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sl-ut · 1 year ago

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a prince’s desire

so sorry if this sucks lol I just got really high and wrote this in like 2 hours lolol

pairing: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!pregnant!reader x daemon targaryen

description: after being reunited with her lover, rhaenyra takes her back to dragonstone to join her family and requests that daemon take her as a second wife. now, over a year after the wedding, rhaenyra wants nothing more than to see her wife pregnant, and daemon is more than happy to oblige.

warnings: SMUT, pregnancy, reader gets pretty depressed while she's preggo, mentions of masturbation, angst, slight canon divergence, alcohol consumption, mentions of (consensual) adultery turned polyamory, mentions of death (adult and children :((( ), polygamy, swearing, all other canon warnings (incest (i try my hardest to not lay this one on thick bc ew), violence, sexism, etc)

words: 5K

date posted: 27/03/24

previous installments: a princess's order a lady's demand

After his third marriage, Daemon Targaryen had absolutely no intentions of taking another wife. His history with married life had not necessarily been a good one; Rhea Royce had been nothing but a royal pain in his ass; He’d been happy with Laena, though her life came to an end far too soon; He did love Rhaenyra, though ambition and pride often came between them. Mistresses, sure–Daemon was a rather insatiable man, and Rhaenyra had been almost consistently pregnant during their early years of marriage, but he’d never even once considered that he might have to stand through yet another wedding ceremony, especially one that had been arranged and encouraged by his still living wife and future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

He hadn’t been at all surprised when Rhaenyra confessed to him that she had once loved her childhood friend, nor that she did not think that she would ever truly be able to move past the conflict between them or love another quite the same. Of course, she loved Daemon, and even Laenor and Harwin to some degree, but none would ever stand up to her very first love that she’d allowed to slip through her fingers like running water. He was equally unsurprised to find that she’d not returned to their rooms on their first night back in King’s Landing, nor that she would return in the early hours of the morning with a familiar glow that he’d only seen on her after their own late night activities, especially since he’d caught wind earlier in the evening that Lady Y/n Y/l/n had returned to the capitol a widow.

There were things that he had expected from this relationship; The two would fuck, of course, to make up for lost time, they would spend the majority of their days strolling through the gardens as they had done when they were girls, and Y/n would perhaps even return to Dragonstone with them as her mistress. Daemon could not exactly blame his wife for her affections, Lady Y/n was undeniably beautiful, and he would certainly take her to bed if he were ever given the chance. She could remarry, of course, she was still young and she’d already proven herself to be fertile, even if the children had not survived infancy. Any man would be a fool to turn her away, which is exactly why Daemon found himself standing before her on the black-sand shores of Dragonstone, a chalice between them and blood dripping from either of their lips. Rhaenyra had watched on with glee, rushing forward the moment that the ceremony had been complete to engulf her new wife in a tight embrace, sealing their own union with a firm kiss.

Daemon had not been included in the wedding night activities, though he had been invited to watch, which he did so from the balcony of their chambers in order to give them their own space. Rhaenyra’s body had been glowing in the candle light, curves and smooth, milky skin on display for him and their new wife to admire as they both had time and time again in the past. Daemon could not tear his gaze away from their new wife’s figure, no matter how hard he tried. He blamed it on the novelty of having a new wife, especially one that he was not even able to touch on their wedding night, and he might have reacted the same way if he were to see any woman naked for the first time. He stroked himself on the balcony, low grunts leaving his lips as her moans reached his ears, eyes tracing over her breasts, the pudge of her stomach, the curve of her spine, and–oh… he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a woman’s core glisten like that before, nor had he ever heard such a prominent squelch as the Targaryen princess dipped her fingers inside. He’d always known she was a beautiful lady, but now, oh now he was able to understand to some degree why Rhaenyra was so strongly under her spell.

Just over a year had passed, and Daemon had still yet to enjoy his newest wife to the extent that he would have liked. He did enjoy getting to know her personally, finding her much more amusing than he had expected, and they often found themselves sitting together in the evenings while Rhaenyra was busy with her royal duties. They had kissed each other on several occasions, and she had once allowed him to kneel beneath her skirts one evening after a tad too much wine, but nothing further had developed in their physical relationship.

She had fit into their family easier than any of them could have expected. She was good with the children, taking them all under her wing as if they were her own, though her relationship with both Rhaenyra and Daemons older children was a bit strained in the beginning. Children were a bit of a sore topic for her; She rarely spoke of her own late children, but both Daemon and Rhaenyra could easily tell how broken she was over their deaths. She and Rhaenyra had bonded even more after Rhaenyra had lost her own daughter in labour, all three parties agreeing that Rhaenyra would not have any more children.

That did not change the fact that both Daemon and Rhaenyra could tell that Y/n longed to be a mother once more. She honoured her own boys on their name days, and on the anniversaries of their deaths, but none of Rhaenyra’s children saw her as a mother, nor did she expect them to. They both noticed the way she had this longing stare in her eyes each time that one of the younger children called for their mother, or as Jacaerys and Lucerys slowly grew into young men, as her own children would not be much younger than they are now had they survived their sickness. It was just after the one year anniversary of Daemon and Y/n’s wedding that Rhaenyra proposed to him that they offer Y/n the chance to have another child, as many as she was willing to carry, but of course it would ultimately be her decision; Neither of them were very fussed either way, they both already had a small militia of children of their own, but they would be happy to welcome more into the world, especially if it meant that she would be tied to the Targaryen bloodline through more than marriage.

They waited a while longer to bring this to her, but Rhaenyra had been subtly encouraging her to spend more time with Daemon, and even suggested that they might begin sharing a bed with one another from time to time, whether it be on their own or with Rhaenyra present. She assured her that he was in fact attracted to her, pointing out how she is the one that he stares so longingly at when he watches them together. It was not that Y/n had been opposed to this, she was equally as attracted to Daemon as he was to her, but she had not been with a man since her late husband, and she had not expected to ever take another man to bed again now that she and Rhaenyra were officially together.

The conversation was finally brought to her a month after she and Daemon spent their first night together. They had been intimate, but she had still not allowed him to be inside of her, instead opting to pleasure him with her mouth, hands, and breasts. Rhaenyra whispered in her ear during supper one evening, suggesting that they invite their husband to join them that night, which she excitedly agreed to, completely unaware of what sort of proposition they would offer her, and she was especially surprised at how quickly she consented to their idea.

Rhaenyra had knelt behind her that night, both straddling their husband’s hips as the blonde gripped her wife’s waist to aid her movements, guiding her with every bounce of her long cock and whispering praises into her ear between kisses on her neck. Daemon had been uncharacteristically happy to sit back against the headboard and watch as his wives moved in unison over him, grunting as the tight squeeze of her velvet walls around him. He could hardly pull himself away from her lips, eagerly swallowing every one of her sweet moans as he emptied himself inside of her, sighing as she slumped back against Rhaenyra as she reached her own peak.

They had continued this for months until the maester finally confirmed that Y/n was with child, her skin glowing in delight at the thought of having a child to raise with her husband and wife. By the fifth month of her pregnancy, her stomach had swelled enough to show through her heavy gowns, and her hormones had taken full effect of her everyday life.

If it weren’t bad enough that she was constantly fatigued, or that her feet and back ached, or that her breasts were swollen and tender to the mere brush of her gown against her sensitive nipples, she had also grown to be absolutely insatiable. She found that her thighs were constantly slick with her arousal, and that she was able to bring herself to orgasm in the simplest ways, even by just sitting on certain pieces of furniture. Daemon and Rhaenyra could no longer enjoy bedding her on the same night quite as regularly as before, all because of how regularly she was mewling for them; Daemon had even jokingly suggested that they encourage her maids to pleasure her throughout the day so that they could keep up with her, only to be met with Rhaenyra’s palm slamming into the back of his head. It even came to the point where Rhaenyra felt the need to consult the maester about how regularly all three of them were being intimate together, who advised that, as her pregnancy developed, physical intimacy may result in causing her pain.

Instead, Rhaenyra encouraged her to participate in some “self-care” routines, as she had called them, telling her that pregnancy could cause her to think poorly of herself in many ways, so she thought it best that she take long, hot baths under the candlelight, drink honeyed wine and have her maids soak her in scented oils before taking the initiative to pleasure herself as much as she desired. Daemon had not been so keen on this idea, considering that he was constantly finding her with her hands between her thighs and not allowing him to cut in until she had finished, meaning that she was incredibly sensitive and could not take quite as much as she used to be able to before she began this routine. Even Rhaenyra was beginning to regret it, easily noticing the way that her maids now stared at her longingly, likely having seen and heard her in the throes of self-pleasure more times than they had with her husband and wife involved.

When Rhaenyra brought up her annoyances with Daemon, he had been quick to point fingers, claiming that it was entirely her fault that Y/n had not been seeking them out as much. They both came to the conclusion that they needed to get her out of this habit as quickly as she had gotten into it.

“My love,” Rhaenyra smiled sweetly as she entered her chambers, finding her settled in the bathtub with rose petals floating in the water around her. The water rippled around her rounded belly and breasts as they poked out into the warm air. Rhaenyra thought that she had never looked so beautiful in her life, with the exception of their wedding day. “How do you feel? The maester told me you had a bout of sickness after supper.”

The woman opened her eyes, smiling sleepily at her wife as she knelt at her side, one hand dipping in to feel the temperature of the water, “‘M fine, Nyra. I do not think that mutton agrees with our babe.”

The Targaryen woman laughed, “I’m sorry, my love, I know how you enjoy mutton so. I will instruct the cooks to avoid it until the babe arrives then.”

“It’s alright,” Y/n stroked a hand over her belly, “I would give anything to keep her happy.”

“Her?” Rhaenyra asked, settling her hand on the bump as well, “You expect a girl?”

“I do,” Y/n beamed, “I will be happy either way, but I have a feeling. I know how you long for a daughter, as well.”

Rhaenyra flushed, “You are too kind to me my love. I will be happy with our child regardless of gender, so long as they are a part of the one I love the most.”

Y/n giggled, “Do not let our husband hear you speaking like that.”

“He knows his place,” Rhaenyra chuckled, fingers wandering up to brush against the tender flesh of her breast, smirking to herself at the moan that fell from her wife’s lips at the smallest touch.

Rhaenyra turned her head, finding her maids looking bashful in the corner of the room. They had been witness to Y/n’s pleasure before, but never at the hand of one of her spouses.

“Out,” She commanded, “I will finish my wife’s bath on my own.”

They all hesitated for a moment before nodding, curtsying to both women before rushing out.

“Nyra,” Y/n scolded, “I was about to begin my “self-care”.”

“I can care for you, my heart.” The silver-haired woman cooed as she lowered her hand below the surface of the water, taking little care for the sleeve of her gown as her fingertips found the slick button between her thighs.

“It was your idea, Rhaenyra.” Her voice sounded firmer than before, and her once sleepy eyes had grown hard and accusing.

“A stupid one, I must admit,” She sighed, rubbing small circles into her clit, “I miss how insatiable you once were, how you begged for me to touch you, how you begged for our husband’s cock.”

A flash of sadness appeared on her face as sprung to her waterline, “You were tired of me, you do not want me.”

Rhaenyra stopped her movements, “What?”

A soft sob left her lips, “You asked me to take care of myself. I thought it might have been because you and Daemon were busy, but then I came to your rooms one night and–”

She didn’t need to finish for Rhaenyra to understand. She and Daemon had found it difficult to keep up with their wife’s libido, but once she had begun taking care of herself, they still had their own desires and spent many nights together. Rhaenyra felt stupid for not seeing how this would feel to their wife, let alone now that her emotions were heightened. She had not considered herself unattractive until Rhaenyra asked if she mentioned that self pleasure was beneficial for helping her bodily insecurities, only to find that she and Daemon were continuing to fuck without her on the regular.

Y/n pushed her hand away, sitting up and pulling her knees as close to her chest as her stomach would allow, “Leave me.”

“My love–”

“Please,” Her voice cracked, “Send my handmaidens in, I want to go to bed.”

“Y/n, please let me–”

“Go!” She shrieked, tears now falling down her cheeks readily as she pushed herself out of the water abruptly, “Get out!”

The door burst open, her handmaidens appearing in the room with worried expressions at the sound of their lady’s screaming. They rushed forward, helping her step out of the tub and wrapping her in her favourite silk robe.

Rhaenyra watched as she stumbled away, ignoring the water dripping from her as she crawled onto the bed, the most heart-wrenching sobs leaving her lips. The Crown Princess did not want to leave, longing to go after her and make her understand, but the guilt that began to force itself up her throat was too much to bear. Without another word, she pushed through the doorway and into the corridor, rushing to find Daemon.

Y/n did not leave her chambers for three days. She had breakfast, tea, and dinner in her rooms with no company except for her handmaidens. She refused to allow Rhaenyra or Daemon in to see her any time that they had come to visit, even when they each tried to assert their rank over her handmaidens. She was now almost seven months into her pregnancy, and she was continuously wondering to herself how she had let herself be talked into another child. She wept day and night, countless apologies leaving her lips to her late children, begging for their forgiveness and cursing Rhaenyra and Daemon for bringing her walls down so much that she had allowed herself to be in the position to potentially lose yet another child.

On the fourth day, Rhaenrya had decided that enough was enough, and used the secret passageway into her wife’s room. When she found her, she felt her heart clench in her throat, finding her still in nothing but the silk robe that she’d left her in four days earlier, curled in a ball on her favourite sofa and staring blankly out the window. How had she allowed herself to hurt the one person she loved above all else again after vowing to protect her heart with her entire being?

“My love,” Rhaenyra called out, closing the hidden door behind her. She frowned when she was met with complete silence, “My love, can you hear me?”

“What is it, Your Grace?”

Rhaenyra cringed, having only heard Y/n speak to her so formally when she was truly angry with her. “The maester told me you have not slept or eaten in two days. It is not good for the child.”

Y/n scoffed, “The babe.”

“It is not good for you, either, my love.”

Rhaenyra knelt in front of her, hands cupping her cheeks and grimacing at how cold she felt. Rhaenyra had gone to Daemon that night, her pale cheeks flushed red and wet from her tears as she paced for hours, wondering how they would be able to make things right with her–how had she let this happen? How could she make her feel unloved by the two people who loved her more than anything?

“Please look at me,” She whispered, head ducking to meet her hollow gaze. “I’m not sure how I can make you feel how deeply angry I am with myself. I am so, so sorry, my love.”

Y/n sniffled, but did not respond.

“May I explain myself?” Rhaenyra waited for her weak nod before she continued, “I did not mean to make you feel unwanted, by any means. You are sweet, and good, and beautiful, and I could never imagine a world where I would not want you. Daemon and I–we cannot excuse ourselves, but we can explain. We were concerned for you, for how often we were bedding you. The maester told us that we could hurt you, which is why I suggested what I did. I did not mean to imply that we did not want you. In fact, we wanted you so deeply that we turned to each other for the first time in so long because we thought you were more comfortable with taking care of yourself.”

Y/n shook her head, “I only did it because that’s what I thought you wanted.”

“I could never not want you, my beautiful wife.” Rhaenyra pressed a kiss to her clammy cheek.

“I must admit,” Y/n laughed bitterly, “I began to believe after some time that I had become a concubine for you both.”

“I do not think it is custom to love one’s concubine, my sweet.” Rhaenyra chuckled, then turned sombre when she took note of her expression, “My love, else bothers you?”

“I do not want to have another child,” Y/n whispered, “I feel almost as if I am betraying my boys. I will love this child with all of my heart, and nothing makes me more happy than to be tied to you both through blood, but I will not have another.”

Rhaenyra sighed, “I am sorry if you have felt pressured by us.”

“I haven’t,” She shook her head, “But I have done some thinking over the past two days. I have been happy here, and I do want this child, but I’m not sure that I can handle another. This child is a sibling, but to have two, it feels like I am replacing them, and to me they are completely irreplaceable.”

Rhaenyra kissed her head, “You will not have to. I will speak to Daemon, and the maester. We will make sure that this is your last pregnancy.”

“You don’t think that Daemon will be upset with me? He won’t want any more children?”

“If he is, then perhaps we would need to rethink how many people we want in this marriage, don’t you think?”

This made Y/n giggle, and it was like music to Rhaenyra’s ears. She finally leaned into her, wrapping her arms around Rhaenyra’s middle and nuzzling into her neck. Rhaenyra gladly held her, running her fingers through her hair affectionately as she began to notice her breathing grow heavier.

“You must be tired, my sweet,” Rhaenyra turned her head to look at her, “Why don’t you have a bath while I go find you some supper, then you can rest.”

“Will you stay with me while I sleep?” She murmured.

Rhaenyra kissed her lips softly, “Of course I will.”

When Y/n woke up, Rhaenyra was still at her side, her long fingers stroking Y/n’s swollen belly over her thin nightgown.

“Good morning, my love,” She greeted with a small smile.

“Evening, you mean,” Y/n had not even noticed that Daemon had occupied the space behind her in the bed until he spoke up, his own hand reaching around to lay on top of Rhaenyra’s on her belly.

Y/n leaned back into him, sighing at the warmth being emitted from his firm chest, “How long was I sleeping?”

“Almost a day,” He kissed her temple to soothe her as she cried out in surprise, “But you needed it.”

“It’s true,” Rhaenyra affirmed, “You were awake for two days straight. I’ll call your ladies, you must be starving.”

“I am,” Y/n trailed a finger up her arm, “But not for food.”

Rhaenyra shook her head as Daemon chuckled at their wife, “My love, you are very weak right now–”

“Neither of you have touched me in almost two months,” She whined, “Please.”

The two Targaryens shared a glance over her shoulder, Daemon shrugging in response to Rhaenyra’s concerned look.

“Alright,” She finally conceded, “But you must lie there, let us take care of you.”

The woman eagerly nodded, excited whimpers falling from her lips from the slightest drag of Daemon’s lips against her jugular, his fingers pulling the strap of her nightgown down over her shoulder to expose one of her tender breasts. Rhaenyra was quick to pull her into a kiss, tongue forcing itself past her wife’s lips and swallowing every sound she made, her nimble fingers twisting her perky nipple gently.

Everything moved in a blur for Y/n over the next few moments, somehow finding herself now on her back, knees bent as her nightgown was rucked up to settle over her swollen belly, Rhaenyra wasting little time in dragging her tongue torturously through her folds, which had already been dripping with her sweet nectar from the moment that she had woken up. Her cheeks felt warm, embarrassed at how sensitive and wet she’d been before either of them even touched her and at how quickly she was able to feel herself at her peak.

At her side, Daemon was needy for her attention. He tucked two fingers under her chin, quickly turning her head to capture her lips in a warm and messy kiss. Her own eager fingers quickly found the laces of his breeches, tugging at them until they were just loose enough to slide her hand inside and take hold of his rapidly hardening member, their sighs of pleasure being lost in one another’s mouths as she slowly pumped him until he was completely hard, whining in protest as he pushed her touch away.

“Patience, sweet one,” He tsked at her, instead turning his attention to suckling at her breasts, tugging her other strap down to release both of her heaving tits to his mercy.

The wave crashed over her before she could comprehend it, eyes rolling back as neither of them made any move to slow or stop their ministrations as they each licked and sucked at her most sensitive parts until she was trembling with aftershocks.

“Do you think she is ready for me?” Daemon peered down at Rhaenyra, who had continued to lick at her clit softly.

She grinned up at him, “More than she’s ever been.”

He chuckled, reaching his hand down to feel her wetness for himself with a wicked glint in his eyes, “Perhaps we should deprive our needy little wife more often if it means she will always be this responsive.”

Rhaenyra frowned, “You are bold to assume that either of us will be able to resist for so long ever again, husband. I’m certain that I can’t.”

“Perhaps I merely need to be reminded, I may not have my wits about me.”

Within seconds, his clothes had been completely removed and was was dragging her by the ankles until her bum was hanging off the edge of the mattress and he was pressed tightly between her legs. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra had helped her slide her shift off over her head, leaving her completely bare to her husband and wife.

Her back arched off of the bed as Daemon notched the head of his member against her entrance, easily slipping inside with a drawn out moan, eyes closed as he relished in the feeling of her silky walls throbbing around him.

“See how he desires you?” Rhaenyra whispered to her, “You make him weak, he belongs to you. We belong to you.”

She nodded, watching in awe as Rhaenyra’s slender neck was engulfed by their husband’s fingers, his meaty fist forcing her to meet his hard kiss as his spare hand slid beneath Y/n’s hip and flipped her onto her side, barely missing a beat as he threw her top leg over his shoulder and sped up his thrusts.

Rhaenyra grinned into the kiss, reaching up to slide her middle and index fingers into her wife’s mouth, slowly thrusting them in and out until they were dripping with her saliva. Carefully, she moved them down and began circling them around her untouched hole, feeling the snug ring of muscles tighten and release under her touch. The sloppy juices of her release had dripped down and provided an extra lubricant as one of her long fingers dipped inside, stilling for a few moments to allow her to adjust to the intrusion before she pressed the second in as well. Her movements were slow, not wanting to force the tightness of her ass and further than she already was, especially with the force of Daemon’s thrusts into sweet cunt.

Mere moments passed before her second release began bursting out of her core and splashing against Daemon’s stomach, the warmth of her juices bringing him to his own climax. She allowed him to keep forcing himself into her abused hole before she was pressing her foot flat into his shoulder to push him away.

“Look at her,” Rhaenyra murmured to him, smirking down at her wife’s trembling body, “Look at how needy she is for us. We belong to her, but she is ours alone.”

Daemons slowly allowed his cock to slide out of her, falling down to poke at her asshole as Rhaenyra pulled her fingers out. The future queen slid from the mattress, disappearing out of Y/n’s sight as Daemon huddled overtop of her, pressing warm kisses across her neck and chest. He pulled back as Rhaenyra reappeared next to her, wiping her hands clean with a wet cloth before she made quick work of wiping the pregnant woman’s sensitive cunt clean as Daemon readjusted his breeches as she moved across the room to sit by the burning fireplace.

Rhaenyra helped her wife move back up to lay against her pillows, tucking her in beneath the soft sheets. She crawled in next to her, pressing her lips to her forehead and chuckling when Rhaenyra felt her tugging at her skirts.

“I am alright, my heart,” She pushed her hands away, “You should rest. We will call for your supper.”

Y/n nodded, a touch disappointed that she hadn’t been able to taste her wife’s delicious cunt, but her sadness faded as she felt her eyes fluttering shut, lulling her into a deep sleep as she huddled closer to Rhaenyra’s chest.

#reader insert #x reader #imagines #house of the dragon spoilers #house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd rhaenyra #rhaenyra is a gay icon #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon x rhaenyra #daemon targeryan #daemon x reader

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kiplex · 5 days ago

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✧ Thinking Abt Knight Caleb ✧

Knight Caleb x Princess MC HCs

Tags: A little bit of angst, Gideon mentioned, Zayne is seen as a bad guy in this?? I'm so sorry I couldn't think of fitting NPC 💀, implied possession, very sfw, not beta read we full send it

A/N: Uh oh... Ki is reading fantasy novels again!!! I have a prince Raf x Knight MC up next. This is really plot focused head cannons, something a little different!!!

Knight Caleb who has known you since he was just a boy, he grew up in the place with you, he a guard’s son and you the princess of the kingdom you both resided in… The heir to the throne

Knight Caleb who swore to protect with his dying breath when you two were just little kids rooting around in the palace gardens together finding bugs and rocks, much to your fathers displeasure because you'd muddy your dresses and gowns

Knight Caleb who started training to be a knight as soon as he was able to. Night and day he would be on the training fields, he went particularly hard when he knew you were out watching him from the sidelines cheering him on anytime he'd hit a training dummy a little too hard

Knight Caleb who would grin like an idiot anytime he'd go a little too hard in training, drawing blood from sword sparring with Gideon, knowing you'd be there to patch him up and fuss over him

Knight Caleb who passes his knight trails with flying colors and is quickly appointed your personal royal guard. Anywhere you went Caleb would follow to keep you protected, just like he had planned

Knight Caleb who actually decided he hated watching you sometimes. He was so jealous, he knew deep down he wouldn't always have you to himself. You reached the phase in your life where your father, the king, decided it was time to start preparing you to be courted and married off. Sending you to neighbouring kingdoms to meet with potential suitors.

Knight Caleb was, of course, in charge of seeing you there safely to all those places and back

Knight Caleb who now takes frequent visits to that same garden with you. Instead of tearing it up like you did as kids, you talk about all the things you can't talk about with prying eyes and listening ears. You tell him about all the pressures of the throne closing in on you, how you wish you could just let them all go and run away from it all

Knight Caleb who is tempted to tell you he'll help you escape, he'll throw everything away to keep you happy and smiling at him like you used to before so much had been placed on your shoulders

Knight Caleb who instead reminds you how smart you are, and when the time comes you'll make a great queen. A bitter feeling rises in his throat as the words leave his lips and your sad eyes find his with a nod

Knight Caleb who is absolutely wrecked when a few weeks later, the prince of the Snow Kingdom offers an alliance, or rather a merger of your two kingdoms; his giant, yours much much smaller, in exchange for your hand in marriage. Which the king quickly accepts, he'd be a fool not to.

Knight Caleb who ends up in your chamber that night holding you close as you sob violently into his chest, not wanting any of this

Knight Caleb whose hands twitch at his sides wanting to pull you in, tell you everything will be okay but he can't stand the thought of you being whisked away to some prince you'd met once

Knight Caleb who keeps it professional, keeps to his duty by reassuring you that you are doing the right thing… that your so brave and so beautiful and that he's so incredibly proud of the young woman you've become

Knight Caleb who grits his teeth the moment he sees the Snow Prince, Zayne arrives to meet with the king to discuss wedding arrangements. Immediately this guy pissed him off, he didn't deserve you. His royal hardass would absolutely clash with your joy and whimsy he thinks.

Knight Caleb who can feel the anxiety radiating off you at dinner that evening while you discuss even more wedding plans.

Knight Caleb who thinks he might punch Prince Zayne if he looks at you one more time with that cold calculated look anytime you said anything he didn't like

Knight Caleb who accompanies you to the garden with Prince Zayne, as the two of you sit in the gazebo and chat while Caleb is just outside of it. He can't help but simmer with rage as he slips a ring on your delicate hand, when he knows damn well that should be him

Knight Caleb who once again is in your chamber that evening as you pace around. With the wedding just weeks away, you're finding any excuses to get out of it.

Knight Caleb who finally can't take it anymore. He can't see you bearing this burden anymore and confesses he's been in love with you for years. Since you were two kids chasing each other around with wooden swords.

Knight Caleb who says if you even feel a little bit the same as him, he poses he could get you guys out. Run away, become your own people, no responsibility or duties to fulfill. You could start a life together. All you had to do was say the word and he'd do anything for you. Just as he'd always had and vowed to do.

Knight Caleb who is crushed by the weight of your arms around him squeezing him tightly, calling him a dummy for not telling you sooner. Pecking him on the check shyly. Uttering a small “Let's get out of here."

Knight Caleb who helps you pack a small bag; some food, clothes, a few (quite a few actually) shillings. You two gather whatever you need and leave by horseback before dawn.

Fugitive Caleb who despite being hunted by your kingdom and the snow kingdom, could be happier to be on the road running from inn to inn with his girlfriend. The same woman who flashes him a bright smile as she settles on the crummy inn bed, the same smile he remembers from when you were kids

You can find my master list here!

#In case you are wondering #im reading powerless #its so good im so fed rn #anyways #i love you knight Caleb i will probably make a full fic eventually #my writing #love and deepspace #lads #lnds #lads caleb #lnds caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb #caleb x mc #caleb x fem reader #caleb xia #caleb x y/n #caleb headcanons

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multific · 2 months ago

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The Mask and the Veil

King Baldwin IV x Reader

Summary: Disguised as a male physician to avoid being sold into slavery, you are brought to court under false pretences only to discover your patient is the masked king himself.

The robes are too long.

The beard itches against your chin, false and thin. You walk with your shoulders square, your eyes downcast, and your voice lowered to the timbre your father taught you when playing riddles.

A scholar’s daughter disguised as a male physician. One mistake, and you’ll be chained or sold like the others.

But your hands do not tremble.

They bring you through the narrow halls of Jerusalem’s royal palace, past silk-hung windows and braziers burning with bitter-smelling oil.

It’s nearly silent.

The king, they say, is very ill.

Dying, though no one says the word aloud.

“Don’t speak unless spoken to,” the steward warns you. “He is... strange. And not fond of noise.”

You’re led to a chamber lit only by dusk-filtered sunlight and the dull gold of censers.

The scent of sandalwood is heavy here, sharp, almost medicinal.

And then you see him.

Seated in a high-backed chair, hands gloved in black, face hidden behind a silver mask.

Young, they said. A boy king.

But the figure before you is no child.

“Leave us,” the king says quietly. His voice is low, steady, tinged with fatigue but unmistakably sovereign.

The steward hesitates.

“Now,” Baldwin adds, not louder, but colder.

You are alone.

The king studies you in silence. You bow low, keeping your eyes respectfully away. But you feel his gaze, sharp as a knife slipping between ribs.

“I’ve had a dozen healers in the past year,” he says finally. “Christian. Arab. Greek. Old men with soft hands and nervous eyes. You are not one of them.”

You stay quiet.

He rises, slowly, like a man in pain.

His steps are careful and controlled. The silver mask catches the fading light.

“Your hands are steady,” he murmurs. “But they are not a man’s.”

Your throat tightens.

“I don’t care,” he continues, surprising you. “If you’re a woman or a ghost. I only care if you know how to stop the pain when it claws through my bones.”

You dare to look at him.

He nods, barely visible. Permission. He gave you permission.

So you step forward and examine him with a healer’s mind.

The sores at his joints are inflamed.

His breath is shallow.

His body smells of sickness, but not rot. Not yet. There’s still time.

You prepare a bandage from the pouch you brought, mixed with oils, crushed myrrh, and poppy.

You speak little. So does he.

But you feel his eyes on you, curious, alive, burning with something that should have died long ago.

The next night, he speaks first.

“Why did you hide yourself to become a physician?”

You answer without thinking. “Because no one listens to a woman’s wisdom unless she wears a man’s face.”

He chuckles, quiet and dry. “Then perhaps I’ve done the same. Worn a face that isn’t mine.”

You glance up. He’s watching the moon through a high window. His voice softens.

“I’m not the king they wanted. Not the warrior. Not the martyr. I only ever wanted to study the stars.”

You don’t know what makes you speak. “Then why be king?”

He turns toward you. “Because they made me.”

And for a moment, there is no veil between you. Just two souls under the weight of expectation.

The intimacy grows slowly.

In wordplay.

In silence.

In the long, dark hours when you sit at his side as he struggles to breathe.

You call him my lord. He calls you physician but always with a curve at the edge of his voice, as if it amuses him to pretend he doesn’t know your truth.

Then, one night, as you smooth a balm across his shoulder, your fingers tremble from how close you are.

He says softly, “You don’t need to wear the beard in my chambers anymore.”

You go still.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark and endless behind the mask. “It doesn’t fool me. It never did.”

You remove it slowly.

He doesn’t smile.

But something in him shifts, quiet and warm. His gloved hand finds yours, carefully.

Your heart pounds.

“I’ve known a great many liars,” he whispers. “But you’re the first whose lies I’ve wanted to keep.”

You don’t speak. You can’t.

Because his thumb is brushing over your knuckles, warm.

And when he leans forward, masked, you meet him halfway.

The kiss is not on the lips, not yet.

Just his forehead touching yours, the brush of silk and sandalwood, and the fire you’ve both been holding back for far too long.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

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gigidraws13 · 1 month ago

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CHILDREN OF THE NEO BEASTS PART 1

I caved. I put my ancient x F! Y/N Cookie FANCHILDREN into Cuppajj’s BAAU, they were born before the corruption of the ancients and so they are really young in this au than in the original universe, and I bet some of you can notice that some of them got redesigns :)

VANILLA CRÈME COOKIE: The once prince of the Vanilla kingdom now a cult member spreading salvation alongside his father and devoted followers. He’s still the meek and shy doughbaby he is, even hiding his multiple wings out of insecurity, but do not be fooled by his innocent and adorable appearance. He is naive and just as delusional as the rest of the lambs, he will do whatever it takes to aid his father in bringing salvation to the cookies of the world, especially his half siblings.

LINGON BERRY COOKIE: The youngest son of Dragon berry cookie loves how rowdy his kingdom has become. He enjoys watching his mother single handily take down opponents in the arena, he looks up to her very much and wants to be exactly like her, to the point of getting into violent fights and trouble around the kingdom. And it doesn’t help that Dragon berry is actively starting to encourage it. Royal berry, Jungle berry, and Wildberry are very concerned about his behavior, as his is experiencing and causing so much violence for his age, but they know they can’t do anything so they just let it be.

CHOCO SWIRL COOKIE: The young dark cacao prince has no idea the frozen wasteland his kingdom has become, in fact you could see him wandering and happily playing in the snow outside the Citadel. He always has one or two licorice spawn following him around, being his bodyguards and active playmates. The licorice sea itself acts very docile and protective towards him, not just by the young prince’s father’s command, but because he too is becoming one with the licorice sea…

#digital art #y/n #y/n insert #cookie run kingdom #cookie run kingdom x reader #crk x reader #crk #baau #baau fanart #beast ancients au #fanchild #fanchildren

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synity · 1 month ago

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Hello, can I request a Dino prince who is madly in love and does everything for his princess, and she is sweet and kind.

Sorry for my bad English, I think your stories are very cute.

HIRAYA

(Lee Jung Chan x FemReader)

*Romantic Fantasy Fairytale, Romance, Drama, Coming-of-Age; slice of life*

A soft fairytale filled with courage, cuddles, and crown-worthy love.

Once upon a time, in the sunlit kingdom of Caelion, there lived a young prince named Lee Chan known to those close to him by his childhood nickname, Dino.

He wasn’t just the heir to the throne. Chan was the heartbeat of the palace: loud when he laughed, gentle when he hugged, wild on the training grounds but quiet during sunset walks. With messy brown hair that never obeyed royal standards and a smile that could melt the fiercest knights, Prince Chan was beloved but also… misunderstood.

His parents, King Lee Dae‑hee and Queen Seirene, were noble, wise, and strong rulers. But they worried for Chan.

“You wear your heart too easily,” the King would sigh, watching Chan sneak food to stable boys and leave love notes in villagers’ windows.

“You dream too much, darling,” the Queen would say with a kiss to his forehead. “A prince must think, not feel.”

But Chan believed love was strength. And he proved it every single day through the way he loved you, Princess Y/N.

The two of you met on the seventh day of spring, at the Festival of Blossoms.

You had arrived from your kingdom Elaflora in a carriage made of rosewood and silk, with cherry blossoms in your hair and a shy smile that made the entire royal garden bloom a little brighter.

Chan had been running late, having overslept after staying up composing music. He burst onto the ballroom floor half-dressed, barefoot, laughing and froze.

There you were.

Your eyes met across the crowd. The music faded. His breath caught.

You curtsied.

He panicked and bowed way too deep.

He ran into a column on the way to introduce himself. You helped him up. He laughed you laughed harder.

And just like that, the world flipped upside down for the both of you.

From that day on, Chan was... completely, absolutely, pathetically in love with you.

He sent letters with pressed flowers and doodles of ducks wearing crowns. He asked his chefs to learn your favorite desserts. He memorized every little thing you liked from your favorite shade of blue to the way you bit your lip when thinking.

At royal dinners, he sat next to you, whispering jokes that made you choke on your drink. When you visited the stables, he followed you around like a puppy, pretending he was “just making sure the horses were well-trained.”

You weren’t fooled.

You knew he adored you. And you adored him, too.

But palace life wasn’t always so sweet.

One night, Chan’s parents called him to the throne room. The flickering candlelight made their expressions look even heavier.

“She’s lovely,” Queen Seirene said gently. “But not strong. Not... queenly.”

“You are the future king,” King Roark added. “You need a partner who can handle war, politics, pressure.”

Chan stood, trembling but determined.

“Y/N is strong,” he said firmly. “She’s strong in kindness. In patience. She doesn’t fight with swords she heals with words. That’s the kind of strength this kingdom needs.”

They didn’t understand at first. They thought it was puppy love.

But Chan was patient. He kept showing them.

He brought you to charity visits, where you calmed crying children and made shy villagers laugh. You spoke softly, but with purpose, defending farmers’ needs and standing up for the stablehand’s son to attend the royal academy. Every time you left, people loved you more.

Slowly… his parents began to see it.

Late at night, when the palace was asleep, Chan would sneak to the royal garden where you waited with a blanket and two cups of cocoa.

You’d lie beneath the stars, whispering secrets.

One night, he held your hand and whispered, “If I weren’t a prince… would you still love me?”

You blinked at him.

“Chan,” you said softly, “I loved you before I even knew you were a prince. I loved you the moment you fell face-first into a rose bush trying to impress me.”

He laughed so hard he nearly spilled his cocoa.

That night, he kissed you for the first time gently, reverently, like you were made of stars.

But every love story has its storm.

A rebellion broke out in the far north. The palace was under pressure. Nobles whispered that a marriage between Chan and “a gentle girl” would weaken their rule.

You offered to step back. “I don’t want to be the reason your crown falls,” you said through tears.

Chan stared at you like you had ripped his heart out.

“You are not the reason. You’re the reason I fight. You’re my peace in this chaos.”

Against everyone’s wishes, he chose you.

Even if it meant war.

Even if it meant walking away from the throne.

But then… something changed.

You stood before the court not with rage, but with poise. You gave a speech from your heart, full of honesty and courage.

“I may not be made for crowns,” you said, “but I am made for love. For the people. For him.”

There was silence.

Then slow applause.

And then the Queen stood. Eyes teary. Proud.

“You are made for the crown,” she said. “You just wore it differently.”

The King placed his hand on Chan’s shoulder and smiled. “Looks like we underestimated the both of you.”

Your wedding was the most magical event the kingdom had ever seen.

You walked down the aisle with wildflowers in your braid and soft light in your eyes. Chan was already crying before the music started. He kissed your hands, your cheeks, your forehead your crown.

And that night, when the stars danced in the sky, you danced in the garden where your love had first bloomed.

“I would give up my crown for you,” he whispered in your ear.

“But now you don’t have to,” you whispered back.

And together, you ruled. With strength and softness. With sword and story. With roars and lullabies.

Chan never stopped being wildly in love with you.

He still doodled ducks on your love notes. Still kissed you before every council meeting. Still held your hand under the royal table.

And you?

You loved him even more than the day he fell into that rose bush.

The End, or really, just the beginning?

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onesiesdaydream · 3 months ago

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Love Me Like the End is Coming I Dream x Reader

Ch. 1 I Ch. 2 I Ch. 3 I Ch. 4

Chapter 1 (A Crack in the Glass)

Summary: Hidden deep within the shadows of the Burgess estate, Dream remains trapped in a glass prison—silent, ageless, and watching. Through the shimmer of enchantment, he sees you for the first time: a child with curious eyes and a gentle presence, so different from the rest. Over the years, you return, drawn to the quiet figure beyond the glass, unaware of the ancient power your gaze stirs awake. Time passes. You grow. And still, he watches. And when the time comes, you are the one who sets him free. What begins as an unlikely friendship between a god of dreams and a mortal girl blossoms into something stranger, something beautiful. But as you help Dream reclaim what was stolen from him, you begin to uncover buried pieces of your own past — pieces that may not have been meant to surface.

MASTERLIST

The shrill ring of the doorbell resounded throughout the residence known as the Burgess mansion, the sound reverberating into the very foundation of the engraved walls that lined the place. You were sitting on the floor next to an 8-year-old Alex Burgess, son of the prominent Roderick Burgess, playing a fun game of charades before being abruptly interrupted by the sound of the front door.

"Go get the door, Alex!" hollered Mr. Sykes from nearby.

Mr. Sykes scurried about between different rooms, attending to matters assigned to him by the Order of Ancient Mysteries or by Roderick himself. You and Alex quite liked Mr. Sykes, even if he was a loyal member of the Magus' order. He had always treated you well, considering how you were both normally treated by Alex's father.

A huff of air made its way out of the boy's round, pink lips as he stood up from his spot on the lavish maroon carpet, motioning for you to go along with him.

Walking past, you caught a glimpse of Mr. Sykes carrying on with his duties. His eyes widened in fear, hands flailing about, trying to catch the small tower of yellowed scrolls covered in illegible runes and scribbles about to topple out of his arms.

Alex opened the chained door to reveal an elderly man in a bowler hat, whose eyes trailed down the crack in the door to meet the eyes of the young Burgess, his small round face staring inquisitively.

"Good afternoon, lad. My name is Dr. John Hathaway."

The young boy's surveying gaze did not deter at the presentation, waiting for something else to be said.

"Of the Royal Museum?" the Dr. wondered.

Your small head peeked out from above Alex, much to the surprise of Dr. Hathaway, if the way his wrinkled old eyes widened was anything to go by.

"Are you here to see the Magus?" you inquired, hoping to finish the interaction with the odd gentleman so you could get back to playing with your friend.

Dr. Hathaway fumbled a bit, not exactly understanding who this Magus was that this young girl was talking about.

"Well, I've come to see Mr. Roderick Burgess."

Alex unlocked the chained door with a small click, holding it ajar while mentioning, "Father likes to be called Magus. It means sorcerer," after sensing the poor fool's uncertainty over the title his father had graciously bestowed upon himself.

Stepping aside to let him in, the two children began leading Dr. Hathaway to Roderick's study. You stood close by Alex's side, with your hand wrapped around his, a tingly feeling creeping its way up your spine when a few ominous hooded people crossed by your side.

Dr. Hathaway halted his steps in front of an open door. The people in its interior chanted a sinister hymn: "Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness."

The Doctor's mouth dropped in awe at the sight of the outlandish spectacle, horror making its way into his tired eyes when he saw a young man about to plunge a sword into himself. He didn't get the chance to view the terrifying ritual before Mr. Sykes made his way out of the room with a pointed smile while shutting the door in his wake. It was the fakest smile you had ever seen, his vexation over being interrupted clearly showing.

"The Magus will receive his guest in the study, Alex, (Y/N)."

"Yes, Mr. Sykes," replied the duo, surprised by Mr. Sykes' coyness. It wasn't often that he acted like this towards them.

The pair led the man to Roderick's office before curiosity got the best of Alex.

"Have you come to join Father's Order? The Order of Ancient Mysteries?"

Before he could utter a response, the ingeniously crafted wooden door of the study reopened to make way for the almighty Magus. A man in his late 60s walked in with an air of superiority emanating around him, his cold blue eyes surrounded by wrinkles and bags, yet not losing that spark of malicious intent hidden deep within his soul. His lower face donned a scruffy beard still tinged with remnants of color.

"Dr. Hathaway, what an unexpected pleasure," he said, taking long strides until he sat down at his large mahogany table embroidered with details made by the finest carpenter. With a wave of his cane, he shooed you and Alex away to go fetch some tea.

"Please, sit down. You must be exhausted from your journey," Roderick Burgess offered, preferring to stay standing and therefore giving him an air of authority over the Doctor, who stuck to muttering a meek thanks in response before taking a seat.

"I take it you've reconsidered then?"

Roderick's wicked eyes stared eagerly into those of the Doctor, awaiting his much-anticipated response.

"After our meeting at the museum, I know what I said. I received a telegram this morning. My son, Edmund, his destroyer was sunk last week, off Jutland."

"Oh, my condolences, Doctor. We are bonded then, in our grief, you and I. As you know, I lost my son Randall recently at Gallipoli."

Mr. Burgess picked up a framed picture of a handsome young man clad in a military uniform, showing it to Dr. Hathaway, who spent the entirety of the conversation wringing his hands.

By then, Alex had reentered the room, pushing along a silver cart carrying a teapot with its corresponding teacup set. You followed closely behind, carrying a silver platter with a variety of pastries for the men to snack on.

"Forgive me; I… I understood that Randall was your only son," said Hathaway, prompting Roderick to turn to face his 8-year-old child, who was looking on expectantly. The sorcerer sneered with disdain before spitting, "Randall was my greatest joy. All this was meant to be his."

You looked over at the desolate Alex, gripping his tiny hand into your own, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles in an attempt to soothe his disappointment. His father had never considered him to be his son, no matter how hard he attempted to please him or even acknowledge his mere existence.

"Come on, Alex. Let's leave the grown-ups be and go back to playing," you chirped, intertwining your fingers and pulling him along with you to another room to continue your game of charades. You really just intended to get the stunned boy away from his ruthless father.

You knew the way Mr. Burgess treated his, now, only son. But alas, you were just a child and couldn't do anything other than be there for Alex as much as you could when he came to you with watery eyes and a desolate smile to tell you all about his father's recent mistreatment. This wasn't uncommon behavior. Ever since you'd met Alex three years prior and became the best of friends, he had always had some sort of issue revolving around his father. Or better said, his father always had an issue with him. Randall had always been the apple of his eye, and even after passing, he still was. You had promised yourself that you would do everything in your power to be there for the young boy who had become your best friend with a determined smile and a glow in your eyes.

Your father was always the curious type, always investigating the occult and visiting abandoned buildings with sinister stories around them. He'd made a habit of narrating all of his adventures and crusades into lost cities and abandoned mental institutions, to name a few. His face would light up like a Christmas tree, dimples sinking into his face as he acted out his stories with a grin just so that he could get a laugh out of you. It was this that led him to become familiar with Mr. Burgess and his mystical practices. Though he never took part in the Order, Roderick and he became close friends, and your father took the opportunity to study all the ancient trinkets and artifacts Roderick possessed. Thus, when your father discovered that Roderick had a young boy your age, he thought it would be a good chance for you to make a friend.

As you took Alex away from the harmful words of the esteemed sorcerer, you could still hear the conversation going on in the study.

"So, have you brought it? The Magdalene Grimoire?"

"If I give you the book, can you really…"

"Capture the Angel of Death? Oh, yes," replied Mr. Burgess.

The elder man looked skeptical at this, as did you. What did he mean by capturing the Angel of Death? How was he even supposed to do that?

The name seemed familiar to you. You recalled hearing it in a few of your father's tales. He always mused about a group of beings called The Endless. According to him, they were responsible for managing many aspects of human lives: things like dreams and desires and even our destinies. You'd never expected to hear one of those names out of Roderick Burgess.

You released your hold on Alex's hand and pressed your ear against the closed door you just came out of.

"What are you doing?" questioned Alex at the sight of your odd behavior.

Your eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as you strained to hear the rest of the conversation.

"Shhh! I'm trying to hear what they're talking about."

You could make out the sound of Roderick's rasp as he continued talking to Dr. Hathaway.

"With the spells recorded in this book, we can compel Death to return our sons to us. Your Edmund and my Randall will live again."

Your eyes widened at what they were planning to do.

"They're going to capture Death, so—" you didn't get the chance to finish informing Alex before Mr. Burgess opened the door.

"(Y/N), Alex, come along now. We must get the preparations in order for the summoning."

You glanced over at Alex, and your hands began to tremble, a mixture of excitement and fear knotting in your throat. You considered calling your father, but even if you did, he wouldn't be able to come. He was away on one of his trips to a deserted village and had left you under the Burgess manor's care for a few days. A shame, really. Your Dad would've loved to see the outcome of this.

"Yes, sir."

Roderick and Mr. Sykes had slipped into dark teal-colored robes and were leading the Order down to the basement to perform the ritual that would summon Death while you and Alex led a trembling and hesitant Dr. Hathaway along, each of you taking one of his wrinkled hands down the steps into the humid underground.

Once at the bottom, the hooded figures stood in a circle around a golden binding circle that had been drawn on the floor, and the Magus opened the grimoire on a stone stand.

"Tonight, we will achieve what no one before us has ever attempted. We will summon and imprison Death."

You, Alex, and Dr. Hathaway stood off to the side so as not to disturb the ritual. Alex took notice of your trembling and silently held your hand in his. You looked over at him and offered him a meek yet thankful smile, a small tremor coursing through you as Roderick began to chant. His disciples were quick to join in.

"Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness."

Roderick began laying down the necessary offerings, his followers chanting the same mantra over and over again.

"I give you a coin made from a stone. I give you a knife from under the hills, and I give you the blood from out of my veins." He proceeded to use the knife to make a slit in his arm, allowing the small droplets of blood to drip into the circle.

You stared on in anticipation, your mouth hanging slightly in awe at the spectacle you were witnessing. Dr. Hathaway got closer to you two, placing a hand on each of your shoulders and keeping you close in the event that things went sideways.

"I give you a song I stole from the dirt, and I give you a feather pulled from an angel's wing for you to lift up into the heavens."

The feather floated to the cold cement ground, delicately landing in the center of the binding circle. Seconds later, the white feather began to levitate by some greater force from beyond, spinning around in the air while the chants continued in the background.

You and Alex were quick to wriggle your way out of the Doctor's hold and get closer to the magical display.

"I summon you with poison!" boomed Roderick, the feather bursting into flames before disappearing along with all the light in the room given by the little flames that danced on various candles.

"I summon you with pain!"

The grimoire's stained pages began to wildly flip on their own.

"I open the way, I open the gates!" howled the Magus, wind whipping ferociously.

The binding circle began to turn a fiery shade of gold, slowly infecting its way into all the little lines and crevices drawn.

"I summon you in the names of the old lords! Namtar, Allatu, Morax… Maborym calls you! Horvendile calls you!" his voice progressively increased in volume, the chants growing louder along with it.

A blob of violently thrashing black and bronze light began convulsing in the air above the circle, spasming in and out in thorns.

"We summon you together. Come!" Roderick ended with a final bellow, and from the massive cloud of black rolling above their heads shot out a blinding light.

The odd substance turned into something that landed on the ground with a sickening thud. The shocked gasps of the people in the room echoed off the walls at the sight of an odd figure lying on the floor, the snuffed-out candles lighting up once more with little flames.

You leaned in even closer. In the center of the binding circle lay an odd creature wearing a helm akin to a plague mask, a ruby hanging from its neck, and a small leather pouch. The unconscious figure sported a lengthy black coat that fanned out around it.

You had never seen anything quite like it, and yet you found yourself intrigued by the sprawled-out mystery. Had Roderick Burgess really captured Death?

Roderick kneeled down next to the creature to grab its pouch before thinking twice and looking towards his son. He wasn't going to risk his life like that. What kind of fool did you think he was?

"Alex."

At the lack of response from the surprised boy, he asked again with a motion of his pale hand to come closer.

"Alex!"

You looked over at the scared young boy with a glimmer of fear shining in your eyes, creases forming from your furrowed brows. Before he could go over to his father, you gripped his wrist.

"Be careful, okay?" you said meekly, scared of what could possibly happen to him.

He gave you a small smile and a nod, but you could feel his fear through the trembling in his hand. Nonetheless, his need to prove himself to the sorcerer overpowered his own need for self-preservation.

Roderick kneeled down next to his son before pointing at the pouch clutched between the being's hand.

"Get that pouch for me. But be careful. Don't break the binding circle."

Alex retrieved the pouch and handed it to his father.

"Hm, sand. Now the jewel. There, good," he said inquisitively after discovering the contents of the small bag, making Alex fetch the ruby for him as well.

"Well, let's see what other treasures you have for us," crooned Mr. Burgess, a wicked smile full of yellowed teeth stretching its way across his unshaven face, only to twist into an irritated sneer once he peeled back the being's coat to reveal a raven.

"The bird!" he yelled as the small raven ambushed him with its sharp talons, his arms flailing about before the bird gave up on its pursuit and exited the basement.

You walked up to the very edge of the binding circle to see the contorted, heaving figure of a slender, pale man lying on the floor as if caving in on himself, stripped of all his belongings except for his helm.

"(Y/N)! You seem quite interested in our guest. Why don't you take off his helm for me? Be careful with the circle," Roderick egged you on.

You hesitantly tiptoed into the binding circle, cautious not to alter any of the lines. You weren't sure what frightened you more: the helpless being inside the binding circle or Mr. Burgess' wrath if you didn't do what he asked of you.

"I'm really sorry about this," you whispered to the figure. Everything in your body screamed that what you were doing was wrong, that this was inhumane, but you could feel Roderick's stare digging holes into your back while you bent down to remove the helm. You couldn't disappoint him, couldn't disappoint Alex.

You gently peeled the ugly thing off the man's head before turning and handing it to a grinning Roderick. You stepped out of the binding circle and glanced back at the man. His sweaty hands trembled from the effort of trying to stop you from handing over his helm, the poor thing barely conscious.

You and Alex shared a look before looking over at his father, brows furrowed with mouths downturned in concern. The man paid you two no mind, only smiling greedily as he admired the helm in his possession.

"We'll let our guest recover before we tell him our demands. Guards, watch him," he said, turning on his heel before leaving the basement with his followers trailing closely behind.

You stayed glued to the edge of the circle, staring at the naked man with regret washing over you like a tidal wave, threatening to pull you under. He looked cold. Exhaustion and desperation were written along the lines of his unconscious face, pleading to take back what was his and to leave that wretched place in which he had suddenly found himself.

"(Y/N), let's go. Father will get mad if we stay here," quipped Alex, snapping you out of your thoughts.

He took your small hand in his before leading you towards the exit, not wanting to upset his father by taking too long.

You could feel the knot of guilt writhing in the pits of your stomach as you shot one last saddened glance at the man before shutting the wooden door behind you.

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honeyxbunny99 · 10 months ago

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Sandor Clegane~ The Bitch and The Hound pt. 1

You bit your tongue as you scrubbed at King Joffrey's stinking royal feet. The taste of blood and pain mingling in your mouth was the only thing strong enough to distract you from your own humiliation in this moment. You could blame Joffrey Baratheon, the foolish demon before you. You stole a glance upwards only for your eyes to quickly flit back down in shame when you saw his thin lips curled up in a wiry smile, hatred in his blue eyes, and it was all directed at you. No, not all the blame on him. Your father.

Your father was to blame, that damned fool. He was the reason you were in this mess in the first place. Once your father had been charming, or so you were told. A traveling magician who settled in King's Landing when your beautiful mother opened her legs to him one night. Truly, the greatest trick he'd ever pulled was bedding your mother. She was said to be the most beautiful woman in the Reach once, before she was trafficked to marry another noble. One fateful stop for the night, wine, and slight of hand, and you came into existence. You, who were once not even a thought, were suddenly a big problem. She was found with your father and bloody sheets and thrown out into the cold. She bore your stupid father one more child, a girl, before she couldn't handle her life any longer, and ended it herself.

~Good riddance.~ You used to think sometimes. ~How could you leave us?~ You thought all other times.

YOU were now the most beautiful girl in King's Landing, or as your father would bolster, in all the Seven Kingdoms. He had made it his mission in life to improve your family's circumstances, through no work of his own. No, your family's future depended entirely on your pretty face. Barely 17, you had developed a reputation around town for your beauty, and your mystery. You were not allowed to walk about unescorted, but your family had no money. Your father would walk you everywhere, keeping his prize close to his chest at all times. You were no fool; you knew you were beautiful by the way people's heads turned in the streets. By the way shopkeepers offered you items freely and how many men would come knocking on your father's door asking for your hand.

Some men had been handsome, some had many prospects. And yet, your father turned them all away, wanting, no, needing, only the best. ~A fool~, you thought as you opened your mouth to wince, drinking in your own blood from your harsh bite on your tongue.

He is the reason you were here, presented before the young king in your finest dress.

~~"Your grace, what she lacks in title, she many times over supplements with her beauty, her kindness, and her intell--"

"That dog?" Joffrey started, looking between you and your father with a disgusted look that you had never seen before. "You've come to my castle to bring me a bitch? To what, to fuck, to marry, to kill?"

Your heart sank to your stomach as you listened to his harsh words. "Y-Your grace, it was my daughter's greatest wish to meet you. She can only dream of calling you her husband..." You watched your father take a step back in apprehension. Joffrey said nothing, only raised his eyebrows as if in wait of a punchline. "(Y/n) is the greatest beauty in all of the Seven Kingdoms, and she wishes to be your wife now and alw--"

The Boy King erupted with laughter. He doubled over in his chair, slapping his knee for effect. Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and you glanced at the crowd surrounding you. Some laughed along with the boy king, others hid their face in embarrassment for you and your cause, but most were stoic, waiting for Joffrey's next move.

The King stood finally and pointed his dainty finger at you.

"This bitch is not fit to kiss my boot! You have brought shame on your family, ser, but not nearly enough. You see, I can't simply allow everyone to waste the king's time like this. Your family name is what, I've already forgotten?"

"(L/n) ... Your grace." Your father's voice was low. This had not gone at all how he had been expecting.

"(L/n) ... Well, my good man, I truly believe you will succeed in what you came here to do today. You came to make a name for yourself, and your whore daughter." As Joffrey spoke, you looked at the people around him. His mother, useless. His Head of the Kings Guard, an abuser just like him. And The Hound, his protector from childhood. Not one of them could end this miserable moment. "Today, no one shall forget the name (L/n)."

As he finished speaking you realized he was right in front of you. He reached his hand up and turned your face with it, examining you. You held your breath, nails digging into your palms behind your back.

"Hmm..." He looked you up and down, licking his lips fiendishly. "You are not fit to kiss my boot, but perhaps you could make use of yourself by washing my feet."

Your brow furrowed in confusion and the boy's smile grew. "Someone bring this bitch a sponge and water."

"Your grace, I--"

"Ah, she speaks!" He cried out, looking at his followers for approval. Laughter followed and you saw someone dart off to fetch the items. "I don't like the sound of your voice. If I hear it again, your father will take the blows."

He stalked up the steps to the Iron Throne again with Pride. You stood frozen. "Well, take off my boots." He said lazily.

"Your Grace, I do not wish to offend--" "Then don't, bitch... Your father said it was your greatest wish to be mine, or are you calling your father a liar... Lying to the king is an act of treason, and I don't mind reminding the court of the punishment for such crimes... Is your father a liar?"

"No." You said breathlessly. Tears pricked at your eyes at the thought.

"Then today should be a dream come true for you... You get to touch your beloved king."

You looked back at your father, and out towards the freedom behind him.

"Ser Merryn, pull her father to the side and bring forward my next citizen." Just then the man returned with a sponge and a bucket full of soapy water and forced it into your hands, the water splashing on your gown, making the king laugh.

You struggled internally for a moment before your feet walked forward on their own. The king stared you down as you knelt at his feet, finally resolving to wink at you before his attention was drawn to another subject complaining.

You tuned it all out as best you could and focused on the task at hand.~~

Finally, as you were drying your king's feet, he tutted at you and looked down. "You really are worthless, aren't you? You've missed a spot!" You squinted in confusion as the king brought his right foot closer to your face. Suddenly your face scrunched up tightly in pain as Joffrey kicked you hard in the nose. You fell back on your ass and slid down a couple steps as a result. Joffrey chuckled quickly as you panted and held your nose to stop the bleeding. He made a show of tying up his shoes while the court was silent, before standing and grabbing your bucket. He walked slowly towards you and raised the bucket over your head, then dumping the dirty water on your head. You gasped and choked on your own blood. Tears could flow freely now, as the water would mask it anyways. You stood quickly, not even thinking.

"FUCK YOU!" You screamed. The boy's eyes widened. "Fuck you and your incestuous mother, you pathetic little shit!"

Ser Merryn marched forward at you as you heard your father shout scoldings and apologies. You blocked your face, but he hit you anyway. You stumbled back but did not fall.

"Ser Merryn! I said her father would take the blows!" The boy king retorted. The knight marched back over and whacked your father hard with the hilt of his sword 3 times. You dared not look away from the king.

"Stop!... Ser, you came here today to improve your circumstances... And you, bitch, to find a husband worthy of your beauty. I am nothing if not a generous king, and I understand the needs of my people." He smirked, a fire in his eyes. "So, I will grant you your requests... Your circumstances shall improve, knowing you no longer have a bitch around to mooch off your family. And you," he smiled, biting his bottom lip, "You shall have a worthy husband... And who more worthy for a bitch, than a hound?!?" His voice was deranged, and he raised his arms up, demanding approval from his court. He did not receive it.

"Hound!" He called and you watched his guard dog snap straighter in attention. "Come collect your bitch. You will wed tomorrow."

You watched in terror as the giant marched up to you, his hair hardly hiding the burns marring his face, scowl ever present.

"But--"

"Didn't I tell you that I hated the sound of your voice?! You will hold your tongue, or I will cut out your father's."

The hound grabbed your shoulder roughly and you pressed back against it, trying to push his hand off. He growled and picked you up to throw you over his shoulder. You winced at the change in pressure for your throbbing head but kept your mouth as quiet as possible in fear of further punishment. The hound began walking off, until he snapped back around at the final words you heard from Joffrey. "Don't forget to break her in rough!"

You trembled in the hound's hold. His pace was quick, and your face burned with anger and shame as he paraded you about the halls of The Red Keep, marching you to God knows where. Servants looked at you with fear and sympathy clear in their faces and you let out a small, choked sob.

Suddenly you were dropped down to your feet in front of a great door. The Hound opened it wordlessly and shoved you in. He quickly shut it again before you could say a word, and you heard the lock click into place. You bolted over to the small window and looked down. There was no hope of escaping. You tried to steady your breathing and made note of things around the room but there wasn't much. You walked slowly into the next room, a bathroom, and noticed your reflection in a very broken mirror.

Your sobs racked your body when you studied your face, bloody, dirty, wet, worried. You crumpled down to the floor and rocked yourself back and forth as you cried. That night was spent alone, cowering in fear in the bathroom. The Hound never once walked back in.

In the morning you blinked your eyes open in surprise when a woman entered the bedroom. "Miss (L/n)?" The strange woman called, scanning the room. She rushed over to the window, as if worried you had somehow thrown yourself out of it. You came up behind her, back still flush against the wall, and said "I'm here." She gasped and smiled softly, hand clutching her chest.

"Goodness, you gave me a fright." You winced at her words, remembering your face. You could still feel your heartbeat in your nose, and your right eye's vision was smaller than your left; a result of the backhand you'd earned from Ser Merryn.

"I-I'm here to help you dress for the day, Milady." She sensed your discomfort and matched it with her own.

"I don't need help." You retorted rudely.

"I don't make the rules, I only follow them. Queen Mother Cersei has instructed that the rules for today are to dress you, feed you, and prepare you for your wedding night."

Your heart thudded faster in your chest, and you tried not to let your panic show. "Very Well." No use in fighting. You loosened the ties on the back of your dress and she rushed over behind you. "Let me help." She insisted. You thought of your sister, who you would normally dress with, and wondered if you would ever see her again. You wondered if your father already had, or if he was dead or locked away too. Either way, for certain you knew you were now a prisoner. A forced marriage to a monstrous man awaited you. You bit your lip and breathed quickly through your nose.

"Hey," the woman said, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder and walking around to face you. "It does not have to be so terrible..." She tried to make you feel better. "You are here, in one piece. That is more than can be said for those that came after you... You really pissed the King off yesterday, you know."

"Whatever suffering Joffrey caused after me was his own doing, not mine and I--"

"Milady, calm down. I am not blaming you for anything. No one should. You said what we've all thought one time or another..." She smiled softly at you and your brow twitched. "The King is a monster... But your husband does not have to be."

She continued on as she dressed you, informing you how easily men can be manipulated into softness by their women. "Your beauty and your gentleness are weapons against a dog like him. Even wild dogs enjoy being pet." She winked.

You let out a noise between a laugh and a scoff. "I am to be, in the words of his Highness, broken in rough. By a man people call a mad dog. Whatever beauty I had cannot save me now. My gentleness will be my undoing." You said coldly. The girl shook her head. "Perhaps... Come, there will be breakfast in the garden."

Over breakfast you got to know the servant girl, called Anna, deeper although it took a great effort as she was not used to talking about herself. She even made you smile in spite of yourself. You did not eat of your own accord, only when she would force food into your hand, and say that you would need your strength.

"Do you know how it works?" Anna said after some silence.

"What?"

"Sex? Breaking in?"

Your eyes widened and you looked around the garden for eavesdroppers. She didn't seem amused. You cleared your throat. "My father could be a very crass man. Unfortunately, I have seen the act firsthand, when he was keeping my sister awake one night. Still, he wanted to preserve me as best he could."

"So, you ARE a virgin?" She raised her brows.

"Of course."

She brought her hands up to hold her face, as she looked almost embarrassed or nervous for you. "Well, if you can handle the hound, you should be able to handle anybody."

You reflected on his size and felt the heat return to your face. "I'm terrified..." You confided. "I don't know all the cruel things men can do, and I never wanted to..." Your eyes welled with tears and your hands began to clam up and shake. "Do you think he will kill me?" You choked out.

Anna got on her knees before you and took her handkerchief and dabbed at your face. "Oh, my lady, no, no, he will not kill you. Joffrey has not ordered him to do so, so he will not."

"But he will be rough."

"Yes, I imagine even gentle sex is rough with him... I am so sorry, (y/n). I do not envy your position, but know that I will see you the next morning and help you wash his filth off of you... Just try to close your eyes and imagine yourself somewhere else."

You chuckled sadly and nodded. You took a deep breath and stood as you heard the large clock strike noon. You were to be married in 4 hours. You had to start getting ready. You grabbed Anna's hand tightly and followed her back to the room.

Later, things flowed as expected. There was a girl to do your hair, and one to fit you into a simple wedding dress. You tried with what little makeup they provided to hide how swollen your face was and highlight your eyes. Father always said it was one of your best features. Every girl is meant to feel beautiful on her wedding day, and yet as you walked down the aisle to your husband in a suit of armor and King Joffrey holding back laughter, you felt like a true clown. You said your vows, and your husband grunted out his. It was only then during the ceremony that you learned your husband's true name: Sandor Clegane. And now you were Lady Clegane.

You sat silently beside your husband at the wedding feast. No one came up to congratulate you, and you didn't want them to. This was, after all, a punishment. Eventually you heard the voice of your father pipe up from across the room. He was laughing with some other nobleman you'd never seen. You furrowed your brows in confusion and anger and stood abruptly, causing your husband to glance at you. You paid him no mind and instead walked across the room to find him.

"Ah, (y/n)!" He was loud, drunk. You saw the bruising on his face. "You looked beautiful as always, my darling. A truly happy day!" He said, truly jovial. You scowled at him, wanted to hit him.

"A happy day?" You asked, venom in your voice. "Do you have any idea what you've cursed me to?! Your stupidity, your pride, your--" "That's enough." He grabbed your wrist tightly. "You've cursed yourself, you insolent girl." He whispered angrily in your ear. "If you had only shut up and let me do the talking, maybe you would be home right now. Maybe your sister would not have to carry on your burdens!"

You winced audibly and twisted your arm. Your father grabbed your face and turned you forward to look at your husband, who was already looking at you from across the room, expression truly unreadable. "Your tongue got you into this. Your fiery spirit... I've heard the hound LOVES fire." Truly, your father had never quite been this cruel to you. You must have truly embarrassed him. "You made your bed." He spat in your ear. "Now go and lie in it."

With that you were released and walked quickly back to your seat. Sandor's eyes followed you the entire way, but when you sat down beside him and tried to meet his eyes face-to-face, he turned his head away. You blew a sharp breath out through your nose in humiliation. Your eyes were then directed to his hands, the way he tore apart a leg of chicken, his large meaty fingers relentlessly prying. Your stomach flipped on its own and you tried to chug your wine.

Later that evening, at the king's insistence, Clegane carried you bridal style all the way to your room as his laughter echoed behind you. You tried not to, but you were shaking like a leaf. Even the alcohol could not dull your nerves. He set you down gently inside the room and you walked slowly to the bed. There was a great silence after he closed the door and locked it. You took deep breaths and tried to remember all that Anna had told you to prepare you. He turned around to look at you and leaned back against the heavy wooden door, arms crossed over his chest. Your eyes raked over him. Truly, if he wasn't so terrifying, he might be attractive. You tried to list his positives.

Tall, strong, gruff voice, very likely well-endowed, loyal... Who he was loyal to was another issue entirely, but perhaps like Anna said, you could work him into your favor. His eyes focused on all the different parts of you.

You licked your lips in preparation of your speech, truly the first words you would ever speak to him outside of your wedding vows.

"Would you like to take off my dress?" You asked meekly, reaching for the laces on the back yourself.

His face hardened almost unnoticeably. It was very dark in the room, but you could still make out his expressions--deciphering them was another task entirely beyond you.

"Aye. I would, actually." He spoke lowly. "Let's get this over with." He stepped quickly over to you, and you tried not to flinch. Your face almost collided with his chest plate as his hands made quick work on the dress at your back. A shiver ran down your spine at the closeness and you closed your eyes. Suddenly you felt him ball the fabric at your sides in his fist, he growled and tore the dress open. The sound of it ripping sent a shock wave through you and you gasped, hands coming up instinctively onto his hands to stop him. You looked up at him through your lashes in fear. ~My God, he IS rough.~

Your hands did nothing to stop him as he tore the dress down your sides, leaving you in your underclothes.

"Shut up," he said gruffly. You stood in your sheer garment and your body tensed. He picked you up and threw you onto the bed. You yelped at this and finally felt the familiar prickling in our eyes.

"Please" You begged for nothing.

"Shut up, I said." He stood at the edge of the bed and looked only at your face. "Take that off." He ordered, and you dared not disobey. You pulled the dress off over your head and covered your breasts instinctively with your arms. Sandor Clegane, however, still, made no apparent effort to see your exposed body.

Instead, he took the armor off of his arms and withdrew his sword from its keep at his waist. Your mouth opened in terror.

He's going to kill me. He climbed onto the bed with you and grabbed the underdress you had discarded nearby. Then he surprised you again, taking his sword to his own forearm and cutting the top of it. You gasped as he started to poor blood. Your gentleness took over your confusion and fear and you reached out to him to try to stop the bleeding. He growled at you viciously and you retreated your hands. You watched him from the edge of the bed. He directed his blood flow to the crotch of your dress, and the proceeded to smear it around the bed. Your heart had never beat so fast, and you felt faint.

He tossed your clothes aside and covered his wound, walking to the bathroom to wash it off. Your chest heaved, repeating the scene in your mind.

~That was not sex.~

"W-What the hell was that?" You called out, still frozen on the bed.

"Don't worry, girl. That's the most action you'll be getting from me."

You frowned; confusion only intensified. "B-But why?" You begged.

He walked around the corner, revealing himself again. "You are a virgin, aren't you?" He asked, as though you were dumb. Perhaps you were dumb. "Ah hell, it doesn't matter. You'd bleed from ME even if you were a well-trained whore."

He blew out snot onto the floor and proceeded to take the rest of his armor off in the bathroom. Your heartbeat steadily slowed to a somewhat normal pace.

"They'll be coming in the morning to check the sheets. To see what all I've done to you." He said casually.

"You won't touch me?" Your voice was still thick with apprehension.

The Hound scoffed and sneered. "You think I want to?"

You blushed and covered yourself again as he finally looked you up and down.

"Maybe I ought to..." He surprised you, and a lump formed in your throat. He approached slowly. Now that his armor was removed you could see him in his plain clothes; see and smell the sweat under his arms. The musk that emanated off of a man after a long day. You trembled and closed yourself up as much as you could without cowering. "Come here, girl." He mumbled and grabbed your ankle, pulling it toward him. You shouted weakly and slapped him, though he didn't flinch a bit.

He was on top of you in an instant, legs closed in tight around your hips as he took both of your wrists easily in one of his own. He raised and pinned them up above your head on the bed and you whimpered, his face close to yours. The pace of your heart quickened again as you squirmed beneath him, but you did not yell, did not cry. He looked down at you, grip becoming bruising on your wrists. You moaned in pain, and he scrunched his face up at the sight of you.

"Look at me, bitch!" He demanded, a bit of spit flying from his mouth onto yours.

"I am!" You called back, eyes locked onto his face. He took your throat in his other hand while the rest of his body kept you powerless against him.

"What do you see?!" His voice was bellowing, and his eyes glared down at you. "A monster--"

"My Husband!" You answered, simultaneously. His hard expression broke and his grip on your neck loosened, though truthfully it wasn't tight to begin with. He pulled himself back from you a bit, slowly, and his eyes left yours to drift over the sheets. "I know you don't know me, don't like me. Hurt me if you have to! But you're my husband now, the only man I'll ever have, and I intend to make the best of it..."

His face twisted into a grimace and his hand on your throat tightened again, making it difficult to breathe.

"I'm not your husband, you stupid little girl." He chided. "I'm your damnation! I am your life sentence, but you are not mine. Weak little girls don't last long around here, especially when they don't know when to shut the fuck up!" His words were harsh, but his voice was low, like he didn't want anyone else to hear but you.

Your eyes studied his face as he let you go. He got off of you quickly and sat at the side of the bed. You stayed laying down for a while, silently counting your blessings.

"If you are a monster, why did you hurt yourself instead of me?" You couldn't hold it in any longer. "Monsters don't know sacrifice..."

He side-eyed you, breathing through his mouth like a true brute. You sat up, rubbing your wrists together to soothe them. "You don't want to hurt me."

"You want me to hurt you MORE, is that it? You crazy, stupid, fucking cunt." He shook his head.

"I don't want more pain... But, am I..." You looked down at yourself, then residing to cover yourself with your underdress once again, as bloodied as it was. You were feeling incredibly insecure, something you weren't accustomed to. You turned heads, made men and women and children smile at just the sight of you, and even you yourself thought you were above average all dolled up for the big day. He made you feel ugly without saying a word.

Imagine that. Someone deformed like him and a supposed beauty like you, joined in matrimony. And he will not touch you. Does not want to touch you. In that moment you felt so much smaller than he. You sighed, feeling more comfortable now that you were covered. You looked him in the eyes until he was staring back at you.

"I am sorry that you are punished with me... I realize you also had no choice in this marriage, and well..." You trailed off, not even sure where you were going with this. "You have been kind. And dutiful, and loyal to your king in spite of the monstrous little shit that he is." You tested, seeing if he would hurt you further. Instead, you saw the smallest crack of a smirk pull on his lips. You looked down abashedly. "I will do my best to be a good partner to you, in whatever capacity you need me..."

He said nothing for the longest time, and you looked up at him once again, in curiosity. He was studying your face in the moonlight. "Are you quite fucking finished?" You nodded quickly. "You talk too much." He chided.

You couldn't believe it. You breathed out a laugh and he rolled his eyes. He stood and pulled one of the fur blankets off of the bed.

"Maybe try sleeping in the bed tonight instead of the room I shit in."

You blushed and furrowed your brows at him as he crouched down on the floor, smoothing out the blanket as if it were bedding. Your mouth gaped as he laid down on the floor, closing his eyes.

"Ser, this is--" "My Lord. It's my lord, when people hear you talking to me, that's what you say. I'm not a ser and I never will be. I ain't no fucking knight..." He paused licking his lips. "But now I'm your husband. To Joffrey and everyone else in the Red Keep, that's what I am. In this room, with me, you can speak freely. Call me what I am. A dog." You leaned over the bed, studying him as he spoke with his eyes closed. He looked so vulnerable down there. "Just don't go on and on." He chided again.

"Get some sleep. I won't touch ya."

You wanted to speak, but did not know what to say. He rolled over anyways, his back towards you. Finally, you resolved to lie on your back. You closed your eyes and truly believed he would not touch you. You had no fear of it throughout the night.

The strangest thing, however, was your desire for it. Your dreams that night twisted reality.

~ You were back in that bed, Sandor on top of you, barking down in his usual dog way. Wrists in his grasp, breathing controlled by his pressure on your throat. Your mind, however, changed his form to sink his mouth down onto yours. He swallowed your moans with his kisses and his hand went from your throat to your pert breasts. He squeezed and groaned into your mouth. Finally, he released your hands, and they went straight to his hair, pressing his kiss even harder into yours. "Call me husband again!" He growled when he pulled away, string of saliva connecting you. ~

"Lady Clegane, are you hurt badly?" Anna's voice woke you and you sat up quickly in bed. You watched her rush over to your bedside, and you nearly warned her to avoid stepping on Sandor, but you quickly realized his blanket was back on the bed and he was nowhere to be found.

"Hmm, what?" You asked, still confused.

"You were whimpering in your sleep!" Anna explained, looking over you. She gasped lightly at the sight of your neck. "Oh my lady, I am so sorry." She grabbed your hands and slowly led you to the bathroom, where you saw a tub steaming. "It's always the worst the first time, remember. But boy, he really did a number on you." She lifted the dress up over your head slowly, leaving you naked. "I'll launder these with the sheets, My Lady."

You watched her carry your bloody dress away and found yourself in the broken mirror again. You saw the bruising around your neck and almost felt a thrill. To everyone else, your husband had set up quite the convincing show, and yet he kept your dignity intact. As you slipped into the bath and Anna droned on about the day, trying to distract you, you wondered if Sandor Clegane would ever touch you in the true ways husbands touch their wives. You wondered deeper, why you suddenly wanted him to.

#sandor clegane #game of thrones #the hound x reader #the hound smut #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane smut #sandor clegane fanfic #game of thrones fanfiction #rory mccann #short story

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artist-ellen · 1 year ago

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Young Rhaenyra

It's happening! At least a year after Season 1 is relevant I'm finally starting the House of the Dragon series. Like before I'm probably going to just do the ladies, men's fashion in the show has it's weird moments but it isn't my field of interest/expertise so I'll burn out pretty fast if I have to draw that many pants.

We're starting from the beginning with Rhaenyra's yellow dress. The idea of the dress is fine... but the choice of fabric and finishings really undercut her status and character. Supposedly there was a fabric shortage when the show was starting which affected the costuming decisions but I am going to have opinions on how the final product looks. It's understandable for example if a student ran into technical difficulties, but it doesn't mean a lower quality end result wouldn't affect their grade. Anyway there are a LOT of costumes in the series that bewilder me. Especially with the amount of costumes that resemble Spirit Halloween purchases, the fabric often looks too thin or cheap, the appliqués are sometimes painful... and the world-building through clothing makes no sense (watch Sumalee Eaton on clock app for a professional's review with more detail).

Speaking of world building one of the reasons I put this design challenge off for so long was that in my first ASOIAF redesigns I referenced clothing and fashion across different time periods. So when HotD is set ~200 years before ASOIAF... the answer of when/what to base things off of gets real complicated. While keeping up with the reactions to HotD as it aired I came across Sumalee Eaton’s review of the costumes and they recommended that the show lean into its Byzantine inspiration. Every once in the a while the show will have a costume that references a sort of kokoshnik or mantle...but then sabotages itself with either unlined fabric or some haute couture thing.

This is getting too ramble-y, sorry. This is her yellow dress if it leaned into Byzantine fashion, if it reveled in the wealth of the Targaryens with gems and jewelry that are worn with their everyday wear. It's casual, the shape feels appropriately young and unserious but royal all the same. (And before anyone worries this is not an April fools joke, I really am doing a Season 1 redesign series)

I am the artist! Do not post without permission & credit! Thank you! Come visit me over on: instagram, tiktok or check out my coloring book available now \ („• ֊ •„) /

https://linktr.ee/ellen.artistic

#rhaenyra targaryen #team black #fire and blood #house of the dragon #redesigning hotd #ellenart #ellen artistic #character design #digital illustration #costume design #historically inspired #byzantine targaryens #house targaryen

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allthefoolmine · 1 year ago

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Happy season 3 of young royals to all who celebrate!

(It’s me I’m celebrating)

On to episode 5, which I didn’t watch this weekend due to knocking my computer off my couch and cracking the screen about ten minutes in. Totally my fault, but I also want compensation from Lisa Ambjörn personally, y’know?

Anyway, on to episode 5! Hope all who have finished the season enjoyed themselves, and looking forward to getting there myself.

Reactions / commentary / flailing (please dear God let me not break my computer this time) under the cut for spoilers / avoidance purposes.

- oh god the opening of this episode. Why did August tell him that about Erik. Why?! What was the point of that? It just seems needlessly cruel.

- and Wilhelm not telling Simon. Will he ever? This fool says nah, our crown prince is not in good-decisions-mode.

- August is such a shit! Vincent is a total dick, but blowing him off in that smug and dismissive way…legos underfoot are too good for him. Thumbtacks? Marbles? PORCUPINES?

- having just said I hope August has something very painful and embarrassing happen to him, I do really want to know what’s up with his letter.

- so hard to see Wilhelm and his Dad talking about Erik. Which begs the question—why does Wilhelm believe August without question? It really seems like he just accepts this information about this brother and I’m not sure I understand it.

- Wilhelm turning down Simon’s call. BAD DECISIONS MODE activated, huh? Oh, and now we’re quitting choir??? Buddy, sunshine, pal, YOUR LOVELY BOYFRIEND IS RIGHT THERE TO TALK TO HIM. (I wasn’t expecting him to actually to do it? He talked! And Simon said something helpful! And Wilhelm just, wow, buddy, wow. That stupidity is gonna come bite you.)

- fucksSAKE August, leave Sara ALONE.

- oh we get friendship time with Felice, oh good.

- Good luck Sara! OH. NO. Very upsetting to see her father let her down like that.

- Simon looks so cute in a suit! And his Mom continues to be everything you would want a mom to be. “It shouldn’t be this hard” is such an important message.

- Simon, good, yes, hug your sister! You two need to be friends again please!

- oh seeing Wilhelm remove the purple nail polish, my friends I am in PAIN.

- oh some CUTENESS. the birthday muffin! The birthday muffin! The birthday muffin, I may yet live.

- “maybe it was stupid to tell you about Erik” YA THINK ASSHOLE?!?

- oh the sports foundation SUCKS. Give the man an LGTBQ charity PLEASE.

- oh the weird birthday song. Bless them they are trying! I love Simon’s little look of wtf through it all. Perfect.

- August is a complete mystery. Going to the party after being sent home like that? I for one would not. I’d be on tumblr, licking my wounds, or something. Instead he’s chugging red wine in a white suit.

- I like the “tale of two dinners” format

- Simon is doing his best but I can only imagine how hard this is for him.

- August “leave her alone” challenge. You absolute walnut.

- I would not have hugged him, I would have punched him. Sara is much nicer than me.

- Wilhelm, I get that you’re having a crisis but think about someone other than yourself, *please*. Simon does not deserve to deal with your family shit without your support! Simon, you do the right thing for you, buddy! You go home!

- Simon’s side eye when Wilhelm goes off is everything.

- Simon, gtfo, love. This is above your pay grade.

- “love shouldn’t be this hard”

For everyone who has sat with that for a week…oof.

Ow.

#a fool watches young royals #young royals #young royals season 3 #young royals s3 #young royals s3 ep5 #simon eriksson #crown prince wilhelm #wilhelm x simon #young royals spoilers

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novaursa · 7 months ago

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The Second Daughter

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Note: This is a sneak peek into a story that will take over after Between Pride and Fire.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: the princess and the lion

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

Excerpts from Fire and Blood: The Life of Y/N Targaryen

The Birth of Y/N Targaryen (99 AC)

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"It was on the night of a full moon, under skies alight with silver, that Lady Aemma Arryn gave birth to her second child at the manse in King's Landing. The labor was long and fraught, though Lady Aemma endured with the stoic grace for which she was known. When the hour of the bat arrived, the child came forth—a girl, pale-haired and lilac-eyed, with all the hallmarks of her Valyrian lineage. The babe, whom her parents would name Y/N, was the picture of perfection save for one cruel twist of fate: she did not see."

Mushroom, the fool, provides his account:

"When the baby first let out her wail, King Viserys (though not yet a king, mind you) burst into the birthing chamber. He had expected a boy, as men often do, but the sight of his daughter softened him at once. I saw him hold her, weeping openly, calling her ‘my little star.’ But the joy turned to sorrow before the sun rose. The maesters whispered their findings to the King and Queen—little Y/N was blind. Her lilac eyes, though beautiful as a spring morn, would never see the world around her. The joy in that room turned as cold as a long winter’s night."

Lady Aemma, overcome with grief, clutched the babe to her chest, her tears mingling with her husband's. Yet despite this sorrow, Y/N was loved fiercely by her parents. "She will never see the world," Viserys said, "but she will feel its love."

The Accession of King Viserys I (103 AC)

Grand Maester Mellos records:

"Upon the passing of the Old King Jaehaerys I in 103 AC, Viserys ascended to the Iron Throne. Y/N, though but four years old, was present at her father’s coronation, sitting quietly beside her elder sister, Rhaenyra, who delighted in the pageantry. Y/N, by contrast, showed little interest in the pomp of court life, even at so young an age. Though blind, she was said to have a preternatural sense of calm, often described as ‘otherworldly.’”

Mushroom recalls:

"Even as a babe, Y/N seemed to find no pleasure in the games of court. She clung to her mother’s skirts or her sister’s hand, never crying, never laughing as the other children did. Her blindness marked her apart, but so too did her gentleness. ‘Aemma’s grace reborn,’ the lords would whisper. Little did they know how much Viserys would favor her, sparing her from the demands placed upon her elder sister. Rhaenyra learned to charm and command, while Y/N was left to dream in her quiet world of dark."

The Bonding with Silverwing (108 AC)

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"It was during the royal family’s visit to Dragonstone in 108 AC that Y/N Targaryen, then but nine years of age, performed a feat that astonished even the most seasoned Dragonkeepers. Drawn to the abandoned dragon Silverwing, once ridden by Queen Alysanne, Y/N approached her in Dragonmont. Those who witnessed it spoke of how the child sang to the dragon in High Valyrian, her voice carrying a melody so hauntingly beautiful that it seemed the dragon wept. Silverwing, known for her gentle nature, bent her great head to the blind girl, allowing her to touch her snout. From that moment forth, Y/N was counted as a dragonrider, though she could not see the skies she now commanded."

Mushroom, ever dramatic, adds:

"When Y/N sang, even the stones seemed to shiver. I swear on my twisted back, I saw Silverwing shed a tear as she lowered herself to the girl. ‘She knows her rider,’ said the Dragonkeepers, and I believed it. How could I not? Y/N could not see, but she felt the dragon’s heart, and that was enough."

Her Life at Court

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"As Y/N grew, her beauty became a topic of much admiration. Her pale hair, always intricately braided by her own hand, and her serene demeanor earned her the adoration of lords and ladies alike. Yet, she remained a rare sight at court, preferring the solitude of the gardens or the companionship of her sister, Rhaenyra. King Viserys, protective of his second daughter, seldom required her presence at formal functions. When she did appear, her soft-spoken nature and gentle grace captivated all who met her."

Ser Lorent Marbrand, her sworn shield since childhood, was ever at her side, guiding her through the halls of the Red Keep and beyond. “She has no need of sight,” Ser Lorent once said. “She sees with her heart, and that is sharper than any blade.”

Mushroom, however, whispers of her loneliness:

"Though the court praised her beauty and grace, Y/N was no fool. She knew she was overlooked in favor of her elder sister. Rhaenyra, the Realm’s Delight, drew suitors like moths to a flame, while Y/N’s blindness and quiet demeanor made her an afterthought to many. Yet, those who truly knew her—her sister, her father, and even her dragon—held her in the highest regard."

The Princess and the Black Mare

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"When Princess Y/N turned ten, her father, King Viserys, gifted her a black mare of remarkable intelligence. The horse, trained by the finest horsemasters in the realm, was taught to respond to subtle cues, guiding her blind rider with unmatched care. Though Y/N was hesitant at first, under the watchful eye of Ser Lorent Marbrand, her sworn shield, she quickly took to riding. The sight of the younger princess atop the sleek black mare became a source of wonder in King’s Landing. Lords and ladies alike would lean from their windows to catch a glimpse of her as she rode through the city with her knight."

Mushroom recounts:

"I remember the day the younger princess first rode through the streets of King's Landing. Her hair, pale as the moon, trailed behind her like a banner, and her lilac eyes stared forward as if she could see clearer than the rest of us. The people marveled, saying she was a dragon in human form, radiant even in her blindness. Courtiers, who should have been attending to their duties, would abandon their posts just to watch her ride. One minor lord—whose name I will not sully this account with—rushed out of the Great Sept mid-chant to witness her. He tripped, fell into a distillery of summerberry wine, and drowned. It took three days to find his body, and when they did, Septa Rhaedis claimed he looked like ‘a pickled egg.’ The court spoke of little else for weeks.”

The Art of Touch

Grand Maester Mellos records:

"In addition to her accomplishments as a rider, Y/N Targaryen also became skilled in embroidery, a talent few believed possible for one without sight. Guided by her Septa, Rhaedis, she learned to identify patterns by touch, stitching elaborate designs into fabrics with a precision that amazed even the most experienced needleworkers at court."

When asked how she knew what she was embroidering, the princess is said to have replied:

"I see it in my dreams. The threads whisper to me as the stars whisper to the skies."

Mushroom, of course, adds his own embellishment:

"The court marveled at her works, and some claimed she was blessed by the Seven or perhaps cursed by the Old Gods. Whatever the truth, her hands created beauty beyond compare. One such tapestry, depicting dragons in flight, hung in the Great Hall of the Red Keep for many years until it was destroyed during the Black Council."

Her Bond with Prince Daemon

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"Among those closest to the princess, none held a more unique bond with her than Prince Daemon Targaryen, her uncle. Daemon, often described as brash and hot-tempered, was uncharacteristically gentle in her presence. He called her ‘little star,’ a name that echoed her father’s first words upon her birth. It was said that he would sit with her for hours, recounting tales of his travels and victories in the Stepstones, always mindful to paint vivid pictures with his words so that she might see the world through his voice."

Mushroom offers a more colorful account:

"Daemon adored the girl, perhaps more than he did his own ambitions. He’d sit beside her, polishing Dark Sister while she listened to his tales. ‘Do you dream of dragons, little star?’ he’d ask her. ‘I dream of them always,’ she’d reply. I daresay the Rogue Prince would have brought her the moon if she asked for it. He once told me that the gods gave her blindness so she might better see the truths the rest of us are too blind to notice."

Despite their closeness, some whispered that Daemon’s affection for Y/N was an act of defiance against Viserys, a way to provoke the King. Yet others believed it was genuine—a rare display of softness from a man known for his sharp edges.

The Death of Queen Aemma and the Naming of Rhaenyra (105 AC)

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"The year 105 AC marked a time of profound sorrow and upheaval for House Targaryen. Queen Aemma Arryn, beloved by all, passed away in childbirth, her body unable to endure the strain of delivering the long-awaited male heir. The child, a boy named Baelon, survived but a day, his life as brief as a candle in the wind. The Red Keep was plunged into mourning, for the King had not only lost his queen but his hope for a son to secure the succession."

Mushroom, ever the dramatist, recounts:

"I was there when the Queen’s screams echoed through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, haunting us all. The maesters whispered of the impossible choice the King had made—save the babe or save the mother. In the end, neither survived. When King Viserys emerged from the chamber, his face was as pale as bone, and in his arms, he carried the lifeless child. The court fell silent as he whispered, ‘Aemma is gone.’ Yet, in his grief, his gaze fell upon his daughters, Rhaenyra and Y/N, as if to remind himself of what remained."

Y/N, only six years old, was said to have clung to her elder sister during the days of mourning. Blind though she was, she is said to have been acutely aware of the grief that permeated the Red Keep. “I heard her tears,” she later told her Septa, “and they sounded like rain upon stone.”

It was in the wake of Aemma’s death that Viserys made the momentous decision to name Rhaenyra his heir. Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"The King, bereft of sons, gathered his council and declared his eldest daughter, Rhaenyra, the Princess of Dragonstone and his chosen successor. The proclamation was met with mixed reactions, though none dared speak against it openly. Y/N, still a child, sat beside her sister during the ceremony, her small hand clutching Rhaenyra’s, as if to lend her strength. The court whispered of the younger princess’s quiet courage, though few noticed the tears that slipped from her unseeing eyes as the crown was placed upon Rhaenyra’s head."

The Marriage to Alicent Hightower (106 AC)

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"In the year following Queen Aemma’s death, King Viserys shocked the realm by announcing his intention to marry Alicent Hightower, daughter of Ser Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King. The match, though politically advantageous, was seen by many as a betrayal of Aemma’s memory. None felt this more keenly than the King’s daughters, Rhaenyra and Y/N, who had grown close to Alicent during her time at court."

Mushroom provides his usual flair:

"The whispers began long before the announcement. I saw Lady Alicent visiting the King’s chambers more often than a lady ought. Some said she was there to comfort him, others to ensnare him. When the match was declared, Rhaenyra stormed from the Small Council chamber, her fury unmistakable. Y/N, by contrast, said nothing. She simply withdrew to her chambers, though I later heard her weeping through the walls. ‘She feels too deeply,’ Ser Lorent said. ‘Her heart sees what her eyes cannot.’”

Despite her youth, Y/N was said to have been torn between her affection for Alicent and her loyalty to her late mother and sister. Alicent, aware of the tension her marriage caused, reportedly sought to win over the younger princess. Mushroom recounts:

"Alicent would visit Y/N often, bringing her gifts of perfumes and silks, hoping to mend the rift. ‘I am still your friend,’ she would say. But Y/N, though polite, grew distant. She would not speak against Alicent, but neither did she embrace her. When asked by her Septa why she avoided the Queen, she simply replied, ‘I dream of Mother, and in my dreams, she is crying.’”

The Court’s Reaction

Grand Maester Mellos records:

"The court, ever a cauldron of intrigue, buzzed with speculation over the King’s remarriage. While some saw Alicent as a stabilizing influence, others whispered of her ambition. Rhaenyra’s displeasure was evident, and though Y/N’s feelings remained a mystery to many, her absence from court functions spoke volumes. It was said that the younger princess spent more time in the gardens or with her dragon, Silverwing, seeking solace in the quiet places of the Red Keep."

Mushroom, in his usual irreverence, concludes:

"If the King’s marriage to Alicent Hightower was a political move, it was a clumsy one. It drove a wedge between father and daughters, a rift that would only grow wider in the years to come. As for Y/N, the court often wondered what went on behind her lilac eyes, for she remained silent, even as the storm clouds gathered. ‘A storm is coming,’ she once told her Septa. ‘And when it breaks, none will escape the rain.’”

Thus began a new chapter for the Targaryen family, one marked by tension and the seeds of division that would later engulf the realm.

The Birth of Prince Aegon (107 AC)

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"In the year 107 AC, Queen Alicent Hightower gave birth to her first child, a son named Aegon. The boy’s safe delivery was met with great celebration throughout the realm. King Viserys, whose grief over the loss of his firstborn son had lingered like a shadow, was said to have wept with joy at the sight of his living heir. The court rejoiced, though not all shared the King’s unbridled happiness."

Mushroom adds, with his usual candor:

"The King threw a grand feast for the birth of his son, lavishing praise upon Alicent as if she had brought forth a dragon herself. Rhaenyra sat stiffly at the high table, her face pale as milk, while Y/N, ever the quiet one, simply lowered her head. When the King raised a goblet and declared Aegon his 'future pride,' the Realm's Delight left the hall in silence. Y/N, as always, followed her sister like a shadow. The court murmured, but none dared speak their thoughts aloud."

The younger princess, blind though she was, seemed to sense the shifting tides. Septa Rhaedis later claimed that Y/N confided in her, saying, “The boy’s cries are like thunder. I hear storms in his wake.”

The Suitors of Rhaenyra

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"Following the birth of Prince Aegon, the King turned his attention to securing alliances through marriage. Rhaenyra, now in her tenth year of life, had grown into a striking young woman, admired by all for her beauty and fiery spirit. Suitors from every corner of the realm descended upon King’s Landing, eager to win the hand of the Princess of Dragonstone."

The accounts of the court speak of endless gatherings in the throne room, where lords presented gifts and pledges of loyalty. Mushroom, who was privy to these events, recounts:

"The lords came with jewels, horses, and promises of wealth, each one more desperate than the last. The Princess, seated beside her father, bore it all with a grace that belied her young age. Y/N, though often absent from such displays, was occasionally seen by her sister’s side, her unseeing lilac eyes lending an ethereal air to the proceedings. Some whispered that her presence was a silent rebuke to the King, a reminder of the family’s losses and the fragility of alliances forged by marriage."

The Shadow of the Younger Princess

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"Amidst the fanfare surrounding Rhaenyra’s suitors and the birth of Prince Aegon, Y/N remained largely in the background, a deliberate choice by her father. The King, ever protective of his younger daughter, sought to shield her from the court’s scrutiny. Unlike her sister, Y/N was spared the endless parade of lords and their gifts. Instead, she spent her days in the gardens, on the back of her black mare, or in the company of her dragon, Silverwing."

Septa Rhaedis later wrote:

"The younger princess was not overlooked out of neglect, but out of love. The King feared that her blindness, though it inspired awe in some, would make her a target for others. He believed that by keeping her out of the court’s spotlight, he was protecting her. Yet, Y/N, for all her quiet demeanor, was no fool. She knew her father’s intentions, and though she did not voice her objections, her distance from court life created a rift between her and her family that would never fully heal."

Mushroom, ever irreverent, offers his perspective:

"While Rhaenyra was paraded before the realm like a dragon ready to take flight, Y/N was kept hidden, a jewel locked away in a vault. But jewels cannot stay hidden forever. I heard whispers even then—lords asking about the 'blind beauty' and whether the King had plans for her. Viserys, blind in his own way, dismissed such inquiries with a wave of his hand. 'She is too young,' he would say. But the court knew better. He feared what they might see in her, and what ambitions she might awaken."

The Bonds of Sisterhood

Despite the growing tension in the court, Rhaenyra and Y/N’s bond remained strong. Mushroom writes:

"The two sisters were as different as fire and moonlight, yet they shared a closeness that no storm could break. Rhaenyra often brought her suitors’ gifts to Y/N, describing them in vivid detail so her sister might share in the spectacle. Y/N, for her part, offered quiet counsel to Rhaenyra, soothing her elder sister’s frustrations with her gentle words."

Grand Maester Mellos records:

"Though the court focused its attention on Rhaenyra, it was said that she confided more in her younger sister than in anyone else. Y/N, with her serene demeanor, provided a calming presence in the storm of Rhaenyra’s life. The Realm’s Delight, for all her strength, leaned on her blind sister as one might lean on a crutch. Together, they weathered the growing tensions of the Red Keep, their bond a rare light in a darkening world."

Thus, the stage was set for the years to come, as the lines between duty, family, and ambition grew ever more tangled. While Rhaenyra shone brightly before the court, Y/N remained in the shadows, a quiet flame that many would underestimate to their peril.

The Festivities of Prince Aegon’s Eighth Nameday (115 AC)

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"In the year 115 AC, the Red Keep hosted a grand celebration in honor of Prince Aegon’s eighth nameday. Lords and ladies from across the realm gathered to pay homage to the young prince and revel in the accompanying festivities. Among the notable attendees was Lord Jason Lannister, the proud and ambitious Lord of Casterly Rock, whose presence stirred no small amount of intrigue. It was widely known that Jason had set his sights on the hand of Princess Rhaenyra, and his bold attempts to court her became a point of great amusement—and anxiety—during the celebrations."

Mushroom, in his irreverent style, recounts:

"Lord Jason, as proud as the lions on his banners, approached the Princess of Dragonstone with the subtlety of a hammer striking an anvil. He presented her with a golden spear—a finely crafted thing, no doubt—and boasted of the hunts they might share at Casterly Rock. Rhaenyra, unimpressed, replied that she had no need for a spear, as her dragon could handle any beast that might trouble her. The court erupted in laughter, leaving Lord Jason red-faced and sputtering."

Having been rebuffed by Rhaenyra, Jason sought out King Viserys, hoping to gain the monarch’s favor. Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"Lord Jason approached the King with a proposal as blunt as it was ambitious: a marriage alliance between House Targaryen and House Lannister. King Viserys, still devoted to his plan to wed Rhaenyra to Laenor Velaryon, dismissed the offer with a firm but polite refusal. Jason left the King’s presence visibly frustrated, his composure shaken by the double rejection."

The Collision That Almost Was

It was as Lord Jason retreated from the King’s chambers, nursing his wounded pride, that he first encountered Y/N Targaryen. Grand Maester Mellos records:

"At the request of her father, Princess Y/N, seldom seen at court in recent years, made an unexpected appearance at the festivities. Her arrival, though quiet, caused a ripple of curiosity among the assembled lords and ladies. Clad in silver and black, with her pale hair braided intricately about her head, the blind princess moved through the throng with a serenity that belied the chaos of the celebrations. Ser Lorent Marbrand, her sworn shield, guided her with care."

Mushroom describes the moment with his usual flair:

"Imagine it! Lord Jason, storming through the halls like a lion with a thorn in his paw, nearly barreled into the younger princess. If not for Ser Lorent’s quick hand, the two would have collided. As it was, Jason stopped short, staring at the blind princess as if she were a ghost. I swear by the Seven, his jaw dropped so low I thought he might swallow his own pride."

It was the first time Jason Lannister laid eyes upon Y/N, and the effect was immediate. Tyland Lannister, Jason’s younger twin and a sharp observer of human folly, later recounted the scene with amusement:

"Jason, ever the picture of confidence, found himself utterly out of his element. The blind princess, serene and unflinching, greeted him with a quiet grace that seemed to rob him of speech. For a man so accustomed to admiration, it was a humbling moment. I, for one, enjoyed every second of it."

Jason, regaining his composure, offered a hasty apology, which Y/N accepted with her usual gentleness. Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"The encounter was brief, but those who witnessed it spoke of how the Lord of Casterly Rock seemed momentarily unmoored, as if the blind princess had seen through him in a way that others could not. Whether by fate or chance, it was a meeting that would linger in Jason’s mind for years to come."

Reflections and Whispers

The court, ever quick to seize upon any moment of intrigue, buzzed with speculation about Jason’s reaction to Y/N. Mushroom, always eager to stir the pot, writes:

"Some said the Lord of Casterly Rock left the festivities with more than his pride bruised. Others whispered that he had found a new prize to pursue, though how one courts a woman who cannot see their fine clothes or lavish gifts, I cannot say. Still, I’d wager Jason would find a way—lions are nothing if not persistent."

Tyland, reflecting on the event years later, remarked:

"That day marked the first time I saw my brother truly at a loss for words. Princess Y/N Targaryen, with her quiet grace and unseeing eyes, had a way of disarming even the most self-assured of men. Jason was no exception. It was as if the gods themselves had decided to humble him, and they chose her to do it."

Though the moment passed quickly, it became a tale retold in the halls of Casterly Rock and King’s Landing alike, a small but significant thread in the tapestry of Y/N’s life and the ever-turning wheel of power in the realm.

#house of the dragon #hotd #fire and blood #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #house targaryen #house lannister #hotd jason #jason lannister #jason x reader #jason x you #jason x y/n

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hopelessromantic5 · 1 year ago

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The tavern scene where Merlin is playing the King at dice and using his magic and it’s really fucking hot.

As Merlin looked around at their accumulating audience, he saw more than a few red cloaks.

So the knights had come to see their king brought to his knees, Merlin thought, chuckling to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Arthur questioned boisterously.

“Nothing, sire.” Merlin singsonged with a smirk that he knew would only frustrate Arthur further. Merlin threw only a momentary glance to The Once and Future King who is soon to lose all of his silver challenging the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth at dice.

Merlin acted as if he were considering his bet, then stacked two piles of silver coins into the bowl.

Of course, Arthur just slung his about like he had no intention of losing it.

Think again, your royal pratship.

Arthur stepped back, next to Percival and Lancelot, to watch Merlin roll.

“Watch out. Here we go.” Though Merlin thought he saw something akin to doubt behind his King’s startlingly blue eyes.

This made Merlin smile like a fool.

The King is nervous to lose, he thought, at least he isn’t a complete moron.

Merlin schooled his face, and began to tumble the dice around in the cup. The sound almost like hooves on compact earth, or dangling talismans hung by Druids, tinkling together in the wind.

Merlin brought his hand holding the cup, up to his lips blowing air into it and letting just a little of his magic slip out.

“Ten.”

And as he knew they would, they dice rolled a perfect ten.

He laughed as irritation settled onto Arthur’s devilishly handsome face.

The king rounded the table, leaning over so his voice was heard only by Merlin’s ears.

“Enjoy this moment, Merlin. While it lasts.”

Merlin didn’t really hear it, though.

The instant that Arthur moved into his personal space, his servant was lost to the world. Distracted by soft lips twisted into a frown, a jawline chiseled from stone, and eyes too beautiful and kind for their own good.

There must be some magic there, Merlin thought. You can’t have eyes like that by the natural grace of the gods.

But if anyone were to be gifted with such a knee buckling appearance, King Arthur of Camelot was the one to deserve it.

Merlin had never seen him being untoward with any female prospects. Never saw him getting handsy with kitchen staff or lady’s maids. Merlin had never seen Arthur approach anyone in that way.

And, though sometimes he stupidly inappropriately wished it, Merlin had never seen Arthur take anyone back to his chambers.

Never once in the three years Merlin had been working for the spoiled prat of a king. Two of those years, Arthur was still a prince. Yet, he held none of the urges that people often berated when they spoke of the young. None that he gave into, anyway.

Merlin never claimed to know the inner workings on his kings mind, especially not in that area. With each passing season Merlin became more confused and less likely to broach the subject.

Not that he minded.

In fact he didn’t mind, at all.

Because there was the rather unfortunate fact that Merlin had been in love with Arthur Pendragon from the moment he laid eyes on him.

Arthur wasn’t drunk. But he had been drinking. Enough to let lingering doubts disappear into the back of his mind.

He thought about this, as he led the way to his chambers, Merlin following dutifully a few steps behind.

Merlin was completely sober.

Arthur knew because he watched Merlin all night, and the man never touched his cup, not once.

Arthur was determined. He was a King. He was supposed to look fear in the face and laugh.

He didn’t know how to handle fear in the form of the beautiful face of his magical manservant.

Merlin thought everything was normal.

Until the door closed behind him.

Arthur walked to the table, dropped his gloves on the surface, then turned to face Merlin with his arms crossed.

Gods, he was fit.

“Did you enjoy stealing all my money?”

Merlin tutted,

“Come now, sire. We both know that wasn’t anywhere near all your money.”

A chuckle left the Kings lips.

“That is not the point, Merlin.”

“And what is the point, sire?” Merlin was goading him and poking his buttons, unassuming of the bombshell that was about to be dropped in his lap.

Arthur was still smiling, but he narrowed his eyes, which put Merlin on alert. Merlin didn’t know this look. And he knew all of them. Well, almost all of them. He’d never seen this look before.

The King began to approach Merlin, slowly.

It didn’t take very long for him to reach his goal.

“The point, Merlin…” Arthur was very close now. His hopeless manservant was losing his breath, unable to look away from his gorgeous, awe-inspiring face. Merlin was boxed in by Arthur’s muscular arms, inches away from him face.

“…is that you cheated.”

Just like that, all the air was sucked out of the room.

Merlin couldn’t move, or speak, or get oxygen to his brain to make it function.

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity.

Merlin watched as Arthur’s smile spread across his face.

He was…smiling?

Oh thank all the gods in all the heavens, he doesn’t hate me!

This is what Merlin’s inner voice was screaming to imaginary skies, until Arthur spoke again.

Merlin zeroed back in on the King’s eyes, and realized that the blue had been swallowed by black.

“You want to know something?” His voice is low and rough, and he was so close. Incredibly, impossibly close.

Merlin was not computing coherent words at the moment so he nodded, eager to know something. Anything. As long as it came from those lips.

Arthur moved in to hover his mouth just above Merlin’s skin. Right below his ear.

Merlin shivered involuntarily at the proximity, and the tease that The King of Camelot turned out to be.

“I’ve known for years, Merlin.”

Merlin might’ve been shocked, if his shock hasn’t been overrun by the way Arthur whispered his name. Like a siren song, begging him to come closer.

“But the way you looked in that tavern,”

Arthur’s breath kept caressing his skin in lapping waves and it was intoxicating. Merlin’s whole body was filled with want. He could feel it tingle in his fingertips and at the very top of his spine. Deep in his gut, where everything pooled to drag him under.

“I knew I had to have you. I can’t wait any longer.”

Arthur drew back, half lidded, smirking all-knowing.

Merlin didn’t know what he looked like but it must be a sight.

“That is, if you’ll have me.”

Merlin swallowed the past the lump in his throat before speaking, or whispering. Even if every part of him thrummed with this feeling, there was always a chance of everything crumbling. Nothing was certain, until it was.

“I am yours.” He hoped his eyes conveyed everything he ever held in, Arthur could always read his eyes.

#merthur #merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin and arthur #merthur fic #from the drafts #bbc merlin #king arthur #tavern scene #Merlin is a showoff #and a cheater #but we forgive him #because he’s hot #thank you for reading ❤️

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