and soul, was no longer just an obligation. It was a choice, a choice you were proud to make.

Daemon smiled again, leaning in to kiss you once more, sealing the promises that had been made not only in front of the court but in your hearts. This was the beginning of your life together, and nothing could tear it apart.

You sighed, your breath heavy with the effort of trying to keep up with Aemond’s quick strides. Your growing belly made every step a challenge, the weight of your pregnancy slowing you down more each day. Frustration bubbled up as you called out his name, your voice tinged with irritation. “Aemond, wait!”

He turned back for a moment, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips, but he continued walking, not slowing his pace. You groaned and came to a stop, placing a hand on your back as you tried to catch your breath. Behind you, the sound of soft laughter drew your attention.

Alicent approached with a warm smile, her hands reaching out to support you. “Come, let’s take it slow,” she said gently, her arm wrapping around yours to offer balance. She guided you through the garden, the fragrance of blooming flowers surrounding you as the sun cast a warm glow over the Red Keep.

“You’ve been cooped up too much,” Alicent remarked softly. “Daemon’s protective nature has grown even more intense.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “He won’t even let me walk to visit you. He insists you come to us.”

Alicent chuckled, shaking her head. “He’s just worried about you, about both of you.”

The thought of Daemon’s constant concern made your heart swell. His protectiveness was both endearing and suffocating. You understood his fears, especially after everything the two of you had been through. But sometimes, you longed for the simple pleasures of walking through the gardens or sitting in the courtyard, feeling the breeze against your skin.

“Thank you for coming to me,” you said, squeezing Alicent’s hand. “I know it’s not easy, being the queen and all.”

Alicent smiled warmly. “Family comes first. Always.”

You leaned into her support, grateful for her presence. The garden was peaceful, a small escape from the confines of your chambers. As the two of you walked slowly, your mind drifted to thoughts of Daemon. Despite his overprotectiveness, you knew it came from a place of love. The thought of him made you feel safe, cherished.

“Do you think he’ll ever let me out on my own again?” you asked with a teasing smile.

Alicent laughed softly. “Perhaps after the baby is born. Until then, I’ll make sure you have company.” She glanced ahead, where Aemond was waiting by a fountain, his arms crossed as he watched the two of you. “And perhaps I can convince your dear nephew to slow down next time.”

You both shared a laugh as you continued your slow walk through the garden, the bond between you and Alicent strengthening with every step.

Your peaceful walk came to an abrupt halt at the sound of Daemon’s voice, firm and laced with concern. “Why aren’t you resting in our chambers?” he asked, his gaze fixed on you, a hint of worry in his eyes.

Before you could respond, Alicent stepped in, her tone calm and reassuring. “She needed some fresh air, Daemon. Being cooped up isn’t good for her.”

Daemon, however, wasn’t convinced. His eyes softened as they met yours, but his protective instincts were clear. “Fresh air or not, she needs rest,” he replied, his voice gentler now but still resolute.

In a swift motion, he closed the distance between you, scooping you up into his arms with ease. The suddenness of his action made you gasp, but the warmth of his embrace was comforting. “Daemon,” you protested lightly, “I can walk.”

“I know you can,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. “But I’d rather carry you.”

Alicent stood nearby, shaking her head with a soft smile. “You’ve become quite the overprotective husband, Daemon.”

He glanced at her briefly, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I have every reason to be.”

You nestled against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. His protectiveness, though overwhelming at times, was a testament to his deep care for you. Despite the exasperation you sometimes felt, you couldn’t deny the comfort his presence brought.

As Daemon carried you back toward your chambers, you allowed yourself to relax in his arms, the worries of the day melting away. Alicent followed behind, her expression a mix of amusement and understanding. She knew the depth of Daemon’s love for you, and though it bordered on overbearing, it was also undeniable.

Once inside, Daemon gently placed you on the bed, ensuring you were comfortable before sitting beside you. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining. “I just want you safe,” he whispered.

“I know,” you replied softly, squeezing his hand. “And I appreciate it. But a little fresh air won’t hurt.”

He chuckled, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “Maybe. But next time, let me join you.”

A smile tugged at your lips. “Deal.”

Alicent watched the exchange with a knowing smile, excusing herself to give you both privacy. As she left, she couldn’t help but admire the love between you and Daemon—a love fierce, protective, and deeply devoted.

The quiet of the room was broken only by the soft crackling of the fire, casting a warm glow over the chamber. You lay reclined on the bed, the weight of your growing belly a comforting reminder of the life you and Daemon had created together. Beside you, Daemon knelt, his hand resting gently on your stomach, his touch tender and reverent.

A small flutter beneath his palm made both of you pause. His eyes widened with wonder as he felt the movement of your child. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your belly. His voice, low and filled with affection, murmured words meant only for the little one within.

“You’re already so strong,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “Just like your mother.”

Your fingers found their way to his hair, threading through the silver strands with a gentle caress. The sight of him, so devoted and tender, filled your heart with a warmth that words could scarcely convey. His rough exterior seemed to melt away in these moments, leaving behind a man deeply in love, not only with you but with the family you were building together.

As he continued to murmur softly to the baby, you couldn’t help but smile. His hands, so often associated with swordsmanship and strength, now held a tenderness reserved only for you and the child you carried.

“Daemon,” you whispered, your voice filled with emotion.

He looked up at you, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that took your breath away.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “To be loved by you.”

His expression softened further, and he rose slightly to meet your gaze, his hand still resting protectively on your belly. “You’re not the only lucky one,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve given me a reason to be better, to love more fiercely than I ever thought possible.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. The love between you was palpable, a bond that had only grown stronger with the impending arrival of your child.

As the evening wore on, the two of you remained in that quiet intimacy, sharing whispered dreams of the future. The weight of your love and the promise of the life you were creating together filled the room, wrapping you both in a cocoon of warmth and hope.

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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 3: Mist and Bricks]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, a tiny bit of sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, dragons being weapons of mass destruction, King's Landing gets some visitors, Larys gets alarming news, Alicent gets an idea, Red gets a shock.

Word count: 7.2k

💙 All my writing can be found HERE! ❤️

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There is a chilly steel-grey mist on Blackwater Bay, and another in your skull, your thoughts slow and muddled, the past bleeding into the present. It’s weeks later, the longest you’ve ever been away from Aemond, and the pebbles on the shore needle your shins through your velvet gown the color of cinnabar as you kneel to claw seashells from the muck. Helaena is here with you, and while you haven’t told her your plans for your next mosaic, she somehow knows what color shells to drop into your basket: dark green like Vhagar’s scales, shimmering white like Aemond’s hair. Sometimes there are still creatures hunkered inside, and Helaena can never bring herself to pry them out. She passes the doomed crabs and snails to you for a swift exhumation that you deliver with your bare hands, and then you wash the vacated shells in the surf. Mother and a flock of maids are playing with Jaehaera and Maelor farther down the beach. You can’t go near them, or Maelor will start screaming.

Grandsire comes plodding down the stone steps carved into the cliffside, carrying a plate laden with lemon cakes and slices of fresh bread slathered with butter and blackberry jam. “Helaena, you must eat,” he says.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Helaena, please.” And his voice is gentle in a way it has never been with you. “My gods, why are you wrist-deep in wet sand?”

“We’re collecting shells.”

Grandsire gives you a familiar look: disapproval, frustration. The he turns back to Helaena. “I can’t watch you disappear. You must eat something, I’m not leaving until you do.”

“You like blackberry jam,” you encourage her. But she flinches away when Grandsire offers her the plate, and suddenly you understand, you feel the thought as if it is your own. “It’s the color,” you tell him. “The jam, it’s like…” Like blood, like gore. Like the night Jaehaerys died.

“Oh.” Grandsire is quiet for a moment, remembering. “The lemon cakes, then.”

Helaena reluctantly rinses her hands in the seawater, takes a single lemon cake from the plate, and sits on a nearby rock to nibble on it, gazing blankly out over the inlet. You attended Jaehaerys’ funeral procession in her stead—an act of mercy, of penance, while Helaena spent that day sobbing in the Dragonpit, clinging to Dreamfyre, a pale blue century-old monster with infinite patience. The people of King’s Landing saw the dead prince, his head crudely stitched back onto his tiny body, and howled for vengeance. They burned white-haired effigies of Rhaenyra and Daemon. They gave rare autumn flowers to you and Mother. It’s always strange when you leave the Red Keep to interact with the smallfolk. They call you by your real name, something your family seldom does; they seem to believe you are righteous and wise. Perhaps they even pity you: no husband, no children, no dragon.

Mother has left Jaehaera and Maelor with the maids and is venturing closer. “Are there any new letters?” From Criston or Aemond, or even Daeron in the Reach. The Hightower army has been delayed there, cutting through the treasonous soldiers of House Rowan and House Caswell, Tessarion burning them alive in their armor.

“Ravens,” Helaena says thoughtfully from her rock, and no one knows why.

Grandsire shakes his head. No letters today. Butterwell, Stokeworth, and Rosby have bent the knee; the defiant lords of the Crownlands are being put to death. By now the Green forces will be marching on House Staunton at Rook’s Rest. When Aemond does write, you are not mentioned. With each passing day you find yourself thinking: Has he forgotten me? Does he truly love me? Perhaps this is not so irrational a question. Aemond has never used the word love to describe what you are to each other.

Grandsire frowns at you. You gaze mournfully back. He snaps: “And what’s wrong with you?”

Mother’s reply is hushed and sympathetic. “She’s lonely, Father.”

“Lonely?! She still has us here. Don’t we matter? No, I suppose not, she prefers arrogant fools who imperil the realm with their self-obsession. Perhaps she’d like us more if we wore silver wigs and eyepatches.”

Mother is distressed. “Father, please.”

He waves an irritated hand at you. “I better not find out you’ve been keeping the cats away from your chambers again.” Grandsire had a hundred cats brought to the Red Keep to do the tasks the dead ratcatchers left unattended.

“They scare my babies,” you say.

“Your vermin, you mean. Revolting creatures. Flying pestilence.”

You rise from the sand and pick up your basket, now full of shells. Your head is beginning to ache. Maester Orwyle removed your stitches this morning, but the wound in your chest still pains you more or less constantly, a gnawing sensation like an animal chewing on your ribcage.

“Where are you going?” Grandsire demands. You don’t answer him as you ascend the stone staircase, the waves growling behind you and gulls squawking in the foggy air.

In your chambers, you leave the basket of seashells on the floor and call for wine. The maids fetch it and you drink straight from the pitcher, staring at the little wooden figurines on your dresser until they turn blurry. Among them is Vermithor. You recall what Aegon said when he gave it to you years ago, when you were so stung by the dragon’s rejection: You might not have the real Bronze Fury, but you can keep this one.

Your bats are beginning to scrabble out of their roost and vanish through the window. As the sun sets and the room spins, you crawl into bed and lie there in the darkness clutching pillows, your pulse thudding just above your left eye. You doze in and out of consciousness. Aemond told you to think of him when you are here, and you do whether you want to or not: Aemond spilling red wine down your bare chest and then licking you clean; you straddling his lap and stroking him as he reads myths aloud to you in gloomy alcoves of the library, dust motes wheeling in the air, grinning victoriously when you make him lose his focus; the five game pieces racing around the wooden board, Aegon’s green snake, Helaena’s yellow butterfly, Aemond’s blue wolf, your red bat, Daeron’s purple shadowcat before he was sent away to Oldtown and the rest of you never played again.

Then something hits you, not like a vision but like knuckles that could crack teeth, and you are besieged by what Aemond is seeing in the Crownlands. There is flesh, horribly and ruinously burned, sheets of it sloughing off as Aemond peels away scraps of charred fabric, and the smell of it—like blackened pork, oily and stomach-turning—is in your nostrils, and you can feel the calamitous heat rising off the man who must be dying. You can feel Aemond’s terror, disbelief, desperation; you can feel his tears on the right side of your face.

Dragonfire??

The dreamscape abruptly disappears like a candle blown out. Your head throbs, your eyes are squeezed shut as you whimper into your pillows. Your fingertips go instinctively to the scar on your chest.

Who was burned? Criston? Gwayne?

But now the dire portents are here in your room, and they are real: the ringing of bells, smoke, shrieking, scorched flesh.

You open your eyes, and your bats are soaring back inside through the open window; but they have been turned to comets. They are on fire, squealing as their fur is singed off and the fragile membranes of their wings melted from their bones, herding around their roost as they try in vain to seek shelter inside. The dark blue velvet cover has been engulfed in flames.

“No!” you scream, bolting off the bed.

Your door is thrown open and Mother rushes in, dragging Jaehaera behind her. Helaena waits in the doorway holding little Maelor in her arms. He hasn’t seen you yet, but he is already wailing. The horror is back. When will it end?

“We have to go!” Mother shouts, grabbing your hand and pulling you away from your bats. You know you can’t save them, and yet you are compelled to. They are pieces of you, pieces of Aemond. They are burning to death in the house you built for them.

“What’s happening—?!” And then you hear the screeches of dragons, not Vhagar or Sunfyre or Dreamfyre or Tessarion. Through the window, you see an inferno bloom in the night sky. You get a firelit glimpse of a beast you do not recognize: dark, angular, very large and covered with jagged spines. People are screaming. Rooftops are ablaze.

A wild dragon? Claimed by who?

“We’ll go to the beach,” Mother says frantically. She’s thinking of the escape hatch in Aemond’s bedchamber, the only secret passageway in Maegor’s Holdfast. The king known as “the Cruel” wanted no spies or assassins in his walls. But one door was enough for Daemon’s executioners to kill Jaehaerys. “Helaena will try to get to Dreamfyre.”

But you won’t be able to fly away with the rest of them. Dreamfyre would sooner reduce you to ashes than let you touch her.

Mother knows this. She tells you, low and fierce, her coppery hair like glowing embers: “I won’t leave you. You and I will find another way out of King’s Landing.”

“You should escape on Dreamfyre if you have the chance.”

“Never,” she says. And then again: “Never.”

In the hallway, Grandsire has arrived, panicked and urging everyone towards Aemond’s bedchamber. He wheezes, breathless from his sprint through the castle: “I saw Syrax and Caraxes, and Vermax too I think, or maybe Moondancer, a small dragon…but who is the other one? It’s not Meleys. It’s a hideous creature, it looks deformed.”

“I don’t know,” Mother says. Hordes of yowling cats careen past your bare feet.

“Could Rhaenyra be finding new riders?” And Grandsire, a man who is afraid of very little, is petrified down to his bones by this.

I should have a dragon, you think, forlorn. I should be able to help fight this war. And instead I am worthless.

“I don’t know, Father,” Mother says again, and you follow her through the threshold and into Aemond’s abandoned bedchamber, illuminated only by the moonlight that streams in through the windows. You have not been in here since Jaehaerys died; the stone floor is still stained with his blood. Helaena begins sobbing, clutching Maelor closer to her chest. Downstairs, you can hear swords clanging and men groaning as they die.

You hurry to the hidden door and ram it with your shoulder, but as the passageway opens, you see red-orange torchlight approaching through the blackness like fire boiling up in the throat of a dragon. Rhaenyra’s soldiers are already here. You try to close the door, but now knights in armor are forcing their way inside the room. And Grandsire, who has never liked you, pulls you away from the breach and puts himself between you and the intruders.

“The hallway, back to the hallway!” he booms, giving you a shove, and that is the only place left to go. You, Mother, Jaehaera, Helaena, Maelor, and Grandsire flee from Aemond’s bloodstained bedchamber. But your captors have climbed the Grand Staircase—the place where you once waited for Aemond to return from Storm’s End, so convinced that he would not fail you—and now they are here.

Under the torches carried by her guards, Rhaenyra alternates between firelight and shadows. Daemon marches beside her, his face severe, his sword Dark Sister drawn. Mother pushes you, Jaehaera, and Helaena, still carrying Maelor, against the cold stone wall. Grandsire stands in front of Mother. Jace is walking behind Rhaenyra and Daemon, you notice, dressed in red and black, his cloak billowing behind him. The last time you saw Jace, you were smirking when Aemond shoved him off his feet at the last dinner King Viserys ever attended. Now you are trembling with thunderstruck terror.

Rhaenyra is supposed to be bedbound on Dragonstone. Daemon is supposed to be in the Riverlands.

Daemon points at you with the tip of his blade. “You should have that one executed,” he says to Rhaenyra. “Isn’t she Aemond’s whore?”

“They were never married,” Mother tells him, her dark eyes huge and reflecting the torchlight, her arm thrown in front of you.

“I didn’t say wife, I said whore.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra warns, and she studies you, Helaena, Grandsire, Mother. Her blue eyes are sharp like fractured glass, edges that glide effortlessly through arteries and veins; there is a queenlike composure in her face, but beneath that wrath, wrath, wrath. After a moment, she says to her guards: “Take the adults to the dungeons.”

Mother and Helaena are shouting and protesting, trying to stop the guards that rip Jaehaera and Maelor out of their grasps. Grandsire is attempting to negotiate. Rhaenyra and Daemon ignore them, continuing on down the hallway, taking possession of the rage-red castle where they first fell into their peculiar, destructive breed of love.

As he passes by, Jace glowers at you and you glare back, and when he reaches for the hilt of his sword you bare your teeth at him; but before Jace can draw his blade—to threaten you, to frighten you, to spill your blood the way Aemond spilled Luke’s—the guards have dragged you away.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your head is very bad now. The pain is almost impossible to think through; you are sick with it, retching into a wooden bucket until there is nothing left to expel. If Aemond was here, he would be holding you, murmuring to you in High Valyrian, pressing a cloth soaked with cold water to your forehead. But Mother is here instead, and she is doing the best she can.

It’s the next day, cold grey light tumbling in through cracks in the walls. You are imprisoned on the second level of the dungeons, reserved for highborn captives; you and Mother are in one cell, Helaena and Grandsire in another on the other side of the aisle. Helaena has been weeping constantly, worrying for her children. Grandsire and Mother try to console her as you lie pitifully on the floor, wishing the pain would knock you unconscious. You need Orwyle and his milk of the poppy. The guards have brought bread and water, but nothing else.

There is a creaking sound from several cells away, and then a slow shuffling accompanied by the tapping of a cane. Mother keeps one hand on your shoulder as she cranes her neck to see her visitor. Grandsire and Helaena move to the front of their cell, their fingers gripping the rusted iron bars.

Larys Strong appears, his hands resting on the handle his cane. Unlike Maegor’s Holdfast—the residence of the royal family—the other buildings of the Red Keep are rife with secret passageways, a latticework of corridors that one unfamiliar with their paths could get lost in forever. Surely Daemon and his confederates are in the process of searching them, but it is a task that could take a week.

“Lord Larys,” Mother says, relieved. “They have not found you.”

“Not yet, Your Grace,” he replies docilely. “Though I’m sure it will not take much longer.”

“Can you retrieve some milk of the poppy?” For you, she means.

“I will try.” Then he stalls, as if he does not wish to share what he has heard through his clandestine chain of whispers. “Something has happened at Rook’s Rest.”

Mother’s brow furrows. “Where?”

“The seat of House Staunton,” you tell her from where you lie on the floor, remembering it from the maps in Aemond’s bedchamber. He would tell you things, show you things, sometimes kindly, sometimes tauntingly, sometimes as he undressed you. He would quiz you and if you got an answer wrong, he would put your clothes back on.

“In the Crownlands?” Mother says to Larys, alarmed. “Is Aegon alright?”

Larys takes a moment to decide how to proceed. “The castle was captured without much difficulty, but a maester there must have gotten a raven out, because Dragonstone received word of the attack and was summoned to defend Rook’s Rest and retake it from the Greens. It is located very close to Dragonstone, and thus cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of the enemy.”

Larys pauses and looks at his audience. Grandsire asks: “So who answered the message?”

“It seems that Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Jacaerys were already preparing for an invasion of King’s Landing and were elsewhere,” Larys says. “The other dragon, the large brown one, is called Sheepstealer and is ridden by a peasant girl that Daemon found. There are rumors that he has grown somewhat…attached to her.”

Mother grimaces, tugging on the seven-pointed star necklace she never takes off. “He’s a beast.”

“The girl is a Targaryen bastard?” Grandsire says, confounded. “Whose? She’s not a child of Viserys, surely. Where the hell did she come from?”

Larys is apologetic. “I could not tell you, my lord. If I discover anything else concerning her origins, I shall share what I learn. She is known as Nettles.”

“Nettles?” Grandsire snorts.

Larys continues: “When the raven reached Dragonstone, Baela received the letter. It appears she was told that Sunfyre was the only dragon guarding Rook’s Rest at the time, and that Vhagar was away feeding. She must have thought she could best the king, or at least chase him away from the castle.”

“An understandable error,” Grandsire says, and you scowl at him between fruitless retches into your bucket. The thrumming in your skull is like blows from a hammer, rhythmic and disorienting. Your face is hot with fever; it radiates off of you in waves. Mother rubs your back—although somewhat cautiously, as if she is afraid that barbs might split through your skin to prick her—and offers you sips of water.

“Baela left Dragonstone, likely without permission. Rhaenys followed her on Meleys, but Moondancer was faster.”

“Meleys?” Mother says, startled. “Meleys was there too?”

Larys nods solemnly. “Aegon and Sunfyre attacked Moondancer and broke her neck high in the air. Baela perished when her dragon fell to the earth.”

“Daemon’s daughter,” Mother exhales, wondering what the retribution will be. “Jace’s betrothed.”

“And one of Rhaenys’ only two trueborn grandchildren,” Larys says. “When she arrived at Rook’s Rest and saw Moondancer’s carcass smoldering just outside the castle walls, she pursued the king before he could retreat. And Sunfyre…he was no match for a dragon as large as Meleys.”

“Aegon, he’s…?” Mother cannot bring herself to speak the words aloud. Tears gleam in her eyes. “Is he…is there no hope…?”

The ruined flesh, charred and raw, you remember from your horrifying glimpse into Aemond’s mind. It wasn’t Criston or Gwayne. It was Aegon.

“He was burned,” you whisper, and Mother stares at you.

“Aemond returned on Vhagar, and they slayed Rhaenys and her mount. But not before the king and his dragon were engulfed in Meleys’ flames.”

“He’s dead?” Grandsire says, emotion you’ve never heard before in his voice.

No, you think. Not yet.

“Aegon and Sunfyre are both gravely wounded,” Larys replies. “It is uncertain whether either will survive. The Blacks received the news just before their assault on King’s Landing.”

“Where is Aegon now?” Mother says.

“I’m not sure, Your Grace. He was still at Rook’s Rest last I heard, but they might move the king elsewhere to keep him hidden. I would imagine Aemond and Sir Criston Cole are requisitioning maesters from nearby houses to treat him.”

“Burns,” Mother sobs. “He must be suffering terribly, the pain…the disfigurement…”

Grandsire drums his fingers on the bars of his cell, his rings clinking against the rusted steel. His expression is remote, somber, resigned. “So we have two dragons capable of combat, one of which is young and small and pinned down by battles in the Reach, the other is on the far side of the Crownlands and trapped there while Aemond tries to keep our king alive. And Rhaenyra is here in the capital with Syrax, Caraxes, Vermax, and this new dragon Sheepstealer, larger than any of her others, and her faction seeks vengeance for not one but three royal deaths.”

In reply, Larys Strong only bows his head. Mother swipes tears from her cheeks and tucks your hair behind your ears as strands escape your braid.

“Well,” Grandsire sighs. “I believe we might be losing this war.”

There is the distant noise of a door’s hinges creaking, and Larys hobbles out of sight, retreating to the secret passageway he previously emerged from. A minute passes, and then footsteps echo down the corridor. Daemon strides into view, swinging Dark Sister in his right hand, and you are suddenly reminded so much of Aemond’s mannerisms that the absence of him guts you all over again, vital parts of you excavated like the organs of a slaughtered animal. Daemon is accompanied by several guards and a group of noblemen who you assume are members of Rhaenyra’s council. You recognize among them a tall man with short grey hair, Lord Bartimos Celtigar.

Daemon says: “Princess Helaena, the queen has taken your tiny, traitorous children to ward. Perhaps one day you will see them again. Perhaps not.” She gazes out from her cell vacantly, her face bloodless with shock and fear. Then Daemon turns to Grandsire. “Otto Hightower, you orchestrated an unlawful rebellion and therefore you will be put to death.”

Grandsire gapes at him. “What? When?”

“Oh, immediately.” Daemon steps back and the guards unlock the cell, seize Grandsire, knock him over and drag him wriggling on his belly into the corridor. Mother pleads for his life. Helaena shrieks and claws for him, trying to keep him with her. The guards fling her roughly away and slam the door of her cell shut before she can escape.

“No, no, do not mourn me!” Grandsire is bellowing as he is hauled away. “I am an old man, I have lived a good life, do not think of me, think of the living and what you can still do for them!”

“Father!” Mother wails, reaching through the bars of her cell though she knows she will never touch him again.

“I am ready to see your mother, Alicent,” Grandsire says; and then he is gone. The men of Rhaenyra’s council begin to file out of the dungeon.

“You followed us across the Narrow Sea, Lord Celtigar!” you shout after him, crawling across the floor and pressing your face against the bars of your cell. “House Targaryen saved you from the Doom, and now you rip it down from within by aiding a usurper. We will not forget your treason when the war is won. We will visit you on Claw Isle and bring with us fire and blood. And you will have no defenses. You are no dragonrider.”

“Neither are you, princess,” he says cooly, and leaves you in your prison.

Daemon is the only man still standing in the aisle. He peers down at you with shadowy deep-set eyes and twirls his Valyrian steel sword again. He grins, humorless, hungry, burning up inside with fury. “Perhaps I’ll be back soon.”

Mother yanks you away from the bars, and you can see what she’s thinking etched into the desperate lines of her face: How can I save her?

“I’m going to behead your father now,” Daemon tells Mother, then sweeps down the corridor. There is the sound of a heavy door closing when he reaches the end of the hall.

“Do not speak to them,” Mother hisses to you, and you are in too much pain to respond. Now you can hear men jeering out in the courtyard of the Red Keep. Daemon is listing Grandsire’s crimes. Crows are cawing.

He’s going to die too? you think dizzily. When does this end, how do we stop it?

The door at the end of the hallway opens again, and Mother stands and places herself in front of you; but it is not Daemon this time, relishing his chance to drag another Green to their death. It is Rhaenyra and Jace. The Blacks’ queen stops at your cell, her son a few paces behind her. He looks at you with heartbreak, with hatred, and of course he does; one of your brothers murdered Luke, the other killed Baela. And he does not believe you to be blameless like Helaena. You are a very different sort of woman.

“Alicent, your degenerate son’s insurrection is over,” Rhaenyra says. “I have taken the city and—”

“Jace needs to strengthen his claim,” Mother interrupts. Outside, men are cheering; Grandsire’s head has been struck from his shoulders. In her cell across the aisle, Helaena sinks to the floor and sobs quietly into her palms.

Rhaenyra studies Mother, incredulous. “What did you say?”

“There have always been people who doubted his parentage, as you well know,” Mother says, and you can see her hands are trembling; but her voice is steady. “And there are many who favor my line. They fear Daemon’s recklessness, and perhaps yours as well.”

“You speak so boldly for a woman who stands behind bars.”

Mother is unflinching. “Perhaps you imagine that you will kill every last Green, and all of our loyalists throughout the Seven Kingdoms, millions of people, and therefore you will have no use for bricks upon which to build a lasting peace. But I think that would be a mistake.”

“And you wish to help me?” Rhaenyra mocks.

“I wish to safeguard what is left of my family.”

The woman who calls herself queen considers this. Surely the same hope lives in her ribcage as well, the same catastrophic fear that it will prove impossible.

“One way or another, the war will be won,” Mother says. “And whichever side triumphs will have the other at their mercy.”

“I will have you at my mercy, yes.”

“Aemond and Vhagar are still out there. Underestimate them at your peril.”

“And what is your suggestion?” Rhaenyra demands. “To bolster Jace’s claim, to save your own skins?”

“Baela is gone and he is unspoken for. You once offered to unite our bloodlines by marrying Helaena to Jace. Perhaps if I had accepted that, I could have spared us this torment. I was wrong to dismiss your proposal so swiftly, Rhaenyra. I did not give you the respect you deserved. And I have reconsidered.”

Rhaenyra is puzzled. “Helaena is already married. Unless you have proof that Aegon is dead, which would be welcome.”

“No. I have another daughter.”

Both you and Jace begin to object at once; your mothers silence you with fearsome glares.

Rhaenyra is aghast; her sharp blue eyes dart to where you are slumped on the floor of your cell and then back to Mother. “This is a sickening insult.”

Mother seems calm, measured. It cannot be easy for her. “Willingly marrying my daughter to Jace is accepting his legitimacy. She is a Green, and very close in age to your son, and from what I have heard of Jace’s temperament I believe them to be well-matched.”

“I don’t,” Jace says.

Rhaenyra shakes her head in disbelief; but is there a ripple of uncertainty across her regal face? Yes, you think there is. “Aemond has already bedded her.”

“And who has said this?” Mother asks. “Daemon, who hates my family and has no mind for strategy or alliances? Rhaenys and the Sea Snake, who hungered for the Iron Throne all their lives and saw a chance for their descendants to possess it through Baela?”

Rhaenyra is looking at you again. “I’ve seen the way they watch each other. The way they move.” The dinner, she means. The night that Viserys died.

“She is a maiden,” Mother insists, but she gives you a transient sideways glance. Are you? “They had a flirtation, yes, as is so common for siblings of your foreign house, but nothing more. I would never have allowed fornication or the use of moon tea to disguise its consequences under my roof. They are grievous sins. You know me. You know my devotion to my faith.”

“She will submit to a maester’s examination to make sure?”

“Did you, Rhaenyra? Before you and Laenor Velaryon were wed?”

Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow. And you have the sense—vague and dreadful—that perhaps it is dawning upon her that taking something Aemond holds dear might have its advantages. “What do you want in return?”

“We have both lost innocent people,” Mother says. “There has been enough bloodshed. It must stop somewhere, or all the Targaryens will be dead and their dragons too, and this dynasty will vanish from the earth, and our ambitions will be for nothing. If you do indeed win the war, I want my surviving children and grandchildren spared. And my brother Gwayne, and Sir Criston Cole.”

“I cannot give you Aemond.”

“If you swear that you’ll pardon him, we shall do the same for Daemon if it is our armies that triumph.”

Now the hope is unmistakable on Rhaenyra’s face. “And my remaining sons will be allowed to live? All of them?” Even Daemon’s?

“Yes.”

She muses on this. “You make tempting promises, Alicent. But I don’t have any conviction that Aemond will heed you if Aegon dies and he is made regent until Maelor is grown. I don’t believe you can control him.”

“He’ll listen to his sister,” Mother swears. “He will not do anything that would bring her despair. And if she is married to Jace, she will come to love his family as her own. All the more so if they have children together.”

“She might not be trustworthy,” Rhaenyra says.

“She is of no threat to you. She is untrained with the sword, she rides no dragon. And you have her mother, sister, niece, and nephew held captive. She would not endanger us.”

“You have great confidence in her. Your hopes for survival are in her hands.”

“She is spirited, but she is clever, and she loves deeply and enduringly. She will do whatever is required to protect her own.” Now Mother’s voice breaks. “I want her sent away.”

“Mother, no—”

“Far from the war, far from Daemon,” she says, ignoring you.

Rhaenyra is nodding. “Somewhere secluded and peaceful…all the better for her to quickly give Jace an heir. The Riverlands, yes? Perhaps House Footly of Tumbleton.”

“No, not far enough. The Westerlands.”

“The North,” Rhaenyra counters.

“The Stormlands.”

“The Vale,” Rhaenyra says. “There will be no battles there, winter has already begun in the mountains and the roads are treacherous. She will be tucked away in obscurity until the war is won.”

“The Vale,” Mother agrees. She looks down at you and smiles, soft and sad and merciful. At last, after eighteen years, she has saved you.

Jace is whispering furiously to Rhaenyra, but she holds up a hand to stop him. He is exasperated. The supposed queen tells Alicent: “I shall think on this tonight.”

“She needs Maester Orwyle,” Mother says, kneeling beside you. “She is ill, she gets headaches. This place is bad for her. It’s the cold and the dampness. And the fear.”

“I’ll consider that,” Rhaenyra quips, and then she leaves, the hem of her black gown displacing dust on the floor of the aisle. Jace gives you one final glance—seething, appalled—and stalks after her. At the end of the hallway, he slams the heavy wooden door.

“I won’t do it,” you snarl, sick in body and soul. “I won’t, I won’t. I don’t care what you say.”

“We are in a fucking dungeon,” Mother says, grabbing and shaking you, and you’ve never heard her curse before. “Do you want to try to save your brothers’ lives? Or do you want to surrender to the destruction of our house? If you care for Aemond, as I know you do, you will give him a chance if he and Criston cannot win on the battlefield. You will earn Jace’s affection and convince him to spare us.”

You look at her, weak, stunned, at war with yourself. Jace can’t touch me. Only Aemond.

She asks you something; it takes great effort. “You are still…you haven’t…you’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

You hesitate. “In the literal sense.”

“In the…? Never mind, stop, I don’t want to hear any more.” Mother takes a deep breath. “Good. Then we haven’t lied to them. Jace might be able to tell. Sometimes there are…signs. Pain, blood.”

“He’s a bastard,” you hiss.

“He’s Rhaenyra’s son, and so he is a Targaryen and a dragonrider. And if Jace’s side wins, he will one day sit the Iron Throne. He can be proud, but no one says he is cruel. I don’t believe he would harm you. Your brothers are warriors, but you’ve never killed anyone.” Then she goes soft and hushed, and she cups your face with her gentle hands. “I know you’ve always thought you would marry Aemond.”

“Mother, I love him.”

“My darling, my brave girl, what you and Aemond have is…” She shakes her head, her large dark eyes grim and glistening. “It’s strange, and violent, and obsessive and profane and…and…unnatural.”

You are defiant. “If we had grown up in a true Targaryen court, we would have been expected to be this way. We would have married years ago, and no one would have condemned us for acting exactly like what we are. We aren’t First Men or Andals. We are the blood of the dragon.”

“It’s an affliction that brings nothing but sin and suffering.”

“You wed Aegon to Helaena!”

“And it has been a source of tremendous sorrow for them both,” Mother says, and now she is weeping again. “I should have stopped their marriage. But I was young, and I had already refused Rhaenyra’s offer of a match with Jace, and Viserys was so adamant, and I thought…maybe…maybe it’s not an offense to the gods. Maybe it’s just something I don’t understand. It was my husband’s custom, and so I deferred to him, as I had been taught to. But I was wrong. It’s too late for me to undo the pain I’ve caused Aegon and Helaena. It’s too late for me to mend Aemond’s eye or his soul. I can’t spare Daeron from the horrors of war. But I can still save you.”

“I belong with Aemond.” I belong to him.

“You don’t know better. You never had a choice.”

“I’m not you, Mother,” you say. “I’m not a Hightower or a Lannister or a Baratheon. I’m not like them, and I don’t want to be. I want to be Visenya.”

“You’re not going to be anyone if Daemon convinces Rhaenyra to have your head hacked off your shoulders.” Her vast eyes, dark like the mouth of a well, plead for you to understand. This is not a punishment; it is tenderness, it is compassion. “I would do anything to save you and Helaena and your brothers. Anything. You marrying Jace unites the realm. It provides a cornerstone around which to build a peaceful resolution. He will protect your kin. When the battles are past, we can negotiate a divided Westeros, or a line of succession, or exile to Essos or banishment to the Wall, or anything else that will preserve the lives of the people we love. And if Aemond can still win somehow…” She shrugs, and you know whatever affection she once had for Rhaenyra is dead now. “Then he can do whatever he wants with the Blacks who are left.”

I don’t want them to die. Aemond, Aegon, Criston, Daeron, Mother, Helaena, Jaehaera, Maelor.

Mother asks: “Will you do it?”

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond.

Again, desperately: “Will you do it?”

And you cannot look at her when you answer. “Yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Maester Orwyle appears an hour later to dose you with enough milk of the poppy to kill the pain in your skull, and when you sleep it is deep and dark and dreamless. Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Jace arrive at first light, dreary grey dawn trickling into the dungeon. You know what she has decided. Both Daemon and Jace are scowling, and you think, somehow knowing that it is true: The more they try to dissuade her, the more convinced she is. She feels the need to remind them that she alone was Viserys’ heir, that she is a queen in her own right.

“Just marry him to Rhaena!” Daemon is ranting.

“Rhaena brings nothing to our cause that we do not have already. And she will always feel second to Baela. She knows Jace loved her sister. It is perverse.” Then Rhaenyra collects herself and asks Mother: “She consents?”

“She does.”

Rhaenyra turns to Jace. His reply is toneless. “I will do as you bid me to, Your Grace.”

“She will be in the keeping of House Corbray until the war is over,” Rhaenyra says, nodding to you. “They are an honorable but old and modest house, and of little strategic importance. No one beyond who is absolutely necessary will know where she is, for her own safety and that of the children she bears. Jace will fly her to Heart’s Home.”

House Corbray. You remember their banner, Aemond once taught it to you: three black ravens, three red hearts. You have a memory of being in the library with his lips on your throat, his fingers skating up the inside of your thigh, whispering for you to keep quiet as maesters stock books on the other side of the shelf.

“She cannot ride a dragon,” Mother says.

“Sure she can, if he puts her on Vermax.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Mother insists. “Dragons hate her. She cannot go near them. They will attack her, they will kill her. She and Jace will have to travel by ship.”

Rhaenyra is taken aback by this. Daemon scoffs: “What the fuck kind of Targaryen repels dragons?”

“The kind that will never be able to fly to battle against us,” Rhaenyra mutters, and you think: She is angry with him. He has done something, he has displeased her somehow. And you wonder about the girl who rides Sheepstealer.

Your eyes drift to Jace, you cannot stop them. He stares back from beneath dark curls, his gaze hard like the cold stony earth of the Vale, his fingers tapping on the hilt of his sword.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the very first time.

You are at your vanity, and you are supposed to be getting ready for dinner: choosing your earrings and bracelets, combing out your hair before you braid it, a silver river that shimmers like moonlight in the mirror’s reflection. You have bathed, and steam still clings warm and dewy on your skin. You wear a silk robe the color of ripe cherries and nothing underneath it. Candles flicker, cool evening air breathes in through the windows…and your mind is wandering.

For years, you have felt episodic pangs of longing, an indistinct need, a deep untouchable hunger, and you have never found a way to satisfy it. It waxes like a moon growing full and then wanes into nothingness, but it always reappears again, and tonight you are feeling restless, occasionally shifting on the cushion of your chair, seeking the pressure that gives you a taste—and only a morsel, a nibble, a drag of the tongue—of what fulfillment might feel like. Lately, when you are like this, you find yourself thinking of Aemond. He has never spoken of it directly, but you have noticed the way his eye catches on your chest and your hips, how his hands linger when he grabs or shoves or embraces you. You can’t stop wondering what it would taste like to kiss him. You can’t stop imagining which positions he would fuck you in, remembering the lustful figures on the tapestries that hang from the walls of Aegon’s bedchamber.

Your hand settles in your lap, and there—over the glossy blood-colored silk of your robe—presses down tentatively. You sigh, you writhe, you picture Aemond forcing your thighs apart and gazing transfixed at the rare pieces of you he’s never seen.

How do I satiate this craving, how do I make it go away?

Your bedchamber door opens and Aemond stands in the threshold, black leather and silver hair. “Are you ready yet—?” Then his eye drops to where you snatch your hand out of your lap, not quickly enough to escape him noticing. There is a stretch of silence that seems very long. Then Aemond’s scarred forehead furrows and he asks: “What were you doing?”

You consider lies; they dangle in front of you by the dozen, so many ways to deflect or deny or even to disparage him, those prickly games of wordplay. But when you speak, it is not just the truth. It is an invitation. “Thinking of you.”

And Aemond steps into your bedchamber and shuts the door behind him. He crosses the room, kneels in front of you, reaches beneath your robe to hook his arms under your thighs and yanks you halfway out of the chair. You yelp in exhilarated shock as he buries his face between your legs, and then your fingers knot in his hair, and then you are pushing him closer, shaking, awestruck.

Is he really here? Is this finally happening?

You cannot stay quiet when the pinpoint ecstasy opens, blooms, drags you to places you never knew existed. It is something too powerful to be found in the world of mortals. It is bloodmagic, it is shade of the evening, a poison so sweet you’d let it ruin you.

Afterwards—collapsed and gasping on the stone floor, your robe open and your body laid bare for him, flesh that he has claimed irrevocably, bones he owns like a dragon or a blade—you say: “What was that?”

“You had a climax,” Aemond murmurs. “It’s easier for a man, but they are possible for women too.” He smooths your hair back from your face; it is unbound and wild, spilling all around you. You think vaguely: He wants me even when I don’t look like Visenya? He ghosts his thumb across your lips and then kisses you, and it is nothing but warmth, desire, the shared minerals your blood is built of, undying affinity like the celestial kinship of stars in the same constellation. “You can always ask me to take care of you, and I’ll do it. I’m the only one who is allowed to. No one else, not ever.”

This is no sacrifice. You have never wanted another man, and now you know you never will. “Teach me how to satisfy you,” you say, smiling. “I want to see you helpless too.”

Before you dress and leave your bedchamber, you erase as much of the evidence as you can, washing your skin clean and taming your hair into a tidy braid; but still, Mother frowns worriedly at you and Aemond all through dinner.

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ The dragon and the princess ⭑

Masterlist

A/N: Deep into my hotd era, so feeding you with daddy daemon

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x niece!reader

Summary: Your name day was celebrated lavishly and after you and your uncle have a heated conversation, you try to get off when you are finally alone in your bedchamber, or so you thought.

Warnings: Targcest, making out, face riding, oral, vaginal and creampie.

Word count: 1.6k

The great hall was hot and filled with the smell of wine and food. The celebrations for your name day as the eldest child of the king were lavish indeed. After a while the last guest, your dear step mother finally arrived. You hated Alicent with a passion after what she did to you but sadly there was nothing you could do to stop it. You were sitting next to your father King Viserys and were presented with endless gifts. 

Then Tyland Lannister came to the table and presented you with a golden chalice inlaid with rubies and sapphires, a handsome gift, at least- more handsome than him. However before you could thank him the doors opened and none other than your uncle Daemon Targaryen walked in. His hair was short now and he looked ravishing in his new clothes. He started walking towards the table where you were sat and patted Tyland on the back before sitting at the far right side of the table with the queen and the hand in between you. “I- uhm… thank you, my lord for this beautiful gift.” You smiled awkwardly, you were not expecting your uncle to be back but your cheeks flushed at the thought of talking to him again.

“It is not as beautiful as you though, princess.” He smiled, and you cringed hard inside as you looked awkwardly at your father. “Oh- thank you my lord, how very kind of you.” You tried to end it there but it seems Lord Tyland was not finished. “Your Grace I was hoping to ask for the princesses hand in marriage, to bond our houses would strengthen the realm and I would provide your daughter with the strength and support she needs.” He suddenly asked, turning to your father. Your mouth fell slightly open at that and you felt the burning stare of your uncle at the other end of the table. 

“I- uhm… thank you lord Tyland but today is not about my daughters marriage, however I will think on the matter.” He dismissed lord Tyland at that. And he seemed to leave like a dog with its tail between its legs. You could hear your uncle snort and roll your eyes at him. Deciding to end the embarrassment and have some fun, like, one might say, riling up your uncle, you decided to head to the dance floor and dance with a handsome lord of house Tyrell. After a couple more dances with lords from Blackwood to Baratheon to Tully and Frey your sweet uncle finally had enough. He knew exactly what you were doing and he was not having it. 

“Might I have a dance princess.” He asked almost coldly, completely ignoring Lord Colin Frey who was enjoying his dance with you a little too much for Daemon's liking. “Of course uncle. Forgive me my lord. Maybe we could resume our conversation later?” You suggested politely. “Yes princess, that would be delightful.” He gave you a small nod and left to go back to his table, to which Daemon immediately grabbed your hand and waist and danced with you through the crowd. “You really don’t need to do all that to catch my attention.” He whispered into your ear. “What? What are you talking about uncle, me dancing with some lords to please my father?” You replied smugly, you knew how to get under his skin, but tonight you finally wanted to get under his clothes. 

���You know well enough what I’m talking about.” He said, but before you could reply with a witty comment, partners switched again and Daemon left the dance floor back to the table. You danced with some lord again and Daemon's eyes never left yours. After a couple of hours of more dancing and feasting the king finally called it a night and you thanked guests for coming. However much to your disappointment your uncle was nowhere to be found. And you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the thought he was laying with another woman right now. Feeling tired and having all of this pent up arousal from Daemon you retreated to your bedchamber. After your handmaidens finally finished changing you into your nightgown, your head at last hit the pillow. 

Thoughts of Daemon's lips near your ear infiltrated your mind and your hand started to wander down your breasts toward your stomach. When you reached your wet folds you started to softly caress yourself, with two fingers rubbing your clit you were eagerly trying to get off. To get Daemon out of your mind. “Fuck uncle- please.” You softly moaned at the fantasies your mind was serving you. But you didn’t really know how to get yourself off and it was starting to frustrate you.

“Please what?” A voice said. You shot up in your bed to see your uncle standing in the middle of your bedchamber. “Uncle- I didn’t-” You tried. “Having some trouble getting yourself off my dear niece.” He smirked as he walked over to your bed. “I wasn’t-” “Don’t try to fight it princess, I know all too well what you were doing. And for who. Thinking about your own uncle while fingering yourself is quite disgraceful don’t you think?” He mocked and started to walk towards you. Tears pricked in your eyes from embarrassment and you couldn’t even look him in the eye. “Don’t be upset my love, you just needed to get off, didn't you? Did I make you wet for me? Is that it? Do you need your uncle to fuck you proper?” Daemon said while he grabbed your chin and made you look at him. 

His eyes were full of hunger and lust. You glanced at his hard cock shielded by his pants and looked back up at him. All you could do was nod shamefully, knowing that his words soaked the sheets beneath you. And that was all he needed to plant his lips on yours as he crawled on top of you. “You don’t even know how long I’ve wanted to fucking pound you into this bed, fill you with my seed and watch it drip out of your pretty cunt.” He almost sneered against your lips, you moaned in return, even his words could get you off. “Dirty fucking whore, you love that don’t you? Being my own personal fuck toy.” He said as he kissed you again. Now forcing his tongue in your mouth and his hand kneading your breast. He sucked your tongue and bit your lip, after a while your lips swollen and red and breast sore from his kneading. 

“Please uncle, I need you, I need you to fuck me good.” You begged, you knew that’s what he loved. He started kissing your neck in response and after leaving a nice bruise on your collarbone he ripped off your nightgown and laid you down flatter against the pillows behind you. He kissed and licked down your thighs. Opening your legs to reveal your soaking pussy. He licked a long stripe up your folds and started lapping at your clit, making you moan loudly, you were sure that the whole red keep would hear but the pleasure consumed you and you didn’t care. Daemon grabbed your hips and moved you around with him so you sat on his face instead, you immediately rose, afraid of suffocating him. 

“Wait- what if I hurt you-” You said nervously. “You won’t. Now ride my tongue like the dirty little whore you are.” You shuddered at his command and resumed sitting on his face. You felt his tongue enter your hole and you couldn’t help but move fiercer against him. Chasing that high you so badly wanted. “Please yes-!” You moaned as you moved faster, you could feel the vibrations of his groans on your pussy and after mere moments you were cumming all over his tongue. 

Panting hard he rolled you back underneath him. “Now the real fun begins princess.” He whispered against your neck. He removed his own clothes and revealed his already leaking cock. “You're going to take it aren't you.” He said as he kissed your neck again while wrapping a hand around his cock jerking himself off a bit. “Yes. Please I want it all- I want you inside me please-” You pleaded, you clenched around nothing as he slid his tip through your folds multiple times before he finally entered. “Good girl.” You could only moan his name as he started rutting inside you like a dog in heat. 

“Fuck- take it. Take my fucking cock princess. Oh that tight, fucking, cunt around me feels so good, no one has a better cunt then you princess- fuck.” He ranted against your lips, pounding you into the mattress. The slapping of sweaty skin could be heard loudly across your bedchamber and no doubt outside too. “Please uncle its so fucking good, please fill me with your seed- please- please fill me!” You almost screamed. His cock hitting that spongy spot inside you just right, making you think you were seeing all of the seven gods right now.

After a few more thrusts and his thumb rubbing on your clit and you moaned his name as you came, clawing at his back and toes curling as you felt the most amazing pleasure of your life. The clenching of your pussy around his cock finished Daemon as well. With a couple of final hard thrusts he did as was promised and filled your pussy with his seed. “Fuck- princess, oh that’s it. Good fucking girl.” He groaned. Completely spent he laid next to you and pulled you in his arms. 

“What if we get caught.” You asked, calmed from your high reality was setting in. “What if my father finds us or the queen or the hand.” You started to panic a bit. He kissed the top of your head and said, “Then I’ll cut off any head who tries to stop me from marrying you. We will go to Dragon Stone and I’ll make you my wife. And then I’ll get to fuck you every night.”

[madamspellmans-met-tet]

🍷Illicit Affairs🍷

Lilia Calderu x fem!reader

(2nd person = "you" here, 3rd person = "Maddie" on Ao3)

summary: You go to investigate about the message you received from Lilia.

Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

*******************************************************

Half an hour after re-reading Lilia's message, you walked up the steps of the porch to her front door and rang the bell, fiddling with the long golden necklace that reached all the way to your navel. When, after the second and third time, no one came, you turned to leave but couldn't bring yourself to. What if Lilia had passed out and fallen? The thought of her lying on the floor with blood pouring from a head wound made you get the spare key from behind the pillow on the love seat swing. You struggled to put the key into the lock with your shaking hands and forced it open, knowing you wouldn't have the patience to turn it gently.

Inside, it was quiet except for faint music coming from the record player in the living room, which did nothing to calm your unease. You ventured further, holding your breath and preparing yourself for the worst as you rounded the corner. You released your breath when you found Lilia sitting on the blue-striped couch with her head in her hands and a burning cigarette in her hand. Its proximity to her hair concerned you. She must be drunk off her head given that she hadn't noticed you coming in.

Two bottles of wine were on the coffee table, one empty, the second half-full. The ashtray was overflowing, and the packet of cigarettes next to it had only two left in it. It explained the biting smell of smoke that the poor little orchid-scented candle failed to combat. You approached her with careful steps to avoid startling her into causing a fire and quietly called her name as you put your hand on her shoulder. "Lilia?"

Your effort was in vain, and Lilia jumped, but, thanks to you grasping her hand and stabilising it, didn't lose the cigarette. She put her hand over her chest and took a few steadying breaths, looking at you with wide, glossy, round eyes and smudged mascara. She'd been crying.

"Dolcezza," she croaked once she'd regained her voice and stretched her hands out, cupping your face as you sat down next to her. Her lip trembled. "You came."

"I was worried," you said and gently removed her hands from your face, taking the cigarette from her and putting it out in the ashtray. Her tarot deck was spread out there too with three cards lined up in a cross. The Moon card crossed with the Hierophant card and the third one showing the Magician. Wax had dripped on it. Lilia had given you and Alice a lesson once during a girl's night, but you didn't remember their meaning.

"Did you drink all that?" You gestured with your head in the direction of the bottles and took her warm hands into yours, squeezing them like you had done that night in the car.

Lilia made a sheepish, affirmative noise and shrugged.

Shame rose into your cheeks as a small voice in the back of your head claimed you were the reason she was so upset. Maybe you had been wrong to not show your face for a week after the kiss, for both her and Alice's sake—but it had been Lilia who pushed you away.

The silence stretched as you absently rubbed the backs of her hands with your thumbs and over the many rings she loved to wear. It calmed her, and the warmth that spread in your body was, in all its familiarity, a problem. You withdrew and stood up. "I'll get you some water and make coffee. We need to sober up."

Lila nodded, in untypical quietness, and you headed for the kitchen. It was second nature to make coffee in this house, and you felt a pang in your heart at the mere thought that you might have to leave it forever if the ache for her wouldn't fade.

"Here, drink this," you said, handing her the glass from behind. "I'll be there in a sec."

As you returned to the kitchen to get the coffee, you reset the stylus on the vinyl to combat the silence. With two steaming cups, you joined Lilia, who had done as you'd told her and drank the water. She'd also lit another cigarette and stared blankly at the flickering, mute TV as she smoked. The light played on her features, accentuating every hard edge and soft crease with the shadows it cast.

"Grazie," she said as you handed her a cup, and you gave a tight-lipped smile before hiding in a sip.

"So," you started, avoiding her eyes, "why did you want me to come?"

"Oh um…" She licked her lips, not meeting your eyes either. "Alice she, uh, she misses you. And I'd hate to be the reason she lost her best friend. I mean, I could—I could leave… while you're here, so you don't have to… to see me."

You kept your eyes trained on the tarot cards. Her fingers moved in your periphery as she brought the cigarette to her lips.

"But I want to see you…" you said.

Your heart skipped a beat at the bat of Lilia's lashes when your eyes met. Smoke still emanated from her parted, wine-stained ruby lips and you wanted to kiss and kiss and kiss the colours off her.

"It's not right, dolcezza," she said with a gentle shake of her head.

"But you said love was—"

"This isn't about rules and morale." Her chest expanded and stretched her white blouse as she inhaled the smoke; one more button than usual had been opened.

"What then?"

Lilia let the smoke fizzle out, taking her time. "It's about my daughter." Her voice was resolute in this. She tilted her head, scratching her thumb nail along the cigarette. "Do you understand that?"

Your eyes closed. As you set the coffee cup down, you drew your bottom lip between your teeth and let it pop free again, snatched the cigarette from between Lilia's fingers, and put it between your own lips, desperately aware that hers had touched it a moment ago. Her lipstick lingered on the filter, as did her taste. The memory of your kiss flooded you—far more stimulating than the nicotine, far more addictive.

"See? I've corrupted you already."

You scoffed and said, "Yeah," as you let yourself fall into the sofa cushions to lounge on your side, your head propped up. Corrupted, head over heels. "Why did you want me to come?" you asked again, this time with conviction. Lilia turned her head to you. "And don't say to talk about Alice. 'I'm alone'?" you recited her message and took another drag.

Lilia breathed in deeply and stilled before placing her cup next to yours and dropping into the sofa, mirroring your position. Her grey-brown hair wrapped in messy strands around her fingers as she rested her head in her hand.

"I was drunk—am drunk—and needy."

"Needy, huh?"

She smiled with a sigh, and when your fingers brushed in the space between you, they entwined instinctively.

"Alice said you've been asking 'bout me."

"I was worried." Lilia repeated your own words back at you.

Your smile turned cocky when you insisted, "You missed me."

She rolled her eyes and brought your joined hands to her heart, tapping them against the bared, tan skin of her cleavage. You couldn't stand the melancholy in her eyes, almost regretful when she reached out through the smoke and brushed a wave from your face. "Yes. I missed you."

You held her hand there even when she tried to pull away and instead shifted closer until you could run your hand along her upper arm, careful not to burn her with the cigarette. "How much?" you asked, searching the deep brown of her eyes.

She stroked your knuckles with her thumb and shrugged. "A bit."

"A 'little' bit," you teased, leaning in until your words brushed her lips, "or a bit 'much'?"

"More than," Lilia gasped as your hand slid from her arm to the dip of her waist, "is good for us."

"I'm no good?" you purred, ghosting the tip of your nose against hers. "Tell me." Her eyes had already closed, and her breath was a flutter against your lips. "Tell me what bad, bad news I am."

The smell of red wine rose up your nose, of dozens of smoked cigarettes and a million unspoken words, and they dizzied you so much that you couldn't hold on when Lilia slipped away and stood up. The zipper of her skirt had opened at the side and part of it folded over, revealing a glimpse of flesh where the blouse parted. She flipped the vinyl on the record player, turned the volume up, and swiped her finger around the edges and buttons.

The Dirty Dancing soundtrack: She's Like The Wind. The last time you'd heard it in this house had been after Lilia's divorce from Lorna. Alice had been so nervous about leaving her alone that the three of you had spent many nights together, dancing and drinking and watching movies to distract her. All you could do this time was grant her the space she'd created, sip your coffee, and smoke her cigarette.

She spent a while swaying at the record shelf, flicking through the collection and trying too hard not to look your way. Her restraint had long thinned this evening, and distance was the only option she had left, which made you hopeful. Did everyone's happiness hold the same weight?

"Lilia?" you called softly over the sofa. "Are you okay?"

"Like hell I am," she muttered, but returned to you and perched on the backrest, facing away from you.

You threw your head back into the cushion to catch her gaze, blowing out a plume of smoke, but her eyes were fixed on the floorboards. Hungry Eyes started playing, and since you couldn't get her attention this way, you dumped the cigarette, jumped up, rounded the sofa, and began to dance on your way into the living room space, moving your mouth to the lyrics and pretending to hold a microphone. The remnants of alcohol in your system helped keep your shame threshold low enough to go through with it until a small laugh passed Lilia's lips. You winked at her.

She couldn't take her eyes off your body, twirled her rings and wrung her hands.

Hungry eyes.

One look at you and I can't disguise I've got… hungry eyes.

I feel the magic between you and I.

Nothing but hunger in her eyes. Nothing but heat in your core.

And then Lilia grabbed your cheeks between thumb and index finger and pulled you against her mouth, tearing her teeth into you and soothing it with her tongue; a hand in the small of your back, tugging you between her legs where the skirt had bunched around her hips. She devoured you with ruthless abandon, and you loved it.

You messed up her hair, pulled and shoved at it, clashed your teeth like swords before the first bloodshed, swallowed, and drank until it all tasted the same. Her mouth wasn't enough anymore.

Sighs of "touch me" fell from your lips as you kissed a path below Lilia's jaw. She drew a sharp breath through her nose and pressed ever closer until the heat of her body crashed into yours. Her hands were everywhere—your neck, your chest, your waist, your hips—and you were feverish with want, throbbing, fumbling her blouse open button by button with just enough restraint not to rip it. She pushed her chest into your hands, repressed moans vibrated in her throat, and her fingers dug into your rear.

"Dolcezza mia!" she groaned, a low, thick, breathless drawl, as you mouthed at her cleavage, and before you could spend more time peeling down her black, lacy bra, she pushed you to your knees with a firm hand on your shoulder.

You wasted no time to bunch her skirt up to her hips, revealing the equally lacy tops of her stockings and white piece of underwear covering her centre. Your heart hammered in your chest, your face, your ears, and for a moment, you didn't know what to do now that your wildest dreams were staring right back at you.

"Honey, please," Lilia breathed, weakly patting your cheek before grabbing the backrest of the sofa she was perched on. "I'm burning. Help mamma out."

"Lilia…" you hummed, running your hands up her thighs, and as you went higher and higher, the white cotton soaked through and her scent hit you. Your mind spun out of control and you ripped her panties down her legs, nearly throwing her off balance as you got rid of them.

Lilia yelped as she fought to catch herself, and you grabbed the backs of her thighs, pressing your lips into the softness of her lower stomach and grazing your teeth along the curve until you reached her mound. Soft, grey curls tickled your nose in the descent, and the lower you went, the wetter, creamier, their ends were. Her thighs trembled in your grip as your breath fanned over her, and you squeezed them harder, bruising, to keep her still. You spread her, threads of viscous arousal spanning the gap until you severed them with your tongue, curling against the underside of her clit.

Lilia hissed and tossed her head back like Saint Teresa in her ecstasy. You placed your second lick—stronger, flatter, broader—and moaned into her folds at the blossoming taste. She clawed the cushioning, bucked against your face, let out the most rapturous noises you could've imagined, and you drowned yourself in her honey-thick slickness, on your knees with your tongue pushing into her entrance.

She was so warm and wet. Quivering. Pulsing.

"Don't stop! Ti prego! Amore mia!" Lilia pleaded, spurring you on, and when you refocused on her clit, her moans burst into fragments splittering left and right. She had leaked on your chin already, and your only concern was not to waste it. You'd lick it off the floor if need be.

"Oh!" Lilia's hand flew to the back of your head, grabbing into your hair and pushing.

You latched onto her clit, sucked hard, and she came, and swore and gasped for air, and you didn't let off until she yanked you away from her sex and pulled you up into a heated kiss. "So good, baby," she uttered against your arousal-stained lips and rolled up your longsleeve shirt, breaking the kiss only to pull it over your head.

The record was long forgotten and you both lost several more pieces of clothing as Lilia backed you towards her bedroom. She shoved you onto her neatly made bed and crawled over you before you'd even landed—a cougar in truth—only to attack your mouth over and over again.

"I haven't done this in so long," she said through rapid breaths, playing her manicured nails down your naked front, and bumped her knee against your centre, making you gasp.

"Couldn't tell," you muttered without a care in the world of what she'd do to you as long as she did.

Lilia skimmed her thumb over your nipple and leaned down to kiss your breast. You shuddered beneath her and clutched at her open blouse, which, together with the bra, were the last pieces of clothing on her—offending at that.

"Please don't tease me."

"Mh, but you're so pretty when you beg…" She shut your protest up with a kiss, tender on your raw and bitten skin. "Makes me want to play with you."

With a noise of frustration, you took her hand and guided it where you wanted her to be. The long skirt was already out of the way, and only your underwear left. Two of her fingers pressed down between your folds as if on instinct, dipping right into the gathered wetness.

"On second thought," she drawled, kissing your cheek and husking in your ear, "I might have to take care of this mess right now."

You bit your lip and nodded, eyes closed, already too far gone for her playful banter. She moved her fingers back and forth over your underwear, making sure they were ruined, before hooking one into it and pulling it aside.

"Responsive," she said with a smirk against your cheek as her nose drew back to yours. "And so ready for me, hm, dolcezza?"

"Shut up," you teased and kissed her, and finally—oh god, finally—her fingers slipped inside you. Your mouth fell open with the breath you expelled, and Lilia was quick to breathe it back into you, curling her fingers against your pliant muscle. Sparks ran up your spine and elicited a string of breathy sighs as she added her thumb and circled your clit—your whole body tingled.

"I'm—oh—I'm gonna—"

"So soon?"

"Mh!" You squirmed and willed yourself to breathe, but there was nothing you could do against the rapidly mounting pleasure. Lilia didn't slow or alleviate the pressure, nothing to stop your orgasm; she just watched you fall apart under her touch, wearing a soft, sympathetic smile and stroking your cheek with her knuckles.

"Brava, bella." Lilia pulled her fingers from you, so quick that you gasped, and licked them clean without a care in the world, leaving the bed and returning with a towel, patting you and herself dry and throwing it on the floor. Your ears had barely stopped ringing when she stood at the foot of the bed in all her semi-naked glory, hands on her hips, and asked, "You hungry, sweetheart? I can warm something up."

"Um…?"

"Yeah, I'd better," she decided and walked out.

Her pottering about in the kitchen gave you time to catch your breath and process what had just happened, and a part of you couldn't believe it. You'd slept with your best friend's mom. This would be the butterfly's wingbeat that would wreak havoc on your life. You wiped your hands over your face. Where even were your glasses? When had you taken them off?

"I'm just in the mood for some re-heated frittata," Lilia chimed as she came back and climbed into the bed next to you with a plate balanced on her hand and a fork in the other. "Open up," she said and slipped a bite into your mouth before you could object, quirking her eyebrows at you as you chewed.

"Lovely," you gave your clumsy verdict and swallowed. Lilia nodded in satisfaction and ate a bit herself, setting the plate down between you two and lying on her side, poking the fork around in the frittata and occasionally feeding you.

"Well, thank goodness Alice didn't want any," she said, but the joke didn't land with you. It only brought your previous musings back to the forefront of your mind.

Noticing your discomfort, Lilia abandoned the rest of the food and put the plate on the nightstand by the dim lamp and scooted closer until her chest was flush to yours and her arm loose around your waist, thumb brushing your back.

"What's wrong, honey?"

You drank her in—her lipstick reduced to a hint of a single smudge at the corner of her mouth, sweat that had caked the base into her skin, tangled hair… but so blissful—and relaxed into the comfort of her.

"What about Alice?" you asked.

Lilia nodded silently, pondering your question for a moment. "It's not ideal," she agreed. "And I don't know how to even try and explain this."

You weren't sure if this was a one-off to her, something that couldn't and wouldn't happen again. A pleasant mistake, a welcome regret. Sating a need, scratching an itch.

"Maybe… we don't have to?" you suggested, hoping she'd give you an answer to all those questions, but all she did was kiss your forehead and say, "Maybe."

*******************************************************

Please leave a comment on Ao3 for a starving author <3

[makingqueerhistory]

Spooky Queer Books

Since spooky season is starting, I thought I would share a list of my favourite queer books that are great for this time of year.

Some of these links are affiliate links.

It Came from the Closet: Queer Reflections on Horror

Joe Vallese

Horror movies hold a complicated space in the hearts of the queer community: historically misogynist, and often homo- and transphobic, the genre has also been inadvertently feminist and open to subversive readings. Common tropes--such as the circumspect and resilient "final girl," body possession, costumed villains, secret identities, and things that lurk in the closet--spark moments of eerie familiarity and affective connection. Still, viewers often remain tasked with reading themselves into beloved films, seeking out characters and set pieces that speak to, mirror, and parallel the unique ways queerness encounters the world.It Came from the Closet features twenty-five essays by writers speaking to this relationship, through connections both empowering and oppressive. From Carmen Maria Machado on Jennifer's Body, Jude Ellison S. Doyle on In My Skin, Addie Tsai on Dead Ringers, and many more, these conversations convey the rich reciprocity between queerness and horror.

Into the Drowning Deep

Mira Grant

The ocean is home to many myths, But some are deadly... Seven years ago the Atargatis set off on a voyage to the Mariana Trench to film a mockumentary bringing to life ancient sea creatures of legend. It was lost at sea with all hands. Some have called it a hoax; others have called it a tragedy. Now a new crew has been assembled. But this time they're not out to entertain. Some seek to validate their life's work. Some seek the greatest hunt of all. Some seek the truth. But for the ambitious young scientist Victoria Stewart this is a voyage to uncover the fate of the sister she lost. Whatever the truth may be, it will only be found below the waves. But the secrets of the deep come with a price.

The Devouring Gray

C. L. Herman

After her sister's death, seventeen-year-old Violet Saunders finds herself dragged to Four Paths, New York. Violet may be a newcomer, but she soon learns her mother isn't: They belong to one of the revered founding families of the town, where stone bells hang above every doorway and danger lurks in the depths of the woods. Justin Hawthorne's bloodline has protected Four Paths for generations from the Gray--a lifeless dimension that imprisons a brutal monster. After Justin fails to inherit his family's powers, his mother is determined to keep this humiliation a secret. But Justin can't let go of the future he was promised and the town he swore to protect. Ever since Harper Carlisle lost her hand to an accident that left her stranded in the Gray for days, she has vowed revenge on the person who abandoned her: Justin Hawthorne. There are ripples of dissent in Four Paths, and Harper seizes an opportunity to take down the Hawthornes and change her destiny--to what extent, even she doesn't yet know. The Gray is growing stronger every day, and its victims are piling up. When Violet accidentally unleashes the monster, all three must band together with the other Founders to unearth the dark truths behind their families' abilities...before the Gray devours them all.

Tell Me I'm Worthless

Alison Rumfitt

Three years ago, Alice spent one night in an abandoned house with her friends, Ila and Hannah. Since then, Alice's life has spiraled. She lives a haunted existence, selling videos of herself for money, going to parties she hates, drinking herself to sleep. Memories of that night torment Alice, but when Ila asks her to return to the House, to go past the KEEP OUT sign and over the sick earth where teenagers dare each other to venture, Alice knows she must go. Together, Alice and Ila must face the horrors that happened there, must pull themselves apart from the inside out, put their differences aside, and try to rescue Hannah, whom the House has chosen to make its own. Cutting, disruptive, and darkly funny, Tell Me I'm Worthless is a vital work of trans fiction that examines the devastating effects of trauma and how fascism makes us destroy ourselves and each other.

[venusbyline]

Bleeding ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 20, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Alicent Hightower x lady in waiting!reader

— type: smut, angst, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: period sex + blood kink

— summary: Alicent did not want to be Queen Consort. She did not want to be King Viserys' second wife. She did not want to be Aegon II's mother. Alicent Hightower just wanted to love girls.

— word count: 2k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 20th day, female!reader, young!Alicent, period sex, blood kink, light dubcon, friends to lovers, friends with benefits, rough sex, tribadism/scissoring, argument, nipple play, underage sex, light unconscious sex, mild hurt/comfort, mild angst, lactation kink, breastfeeding, light dumbification, overstimulation, degradation, choking, family issues, crying, dacryphilia, sexism, curse words, implied/referenced cheating, breast worship, religious guilt, sexuality crisis, aftercare, love triangle (Alicent Hightower x reader x Rhaenyra Targaryen), motherhood themes, mommy kink, Aegon Targaryen II mentioned, minor Alicent Hightower x Viserys Targaryen, minor Alicent Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen, minor Gwayne Hightower x reader, ambiguous/open ending, lesbian!Alicent, bisexual!reader, sub!Alicent, dom!reader, canon divergence, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole @badger-reads @turdettethefirst

— crossposting: AO3

Ever since Alicent had given birth to Aegon, she had grown distant from her best friend, Rhaenyra, and had become more lonely. Rhaenyra did not like Aegon because he reminded her of the male children her father had lost, he reminded her of her mother's brutal death during childbirth.

Sometimes, not even Alicent herself liked her son. Every time she looked at those violet eyes, the rosy cheeks and the silver hair, she was reminded of King Viserys. How he had fucked her tight cunt without even worrying about her pleasure. How she had kept her eyes open throughout the entire act, hoping it would end soon so she could distance herself from the older man's sweaty body and return to her own chambers.

Looking at the little boy made Alicent think about how their fates were set forever. She would just be a brood mare until Viserys no longer had the strength to keep fucking her. And Aegon would be just a lamb in the midst of all that chaos from Targaryen family. An heir, or not. A king, or not. Perhaps just a stupid adult with stupid kids in the future. Just as she probably would be too.

She was so afraid that Aegon would stop being a cute baby and become an evil man. This happened to most men. Their mothers gave birth to them with so much love and they were destined to die little by little watching their boys' development, each maternal disappointment being like daggers inside their hearts and inside their wombs, who had bled so much to bring their children into the world.

Alicent could even picture Aegon in his future, visiting brothels, masturbating like a dog in heat, making bastards in the streets, being a shame not only for the Targaryen family, but mainly for Alicent, his own mother. She wanted to put him back in her womb and stop him from anything evil he could do or be.

"Your Grace, did you call me?" Your voice discreetly entering the Queen's private chambers, avoiding looking at her figure under the sheets. It was nothing you had not seen. You had helped her during Aegon's birth, but you also knew her body for other reasons. You were her lady-in-waiting since her childhood, always close to her despite being a few years older. Otto Hightower had entrusted his daughter's good reputation to you since the three of you moved to King's Landing before her and the King's marriage. You did your tasks splendidly, too perfectly.

Especially into her bed.

"I thought you would not come, love..." Alicent murmured with a more fragile way than she intended and you tried hard not to show any pitying face. You were still angry about your last argument.

"You call me, I come. It is always like that, is not it?" Your passive-aggressive accusation made her swallow hard with shame and self-loathing. She was not the best person to deal with feelings. Ever since her marriage to Viserys, Alicent had been confused. About her faith. About her sins. About her extramarital desires. About Rhaenyra. About you. Especially about you two.

Gods, she wanted both of you so much that sometimes it hurts. Alicent wanted not to be married to the King, she wanted not to have a child, she wanted to be free. She wanted to be a man.

The young redhead fiddled with her fingers for a few moments, sitting on the bed and still covered by the silk sheet. She wanted to apologize for the argument, to say that she would try to talk less about her chaotic friendship or situationship with Rhaenyra. However, she knew that none of this would help. You were angry by her past confession about sleep with Rhaenyra a few times before her marriage to the King. You thought you were special to her. You really thought you were the only one, since Viserys Targaryen was just a puppet in Otto's hands. The affair with her was special. Or at least it should be.

You sighed after her long silence, seeing how Alicent looked away, choosing to look at any part of the chambers that was already so well known to her. "Why did not you call your friend Rhaenyra?" Your mockery tone did not go unnoticed and she flinched.

"I am... Bleeding. Rhaenyra does not like licking my vaginal blood." She said embarrassed. You knew what that meant. Alicent always hated admitting how turned on she was when those days came. The days she was sure she was not pregnant again. It was a mix of relief and arousal. She was so sensitive, so fucking needy...

But this time, you did not lower yourself between her thighs. This time, you looked at her with a cold gaze. So cold that she did not think even the strongest Dracarys from any Targaryen could melt.

"Then you want me to lick all your pretty little cunt to ease your pain and arousal, just because the princess is disgusted by that?" You questioned without a hint of affection that was always there, tearing your light blue dress with gold details with an almost animalistic speed. Now there was only resentment that she was reaping due to her own actions.

Alicent's already big eyes widened, pink lips parted with complete shock, as if you had said the most perverse thing that could come out of a girl's lips. "A-are you insane? Mind your tongue and do not dare to use that kind of language with me!" She tried to growl, to look intimidating. Tried to look like a Targaryen. Tried to sound like Rhaenyra.

But she was not a Targaryen. She was Alicent. Alicent Hightower. The ambitious teenager who spent hours inside the Septs, kneeling in front of some statue. She was also Alicent Hightower, the teenager who begged the Gods for forgiveness and mercy every time she pictured her best friend and current stepdaughter rubbing the wet core with some silver hairs on her lips, while you, her lady-in-waiting, would eat her out until she squirt all over your face.

This thought had appeared in Alicent's mind so many times that she had already surrendered, fucking her fingers inside herself under the sheets several nights. Like a true pathetic whore.

"You have no right to treat me as if you were just my Queen." It was your turn to growl, lower but much more intimidating, checking if the door was really locked before walking towards Alicent's bed with long strides, not caring about her wide eyes as you pulled the sheets away from her body, revealing the semi-transparent nightgown that highlighted the curves acquired since Aegon's pregnancy.

"BUT I AM YOUR QUEEN!" Alicent yelled, trying to deprive your of her dignity, but it was too late. You had seen the dry crimson stain on her fingers, causing you to laugh instantly.

"You are nothing but a spoiled greedy whore. That is what you are." The whisper filled with sarcasm made Alicent curl up even more into the pillow. "How long have you been trying to fuck your disgusting needy hole without even being able to cum?"

Your question went unanswered and you finally snapped, losing your patience and grabbing her neck, pushing her further onto the bed as you climbed onto the bed while you climbing on top of her vulnerable body. "Answer me, Your Grace!"

However, now your plea sounded more desperate and hurt than angry. She could see how your eyes were full of tears and how you were trying your best to fight them off. You hated feeling so hungry for Alicent. She should be your responsibility, nothing more than that. You should not care if she was thinking about Rhaenyra or not, as long as she did not tarnish the reputation of House Hightower or Viserys' reign. "SEVEN HELLS, ALICENT! ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW!"

"Over an hour ago, love. I was thinking about you two, you and Nyra..." Alicent sobbed after your shout, tears streaming down her soft cheeks as well, slightly losing consciousness for a few seconds from crying so much. She did not realize what you were doing with her body until you arched your head back, a strangled moan escaping your lips with pleasure and agony. It was then that she felt a different wetness rubbing against hers. It was not just your juices. It was... It was blood. Just like hers. It was the blood from your cunt mixing with her blood.

"O-oh, Gods. You are bleeding too..." Alicent whimpered, trying to move so she could keep up with the rhythm and give you even more pleasure, but your hands that kept her legs open stopped her. She moaned, looking at you with big sad eyes, which you ignored without any mercy, your gaze focused on the way your blood-stained cunts met each other, swollen clits pulsing against each other.

If it had been before, Alicent would have found it disgusting. She would find it disgusting how you started squeezing her breast when you increased the speed of your hips. Her breasts was still so large and heavy with Aegon's milk, she had created more curves and unfortunately some stretch marks, and you loved every part of all of this, playing with her nipple and smirking between moans when some milk flowed out.

She should find repulsive the way her own milk ran down her belly, some spots reaching the place where the two of you fit. You raised an eyebrow despite the haze of pleasure, as if you were asking permission for something. Instead of answering, Alicent also pressed her own breast, her hand now wet with breast milk, before she reached for both cunts, rubbing yours and then hers, getting them more overstimulated so you could move with more easily.

It was a disgusting mess. The gooey sounds, the blood and milk mixed on your buds, the way her nipple was still dripping. You were the first to cum, biting your lip until blood came out, avoiding moaning the Queen's name too loudly. Your cunt spasmed until your legs shook, your body falling on top of Alicent and the sight of your intense climax made her reach the release too. Even knowing the possible consequences, Alicent did not hold back. She moaned your name like a whore. Like the cheapest prostitute in the brothels on Street of Silk. Like the women that all the Targaryens fucked hidden from their wives. Like the women her firstborn and perhaps her next sons would fuck in the future. Like her future daughter would moan around some man's cock, if one day she had the divine blessing of giving birth to a little girl to try to protect her from all the evil in Westeros.

Alicent caressed your cheeks, grateful that you did not mind the mixture of blood, juices and breast milk that stained your face as she gave you affection, pulling your soft mouth close to her left nipple so that you could be breastfed like a baby. Her baby. You did not know what to say, you were too overwhelmed by the situation. Every argument with Alicent Hightower ended like this, feeding you as if you were a little orphan child and she a childless mother or a widowed wife. A widowed Queen.

"I wish we could be happy, love..." Alicent whispered with some melancholy, placing a kiss on your forehead and letting a tear escape. "B-but... But I hope my brother Gwayne will be a good husband to you. The husband you deserve. The husband I cannot be to you or to Nyra." You did not answer, nodding weakly and looking at your betrothal ring with the perfect green jewel on top. You did not want Gwayne Hightower. You did not want Alicent Hightower to be a man. You just wanted Alicent the way she was. A girl. Your girl. You wanted Alicent Hightower to be your wife. And she wanted that too.

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[the-fiction-witch]

The Morning After

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Jacaerys Velaryon Couple - Jacaerys X Reader Reader - (OC) Princess Elaena (Daughter of Viserys and Alicent, Arranged Marriage) Rating - 15+ Word Count - 2283

Elaena shivers slightly in the morning breeze, her naked body covered only by the black silk sheets of the bed inside the dragon stone chamber, and slightly by Jacaerys. She shared at the fireplace as the flame slowly died down, lost in her own mind.

Jacaerys feels a slight shiver running through Elaena's body, and he smiles slightly as his eyes roam over her skin. He gently pulls up the sheets and covers more of her body before placing a soft kiss on her shoulder. “Are you cold?”

she jumped as he spoke not aware he was awake yet, "Oh uh... No." She lied.

"You're such a terrible liar." He teased, gently nipping on her sensitive earlobe. Jacaerys gently pressed his body closer to Elaena's, his chest to her back as he wrapped both arms around her waist, bringing her even closer against him in an attempt to share some warmth with her.

"I... Uhh I suppose so"

“It’s alright to admit you’re cold, you know.” He whispered gently into her ear, his breath warm against her skin.

"I'll be fine, - thank you prince Jacaerys." She said nervously clutching the silk sheets to her body,

"Elaena, there's no need to be nervous." He whispers gently, he takes her hand softly in his and his thumb gently begins tracing patterns on the back of her hand. "And please, call me Jacaerys. We're married now, you have no need to call me 'Prince Jacaerys' so formally, at least not when we’re alone."

Jacaerys gently pulls the sheets and the hand holding it down away from her body, exposing her naked skin to the room and himself. He gently rolls her onto her back, resting her on the bed, and positions himself over her, his arms planted on either side of her head, supporting his bodyweight so that he wouldn't crush her. His chest brushed against her skin, as he leaned down and placed his lips against the smooth skin on her neck, gently nipping and sucking on the skin, leaving behind a trail of hickeys.

she shivered, her hands come to her chest using her forearms to conceal her bare breasts in a innocent fearful sort of way,

Jacaerys gently grabs her wrists and pulls them away from her chest, pinning them above her head as he continues to work his way down her neck, slowly trailing his kisses down to her collarbone. "Don't hide yourself from me, let me see all of you." His hips settle between her legs, and he slowly rocks his hips against hers, creating a delicious friction between their bodies.

She began to whimper and her body trembled and shivered, her eyes squeezed shut tightly.

Jacaerys releases her wrists and begins to gently caress her body, his hands roaming over her bare skin, exploring every inch of her body. He continues to kiss and suck on her neck, his hips still gently rocking against hers, the friction between their bodies growing more intense, causing Jacacerys to get hard. "Look at me, I want to see your eyes." Jacaerys whispers against her skin, his voice low and sultry.

Suddenly a tear slips from her eye,

Jacaerys notices and immediately stops what he's doing. He releases her wrists putting space between them and gently cups her face in his hands, his thumb wiping away the tear. "Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry… look at me." He says softly, "If I'm doing something you don't like, or if I'm going too fast, tell me. We don't have to do this if you don’t want to."

Slowly Elaena sits up pulling her knees to her chest concealing herself as she softly cries "what does it matter..."

He hears her words and frowns, a mixture of guilt and confusion on his face. "It matters to me." He says softly, sitting up as well and gently placing a hand on her bare back, rubbing slow circles on her skin. "I don't want to hurt you or make you uncomfortable. I want you to be happy and safe." He leans forward and gently presses a gentle kiss to her shoulder. “You’re my wife, why would I ever want you to be unhappy?”

"it doesn't matter... We're married now."

"Just because we're married doesn't mean I don't care about you and your feelings. If you're uncomfortable or not ready, we can wait as long as you need." He looks at her with concern in his eyes. "Why are you crying?"

"because... This is it. It's all just done. I am your bride... Our marriage consummated, My Maidenhead taken... It's all over. Nothing awaits me now but growing your heirs... Just to have them ripped from me to be placed on the throne." Ahs trembled

Jacaerys listened carefully to her words, his heart aching at the pain and despair in her voice. He moved closer to her, wrapping his arms around her body and gently pulling her onto his lap, cradling her against his chest to provide some comfort. "Hey, that's not true. You're more than just the mother of my heirs." He gently runs his fingers through her hair, trying to soothe her. "You're my wife. My partner. My friend. I care about you as a person, not just as a vessel for my heirs." Jacaerys held her tightly in his arms, feeling her body tremble and shake as she cried. He whispered soft reassurances into her ear, gently rubbing her back and placing gentle kisses on her forehead, trying his best to comfort her. "Shhh, it's alright. I'm here. I've got you. Let it all out." Jacaerys held her against him, continuing to gently rub her back and whisper soothing words into her ear as she cried, letting all her emotions out. He gently rocked her back and forth, just holding her in his arms, offering her a safe place to feel the overwhelming waves of emotion. After a while, he quietly asked, "Can I ask you something?"

she nodded eyes still full of tears

Jacaerys gently brushed away some tears from her face before speaking, his voice laced with genuine concern. "Do you..." He paused, searching for the right words. "Do you not want this?"

"I... I must do my duty."

Jacaerys gently tilted her head up so that she was looking at him, his eyes meeting hers. He spoke softly but firmly. "It's not just about doing your duty. I want you to be happy. I want you to want this. I don't want you to feel pressured or like you're being forced into something you don't want." He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and continued speaking. "I want our marriage to be built on more than just duty. I want you to be my partner, my friend, my equal." He paused for a moment, searching her eyes for any signs of understanding or agreement. "So, please. Be honest with me. Do you want this? Do you want to be my wife, and have my heirs?"

"... I... I don't know"

Jacaerys paused for a moment, taking in her answer. Despite the sadness he felt at her uncertainty, he appreciated her honesty. He gently cupped her face in his hands and brushed his thumb over her cheek. "It's alright. You don't have to know right now." He gently pulled her back into his arms, holding her tightly against his body. "We'll figure it out together. I'm here for you, no matter what."

"thank you... I just... I don't know what other choice I have"

Jacaerys held her against him, his arms wrapped tightly around her frame, feeling the warmth of her body against his. He gently kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering on her hair for a moment. "You're right, things seemed to have been decided for us. But there's still a choice in how we handle it." He paused, his thumb gently rubbing circles on her back. "And I'm going to support you, no matter what you decide."

She nodded "and if I decided I didn't?"

Jacaerys pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes with a serious but gentle expression. "If you decided that you didn't want this, that you didn't want to be married to me, then we would figure it out. We would find a way to make things work." He took a deep breath, his hand gentle as he gently pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "But you must know, that I do want this. I want you, as my wife, by my side."

"why? Why do you want this?"

Jacaerys took a moment to think before answering her question, his gaze locked on hers. "Why do I want you as my wife? Because you're smart, and kind, and beautiful." He gently caressed her face with his fingertips, his touch soft and affectionate. "Because you make me smile and laugh, and you challenge me in ways I never thought possible." He paused, his thumb gently tracing the outline of her lips. "Because I feel something for you that I've never felt for anyone before." He continued, his voice growing softer and more vulnerable. "I want this because I want to wake up beside you every morning. I want to hold you when you're sad, and celebrate with you when you're happy. I want to know everything about you, and share everything about myself with you. I want you, Elaena, because I'm completely and utterly in love with you."

"... I'm sorry" she looked up at him

Jacaerys's heart skipped a beat at her words, and a slight frown tugged at the corners of his lips. "don't apologize," he said gently, his thumb tracing comforting circles on her cheek. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I... I do... Enjoy your company jacaerys. You have been kinder to me then I imagined you might. You are a handsome man, a smart man, and ... For what it is worth. I am willing to do my duty... Even if it hurts. But I... I know there is too much at stake in our marriage to not uphold it, our marriage holds together a family that would be at war without it. You can't deny that leaves us… somewhat forced into this." She explained "I know... In time. I will learn to love you... I... I just haven't...yet"

He took a deep breath, holding her gaze with a serious but understanding expression. "I understand, I do. And I appreciate your honesty.” He gently stroked her hair with his fingers. "But please, know that I don't want you to force yourself to love me. I want you to love me because you want to, not because you feel like you have to."

"... I .. will try"

Jacaerys smiled softly at her response, feeling a bit more hopeful. He gently placed a kiss on her forehead, his thumb caressing her cheek gently. "That's all I ask. I understand that it may take time, and I will be patient with you." He pulled her closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. "Just let me know if there's anything I can do to help you, okay?"

she nodded

Jacaerys held her close against him, enveloping her in his warmth and strength. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her, finding comfort in her presence. After a moment, he gently spoke again, his voice soft and low. "Can I ask you something personal?"

"yes?"

“... have you ever been with a man before we got married?"

"no," she answered

Jacaerys's heart skipped a beat at her response, a mixture of relief and possessiveness washing over him. She was completely innocent, untouched by any other man before him. He gently pulled back slightly so that he could look at her, his hand coming up to cup her face in his palm. "Have you... at least been kissed before?"

she shook her head

Jacaerys heart raced at her admission, his breath catching in his throat. She was entirely untainted, a pure and innocent bride just for him. He couldn’t help the feeling of possessiveness that rose within him at the thought, and he gently tilted her chin up to look at him. "Good," he said, his voice low and rough with desire. "You're all mine, and mine alone." He gently brushed his thumb over her lips, feeling the softness and smoothness of her skin, and his heart thumped heavily in his chest. "I'm the first man to touch your lips," he murmured, tracing the outline of her mouth with his finger. "The first man to hold you in his arms like this." Jacaerys's eyes darkened with possessiveness as he continued to caress her face, tracing the gentle curve of her jawline, down her neck to the tops of her shoulders. "And I'll be the first man to taste you in every way possible," he said lowly, his voice a gruff whisper against her skin. He gently brushed his lips against her neck, planting light kisses that traced a path down to her collarbone. "The first man to explore every inch of your body," he murmured, his hands slowly moving down her back and tracing along her spine. "The first man to bring you pleasure."

"... Jacaerys?"

Jacaerys paused his trail of kisses and lifted his head to look at her, his eyes searching hers with a mixture of desire and a hint of concern. Her voice had wavered, and he couldn't tell if she was uncomfortable or nervous. "Yes?" he replied, gently caressing the smooth skin on her back.

"you want me to be honest with you? Don't you?"

Jacaerys nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Yes, of course. I always want you to be honest with me," he replied, his voice steady and reassuring. "Why? Do you have something you want to tell me?"

"last night... Our wedding night... I... I did not feel pleasure" she admits, 

[grimm909]

Red Phone - Part 1

Hello everybody! I'm back and for good! Thank you all so much for your support and comments.

This is a work done especially in celebration of Halloween. Unfortunately, it was supposed to be something small, but again I ended up getting carried away and had to separate it into two parts (maybe three, since the story is still developing). The story will also be posted on a03

Happy reading!

WARNINGS: age difference, non-con, kidnapping, horror, mental breakdown, murder, forced pregnancy

It had been a week since you and your family had moved into a new house. It was large, but had a somewhat morbid appearance, probably due to the time it had been abandoned. Although her parents had renovated it to make the house more presentable, it wasn't exactly an inviting place from the outside. Well, just on the outside, since you really had to give credit for how fascinating she was on the inside.

For example, the attic was an interesting location when you first saw it; full of old and dusty boxes, representing that the previous owner of that place had simply abandoned it there without bothering to come back one day to pick it up. When you went to open the boxes together with your parents to organize that place, there were some interesting things inside like comic books, board games, old clothes and even some somewhat useless objects. Much of it would simply be donated, since you didn't have much interest in most of those things, apart from comics and books.

However, something tucked into the bottom of one of the boxes and carefully wrapped in a piece of black fabric aroused his curiosity. A red phone cordless. Just an old-fashioned device, which was only used for calls and which would probably never pique anyone's interest due to how useless it was compared to a digital cell phone. However, it was curious to see that even though it had been abandoned for years, the device has a appearance new, the blood red color of the device still being quite shiny. It was quite pretty, you had to admit.

When you showed the device to your parents, they both didn't show much interest, although they were surprised to see that it still worked, even after years and years of abandoned it inside. They said you could stay if you wanted, even though it wasn't really useful to you due to the fact that already had a cell phone. You analyzed the device and said that it could be useful if at some point your cell phone stopped working and there was some precision. This would probably never actually happen.

What harm would it do to have it, right?

[…]

You wake up at midnight with your red phone ringing. It was the first time it had rung since you obted gotten it three days ago, since you were the one who normally made the calls.

Trying as hard as possible to get out of bed, you walk over to the phone that was on your desk and answer it.

"Hello?" You ask hoarsely.

“Koebi-chan, I'm so close to you.” A male voice whispers on the other end of the line. It doesn't sound like the voice of anyone you know. “I’m finally going to see what you look like.”

You remain silent for a while, absorbing what that must mean, but quickly concluding that it must just be a wrong call.

“Sorry sir, I think you called…” You didn’t finish your sentence when the call simply fell

Raising an eyebrow in disbelief, you don't care enough about the mystery man, placing your phone back in its place and returning to bed.

[…]

Two months have passed since you and your parents moved into the new house, so you already know a little about your neighbor across the street.

Ace was his name.

He was the only person closest to his house, with no one else around. A handsome man who appeared to be around thirty years old, married to a woman whose name was Elisa and having a ten year old daughter named Alice.

The two of you got along relatively well due to the older's playful personality, which reminded you more of a teenager than an adult.

You always greeted him every time you saw him across the street, also smiling and waving at him whenever you saw him through your bedroom window, since through it you had a complete view of Ace's house.

His wife and daughter were also sociable people and you wich especially became attached to the child, loving to take care of her when Ace and his wife left the house to have some alone time as a couple.

Alice also seemed to like you a lot, almost always knocking on your door so you could play together. Sometimes you accepted and other times you refused because you needed to study for college, in the latter case always earning a sad pout from the little girl.

The red phone rings at eight o'clock at night. The only difference from the first time is that you are not sleeping, but taking notes sitting at your desk.

"Hello?" You answer without blinking and lift the phone to your ear.

“Crab?” The male voice on the other line asks.

"Who?" You respond, confusion written all over your face.

“Isn’t that Ace Trappola’s number?”

"No. You called his neighbor.”

The voice is silent for a moment.

“There are no other neighbors besides Crab.”

“By Crab, you mean Ace?” Even though you think that's exactly what it is, it wouldn't hurt to ask.

”The same person~” He drawls.

“I've been Ace's neighbor for about three months. I moved recently.” You calmly explained, tapping your pen on your notebook. You were new to the neighborhood, so this stranger must have bee confused.

“There’s no one else but my family and Crab’s family here.” The voice says in a frustrated or perhaps nervous tone, you can't quite place it.

“I think there was some mistake. What’s your address?” You ask confused, starting to consider it was a prank.

The male voice gives you the location and you let out a tired sigh, realizing that it really was a stupid joke.

“You just described my address.”

The voice on the other end of the line becomes silent once again, until it breaks into laughter.

“Hehehehe, good Grab. I don’t know what you used to change your voice, but it almost got me.”

He says one last time, before hanging up on your face.

[…]

The stranger's call had piqued his curiosity. Were there really no neighbors around? The next day you explained the situation to your mother, who agreed that it could be a prank, since no one really lived close to there anymore. It was a considerably isolated place and far from everything.

“What about the previous owner of the house?” You asked the older woman who had her back turned, washing the lunch dishes.

“The previous owners sold it to a real estate agent.” His mother stated. “The agent who sold me the house just said that after that some other people came to live here, but that after a few years they usually sold it.”

"Just that?" You were displeased, expecting something more impactful.

“I was more interested in how many rooms the house had than who had lived here before.” She laughed nasally.

You would gain no more useful information from your mother and decided that the next place you would explore would be the attic, where there were five more boxes left that had not been opened.

Maybe it was a fruitless search, maybe you were just wasting time, but the man you had talked to didn't seem like a total liar, like he really had conviction in what he was saying. He even knew Ace's first and last name and you doubted your neighbor was playing a prank with you — it would be quite old-fashioned for a man of that age.

You turn on the attic light and open the first box, spilling all the things inside on the dusty floor, finding nothing that would help you learn more about the house. The second box was simply full of old clothes that were too big for you. The third is where you find a kind of notebook, but when reading its contents you don't find anything truly interesting or that indicates the owner of it.

Clank

Turning another page, a piece of paper falls out and you pick it up from the floor, realizing it is an old photograph faded at the edges. Analyzing the image, it seemed to be a family, consisting of the mother, the father and two completely identical children. On the back of the photo was the date it was taken, along with a small statement that probably referenced the two boys in that photo.

Clank

02/22/2009

My beautiful treasures, ♡Floyd♡ and ♡Jade♡

Even with the information obtained, that didn't seem like enough, especially when you didn't even have their last name. You decide to continue exploring the rest of the boxes, but you don't have the same success as before.

Clank

Putting everything back in its place, you decide to keep the photo for research purposes, keeping it in your pants pocket. Darkness encompasses the room when you turn off the light.

Clank

Going down the attic stairs, that's when you notice a strange sound coming from it, resembling two objects hitting each other. You decide to go back to check what it could be, turning on the light again and finding nothing that could hint at the reason for the noise.

Clank

You feel something fall on your head and run your hand over it to remove any insects that may have gotten into your hair. However, it is not exactly “something” that falls, but rather crumbs that appeared to be wood. Crumbs that continued to fall on the ground around him and on his head.

Clank

You go to the other side of the attic that was free of that dust and look up, expecting to find some termites eating away at the ceiling. However, it was something much worse than mere termites.

Something that could not be seen or touched.

Invisible hands carve the ceiling letter by letter, slowly forming an entire sentence.

JADE IS AN IDIOT BITCH

[…]

That number does not exist.

That's what appeared on the red phone screen when you tried to call the same number that called you last night. Even though he had the number saved on his phone, every time he pressed the button to call back, it was always the same message.

Honestly, at this point in the tournament, you didn't doubt that the house or the phone were haunted, not after what you had seen in the attic. Of course, upon witnessing such a scene, you just hurriedly fled, locking yourself in your room and determined to never set foot up there again.

You were scared of what this could be. However, his curiosity still continued to speak louder than any other feeling. Furthermore, you couldn't even run away from that house, since there was nowhere else to go and your parents would never believe that story about a strange message having suddenly appeared in the attic. His only option at the moment was to stay and find out what the hell was going on.

Therefore, all you could do was wait until the mysterious boy called again.

[…]

The red phone rings at midnight and you hurriedly put down your notebook and pen to put your hands on it, answering it without thinking twice.

"Hello!?" You say in a mix of fear and euphoria.

“So close…” The voice on the other end sounded breathless, almost as euphoric as you were.

“Close to what?” You ask, still unable to recognize who the man on the other end of the line was, even though you knew it was the same voice who had called you the first time.

“Close… pouʇ… of …ʇɹnsʇ… Let’s go …ɥᴉɯ… Together” You can’t hear it properly, the horrible sound of static playing in the background. “You just… ɯnɹ… pǝɹǝɹ… stay on the phone”

The call drops and you look at the small phone screen, noticing strange glitches. You hit his side with the palm of your hand, trying to get him back to normal.

After a few seconds, the static stops.

[…]

At six o'clock the next day, the red phone rings.

However, unlike last time, you seem a little afraid to answer. Maybe that device was the reason for the start of his problems, that was almost certain. You had even seriously thought about setting that thing on fire, maybe then the bizarre things would stop. Still, a part of you refused to do that, thinking it might end up making the situation worse instead of better.

You decide to follow the unknown man's instructions, even though you didn't trust him. Maybe he was a ghost who had possessed that cell phone and was now haunting you, you were starting to come up with some insane theories.

"Hello?"

“Ah, it’s the same voice as before.” The guy on the other line says uninterested.

"Yes. But don’t hang up, please.” You say as politely as possible. “It’s not a prank and I’m not Ace.”

“I know it’s not.” He responds back. “I spoke to Crab yesterday and he was quite confused, saying that this wasn’t even his number anymore.”

"Great." You sighed in relief. “Look, it might be hard to believe, but the address you gave me is actually the same as the one I live at.” You looked out your bedroom window and saw Ace playing with his daughter in the backyard. “My house is literally opposite his.”

“Eehh, mine too.” The boy spoke from the other side, not seeming to fully believe you. “Or would it be ours?” He laughed.

“Could you tell me your name?” You ask, taking the photo you had collected from the attic out of your desk drawer.

“Floyd Leech. And you?"

You turn the verse and see that the name was the same, but you don't know how to describe which of the twins he would be in the photo. The date on which it was taken also arouses your curiosity and you again begin to think that this whole situation was perhaps a bad joke. Could it be that the former resident of that house, Floyd, was just playing a welcome prank on you?

“Hey, don’t ignore me!” The voice on the other end gets louder when you take a long time rambling.

“Sorry, I just got distracted by something.” You prefer not to talk about the photo at hand. “My name is Y/n.”

“Never heard of it.” His disinterested tone returns to the surface.

“Yes, I had never heard of you either until today” That wasn’t entirely true, as you had discovered the photo a few hours ago. “I know it sounds strange, but could you tell me today’s date?”

“What, are you that lost in time?” He laughed. “Seriously, what did you smoke?”

“I swear I’m quite sane.” You respond sharply, but return to a calmer tone of voice, not wanting him to hang up the phone again. “Tell me today’s date, please.”

“Asking me so affectionately like that, I can’t refuse.” He jokes, using a more sly tone. “Today is 04/20/2009”

You cough, choking on your own saliva.

“Exactly at six-fifteen in the afternoon?” You look at the clock on the wall in your room.

“You got it~”

The phrase that appeared in the attic appears in his head like a puzzle piece to be fitted into that mystery. You had thought about the possibility that it was a vengeful ghost writing that, but upon reflection, it was more like an angry brother writing something stupid about his other brother.

“Something appeared in the attic yesterday.” You revealed. “A message that said: Jade is a stupid bitch. Did you do it?”

There is a short silence on the other side.

“How do you know that, huh!?” The previously sly voice suddenly turns into something threatening and you briefly withdraw the phone from your ear. “You’ve been spying on me, bitch!” He spits and you swear that if he were in front of you, that guy would definitely move towards you.

"No! I’m not spying on anyone.” You state with conviction, using your other hand to search your digital cell phone for any information that occurred on the same date that Floyd informed you. “I know it's hard to believe, but it's possible that we are in the same house, in different years.” It doesn't take long for you to find news that matches the date. “At nine o’clock, a plane will crash north of Chica-…”

“You and Jade are making fun of me, aren’t you!?” The boy on the other side looked like he was going to explode with rage. “Tell him to go fuck himself!”

You no longer have a chance to explain yourself, when he hangs up on you again.

[…]

The next day, you look for Ace to talk about the house's previous residents. You knock on his door, but are answered by Alice.

“Come to play with me?” The little girl asks happily, jumping up and down in anticipation.

“Sorry, I just came here to talk to Ace about something.” You break the illusion of the little girl, who makes a sulky expression and goes back into the house, screaming for her father.

It doesn't take long for him to appear in front of you, closing the door behind him and walking with you to the curb.

“Mom said you’ve lived here for several years. Does that mean you got to know the first residents?” You asked bluntly.

"Yes. They were a reserved family, a little strange and even scary, I would say.” He let out a nasal laugh, as if remembering something amusing.

“I found this photo.” You take the photograph from your pants pocket, handing it to Ace who promptly takes it. “It’s them, isn’t it?”

“Ah, man, I barely remembered the faces.” He spoke in surprise, a little nostalgic. “But it’s them, yes.”

“On the back it says Jade and Floyd, but I don’t know who is who. They are identical.”

“Hehe, if you look closely, you will notice subtle differences in each one.” He comes to stand next to you and holds out the photo for you to observe the details. “See, this is Jade who is smiling without showing her teeth, with her hands together in front of her body and correct posture. He was always the most reserved and eloquent, sometimes he even seemed like a butler.” He laughed and you followed him, infected by the energetic laugh that Ace had. “This is Floyd…” The redhead’s tone seemed less enthusiastic and more morbid for a moment, but you thought it was just a bad impression, as he soon returned to his usual playful normality as he talked about the other brother. “Relaxed expression and hand behind the head. Man, he was a whirlwind, the total opposite of his brother.”

"I imagine." You nodded, remembering how he snapped yesterday afternoon. “But why did they move?”

“Well…” Ace handed you the photo. “A tragedy occurred with the family” He sighed heavily, seeming to not like that story. “One of the sons ended up dying.”

His breath came ragged from the shock.

“But… how?” You asked, disbelieved.

“A motorcycle accident.” Ace shrugged. “The mourning was very much for the Leech family, mainly because they were all very united.”

“That’s why they moved?”

“I think they wanted to start again, somewhere else.” He theorized. “Honestly, I would have done the same.”

“But which of the brothers ended up dying in this accident?” You asked, apprehensive about the answer.

No, you already knew the answer.

“Floyd Leech.”

[…]

The accident had occurred on 04/30/2009

Since the days of the past and present were the same, this meant that Floyd would end up dying in seven days.

Shortly after talking to Ace, you returned home and did some research on your laptop to find out more about what had happened. In addition to finding out the date, you had discovered that Floyd died at the scene of the accident, before the ambulance could even provide assistance. Bones broken and fractured, his body had been completely torn apart.

If you still had doubts that this could be a joke, that possibility simply evaporated without a trace. You didn't just seem to be messing with the supernatural, but also with the timeline. That, or the house was haunted by the spirit of young Floyd who never passed on to the afterlife. Well, you hoped it was the first theory, since the latter was pretty scary and there weren't any ghostbusters you could call.

Your only option at that moment was to wait for Floyd to call you again before that date. You wanted to try to save him from that horrible fate, even though you were doubtful about the time lapse it could bring. If you saved him, would you still be living in the same house? Would you end up forgetting everything that happened, including Ace and Alice?

You had watched countless time travel movies and, honestly, the possibilities were endless.

[…]

The red phone rings at four o'clock.

You were in the shower, but you interrupt to hurriedly grab the towel and wrap it over your wet body, leaving a trail of water as you leave the suite and head to your room. You rub your wet hand under the towel before picking it up, worried that you might end up damaging the phone through sheer lack of attention.

"Hello?"

“How did you know?” It was Floyd. You were aware he was asking about the plane crash.

“I saw it on the internet.” You replied simply. “I’m in the same house as you, but fifteen years ahead.”

“What else do you know about me?”

“Honestly, nothing.” You shake your head in denial, even though you know he couldn't see you. “But I know what will happen to you.”

“What do you mean by that?” He asks, looking annoyed.

“On the twenty-eighth of this month, you will have a motorcycle accident.” You respond impassively. “A truck runs over you and you die before they can even help.” Although it would be a little cruel to say something so scary unceremoniously, you didn't want to beat around the bush. Everything now simply depended on whether Floyd believed you or not. “I would never joke about something so serious.” You finally say.

"I believe." You mentally thank him for the vote of confidence. “But why are you living in my house?”

“My mother recently bought this house from a real estate agent. The first family to live here sold it fifteen years ago, which coincides with the time you had the accident.”

“Do you know what happened to them?” From the tone of his voice, Floyd sounded worried.

“I found out about your brother through a photo I found in the attic” Which was still kept on his desk. “I did some quick research. Apparently he is a partner in a restaurant chain called Mostro Lounge. Quite impressive!”

“Aaah, so he did well.” Floyd didn't really seem surprised by his brother's success. “Cool~”

“I’m sure you too can have a cool future if you stay at home or take your motorcycle in for repairs.” You advise him gently. “Since the accident occurred due to a clutch failure.”

“Eehh, I just lent Crabby the bike until the weekend” Floyd looked annoyed. “I can’t believe that idiot is going to end up breaking her.”

“Haha…” You laughed awkwardly. “As soon as he returns it to you, just take it to be repaired.”

“Why are you helping me?” He questions, seeming really curious about that act of kindness coming from a stranger.

“I can stop someone from dying. I think anyone else would do the same in my place.” You shrugged. “And from what I saw in your family photo, you're still too young to go to the afterlife so soon” You laughed, trying to relax to make the situation less gloomy. “How old are you, Floyd?”

“Twenty years.”

"Coincidence. Me too."

“Do you think that’s one of the reasons we’re breaking the rules of spacetime?” He laughed nasally and you followed him with a brief giggle.

“To tell the truth, I think it’s because of the house or a red phone I found in the attic.” You theorized, choosing not to think about it anymore. “Maybe both.”

“A red cordless phone?”

“That one.” You confirmed, surprised.

“He is mine. The same one I’m using to talk to you.”

Okay, the weirdness hadn't stopped.

“Did you happen to throw some voodoo on him?” You joked and heard him laughing on the other end.

“If I was capable of something like that, I don’t think I would have died, right?” He replied back, dejectedly.

“Hehe, yeah…” The mood took a turn for the worse once again and you were forced to think of something to change the situation or simply hang up, since you were making the whole room wet. “Look, I’m not able to return your call, much less call you directly. So could you call me the day after tomorrow at the same time?”

"Of course~" His mood appears to have improved, to which Floyd responded excitedly. “I really want to know what the future looks like in fifteen years.”

[…]

The next day, you knocked on your neighbor's door again, this time being answered by Ace's wife.

Today you were committed to taking care of little Alice, since the older woman was going to visit her parents and only return the next day. And Trappola would not be able to take care of her daughter, as he would only arrive after six o'clock.

“You’re on time.” Elisa commented with a friendly smile.

“I like to be punctual!” You stated excitedly. “Are you leaving yet?”

"Yes. I won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon.” She hands him the house key. “There is food in the fridge if you want to eat, just heat it in the microwave.”

You nod in agreement, waving goodbye to Elisa as she gets into the car and starts it.

You enter the house you were already familiar with and lock the door, finding Alice in the living room watching TV.

“Hi, aunt.” She greets without looking at you, too engrossed in what was playing on the screen.

“Do you prefer to play or watch?” Looking at the screen, you recognized it as the little mermaid movie.

“It starts now!” She turned her head towards him and made those irresistible pious eyes. “Make some popcorn and come watch with me.”

You are unable to deny her request, doing what the girl asks you and after a few minutes returning to the room with a bucket full of popcorn. Already knowing the things that would happen, you weren't very excited about watching the film again, but the songs were still good to listen to and you even found yourself singing one of them together with Alice.

When the film ends, she decides that now she wants to play with dolls, picking up a beautiful plastic baby that was sitting in a child's chair.

“Look, auntie, it’s my new doll!” Alice said happily, practically rubbing the new toy in you face. “She even talks!” The girl presses the doll's chest with both thumbs.

Mommy, I love you.

"Cool!" You feign excitement at the irritatingly childish voice coming out of the object. Dolls hadn't been her thing for years.

“I’ll get another doll upstairs for us to play.” Alice places the toy in you lap and runs upstairs.

Being left alone with that silly toy, you squeeze the doll's chest to hear what other phrases she had.

Let's play!

You squeeze again.

Mommy, I'm hungry.

Again.

Can we go to the park?

One more time.

If you keep going, he'll come get you.

You are startled and let the doll fall from your hands, hurriedly getting up from the floor and moving away. For a moment, you fear that thing will rise up and start attacking you, similar to the killer doll movie. However, seconds pass and the toy remains stagnant on the floor, as lifeless as it always was.

Something in the previously said phrase arouses your curiosity and you raise an eyebrow, wondering who would come to pick you up or if it was just some hideous factory defect, as even the toy's irritating voice had become less childish and more morbid.

Even though you were afraid, you approached and picked her up, squeezing the doll's chest again to see what else she could say.

Mommy, I love you.

You snort, annoyed.

[…]

Ace arrives at eight o'clock, a little later than usual.

“Alice is already in bed.” You tell him as you watch him take off his dress shoes and coat, placing the latter on the hanger.

“Sorry to make you stay late.” He laughs awkwardly and you can tell by the expression on his face that the redhead looks haggard.

“Oh, no. It’s ok.” You reassure him with a gentle smile. “You look tired, is everything okay?”

“It’s just the job.” Ace lets out a heavy sigh, walks over to the sofa you were sitting on and sprawls his body on it, arms completely open under the upholstery.

“What exactly do you do?” You ask curiously, as you never knew about your neighbor's job.

"Counter." Ace responds dejectedly.

You also don't help improve his mood when you burst into laughter, disbelieving that this was the cynical Ace's profession.

"Hey!" The redhead exclaims, annoyed that you're laughing in his face.

“I’m sorry, but this doesn’t suit you at all.” Wiping a tear from your eye, you continue laughing in a less outrageous way.

“Obviously not.” He snorts. “But it’s not like I had a lot of choices.”

"What do you mean?" Calmer after the explosion of laughter, you ask intrigued.

“I was twenty-three when Elisa became pregnant with Alice.” Ace looks towards the stairs where the rooms were, turns his attention to you and lowers his voice. “It was an accident.”

“Oh!” You exclaim, surprised.

“Because of that, I dropped out of college and got a job so I could take care of the baby-”

“College of what?” Although it would be appropriate to continue listening to your friend's story without interrupting, your curiosity gets the better of you and your mouth moves before you can even think.

“Nah, you’ll laugh.”

"No! I won’t, I promise.” You bring your index fingers together to form an “x”, bringing them to your mouth. “Tell me!”

"Teacher." He responds without much ceremony.

You actually keep your promise and don't laugh, but you are truly incredulous that this would be the profession chosen by the mischievous Ace.

“Professor Ace Trappola.” You say slowly, testing how the taste of those words sound to your ears. “Sounds good.”

“Do you think so?” He smiles, apparently more excited by those simple words.

Yes yes." You agree smiling. “But tell me more! What’s the rest of the story?” You question, curious to know more about the redhead's life.

“After two years, Elisa and I got married. We thought it would be good if we got our shit together.” He shrugs and becomes discouraged again. “We already had a baby, we just needed the rings.”

"I'm very sorry." You say painfully, although you didn't know exactly why you were sorry. Maybe because Ace's dreams never came true? For the years lost in a life he never wanted?

“It’s okay, I kind of like being a father.” He gave you a sincere smile and you knew Ace wasn't lying.

“What about Elisa?”

“I like her too.” He responds without the sincere smile from before, just a blank facet. There was no sparkle in his eyes when he mentioned his own wife, you noticed. “You know, I saw you yesterday.” Ace suddenly changes the subject, straightening his posture on the couch to face you.

"As? I didn’t even leave the house.” You raise an eyebrow in disbelief.

“In the window, answering an old phone.” A dirty little smile appears on Ace's lips and you feel like you were missing something.

It still takes a few seconds to understand exactly when that happened, until the penny falls heavily on your head.

“Oh, my God!” You cover your face with the palms of your hands, too embarrassed to look at the redhead. “I’m not a pervert, I swear it was accidental!”

“Hahaha.” It's his turn to laugh about your misfortune and it makes you feel even worse, groaning in annoyance between your fingers. Seeing that you really felt bad about that, Ace immediately stopped laughing. “Okay, okay.” He holds your wrists delicately, gradually lowering the hands that covered your face so that you can face him again. Seeing him now, he seemed to have gotten even closer to you face. “Honestly, I liked the view.” The redhead gives you that stupid smile again.

“Hmm.” You just moan in agreement, still embarrassed and not knowing exactly how to react to Ace's compliment.

“You’re kind of bad at reading the climate.” He laughs one last time, before closing his eyes and breaking the distance that separated your lips from his.

Ace is quick to wrap his tongue around yours when you opened your mouth a little in surprise from the sudden kiss, involuntarily allowing the redhead to explore the inside of your mouth.

Even though you're shocked, it doesn't take you more than three seconds to close your eyelids and let yourself be carried away by the moment. Their tongues come together in a delicate way, exactly like a calm sailing at sea.

His brain gradually fills with pleasure, which was provided by the kiss that became more steamy as time passed. His tongue moved with an impressive mastery that you never had with boys your age.

Inside you there was a damn explosion of happiness, which internally clashed with some bitter emotions present, but which were being furiously crushed as the kiss progressed from a peaceful way to a hotter and wetter one.

Ace didn't seem very distant, wanting you more and more to the point of wanting to become just one with you through your lips that he so wished to kiss. The redhead takes his hand to you head and sinks his fingers into you locks, giving more depth to the kiss, but also making the air in her lungs become increasingly scarce.

The fact that you both needed to breathe became an obstacle in the midst of the pleasure you felt, which forced Ace to stop the kiss and move away a little.

He carefully visualizes the delicate features of your face, as he had done so many times without you noticing, considering that your pink cheeks due to embarrassment or the possible ecstasy of the kiss left you very cute. However, the redhead's greatest attention ended up once again falling on his parted lips, which were now slightly swollen and red. Ace couldn't help but feel attracted and mesmerized by them again, as he had been for a long time.

After normalizing his breathing, he was going towards you for a second kiss, but you stopped him by putting your hand in front of his mouth, preventing Ace from kissing you again.

“Ace, you have a wife.” You do your best not to fall into temptation again.

Although you couldn't deny that you had some conflicted feelings regarding what you felt for Ace, it wasn't fair to stab Elisa in the back. You liked her and didn't want to be a home wrecker. Not only would it harm her, it would also harm little Alice.

"I understand." He says placidly, stepping back. “But Elisa and I are going to separate.”

"Huh!?" You face forms into a clearly confused expression.

“Before you even arrived, things were complicated.” He lets out a tired sigh. “She went to her parents’ house to stay away from me for a while.”

“Did something happen?” Maybe it was rude to ask, but you needed to know if that story was really true.

“We fought yesterday.” His shoulders slumped in dismay. “I wasn’t lying when I said I liked Elisa. I like, but I don't love her anymore.”

“Is it possible for someone to stop loving another person?” A line of disbelief forms on his forehead, doubtful that something like this would be possible between two people who have lived together for so many years.

“In my case, apparently yes.” He laughed half-heartedly. “Elisa and I stayed together for Alice and tried to stay together as a family for her.” The redhead looks away to look at his own bare feet. There was a light of regret and sadness in his crimson eyes. “But we hurt ourselves in the process.” You stay silent, feeling a little sorry for Ace and Elisa, but mostly for Alice. Trappola looks at you again and once again gets dangerously close to you, but he doesn't kiss you. Instead, he places one of his hands on the side of her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb in a clear sign of affection and kindness. "I want you."

You don't know exactly how to feel about this statement. The doubts were still present in his head and apparently the only way to dismiss them was to confirm the words previously said by Ace.

“Are you really going to break up? I don’t want to be a home wrecker, much less be your lover.” You firmly admit.

“In a month. Only a month left until the divorce papers are ready.”

In a bold and unpredictable move that you never expected to come out of your own mouth, the next words would surprise you when you remembered them the next day.

“Let’s go to your room.”

Trappola's crimson eyes shine and a smile of genuine happiness emerges from the corners of his mouth. He jumps off the couch and grabs your hand, dragging you upstairs.

[…]

Before you knew it, Ace already had his face buried between your legs.

His mouth was firmly attached to your intimacy, teasing hickeys with wet and obscene sounds, tasting every bit of your pussy to engrave the taste in his memory.

“You’re so hot.” Ace praises, placing a kiss on the inside of her thigh and then returning to attack her sensitive parts.

Even with one hand over your mouth to stifle your moans, you still moan loudly, feeling him focus exclusively on your clit, licking and sucking with such devotion that you can't stop yourself from taking your other free hand to locks Ace, squeezing a bundle of unruly red strands. He was very good at making your pussy the most appetizing thing in the world.

It had only been a few minutes since Ace was fucking you so fervently, but even in that short time you already felt the heat in your belly building up more and more, ready to explode. He was amazing at oral sex, probably due to years of experience. Your hand would never satisfy you in the same way again after experiencing the wonder that Ace mouth was capable of provi.

Trappola's teeth graze over your sensitive spot and you let out a whiny moan, drops of tears splashing your eyes due to the ecstasy you've never felt. Your soaked little hole was begging for a piece of meat, to the point where your warm, velvety walls tightened around nothing as Ace fucked you with his tongue.

You involuntarily lift your hips several times, while sparks of pleasure cross your body in a clear sign that you were close to finally reaching the fullness of pleasure.

“Ace I… Ah!… I… Ngh… I’m going to…” You remove your hand from in front of your mouth to warn him, but your moans were making it difficult for you to form a coherent sentence.

He looks deeply at you with his scarlet orbs filled with lust and possession, before pulling away to give you that stupid little smile and order in a husky voice.

“Cum for me, dear.” It's the last thing Ace says before he goes back to attacking your sensitive pussy with more frenzy than before, without taking his eyes off you.

You don't know if it's because of the eroticism of those words, the way he looks at you or even the most obvious reason that his mouth was on your vulva, but you scream and finally reach your limit. The knot that had formed in your abdomen dissolves in a hot orgasm and your hips rise again, at the same time that your entire body spasms constantly with pleasure.

Even after he has successfully made you cum, Ace continues to lick you more gently, sucking the clear fluid that comes out of your tight hole. He only moves away when he feels sufficiently satisfied, a thick thread of drool connecting your wet pussy to his mouth, but which soon falls apart the further away these two are.

“Please tell me your room has thick walls.” You inquire heavily, recovering from the newly felt high.

“Don’t worry about making loud noises.” Ace laughs and crawls until he is at the height of your face, kissing you and making you feel your own taste still present in the older man's mouth. Your arms circle around his neck and you reciprocate without any reluctance in that act.

Ace's hand roams your already fully naked body, sliding from your soft abdomen to your newly stimulated crotch, touching your hole. Upon noticing what he was about to do, you quickly close your legs and stop Trappola from continuing with his actions. You break the kiss and moderately push him away with your elbow, sitting on the bed.

“What’s the matter?” Ace asks as he puts his weight under his knees, clearly confused by your quick change in attitude.

“That's kind of embarrassing to say.” An awkward laugh passes your lips and you look away. “I’m still a virgin.”

Ace remains silent for about three seconds, before exclaiming in perplexity:

“Whoa, really?” He quickly removes his hand from between your legs.

“Yes, but I hope that’s not a problem for you.” You bite your bottom lip nervously and look back at him.

“Haha, that’s no problem at all.” Ace laughed, that beautiful energetic smile you loved so much adorning the mature features of his face. “I’m just surprised by that. I mean, you’re so pretty.” You were taken aback by the compliment and your face heated up as you watched the way he looked at you affectionately.

“I don’t want you to take my virginity with your fingers.” You laughed at your own words, quickly changing the subject. Honestly, you didn't want to ruin the mood by commenting on your practically non-existent love life. “And honestly, I think I’m already wet enough to welcome you.” You direct your eyes to Ace's intimacy, noticing a voluminous bulge in his underwear, as well as a dark stain on the tip of his cock protruding forward. "Do you have a condom?"

“Look, married people don’t use condoms.” He mocked with a stupid little smile.

Shit.

“Seriously, I always told myself I would never do this without a condom.” You laughed, disbelieving that you would end up breaking the only rule you had made when you had your first time. However, even more disbelieved given how much you trusted Ace to give in so easily without even thinking twice.

“Does that mean?” Ace inquires expectantly.

You respond to him with actions, lying back on the bed and vulgarly opening your legs, exposing your intimate area with the clear intention of someone waiting to be fucked.

Trappola swallows hard, feeling his cock throb at how beautifully erotic you were as you so willingly gave yourself to him. Even kneeling on the bed, Ace is quick, practically euphoric in getting rid of the only piece of clothing that prevented him from fucking you. The redhead positions himself above you and places one hand on your hip, while the other is responsible for guiding his own cock towards your slippery hole.

“Can I?” Ace checks before taking any action, although his breathing was clearly heavy, yearning to fuck you.

"Yes." You say a little shyly, even though your actions so far have been quite naughty.

With the confirmation Ace needed, he slowly pushes his erect member inside you, sighing in delight at finally being able to feel your warm, velvety walls wrapped around his cock.

On the other hand, the sensation was a little strange at first, until it became painful as Trappola advanced further inside, breaking your hymen and then filling you with his cock. The length of Ace's member inside your vaginal canal was more than acceptable, but you squeeze the bed sheets between your fingers and let out a low moan of pain.

"You are incredible." Ace comments with restrained euphoria, marveling at having you all to himself. However, upon noticing his expression of pain, he asks worriedly. “Does it hurt?”

"A little." You shift uncomfortably in bed. “But you can continue.” You calm down with a sweet smile on your lips, not minding being a little hasty even after having graduated from your virginity literally seconds ago. You hands circle around the redhead's neck again and bring him for you lips touch his in a warm kiss.

He reciprocates immediately, but it doesn't take long for Ace to pull away from your mouth and decide it's time to move after feeling his cock throb in excitement, practically begging to be moved and finally fuck you rough.

The redhead moves his hips away a little, enough so that half of his rigid penis remains outside your gummy walls, then returns entirely inside you with a hard thrust all the way to the bottom. Ace lets out a heavy sigh as soon as he receives a delicious grip around his member, intensely loving that pleasurable sensation of a young pussy like yours.

However, this action was responsible for causing you to gasp in pain, but unlike the first time it was completely ignored by Ace, as he no longer cared about trying to be gentle after you yourself approved that he continued to fuck you.

Addicted to getting more of those delicious squeezes, Ace successively starts to do the same actions mentioned above, but in a slower back and forth so that he doesn't reach orgasm so soon. After all, he didn't imagine that you virgin pussy would be so hot.

You periodically continue to let out one or another moan of pain, without having yet been able to feel any trace of pleasure in it, although it is no longer as agonizing as it was at first. Trying to feel as good as Ace felt when he fucked you, you take one of your hands towards your clitoris, rubbing it with your index and middle fingers. A sigh of relief leaves your mouth as spikes of delight begin to circulate through your body even in the midst of the feeling of agony.

“Still bothered?” Ace laughs softly when he realizes what was happening and removes his hand so he can take care of the situation himself, too proud to let you pleasure yourself. “Let me do this for you.” He asks, at the same time that Ace's thumb touches your sensitive spot, making rotating movements with a fixation much greater than you could alone.

“Oh!” You exclaim not only in surprise, but also in jubilation. Touching herself felt good, but being touched by someone else felt even better, bringing her a never-before-felt feeling of ecstasy.

The older man bends down a little and dips his face into the side of your neck, licking and leaving marks of love on your previously immaculate skin. A heavy sigh escapes your lips and your previously rigid body begins to relax on the bed as Ace continues to stimulate you in different ways. His dick inside you wasn't so bad anymore, starting to become less strange and more dizzying.

“Ace, this feels so good.” You say with a ragged breath, enchanted by how sex could be something wonderful and addictive. You didn't regret giving your virginity to Trappola one bit.

“I feel good too.” Ace whispers close to your ear, before gently biting your earlobe in teasing. A pleasant shiver runs through your body through this action and you reciprocate by biting his neck gently, weak enough to not leave marks. You wouldn't be stupid enough to do that when Ace was still married. “Oh, how cute.” He comments with a wicked laugh and you are indignant, taking revenge on him by putting a little more pressure against the redhead's skin, consequently hearing him moan in pain. “I take back what I said.”

You both laugh through sex, captivated by each other. However, Ace breaks the romantic mood by pulling away and removing his still hard penis from inside you. A groan leaves your lips, dissatisfied by the sudden absence of your intimacy.

“It’s okay, I won’t stop.” Ace soothes by kissing the top of his head. “But wouldn’t you like to try other positions?” He suggests, but before you can say anything, Trappola easily handles your body that had been claimed by himself, placing you on your side and positioning himself behind you, resulting in the redhead's penis touching the soft and warm skin of your buttock. Ace appreciates the slightest touch, letting out a sigh and feeling terribly tempted to give you a bite in that area, but deciding to leave that for another time. “What do you think?” He asks, his nose pressed into the crook of your neck.

“As long as it’s good…” You mutter without having an opinion of your own due to a complete lack of experience.

Ace slowly passes his hand down the length of your incredibly hot body, starting at your shoulder, sliding down your waist, feeling your hip and hovering over your thigh, lifting the latter without the slightest difficulty so that he could have better access to your hole and thus calm down his greedy hormones.

You were so deliciously wet, that Ace's member practically slid inside, being immediately massaged by your pussy that already responded to his thrust. Feeling like that, stretching and welcoming him as if Ace's member was already a natural part of your body, was like pouring gasoline on a fire.

It was inevitable. He felt the need to move quickly inside. And with a powerful thrust of his hips, the redhead delighted in feeling the limits of his tight intimacy, at the same time as he was gifted with a heavy moan from you, which only served to elevate his ego even more.

Ace's other free hand reached under your body to return to the work from before, which involved stimulating your sensitive clit. He started to move his hips faster, making a complete mess of you and eliciting several moans. However, if you continued moaning so sweetly for him, the redhead wouldn't be able to last two minutes in the paradise he was in.

Even though he wanted to prolong the fuck he was having, Trappola's body no longer seemed to obey his wishes due to the pleasure that had accumulated in his cock. Fortunately, you don't seem too far from that.

“Y/n!” Ace pants your name and closes his eyes, letting his seed fill your previously virgin hole with hot steady streams.

You come soon after, letting out a sharp scream as your pussy milks him with constant squeezes until the last drop fills you.

When Ace's pleasure is finally released inside you, your body becomes completely limp and your breathing is labored.

The redhead rested your leg on the bed and with the hand that was previously holding it he began to caress and eventually squeeze your buttocks, admiring the sperm that dripped from your pussy and slid down your thighs. Ace had come in very large amounts, pleased that you took all of him

“You were amazing.” Ace praised sincerely, placing an affectionate kiss on her reddened cheek. It was actually funny of him to say that, after all, you did absolutely nothing during sex.

“I hope your wife has some birth control.” You murmured as you recovered from your orgasmic high.

“She can’t get pregnant anymore.” He lets out a muffled laugh against your neck.

“Urgh.” An annoyed grumble leaves his lips.

You would have to buy contraceptives the next day or Alice would end up getting a new baby brother.

[…]

You left minutes after sex.

Although Ace insisted that you spend the night with him, you couldn't because of your parents. They wouldn't be stupid enough to believe any excuse you came up with to stay at the redhead's house all night, especially when your house was literally opposite his. At least you already had an excuse ready for his delay, saying that Trappola had arrived late from work, which actually happened.

Oh, yes. You also stole that doll from hell.

Although he felt sorry for knowing that Alice would be sad to wake up and no longer find her new toy, it was still better than leaving a seemingly cursed doll in her arms.

You burned her the next day and the doll no longer made a sound.

Thank you for reading this far! Constructive criticism is always welcome.

See you soon.

[myocsfanfictions]

THE WRATH OF FIRE

MASTERLIST

Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and an outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair was dark but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen, and her wrath was not different from the one that burned inside the members of the House of the Dragon.

《 Previous - Next 》

CHAPTER 8

The rumors surrounding Rhaenyra’s children only got worse when her third child had been born.

Ysilla was now a girl of fifteen. She was very different from the skinny little child that had left Runestone so long ago. People would describe her as elegant, intelligent, and beautiful. She had grown to be graceful, as much as her dragon was. And as Dārysyr, her fierce was known by now. Her dragon had grown large and powerful; his muscles were well-formed, and his wings were strong. Ysilla went flying on Dragonback once a week. She would have liked to do it more, but she had her studies and her duties.

Just a couple of years before, Ysilla had the chance to speak with the Alchemists of King’s Landing, and she had been left very fascinated.

“Vysenia was said to be familiar with dark magic,” she said one day, sitting beneath the Hearth Tree as she observed Aemond practicing combat movements with a stick.

“You want to be Vysenia born again?” He asked, fighting against air.

“Do you think I’d made a fool of myself?” She asked with a little smile as she looked at the boy.

“No,” he answered, turning to her, “I think you are as willed as her. But with the grace of Rhaenys.”

Graceful. Yes. Ysilla had grown up to be very grateful. She knew how to bow, to speak, and to dance. The court was well impressed by her. And from Runestone, her aunt Jeyne was hoping for a good arranging for Ysilla. Not only because she had become very well respected by the people in King’s Landing but also because Queen Alicent seemed to have high expectations from Ysilla. She called her her ward.

“She probably wishes for you to be wed to one of her sons,” that rumor had reached her aunt Jeyne as well. And she seemed pleased by it in her letters. A Royce on the throne.

Ysilla, on the contrary, had no thirst for power. The thought of ambitions and schemes only reminded her of her father and what he had done to be always a step closer to the Iron Throne. But she was not her father.

The lack of personal ambition, though, did not make her blind to politics and schemes. It was because she knew how harmful they could be that she was always vigilant and observant of what happened in court. Fully aware that knowledge and duty were what was required to keep alliances and peace. She had grown up side by side with the Queen, raised by the same people that raised the princes. She knew that the health of the King was faltered, as did the respect some people had for the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms when her children started to grow up to become more similar to the Captain of the Guards than her own husband. Everybody knew, and yet the King did nothing. This had also happened ten years before when her father had killed her mother.

“Are you not coming to the pits?” Aegon asked that morning when they were breaking their fast.

“You heard that right,” she answered, smiling at him before taking a sip of her milk.

“You cannot ditch me like this,” he said, leaning towards her with playful eyes, “I’ve promised you today would have been fun.”

Aegon had grown up, but his search for fun and enjoyment had remained the same. “Helaena wished to dance today. You know how I love her and how I enjoy dancing.”

He cocked his head to a side, “More than riding Dārysyr?” Then his hands moved to touch a strain of her hair, “Did I say how I like your hair today?” Ysilla took his hand to push it away. Aegon had always had a fascination with her hair, and since he had started to grow and notice women, he had begun to voice his compliments on her hair and appearance more often than not.

“I love nothing more than Dārysyr,” she answered, looking at the boy. "And we already flew with him and Sunfyre last week.”

Not so long before, Aegon managed to bend Sunfyre, becoming his dragonrider. Sunfyre was known to be the most beautiful dragon alive, and he really was. He had golden scales and pink shades, and even his flames were golden.

“I wasn’t meant to go fly together,” he said, a mischief light in his eyes.

“What’s with the face?” She asked, making him laugh.

“What face?”

“The one that always brings you trouble,” she answered with a glare. He was planning something. She knew him too well to be mistaken. She didn’t have time to ask because the wooden door opened to let Aemond enter the chamber.

“Good morrow, Aemond,” she greeted him with a smile.

“Ysilla, brother,” he answered shortly. It was how Aemond was, very different from his older brother. He was composed and dutiful. Less impulsive than Aegon was. “Mother is looking for you, Ysilla.” He said, sitting down.

“That’s why you’re not coming. Because of Mother,” Aegon said, making Ysilla turn to him.

“I wasn’t supposed to,” she said, standing up. Her eyes went from one brother to the other. "I’ll see you both when you return from the pit,” then she looked at Aegon.

“Behave.” He blown her a kiss.

“Like always, my sweet.”

“Stop that,” Aemond said, focusing his attention on the plate in front of him. Ysilla ignored Aegon, making her way towards the door. She wondered why the Queen wanted to see her. Ysilla knew she would have been busy with Rhaenyra after the princess’s labor ended and the third of her children would be born. Rhaenyra had been screaming for hours, and Ysilla stopped to observe the corridor that led to her chambers on her way to the Queen. By the screams, she seemed to be suffering very much. That made her anxious. She knew that it was a woman’s duty to give children to her husband. She just hoped the gods had mercy for them and an easy way to bring life to the world.

“Princess,” Ser Cole was guarding the door, bowing his head as she walked closer.

“Good morrow, Ser,” she answered politely. “I hope your day has been good so far.”

The man smiled, “It is, Princess.” His smile would have made her blush just a few years before. But the more she grew up, the less embarrassing it became to share words with men, even handsome men such as Ser Criston.

When Ysilla entered the chamber, the Queen was standing next to the window, and a serving girl was fixing the back of her dress.

“My Queen,” she greeted, bowing. “Have you asked for me?”

“Good morrow, my dear,” Alicent Hightower smiled kindly at her, “Indeed. Helaena is a little... agitated today."

Helaena had stayed the same in those years. She was still the sweetest girl that Ysilla had ever met. Sweet and gentle. But her queer behavior sometimes agitated even herself. Ysilla had seen Helaena in those moments, and she knew that the princess didn't like to be alone when she was feeling like that.

"We'll find something else to do then," Ysilla answered. They could have taken a walk or talked about bugs. Helaena liked bugs. Ysilla would have found something to ease Helaena's mind.

The Queen smiled at her, putting a hand on her arm. "What a blessing you are." Ysilla returned the gesture, bowing her head in gratitude and respect.

At that moment, the door behind them opened to reveal Rhaenyra and Laenor. Ysilla widened her eyes to see her cousin.

"Rhaenyra," the Queen gasped, "You should be resting after your labors."

"I have no doubt that you would prefer that, Your Grace," Rhaenyra answered, trying to keep her trembling voice steady. The pain that she had experienced was well visible on her face, and it was not surprising.

Ysilla had heard Rhaenyra screaming only a few moments before. She knew what happened during labor, and the septa had explained that to her. How could her cousin possibly walk? Or even walking up the stairs?

"You must sit," the Queen said, turning to one of her serving girls, "Talya, fetch a cushion for the Princess.” The girl bowed and turned to attend Rhaenyra.

“There’s no need,” Rhaenyra said. By the Queen insisted.

Ysilla followed Alicent as they walked towards the couple. Rhaenyra had finally accepted sitting down with Laenor's help, but seeing her in pain and holding her newborn baby, Ysilla felt like moving so that she could help her cousin sit. As the girl touched her arm, the Princess turned to look at her. A small smile appeared on her lips, probably still trying to hide her pain. It was well-known how stubborn Rhaenyra was.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“There’s no need,” Ysilla answered, then exchanging a look with the Queen.

Alicent was observing the baby like she had done with Lucerys just a few years before. Ysilla knew what she was thinking: even this child had nothing of Ser Laenor in him.

As Ysilla went back to stand next to the Queen, King Viserys entered the chamber with a huge smile on his face. “What happy news this morning,” he exclaimed.

The years had not been gentle to the King. His body was weaker and more fragile. His skin had gotten paler and his hair thinner. The condition of his left hand had gotten worse. He first lost just three fingers, but it kept getting worse until the Maester decided that it was better to cut off the entire arm. Even so, Ysilla’s uncle tried to maintain a positive attitude, always smiling at everyone.

“Indeed, Your Grace,” said Ser Leanor, taking the child in his arms to present him to the King. Ysilla observed Rhaenyra’s husband’s face as he looked at the baby. He smiled happily and proudly. Could he really be so blind? He had never seemed such a man to Ysilla. It was true, though, that he was not very present as a father.

He is more present than mine, anyway. She thought as she observed the unbothered son of Corlys Velaryon pass the child to the King. But even in his expression, Ysilla could not see surprise or disappointment. She could not understand why both men acted so blindly about the behavior of the future Queen? Why did her actions have no repercussions? Everybody knew, everybody whispered. And yet the King did nothing.

He must truly love her, if he is protecting her like that. Ysilla thought, observing the happiness on Viserys’ face.

“A fine Prince,” he said, his eyes looking at every one of them. Ysilla smiled, lowering her eyes. “Sturdy. You will make a fearsome knight.”

Surely, Ysilla thought. If the rumors were true and his father was Ser Harwin Strong, he surely could have become a terrific fighter as an adult. Breakbone was the strongest man in the Seven Kingdoms.

“Does the babe have a name yet?” The Queen asked with curiosity.

Rhaenyra took a breath, “We haven’t spoken-”

“Joffrey.” Ser Leanor interrupted his wife. “He’ll be called Joffrey.”

Ysilla looked between them, hoping that her face did not give away the kind of thought she had in mind. Had they spoken of it or not? Did Rhaenyra agree with such a name?

“An unusual name for a Velaryon.” The Queen was speaking the truth. Velaryon came from Valyria as much as the Targaryens. Their names came from Old Valyria to keep the traditions. But it wasn’t only their costume: in the Seven Kingdoms, all the Noble Houses had names and family names. Ysilla’s name was a Royce name. Her mother, Lady Rhea, had done it on purpose. Ysilla’s father could be a Targaryen, but she had Royce’s blood in her veins as well.

“I do believe he has his father’s nose,” Ysilla would have frowned at the King’s words, but she had to keep her composure, so she decided to look at Rhaenyra and smile at her. The Princess did the same, but there was no truth behind that gesture. They were both aware of what was happening.

The King chuckled, still focused on Joffrey, and soon after, Laenor did the same before clearing his throat.

“If you don’t mind, Your Grace, your daughter has exerted herself heroically and should rest,” Ser Laenor said, ready to help his wife get on her feet.

“Of course,” the King answered. The Queen was soon at his side, taking Joffrey in her hands. Ysilla moved aside when she saw the King walking closer to his daughter, but she didn’t walk very far, curious about what they would have talked about.

“Well done, my girl,” Viserys said with tenderness. Such a tone forced Ysilla to lower her eyes, fully aware that her father would never have such sweetness for her. If she’ll ever see him again. She knew that he was an Essos with his lady wife and their two twin daughters. She wondered how he was fathering them. If he was cold and cruel like he had been to her so long ago. Ten years had passed, and yet she remembered the way he had looked at her as he said that he felt nothing for his firstborn daughter.

“I do hope the labor was easy,” the King said as Ysilla walked towards the Queen, who was giving the baby back to Ser Leanor.

“Do keep trying, Ser Laenor. Sooner or later, you may get one that looks like you.” She had said it so politely, but her intentions were quite clear—she was voicing the thoughts of the entire court. The man looked startled, and when he noticed Ysilla standing there, she didn’t say anything. She only smiled, with no true intention behind it.

Rhaenyra then walked towards her husband before they both left the chamber. Ysilla bowed gracefully as they disappeared behind the heavy wooden door.

“What a happy day,” the King exclaimed full of happiness.

The Queen lowered her eyes from next to him. “Indeed, my love,” she answered.

The whole situation was against everything that politics and duty required. Ysilla could understand why her uncle was protecting his daughter, but her King was making a fool of himself. And whispers could only get louder and louder, not only against Rhaenyra but against the King as well. He was not only Rhaenyra’s father; he was the Protector of the Realm, of the peace of the Realm. How would the realm answer once the King had left that world? What was ahead of them? That uncertainty was heavy in her heart. Politics could be ruthless, and it could reclaim anyone’s life.

“You wanted to dance, I’m sorry,” Helaena was saying as they walked in the corridors of the Red Keep.

“Nonsense, Helaena,” she answered honestly. The events of that morning had left little room for light emotions in her heart. “I don’t feel like dancing today.”

“Running from the back is important,” her cousin said. Ysilla turned to observe her. It didn’t matter how many years they had known each other; Helaena’s strange sentences left Ysilla confused all the time. She knew better than to ask. Helaena didn’t know how to explain the meaning of her words, and the more people asked her to, the more she got agitated. That was one of those days. One where Ysilla stood quiet, listening to all the strange things her cousin felt to say. She loved Helaena, but on those days, the hours went on slowly.

I wish I was at the Dragonpit, she thought. Ysilla wished nothing more than to be with Dārysyr, especially during days that felt so heavy in her heart.

They were back in Helaena’s chamber when the Queen arrived. Ysilla was set next to her cousin, who was very interested in counting the rings of a centipede. They have been there long. And Ysilla decided to take one of the many books that she had in her chamber to keep herself occupied until Helaena was satisfied with her counting. When the Queen entered, Ysilla was ready to stand up and bow, but the woman gestured for her to sit still and keep with her reading.

“This one has sixty rings and two pairs of legs on each, ” Helaena whispered, looking closer at the centipede, “It makes two-hundred-twenty-four.”

“Yes, it is,” the Queen said in a soft tone, even if her expression could not hide her worry. It was difficult to communicate with Helaena when she acted like that. They had to be patient.

“It has eyes,” the girl spoke, looking closely at the creature in her hand.

“Does he?” Ysilla asked, keeping reading her book.

Helaena muttered in agreement, “Though, I don’t believe it can see.” Ysilla looked at her with a confused frown.

“And why is that so, do you think?” Asked the Queen.

“It is beyond our understanding.”

Beyond mine, for sure, Ysilla thought at her cousin’s words. Those were too much of abstract concepts for her mind. She liked history better.

“I suppose you’re right,” the Queen answered. Some things just are.” As she finished speaking, though, the door opened to reveal Aemond. Ysilla put aside her book. Her eyes widened, seeing how dirty his face and clothes were.

“Aemond,” the woman gasped, walking to her son, “What have you done?”

“He did it again.” Ysilla stood up after Helaena’s words. He must have entered the Dragonpit. That place was dangerous for someone without a dragon, and Aemond was the only one of them without one. Dragons bend only to one person, and when they did, they will only listen to their rider. They could become very dangerous for anyone else. But Aemond had always been very fascinated by dragons. The pain in his eyes was always visible when they went to the Dragonpit.

Ysilla could understand him. She had been fascinated, too, before Dārysyr’s egg hatched. Being a Targaryen without a dragon hurt a lot.

“After how many times you’ve been warned,” the Queen reproved him, “Must I have you confined to your chambers?”

“They made me do it!” Aemond argued angrily. Who made him do it? Ysilla moved forward, feeling for her cousin. He truly seemed so upset. What had happened? But the Queen didn’t seem to share Ysilla’s same thoughts.

“As if you needed encouragement,” the woman said, worryingly observing her son to be sure he was not harmed. "Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding.” When she spoke like that, the Queen truly reminded Ysilla of her mother's skepticism about dragons.

“They gave me a pig!” Aemond exclaimed. Ysilla’s eyes widened.

“A what?” The Queen asked in confusion.

“They said they found a dragon for me. But it was a pig!” Aemond answered, trembling with anger.

I’ve promised you today would have been fun. Aegon had said to her that morning. He was behind it. Ysilla could not believe it. He knew how Aemond suffered since he was the only one without a dragon. Even Rhaenyra’s sons had one each, but not Aemond, a son of a King. How could he be so stupid to do that to his own brother?

“You will have a dragon one day,” Alicent said trying to calm her son, “I know it.”

Aemond deserved a dragon. It was saddening to know that his egg hadn’t hatched. He had asked Ysilla many times how she did it as they grew up, but she truly wasn't sure how or why. Dārysyr was just born one day. It had been a very normal day. But Aemond’s didn’t, and it was not fair. Why did the Gods play such games?

Aemond lowered his gaze, “They all laughed.”

And why did the Gods make Aegon to be such an idiot?

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