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justmymindandstuff · 10 hours ago

Note

Hello I have a request for you: can you please please please write jealousCregan again? Maybe he is jealous of Jace because he thinks he can not compete with a prince

Sunrays and Snowflakes - Cregan Stark x MartellReader

summary: Jacaerys comes to Winterfell to secure the North for Queen Rhaenyra. He is greeted warmly and friendly. But Cregan doesn't like how friendly Jace is with his wife. But what can he say? You are a princess and he is a prince. Maybe this is the match you deserve.

words: 6.425

warnings: jealousy, self-doubt, miscommunication, fluff

a/n: of course I will write jealous Creagn again. Thank you so much for your ask anon. Hope you like it.

English is not my first language // not proofread // Ao3 // no use of Y/N

requests are open // main- masterlist // HotD - masterlist

You stand in the courtyard of Winterfell. Cold wind and snowflakes swirl around you. Nevertheless, you are not freezing. Your husband has made sure that you are always dressed in warm fur coats and thick fabrics.

When you first arrived in Winterfell, you froze for weeks. You grew up under the hot sun, in deserts, water gardens, and heat. Winterfell is the complete opposite.

Nevertheless, you are happy here. You never would have thought that you could be happy here in the cold North. This macgt began purely politically. After the death of his first wife in childbirth, the Lord of Winterfell needed a new wife. To have another heir, just in case. For House Stark.

Your family needed allies in the seven Kingdomes. To secure independence from the Iron Throne. For House Martell.

So ravens were sent back and forth, and shortly after, you were on your way to Winterfell to marry Lord Stark. A Dornish princess for the North.

It was not easy for you to adjust. Cregan had been distant at first, but quickly thawed out. Not even three months into your marriage, it was no longer a political marriage, but love.

Your stepson Rickon is the apple of your eye. A nice, well-mannered, friendly boy, just four years old, but already behaving like an honorable Lord. At least that's what you think, but you are his stepmother after all.

Excited, he stands next to you and watches the sky. His small hand in yours. He wants to see the prince's dragon. Of course, it's all terribly exciting for him.

"Do you think I can pet the dragon?"

Cold fear runs down your spine at the thought of your little boy approaching a fire-breathing monster. Nevertheless, you smile at him before responding.

"You'll have to ask the prince about that."

Heavy footsteps behind you reveal your husband before you hear his voice. "As far as I've heard, the prince is very friendly so don't be afraid to ask."

Cregan places his hand on your lower back as he stands next to you. A smile immediately appears on your face, and you lean slightly into your husband's arms. For a moment, you simply enjoy being with your little family.

"He is a prince just like you are a princess, right?" asks Rickon with the curiosity that only children have.

"Exactly."

"Why didn't you marry a prince instead of father?"

Cregan looks at his son. His jaw tightens slightly, as it always does when he is angry. But you can only laugh and squeeze Rickon's hand.

"I don't need a prince." you say then.

A restlessness spreads among the guards on Winterfell's walls, and immediately Rickon turns his attention back to the sky.

You notice how Cregan tenses slightly next to you. The next few days, the negotiations with the prince, will seal the fate of your house in this Targaryen war. He must now sovereignly fulfill the role of the Lord.You don’t doubt for a second that he will be successful with this task and lead your family out of this crisis.

You stand on your tiptoes and press a kiss on his cold cheek. You want to say something else, but a shadow flies over you. You look up and see a dragon circling above the courtyard. You are almost relieved when you see the dragon, you had feared it would be larger.Nevertheless, the ground trembles slightly as the dragon lands. Prince Jacaerys slips out of the saddle and lands firmly on the ground.

You sink into a curtsy while your husband and your stepson bow.

"Welcome to Winterfell. It is an honor for me and my family to welcome you here."

You straighten up again and look at the prince closely. Dark curls, tousled by the wind. Noble clothing in the colors of his house, red and black. His cheeks are slightly flushed from the wind and the cold, a friendly smile on his face.

"The honor is on my side, Lord Stark. I am grateful that you are receiving me."

You can hear in his voice that he is unsure, but he is trying to hide it. For a moment, their silence lingers. Jacaerys shifts nervously from one foot to the other.

"You must be cold, my prince. Please come inside, we have warm food and drinks prepared." you say with a gesture towards the castle, fully in your role as Lady Stark.

The prince nods and says a word in a language you don't understand. The dragon behind him takes to the air again and flies away.

"He won't attack any people, will he?"" asks Cregan, his voice controlled but worried.

The prince begins to laugh but quickly becomes serious again at a glance into your husband's face. "No. Of course not. Vermax hunts exclusively venison. Even your farmers' cattle is safe. Should it still occur, House Targaryen is, of course, ready to pay compensation."

You immediately recognize that he has memorized this. Cregan nods, he is not yet fully convinced. Tension runs through his shoulders. Quickly, you force a smile onto your lips.

"Your words reassured us. Thank you my Prince." you say, giving Cregan's hand a light squeeze.

Together, you go inside. The halls of Winterfell are warm. A nursemaid takes Rickon while the Prince, Cregan, and you make your way to the great hall. There, bread and salt are first shared before the servants bring warm soup, meat, wine, and beer.

Jacaerys' insecurity falls away a little and he seems to relax. It calms you a little as well. The Targaryens and the Martells have had a rather tense relationship for a long time. It follows from the unwillingness of your people to bend the knee before the Conqueror and the subsequent dragon attacks. You cannot focus on the past now but must support your husband and the North. So you greet Jacaerys with emphasized friendliness while the usual pleasantries are exchanged. Jacaerys praises the beauty of Winterfell, Cregan asks if his journey was pleasant. However, you notice that the longer the meal goes on, the more nervous the prince becomes.

"You surely know by now what has brought me so far north," he begins after the last course is finished.

"The news of your war has reached us, yes," Cregan replies. You place your hand on his thigh and give it a gentle squeeze. Show him your support.

"My mother's birthright was stolen from her." Jacaerys begins, sounding as if he has rehearsed it again.

"One might see it that way." you respond as diplomatically as possible. You don't want Cregan to go to war for the queen. You want him here with you in Winterfell and far away from the battlefield. The mood is a bit tense again. Jacaerys looks at you for a moment. His gaze is uncomfortable for you. Nevertheless, you smile.

"You want my armies and support for your mother's claim." Cregan's words are a statement, not a question.

Jacaerys nods. "Lady Arryn from the Vale has ..."

Cregan raises his hand to interrupt him. "It is of no importance what Lady Arryn promised."

"House Stark swore an oath. An oath of loyalty to the Iron Throne."

"I know. But House Stark also swore an oath to protect the people of the realm. And this oath is a thousand years older than the one made to your ancestor, the Conqueror."

Jacaerys looks at Cregan, confused. "I don't understand, my Lord Stark."

"It's hard to explain. Accompany me to the Wall. Then we'll continue talking about oath and armies."

The prince hesitates for a moment, then he nods."Fine."

"Good, now that that's settled, my prince," you begin, giving him one of your wider smiles. You want to dissolve the tense atmosphere. "We have prepared a small celebration this evening to properly honor your visit. You probably want to rest beforehand. Your journey was long and arduous."

"Yes, of course, thank you, Princess."

"A servant will show you to your guest chambers." says Cregan, already beckoning a servant over.

"I will take care of that. It is an honor and my duty as Lady Stark to host our guests, husband."

Cregan glances briefly at you, then at the prince. He nods. "Fine."

You rise, kiss his cheek, and then turn to the prince. "Please follow me."

He gets up and you accompany him through the halls of your home to the guest chambers. You both remain silent, but you can hardly bear the tense atmosphere.

"My husband doesn't mean any harm. It´s just that is duties as Lord of Winterfell are very important to him."

"I understand, Princess."

You can understand that he feels rejected about the postponement of the negotiations. "The war, however, is of great importance for the future of the kingdom."

"Of course."

"It probably doesn't interest you.House Martell is, after all, independent."

You're trying not to let the insult, which lingers in his tone, get to you and instead smile politely.

"House Martell, perhaps. But House Stark is my family. We keep our vows."

Jacaerys suddenly stops. "I didn't mean to offend you. I'm sorry. I'm just." he interrupts himself.

"I can understand that it is a difficult situation. Your house was certainly not prepared for a war against your own blood."

"No, we weren't," he admits. "I don't have much practice being an envoy."

"You are doing well. Come now, my prince. Everything will surely be fine. Have faith in the oaths of the Lords. They all knelt before your mother and swore loyalty."

Jacaerys nods and smiles slightly. "Yes, I'll try."

Winterfell is showing itself form his best side. The great hall is filled with laughter and music. The food was exquisite. Jacaerys followed your husband's invitation and left his honored seat at the high table to walk beside Cregan through the great hall and speak with the bannermen of House Stark. The mood is good. People are dancing, and for this evening, you can also forget the looming danger. The wine tastes you a little too good today, the warm air in the hall doesn't help, and you notice your mind becoming slightly hazy as the wine takes effect.

You are engrossed in a conversation with Lady Mormont and your cousin Elisan Sand when the prince approaches you. "Princess. A dance?" he asks. His cheeks are slightly flushed from the wine, and he smiles kindly.

"Of course, my prince."

You stand up and let Jacaerys lead you to the dance floor. He leads you through the dance steps elegantly.

"I would like to thank you," he begins. His steps are confident. You have to think for a second about your first dance with your husband. He stepped on your feet three times back then. Even after all the years of your marriage, you couldn't turn Cregan into a dancer. No matter how much you love to dance, your husband rarely joins you on the dance floor. Only in the privacy of your chambers, without an audience, does he sway you to the music.

"For what?"

"Your words this noon. Your trust in your husband and in the oaths of the Lords have reassured me a little."

"The realm would fall apart if Lords did not remember their oaths," you say confidently. The Lords of the Seven Kingdoms cannot be so foolish as to risk a civil war among the dragons. The dispute over the throne would surely be over quickly. Who will supports a usurper?

"I hope so." says the prince. "Still, thank you Lady Stark or Princess. What do you prefer?"

"My name."

He says your name as if to try it on his tongue. "Under one condition, princess." a smile flickers across his lips as he sees your confused look.

"Which one, my prince?"

"Call me Jace."

"Jace it is."

He smiles at you. You wouldn't have expected this kind of kindness from him. At least not towards you. When you look at the history of your families, there has always been nothing but bad blood. But neither Jace nor you seem to care about the past. While you dance, you fall into a pleasant conversation. You are surprised by his sharp mind and friendly demeanor. He is well-read, clever, witty, and charming. In addition, his dance steps are confident and elegant. Jace is not at all the spoiled prince you had imagined. He elicits laughter from you with a few of his jokes, the wine you've drunk contributes, and you join in on his banter. You give him a few clever remarks on his jokes, which makes him laugh. He laughs openly and warmly, so you can't help but laugh along with him. Jacaerys spins you around a few times to the music before pulling you back into his arms. His hand lands a little too low on your lower back, but before you can say anything, he corrects his grip upwards. His cheeks turn a little redder, but you decide to ignore the little accident. Before you can resume your conversation, you are suddenly pulled away from Jace. The tight grip is almost painful. Immediately, you tense up and are about to complain, but the sound of your husband's voice reaches your ears. A smile immediately appears on your lips, the sound of his voice is enough to make your heart beat faster. Sometimes you feel sick of yourself because you love your husband so much that your thoughts are cheesy and full of love.

"You excus, my prince?" Cregan reaches for your hand before Jacaerys can respond.

"Of course." he gives you a slight nod and then leaves the dance floor.

You smile at your husband as you begin to dance. He still seems slightly tense.

"Have you spoken with your bannermen?"

"Yes," he replies shortly.

"They are not thrilled about the prospect of going to war."

"Of course not. Winter is coming. It's not time for war."

You almost have to sigh. Winter always comes. "The prince will surely understand if you can't provide him with any or only a few men."

"I honestly doubt that." his voice is unusually cold. "I just hope he won't burn Winterfell down with his dragon if we really turn him down."

"He wouldn't do that," you say confidently.

"Seems like you know him well already." his jaw tightens and he avoids your gaze. You furrow your eyebrows at his unusual behavior. Cregan is a serious man, but he is not suspicious. He trusts a man's word. Because he always keeps his word. That's how the Stark men are, it's in their blood.

The song ends, but instead of leading you through the next dance, Cregan steps back. He gives you a brief nod.

"I still have to talk with a few Lords." he turns away and just leaves you standing there. He didn't even give you a kiss. Confused, you stand still for a moment before leaving the dance floor. Actually, you would like to dance with your husband a little longer, but you can also understand that he has duties to fulfill.

Your gaze sweeps through the hall. Jace is already dancing again. This time with your sister-in-law Sara.

You are surprised to see her here. Normally, she stays away from such feasts, she doesn't like the looks and the whispers that come with her status as Snow, a bastard from the North. Here in the North, bastards are despised. At your home, it's different. You never had a problem with Sara being a Snow and not a Stark and love her like a sister.

You return to your seat and take another cup of wine. Quickly, you find yourself drawn back into a conversation with Lord Karstark and Lady Pole, so much so that you don't even notice how time flies. Only when you interrupt yourself for the second time in a sentence to yawn you decide that the evening is over for you now. You look around for your husband to let him know that you will be withdrawing. But you can't find him. Confused, you beckon a guard over.

"Where is my husband?"

"Lord Stark has already retired."

Without telling you? That's more than unusual. Once again, you are puzzled by his strange behavior. Nevertheless, you smile at the guard and send him back to his duties. Then you stand up and clap your hands. Immediately, the music falls silent and all attention is on you.

"I will now withdraw. I thank you all for your presence and the kindness with which you welcomed Prince Jacaerys here in Winterfell. Please, drink, dance, and continue to enjoy yourselves. I wish you a pleasant night, my Lords and Ladies."

The attendees, except for Jace, bow to you and you make your way out of the great hall. The door is not yet fully closed when the music starts again and the room is once more filled with loud voices and laughter.

You shiver slightly as the cold air surrounds you and quickly make your way back to your chambers. You are worried. Has something happened that required Cregan's attention and he left the feast because of it? Where could he be? Why didn't he let you know?

As you enter your chambers, you realize that your worry was unfounded. Your husband is already in bed. The chambers are dark, only a single candle still burns on your side of the bed. Cregan lies with his face turned away from you, his breath steady.

"Are you awake, Love?" you ask, but get no response. You quietly slip out of your dress and then into bed. The furs are cold, and you shiver again. You are used to falling asleep in Cregan's warm embrace. It takes a long time for sleep to find you.

When you wake up the next morning, the other side of the bed is empty. You stroke the furs on Cregan's side of the bed. They are already cold. You sigh. Why is he acting so strangely? Where is he? Normally, you wake up together, usually stay in bed for a while longer, cuddle and enjoy the morning together for as long as possible before your duties pull you apart.

A strange feeling spreads within you. You push it aside and swing yourself out of bed. You long for your husband. Nevertheless, you call your maid to help you get dressed and make your way to the nursery to pick up Rickon to break the fast with him.

All morning you have been busy with your duties. Rickon is sitting nearby with his nanny and plays. He keeps asking impatiently when you will finally have time for him. You promised him that today you would go with him to the prince and ask if he could pet the dragon, Vermo,or something like this.

Finally, all the important things are done, and you turn to the little Stark.

"Shall we look for the prince?"

His toys are immediately forgotten, and he runs to you. "Yes, Mother."

Cregan had allowed Rickon to call you that as long as he swore not to forget his real mother. You make sure that Rickon visits the crypt regularly. You also haven't dismissed the friends and ladies of the former Lady Stark from the household. You want to make sure that Rickon grows up with stories of his real mother, from people who truly knew her.

You drape a cloak over him before reaching for your own. For a moment, your fingertips hover over the silver buckle with the direwolf. Once again, you are overcome with longing for your husband. You haven't seen him all morning. That is also unusual. Is he so preoccupied with Jace's visit? Why doesn't he share his worries with you like he usually does?

You take Rickon by the hand and make your way to the guest chambers. There you meet Jace. He greets you with a friendly smile.

"What can I do for you?" he asks.

You gently nudge Rickon and smile encouragingly at him so that he gathers his courage. "Prince Jacaerys. I wanted to ask if I could maybe pet your dragon?" asks Rickon with red cheeks and then shyly hides behind your leg.

Jace kneels down to be at eye level with the little Stark. He smiles warmly. "Of course. Come on, Vermax will surely be happy to have visitors."

Rickon's eyes begin to shine, and he lets go of your hand to run ahead. Jace holds out his arm to you, and together you follow Rickon into the courtyard. So his name is Vermax, you weren't so far off with Vermo after all.

"Vermax hasn't been spotted by the guards. How do you know where he is?" you ask curiously. The hatred between your families has made you ignore everything there is to know about Targaryen and their dragons. That might have been a mistake.

"We share a bond. I can feel him just as he can feel me. I can call him and he will come."

The prince is right, only a few minutes after you enter the courtyard, Vermax lands in front of you.

Jace says a few Valyrian words to him, the dragon makes a whistling sound that resembles a melody before it blows smoke from its nostrils. Jace laughs happily and strokes the scaly monster. You recognize strong affection in his gaze. It surprises you. You always thought the dragons were a means to an end for the Targaryens. A weapon to oppress the people and to justify and secure their claim of power. You were obviously wrong.

Rickon jumps up and down next to you. His gaze is glued to Vermax, and he tugs at your skirt. "May I go to him?"

"Jace?" you ask a little uncertainly. The thought of the little one strokes the dragon definitely makes your stomach turn. But Rickon hasn't talked about anything else for days. You don't want to spoil his joy, so you keep your worries to yourself. The little one doesn't understand how dangerous the dragon actually is. He could easily destroy Winterfell.

Jace turns away from his dragon and reaches out his hand to Rickon.

"Come here. No need for fear."

"I am not afraid," he says, but his voice trembles slightly. Little liar, you think to yourself. Nevertheless, Rickon goes to Jace and reaches for his hand. Slowly, the two approach the dragon. Vermax seems to be completely calm, yet you are tense. A snap and Rickon could be seriously injured or even die. You would personally snap Jace's neck if he endangered the boy.

Jace says something to Rickon, he nods and slowly reaches out his hand. When his small hand touches the scales on the dragon's nose, it squeaks excitedly and he quickly pulls it back. "He feels warm." he exclaims, turning to you. His eyes sparkle with excitement and his smile is so wide and cheerful that despite your worry, you can't help but smile too. "Come on Mother, pet him too." Uncertain, you look at Jace. He nods encouragingly at you.

Slowly, you walk towards the dragon. As you stretch out your hand, it trembles slightly. Vermax whips his head around and you flinch back in shock. Rickon giggles joyfully, his fear seems to have vanished.

"May I?" asks Jace, nodding towards your hand. You hesitate for a moment but then nod. Jace reaches for your hand and gently places it on Vermax's nose. You can feel the warmth of his scales even through your glove. For a moment, you hesitate, then you stroke the dragon. Excitement floods through you and you have to laugh. You are petting a dragon. Probably the first person from House Martell to ever pet a dragon. But when Vermax lets out a growl, you quickly step back. You don't want to push your luck.

Rickon pulls on Jace's cloak. "How often do you ride him? How does it feel? Do you have a fear of heights when you fly? Is the saddle comfortable?" he bombards him with questions. Jace and you both chuckle lightly, then the prince kneels again to be at eye level with Rickon.

"I fly with him at every opportunity I get. It is incredibly fun to fly, and no, I am not afraid of heights. As for the saddle, there are more comfortable seats but I'm not complaining." he answers patiently to every question.

"Can I sit on it too?"

Jace looks at you at this question. Uncertain, you shrug your shoulders. You are not sure if Cregan would like it if his son goes this close to the dragon.

"Sure, but it's not my permission that counts."

"Please, please, Mother." Rickon begs, and at the look from his large dark eyes that he inherited from his father, you weaken.

"But only for a short moment and you do exactly what Jace tells you."

"Yes, of course." he jumps up and down excitedly before moving closer to Vermax again. Jace picks him up and approaches his dragon. He lowers his front leg slightly and lets Jace climb onto him. The dragon is completely calm, and you are glad about it.

As the two sit on the dragon's back, Jace begins to explain what all the buckles are for, how to hold the reins, and how he communicates with Vermax while flying using commands and shifting his weight.

You almost have a heart attack at the sight of Rickon on the dragon. You breathe a sigh of relief as Rickon slides down Vermax's wings after Jace's explain him how to do it. Laughing, he runs to you.

"Did you see how I rode the dragon?"

"Yes, of course. That looked really great. Like a real dragon rider," you say to him, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

"Do you want to try it ?" Jace asks from the dragon's back.

You quickly shake your head. "Absolutely not." you say.

Jace starts laughing again, but it's a warm laugh, the kind that's so contagious. He is not laughing at you. You laugh with him.

The prince also slides down the wing of his dragon. "Maybe another time," he says then.

"Probably not." you contradict.

"Don't be so sure, I can be very convincing." he winks at you, and you roll your eyes at his banter.

"Rickon." Cregan's voice echoes across the courtyard. You turn around immediately, hoping to finally be able to hold your husband in your arms. Cregan stands on the gallery above the courtyard and looks down at you. Even from down here, you can see his tense posture and his angry gaze. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to let Rickon sit on Vermax after all. "You have lessons."

You pause, confused. You are sure that you did not schedule any lessons for Rickon today. His teacher would not visit him again until tomorrow. But perhaps you messed up the plans with all the excitement about the prince's visit and the organization of yesterday's feast.

"Yes, Father." says Rickon quickly and takes a few steps towards the entrance before stopping and turning back to Jace once more. "Thank you for letting me pet the dragon," he says politely and bows before running inside.

You almost burst with pride for the boy when you see that your upbringing is showing. He would become a fine Lord of Winterfell, you are sure of that.

"Thank you, he hasn't talked about anything else. It's very exciting for him that you're here."

Jace smiles. "Gladly. He reminds me of my little brothers. I miss them."

You nod slightly, understanding the homesickness. "I also have to excuse myself, I have duties to attend to." you want to turn away and go to Cregan to finally have a moment alone with him.

"Please give me just one more moment."

You would prefer to refuse and run to Cregan, but politeness forbids it, so you nod and wait eagerly to see what Jace wants from you. He retrieves something from Vermax's saddle and hands you a small box. Confused, you open it, and a necklace comes into view. Pure gold is intricately crafted into suns with spears and three-headed dragons. The seals of House Martell and House Targaryen. A beautiful piece of work. Probably more expensive than most of your wardrobe.

"My mother asked me to hand this to you to remind you of the friendship between our houses."

She wants support from Dorne. She wants to buy you. It annoys you. Nevertheless, you smile.

"Please give your mother my thanks. I will cherish this friendship. But please remind them that I cannot speak for my brother and House Martell. I am a Stark."

Jace face tenses up slightly and his smile looks forced. To save the mood, you take the necklace out of the box.

"Would you help me?"

"Of course." he takes the necklace and you turn around so he can put it on you. When the necklace falls into place, you turn around again. "Thank you." you say and smile. "But I have to go now. You know, duties and that kind of stuff." you try to joke to get out of this irritating moment.

"Yes, of course."

You turn away and go inside. The necklace feels cold against your skin and is heavy. You will wear it as long as Jace visits Winterfell and then simply take it off. Of course, the necklace is beautiful, but you don't necessarily feel the need to carry House Targaryen's sigil with you. Besides, your husband has given you enough necklaces. All made of silver and with the Stark family crest. You like these necklaces a thousand times better even though they are not quite as finely crafted. They are gifts from your husband. He could give you a leather strap, and you would treat it like your greatest treasure. Just because it is a gift from Cregan.

When you arrive inside, unfortunately, you can't find your husband. Frustrated, you exhale. Maybe the Maester knows where he is. But before you can make your way to Winterfell's Maester, you are stopped by the blacksmith. He has an important matter, so you postpone the search for your husband.

Fate, however, is not kind to you, and so you are constantly pulled from one duty to another, and when you finally finish all your tasks, the sun has already set. But even now you can't give in to your need to search for your husband. Jace comes towards you.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, to be honest. I have a letter for my fiancée Baela. Could I borrow a raven?" his cheeks turn slightly red as he holds up the scroll. The thought that the prince took the time to write a love letter in the middle of negotiations about troops for the war makes you smile.

"Of course. Come, I'll show you the way."

Hopefully this is really your last task for today. The longing for your husband is terrible. You can't remember the last time you went a whole day without talking to each other. You long to be pulled into his arms, to feel his kisses, to hear his voice. You enter your shared chambers. You almost worry that Cregan is already asleep again, but he is sitting by the fireplace. A cup of wine in his hand. His long legs stretched out on the furs, yet his posture is tense. As the door behind you clicks shut, he turns his head towards you. His gaze is angry, his jaw tense. Your smile slips from your face.

"What happened?" you ask worriedly.

"Where were you?" he is on his feet and with two steps by you. The air around him almost pulses with his anger. Confused, you have to blink. What's going on? Worry spreads within you. You want to reach for his hand, but Cregan pulls his arm away. Surprised, you stand there.

"Where were you?" he repeats in a dark voice.

"Um, with Jace we .."

He snorts and interrupts you. A little angry, you furrow your brows. What's wrong with him?

"Jace." he says the name like an insult. "Interesting how close you are to the prince."

You almost want to laugh when you finally understand why your husband is acting so strangely. He is jealous. But with that angry look and tense posture, the laughter get stuck in your throat.

"Cregan." you begin in a gentle voice and take a step towards him. His eyes radiate anger, his whole body is tense. For others, that might seem frightening, but not for you. But again he doesn't let you finish. He looks to the side. His eyebrows are drawn together, his jaw is tense.

"You quickly became good friends. I watched you and him. At the feast and today with his dragon and Rickon."

"I'm just being friendly. Like I am with every Lord who comes to visit us." you try to be reasonable. Your voice is calm even though his unfounded jealousy and his doubts about you makes you angry. You don't understand why he has a problem with Jace.

"Not so friendly. I haven't seen you laugh like that for a long time." Now his memory is playing tricks on him.

"That's not true," you say.

"It is." your husband insists. You want to shake some sense into him. "But I can understand you. A handsome prince, of course you're interested in him. He could offer you a lot."

"Do you really think I would care about what he can offer? You give me more than I ever dreamed of. He is a prince, yes. Well, and who cares? How could I be interested in him when I have you?"

Cregan snorts again, avoids your gaze, and crosses his arms over his chest. "He gave you jewelry."

"No! His mother gave me jewelry, he is just the deliverer. The queen wants the support of the Martells, that's why."

"Nevertheless, you strut around with the necklace around your neck as if it were your most precious possession. I understand that. You are used to wearing expensive jewelry and fine gold. The North cannot offer you that."

He is so angry that he doesn't really take in your words. He doesn't want it. He is getting worked up about it. But you know your husband. You know very well that words sometimes don't get through to him. Especially not when he is angry. Cregan is a man of action, not of words. You reach for the necklace and tear it off your own neck. The clasp clinks slightly as it hits the floor, you don't care. You simply throw the necklace into the nearest corner of your chambers. A servant can have it, or it can end up in the trash. You don't care. Who cares about gold necklaces, gemstones, and jewelry?

You approach Cregan, und despite his anger and tension, you are not deterred and simply reach for his hand again. This time he doesn't flinch, but he also doesn't uncross his arms and take your hand. His eyebrows are furrowed, and you can see that his mind is working.

"I am yours and you are mine." you repeat the vow you made years ago before the Heart Tree in Winterfell's Godswood. "Always. Do you really think my love for you is that fragile?" you're almost offended.

"No." Cregan sighs. "It's just. He is a prince. The future king of the Seven Kingdoms. What can I offer you that he can't? You are a princess and you deserve a prince. Even Rickon understood that. A princess belongs to a prince."

You shake your head slightly, reach for his face, and force him to look at you. Of course, he could easily break away from you, but he doesn't.

"Cregan Stark! Who do you think I am? What are the words of my house?"

"Winter is coming," he grumbles as if to make it clear once again that you are his wife. A Stark. Still, you shake your head.

"Not those words."

"Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken"

"Exactly! And so is my love for you. Do you think I would be impressed by a little prince with a pretty smile? Do you really think I would regret my life here? Regret our family? No. This here, Winterfell, you, our marriage is all I need. I am happy here. I don't want all the frills and fuss. Who needs a prince and a ridiculous Iron Throne anyway? I love you, Cregan. You. And your boy and our home."

"Your life with him would be much more pleasant. No deprivations like here in the cold north. You could live in all the luxury you deserve. Like a real princess. Not hidden and far away from everything. I can't give you the live you deserve. No matter how much I want it."

You put a hand on his cheek. Your thumb caress him gently while you look into his eyes.

"Listen to me carefully! I don't want luxury. I don't want a Red Keep, a court, or bended knees. I want you. I love you. Only you. No one else could ever have my heart. It belongs to you. Always. Completely. I love you with my heart and soul. I could never be happier than with you. Do you understand what I'm saying? There is no reason to be jealous of a little prince."

Cregan's gaze is upon you. His eyes dart over your face. Suddenly, he leans forward and his lips crash onto yours. You are startled for a moment but then you return his kiss. The passion washes over you like a wave, your hands burying themselves in his dark hair while Cregan's hands wander to your back and he pulls you closer to him. Breathless, you pull away from each other. Cregan leans his forehead against yours, holding you tightly in his arms.

"I'm sorry. I saw you and the prince and my thoughts got the better of me. I know that I am not good enough for you. I never was, I never will be. I'm sorry, love. I just love you so much." he kisses your forehead.

You smile and bury your face in his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. Love and warmth course through you as he holds you so close.

"Never doubt yourself, my Love. As long as my heart beats, it beats for you and only for you."

#cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #cregan stark fanfiction #cregan x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #cregan stark x you #cregan stark fic #hotd fic #jacaerys valeryon

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just-some-random-blogger · 1 day ago

Text

"I didn't want to overstep"

My honest reacton

NOW *make a man out of your plays in the background* LETS GET DOWN TO BUSINESS

The splash of cold water against your ankle makes you grumble more. You hated getting your shoes wet. Or your ankles. You fix your hair scarf, worried that the sea breeze will make it come loose.

She is so me

As you look up, you see him. A man, with silver hair and a smug look on his face, riding atop a dragon. He is showing off, ducking low, the dragon’s tail dipping in the water before springing back up again. It is what is causing the breeze.

🙄 gago I hate him stfu

You marvel for a second, wondering how such a gigantic beast can be so nimble.

I WOULD LITERALLY HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON CARAXES AND LEAVE THIS PLACE

The man smiles. He winks at you.

The few captains and sailors that were on the docks alongside you have fled. But not you. Alone, silver hair in full display, you stand frozen in the same spot you had been before seeing him pass.

Main character things

Daemon would have so enjoyed to play such a game himself. His future bride was far too young to do little more than court under her parents’ watchful eyes.

🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢 YUCKKKK CAN HE JUST BE FUCKING NORMALLLLLLL CAN HE JUST BE FUCKING NORMALLLLLLLL YUCCKKKKKK

Your laughter was the first thing that caught his attention, a sound so girlish it seemed improper among the men carrying saws and woods for the ships.

We love to see it. DIVINE FEMININE

Daemon seethed. He hated sharing. With whores, it was to be expected, yet it didn’t make it anymore palatable. It was why he enjoyed taking maidenheads so much. Yet, he could ignore it if the woman was pretty or well-trained enough, like he did with Mysaria. To watch a whore with her lover, though, it was intolerable.

❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨 SHUT THE EVER LOVING FUCK UP????????? A MAN WILL WANT SOMETHING THEN THINK THEY ARE ENTITLED TO IT????? EAT SHIT AND DIE?????????

The man tickled your side, and you laughed again. You handed him the basket and kissed him on the cheek.

🧍‍♀️ oh. I personally don't fuck with strangers tickling me please goodness I hope it's addam

Whores were professional liars. You paid them to pretend to be someone they were not. But watching you with a man you truly loved would forever break the fantasy. There was no way he could believe the sweetest lies on your tongue, not when he knew what you looked like when truly in love.

Men shouldnt have rights

“I looked for you in the brothel, but you were not there.”

CRISTI WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS BULLSHIT I WILL RHAE ROYCE THIS FUCKING DEGENERATE

“I… Excuse me?” Your voice is shrill, more angered than panicked. “Do I know you?”

🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️STAB HIM????!!!!!

And oh, the nerve on you. The nerve to question him, as if he were just a passing man on the street and not a Prince of House Targaryen. The same nerve that drove you to stand your ground against Caraxes.

❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓ LICK THE BOTTOM OF MY SHOE YOU CAME TO ME???????? 🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱

“You should be more careful on how you address your betters.”

?????????????? DONT TALK TO SOMEONE BENEATH YOU????? 100 YEARS IN JAIL????

You shove him, hard. And Daemon feels his rage bubbling up, and raises a hand to do something he will most likely regret… But before he can strike you, the man you had been smiling at steps in.

HE WAS WHAT????? 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪 IM GOING TO FUCKING GOUGE HIS EYES OUT

“And who are you? The husband? The brothel owner?” Daemon sneers, getting in his face. Your hand comes up in between them, fragile and unadorned. Yet, you hit with strength, palm flat against his chest. Daemon laughs and grabs it between his. You attempt to pull back, but his grip is much firmer. “Ah, cupping a feeling, sweetheart?”

??????? BEAT HIS FUCKING ASSSSSS STAB HIM AND BASH HIS FUCKING FACE IN ALYNN???????

“I do not care. Unhand her. We do things different in Driftmark.”

STAB HIM CORLYSSSS

“YOU DO THINGS different here, for certain.” Prince Daemon says, appearing at your window while you knead bread.

CASUALLY BREAKING INTO PEOPLES HOUSES????????? POLICE 🚓🚨

“I won’t hurt you, my lady. I didn’t mean to scare you, either.” His voice is gentle, as if dealing with a spooked animal.

STAB HIM GURL STAB HIM RIGHT FUCKING NOW

As a child, you used to watch Laena Velaryon and pretend you were her.

You are no lady. You are a bastard girl, and you have gone to bed nearly starving more times than you could count.

)))): my poor girl. My baby girl

“Any child of mine, even if natural-born, would never have to go hungry. Your father should be doing more for you, not hiding you three like a shameful secret.”

Am I supposed to be impressed? Am I supposed to pat you on the back?

“Here.” Prince Daemon pushes the parcel through the window. “Consider this my apology for my behavior. Rather uncouth, huh?”

Baho mo gago

Curious, you peer into one of the parcels. It’s full of cured meat.it would have cost him a pretty penny, having it already preserved for you. It is a luxury Addam, Allyn and you never get to have. Not since your mother passed.

))): I hate this so much for them

He says it is because he enjoys the walk. You are not entirely sold, but thinking it is to see you seems a bit conceited.

Be conceited diva WHO IS THIS DIVAAA

Daemon laughs. He uses his now free hand to tug you towards his side. You love when he does that. The gesture feels very protective. He never lets you walk too far from him, or on the side next to the ocean, so you never stumble or get soaked by an errant wave.

“Wouldn’t you like to go somewhere else?” You ask him, watching the waves lap at the shore. Then, feeling stupid for asking, you lower your eyes. As much as you feign blindness, you are not blind. He is probably ashamed to be seen with the likes of you. Even your father is. Why wouldn’t a Prince?

I believe all men should experience the pain of child birth and labor constantly forever

Your eyes feel warm, and your vision blurs. Gods, you hate crying.

“Close enough. A tad more lemony than the one at Driftmark, but I like it.” He smiles. You fight the urge to beam. He has been coming almost daily after bringing you the lemons, but it is the first time you allow him to taste your creation.

First of all fuck you second of all you're not cute third of all ITS HER FIRST TIME fourth of all I'm glad you can AT LEAST make her happy. THE BAR IS IN HELL

Your mother and you are different. She didn’t know your father was using her. You know Daemon is using you. And you intend to use him right back, milk him for all of his worth.

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔 MILK HIM BLEED HIM SUCK HIM DRY

What your father is like, too. How they use women as if they were little more than things, how they produce children and leave them to their fates.

Not all men EXPLAIN THIS THEN

“Do you listen to yourself?” You scoff, getting up. “Maidenheads, as if I were some great lady. I can handle it. Handle him.”

😬 yeesh famous last words

“To my room. The two of you have ruined my appetite.” But it wasn’t the two of them, not really. Daemon is ashamed of you, the voice in your head whispers. Ashamed of you, just like your father was. He only wants to use you, and once he has had his fill, he will discard you. Just like your father did to your mother.

MY POOR GIRL MY POOR POOR GIRL

Yet, your dark eyes were so kind, your face full of such happiness, Daemon dared not to sully you. Something in you screamed at his instincts to protect, something tugged at his heartstrings when he saw your face scrunched up towards the sun, and told him to gather you in his arms and never let anything touch you.

BROTHER EUGHHHH GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER GIRL RUNNNN ILL WWE ROYAL RUMBLE SMACK DOWN ELBOW TO THE FACE STEEL CHAIR THIS BOZO

Bedding you would ruin you. Daemon enjoyed playing the role of mentor, teaching you new things, helping you gain experiences you would never get as a bastard girl. Yet, you had such a tempting figure, with a mouth made for sin, and a body that begged for worship. You were a little girl, but you had all the self-possession and looks of a grown woman.

MY FUCKING GOODNESS CAN HE JUST BE FUCKING NORMAL IS IT SO HARD FOR HIM NOT TO FUCKING THINK WITH HIS COCK FUCK YOU DIE

“I was thinking…” Daemon says, watching your expression closely. “We could go to a tavern tonight.”

You think? Terrible idea btw fuck off

“It’s rowdy, but in a good sense.” Daemon cannot help it. Your curls are a bit mussed, from wearing the ugly headscarf for too long. He fixes them, fluffing them up slightly at the roots in the way he has seen handmaidens do for Laena. He then tosses the damn thing into the sea, for good measure, ignoring your outraged cry. “Drinks, music, people, greasy food. You will love it.”

NOTHING IS FUCKING SACRED LITERALLY KEEP YOUR HANDS RO YOURSELF MY SCARF IS MY BUSINESS YOU HAVE TERRIBLE MANNERS AND YET IM THE PEASANT FUCK YOU CHOKE ON YOUR GREASY FOOD I HOPE THE ROWDY CROWDS TEAR YOU APART

“I hate drinking.” You wrinkle your nose, cutely. He fights the urge to bite you. The face you make is too sweet, too tempting.

Why would you write him this way. Why is this endearing. HAJIMA STOP

“Because you have only drunk swill. I’ll teach you to drink real wine.” He tugs you into his side, and begins walking back into the city.

Ok alcoholic.

Still, you face it all bravely, as you had that morning at the docks. The two of you manage to get a cozy table in one tavern that Daemon had visited before. He calls for wine to be served, an expensive barrel from the Arbor he is sure they had kept around for years before anyone had the coin to buy it.

No cuz she's better than me I fucking hate being stared at I hatttttteere it she's so much better than me

“Come here, hunes.” His own voice sounds strange to him, low and demanding. When he calls you bunny, he is not exaggerating. Does the fox feel as wrong as he feels when becoming over his prey? Does his gums ache like Daemon’s do, with the urge to bite, to tear apart, to wound? Does he mourn the little bunny whose innocence he is about to shatter? “There is something I wish to show you.”

So you agree

You're a predator

You splutter, but Daemon holds you down, arms held by your side. He forces you to take and take some more, chasing the tart taste of the wine into the honeyed one of your mouth.

NDJDJD YUCCKKKKK (I'm into this shit) YUCCKKKK FUCKING HELL DIE RUNNNNN GIRL RUNNN

“Do you trust me?”

Absolute the fuck not. Eat broken glass

“I did not think it to be true.” A woman’s voice, one he knows too well, says. Rhaenys. Her face is a mask of absolute rage. She gives you a shove that sends you stumbling before Daemon can even get out of his chair. “You have much nerve.”

RHAENYSSSS NOOOO PLEASEEE NOOOO NOT THE VILLAIN ARC NOOO PLEASE )))): I DO NAWT BLAME HER BUT NDJDJNDKSKSKKSKS

“I am talking to you!” Rhaenys insists. You cower behind him. It only makes Rhaenys angrier. “No, not you, you stupid girl. You, Daemon.”

THE WAY I FUCKING SCREAMMMEDDS

BEATTTTT HISS ASSSSS

🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️BEATTTT HISSS ASSSSS

“Are you calling me a whore?”

Well I ain't callin yo ass a prude IF THE SHOE FITS DIPSHIT

He feels the slap before he even sees her move. His head gets forcefully turned to the side, and he hears you whimper. His cheek stings. Daemon has to blink back tears, Rhaenys has hit him that hard.

IM DOING A DANCY DANCE LITERALLY EXPLODE

What Daemon had done to you had seemed purposeful. You had not realized when he had stolen the kiss from you, giving you your first taste of fine wine, but you understood it now. Had Princess Rhaenys not been there, or had she been any less merciful, a much different fate would have awaited you.

😭😭😭😭😭 IM CRYING MY POOR POOR GIRLLLL

“Daughter.”

😃🔪🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕

“It’s a pleasure to finally have you join the family.”

BURN IN HELL ❤️

Addam and Allyn are still in the crowd, unacknowledged. They are your family, not this man who is grasping your hands with a calculating gleam in his eyes. Wondering, as all highborn do, how he might use you. How you might serve to further his own ends.

))))))))))))))))):

“I figured you wouldn’t have one of these.” Her smile is strained as she reaches for your hands. “Since you weren’t raised the proper way.”

FUCKING HELLLLSSSSSS DAMNNNNN MDIRNSJJSJSNSJSMSKANSNNSSJAJAKAKAKAKAKAKJANANAN STOPPPPPP

“I do not think I will.” Daemon cups your cheek in his hand, hands gentle despite the calluses on them. It was one of the things you had first liked about him. His hands were artisan’s hands, like the ones of your brothers, despite being highborn. He had seemed so different from the rest of the men you knew, back then. “Not when my betrothed is nearly weeping in her own feast.”

? I don't like you never have never will I hope you have a heart attack

You bloom under his praise.

I hate that for you.... *Sigh* congrats ig

There is no other word for it. It warms you, from head to toe, and your stomach fills with butterflies. A small smile forms, even through the tears that threaten to fall.

)))): I hate this for you so much baby girl

“There she is.” Daemon brushes his thumb over your cheek. “That’s my girl.”

? Ok? Get it ig. Fuck shit up for her. It's the only thing you're good for.

“Be mine instead.” Daemon whispers, and when you nod, he kisses your forehead.

Oh that's not

“I would protect you.” You say, and it warms something inside Daemon he wasn’t even aware that he had. “If only because killing a Prince is a crime worthy of the ax, and I wish to have nephews.”

😭😭😭😭😭 my girllllll. Get it ig. I'm glad she's happy. That's all that matters

THIS WAS A RIDE. I LOVE HOW MUCH I HATE HIM. I HOPE HE DIES 😃😃😃😃

On a real level, it made me think how fascinated I am in exploring themes such as gender class whatnot and how I as a writer myself am unashamed to admit 'yeah I write daemon fucked up, s'part of the appeal' while simultaneously just being unwilling to let him take the piss ya know HAHAHAH LIKE I WONT DEFEND THIS MAN HES FUCKED UP AND FICTIONAL DIEEEEE ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

The Brave (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: A collection of first times with Daemon.

Warnings: Bastard! Reader. Daddy issues. Corruption kink. Innocence kink. Age difference, power imbalance. Poorly translated HV. Angst. Enemies to lovers (Sort of?) Happy ending. Usual warnings for Daemon (Sexual thoughts, mature language, violence)

Requested: Yes! My first after Halloween, life has been crazy.

THE FISHERMEN SAIL too early for your liking. You know it has little to do with their personal preference, and more to do with the tides. It doesn’t mean you are happy about it, though.

Your job is to ensure all your ships are in good condition and ready to transport whatever those men bring home. Your mother had made a small fortune by expanding her father’s fleet, and after her passing, it was your turn to handle it. You preferred to oversee things personally, knowing that only an owner’s touch could ensure the quality of service you prided yourself in.

No one loved these ships more than you. Small and old they were, but they tied you to your mother. You lacked her knowledge, and sometimes, they made you far less money than you hoped for, but you insisted on keeping them. Your siblings had not shown such an interest, choosing other pursuits.

Allyn, much more practical, had preferred to learn the trade of a shipwright. He now worked under Lord Corlys. It embarrassed you to say it, but it was him and not you who was the breadwinner of your family. Some months, if not most, it was far more lucrative than your business with the ships.

Addam worked occasionally as a shipwright too, but he didn’t have a steady source of income. He was far too young to be hired anywhere, lacking the experience most lords wanted from those building their ships. Sometimes, he also helped you.

Today wasn’t one of those days. Otherwise, you would have forced him to come here in your stead. With a grumble, you jumped from the ship to the dock. Everything was as it should, so you had to move to the next one.

The sunrise makes Hull look even more beautiful, the city slowly beginning to rise under Driftmark’s watchful eyes. The white marble and ivory of the castle provide a backdrop for the goldens and pinks that color the scene. It would make you smile, were it not for the fact that the peaceful morning is ruined by every damn bell in the city tolling.

Visitors. Noble ones. By the amount of noise, they are announcing the visit of someone very high ranking.

The splash of cold water against your ankle makes you grumble more. You hated getting your shoes wet. Or your ankles. You fix your hair scarf, worried that the sea breeze will make it come loose.

You shouldn’t have bothered. A harsh gust of wind takes it fully off and nearly sends you caroling into the water. The dock shakes underneath you, the ships and water agitated by the same thing. You scream, as do the rest of the sailors who are near.

You had never seen a dragon up close before. You are not allowed to go near Driftmark, where the Princess and the Lord and Lady keep theirs.

The few captains and sailors that were on the docks alongside you have fled. But not you. Alone, silver hair in full display, you stand frozen in the same spot you had been before seeing him pass.

The man smiles. He winks at you.

You lower your eyes and do not stop running until you are safe at home.

DAEMON SEES YOU again when he least expects it. He has looked for you in every pleasure house on this island and has not been able to find you. The brave little maiden with silver hair, who had screamed bloody murder but stood her ground on the docks when she saw him approach.

You must be of Valyrian descent. There is no other explanation for your lack of fear. You were young and comely, so he had guessed that you must be a whore. It was what happened to girls who looked like you. Men loved pretending they were either a Princess or the daughter of some lord. And so close to Driftmark? They probably asked you to pretend you were little Laena Velaryon.

Daemon would have so enjoyed to play such a game himself. His future bride was far too young to do little more than court under her parents’ watchful eyes. If he could sneak a bit of a taste in advance, you wouldn’t catch him complaining about it.

When he had agreed to accompany Corlys to oversee the progress being made on the news ships for his fleet, the last thing he expected to encounter was you.

Your laughter was the first thing that caught his attention, a sound so girlish it seemed improper among the men carrying saws and woods for the ships. His head had turned instinctively towards the sound, and it was then that he saw you.

The dress you had on was a plain gray, as it was the headscarf you wore. But Daemon would know that face anywhere. He had sought everywhere for it. You were holding a small basket, next to some shipwright. The man looked older than you, already bald. You were all smiles and animated gestures, seemingly taken by him.

The man tickled your side, and you laughed again. You handed him the basket and kissed him on the cheek.

Is it in bad taste to approach you when his future father-in-law is distracted by his sailors? Probably. But he cannot stop himself. Because the only thing Daemon can think of, the only thing that would make him feel better, is to bring you as low as he. Ruin your little fantasy as you had ruined his.

He marches towards where the man and you are, and gently cups your chin in his hand. The sudden interruption startles you, and you try taking a step back, but his sweet hold has turned into Valyrian Steel. There is no escape for little whores.

“I looked for you in the brothel, but you were not there.”

“I… Excuse me?” Your voice is shrill, more angered than panicked. “Do I know you?”

Begrudgingly, Daemon has to name the strange feeling taking place in his stomach. Awe. Admiration. You had fire in your belly, and steel on your spine. You were a truer Valyrian than many of his own family members.

They were weak. Soft. You were not. But you were still a mere peasant, and he couldn’t allow you to disrespect him such.

“You should be more careful on how you address your betters.”

You shove him, hard. And Daemon feels his rage bubbling up, and raises a hand to do something he will most likely regret… But before he can strike you, the man you had been smiling at steps in.

“Unhand her.” He says, voice firm. His expression doesn’t waver, the same steel you have mirrored in his brown eyes. Up close, he is much younger than Daemon expected, tall and muscular from what seems like a life of hard work. He tugs you behind him.

“Daemon.” And really, things were just turning interesting. Why does Corlys have to interrupt at the worst time possible? “Unhand her immediately.”

At his appearance, both you and the boy turn an awful gray shade that matches your dress and headscarf. Fear of their liege, perhaps?

But the boy’s jaw ticks, and your dark eyes lower in a manner that they hadn’t when facing him. Something else is at play here.

“I was just…” Daemon slowly retracts his hand, studying the surrounding faces carefully. You, sullen, the boy enraged. Corlys’ cold as ice. Neither of you speak, yet it is clear you are not strangers.

“I do not care. Unhand her. We do things different in Driftmark.”

And the tone Corlys uses is strange, for a man unbothered by the costs of power. What are two peasants to the favor of a Prince? Why does he know them? He had never struck Daemon as someone concerned by his subjects.

And then, a piece of your hair falls out of your headscarf. Silver against a dark background. And it is then he knows it. You are no dragonseed. Nor is the boy with the shaved head.

“YOU DO THINGS different here, for certain.” Prince Daemon says, appearing at your window while you knead bread. His presence is as unexpected as it is unwelcome. It is the first time you are home alone after the incident, not Addam nor Allyn willing to risk this stranger attempting anything worse than he already has. Three days had passed, and they had considered it enough. If the man had not approached you during that time, it meant he wouldn’t, right? Clearly no. He had just been bidding his time, waiting for both of your brothers to go. “Corlys's little secret.”

Your hands shake. You wished Allyn wasn’t so set on teaching Addam his craft, and hadn’t gone out today. Being home alone with a strange man around didn’t spell anything good for you.

A quick glance at the door reassures you that it is still barred. You take a not so subtle step back from the window.

The prince lip’s quirk upwards, not quite a smile, but betraying his amusement. Does he find your fear funny?

“I won’t hurt you, my lady. I didn’t mean to scare you, either.” His voice is gentle, as if dealing with a spooked animal. The title makes you scoff. No one has ever called you a lady, much less a Prince.

As a child, you used to watch Laena Velaryon and pretend you were her. Wondering what life would have been like if you didn’t have to hide, if your father acknowledged you. Wondering what it would feel, to be a Lady and never go to bed hungry, to be surrounded by beauty all day.

You are no lady. You are a bastard girl, and you have gone to bed nearly starving more times than you could count.

As if sensing your thoughts, Prince Daemon lifts one of his hands. He holds up a package, wrapped in bright white silk. Both he and his gift look deeply out of place here, near your window. In his fine clothes, in brighter colors than you can afford, he sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Any child of mine, even if natural-born, would never have to go hungry. Your father should be doing more for you, not hiding you three like a shameful secret.”

You do not take the parcel. You merely look at him and fight an overwhelming urge to cry.

“Here.” Prince Daemon pushes the parcel through the window. “Consider this my apology for my behavior. Rather uncouth, huh?”

You open it carefully. Two smaller parcels fall from it, both as carefully wrapped.

“You can wear the silk.” He tells you, gesturing to your hair. “And the rest…”

With rushed hands, you open the other parcel. A small sack of flour, lemons, and pages torn from a book. They are all expensive things, nothing like the flour you buy at the market to make bread or the bruised fruit you get when Addam craves something sweet. You squint at the pages, puzzled by their presence.

“Mix one cup of flour with… Is this..?” You ask him, astonished. A small smile begins to form on your face.

“The recipe for lemon cakes. For your baking.” He smiles back. He then gestures to your hands, still covered in flour. “I hear you enjoy it. Just… Save me a piece.”

“Thank you.” You beam at him. He gives you a bow, and leaves. You find yourself smiling like a fool the rest of the afternoon.

You cannot believe it. Prince Daemon has just given you the recipe for lemon cakes. As far apologies go, this is a great one.

Addam and Allyn go to bed with full stomachs. You go to bed with yours full of butterflies. No one has ever ensured such for the three of you.

“IS IT CLOSE enough?” You bite your lower lip, watching Daemon chew a piece of cake. His brows furrow a bit, and he lets out a small, throaty moan.

He says it is because he enjoys the walk. You are not entirely sold, but thinking it is to see you seems a bit conceited.

“I got excited.” You scratch the back of your neck, sheepish. The batter had smelt and tasted so heavenly, you had just kept adding more.

It’s peaceful here. He often says he cares not for the ocean, but the two of you always walk the same route. From your home, towards your ships, then back.

Your eyes feel warm, and your vision blurs. Gods, you hate crying. You try to focus on something else. Your scuffed shoes. His boots. The sand under your feet. The urge to run away, and scream, and die from the humiliation of even asking.

Daemon sighs. He sits down on the sand, patting the space on his side. His clothes, despite their simple design, are very fine.

“Your clothes…” You mumble, without sitting.

“Bah, I have three other cloaks like this one.” As if proving a point, he takes it off, laying it down for you to sit. You feel even sillier at his patience. “Come. Sit down, jorrāeliarzys.”

You obey him because there is little else to do. You have already messed up, you don’t wish to make any other mistake. His company has become precious to you, a welcome respite from your brothers. Living with two boys, you are never alone. But every so often, you wish for more engaging conversation.

“I am not ashamed of being seen in your company. I just… I thought you preferred it here.” Daemon explains, softly tucking a stray curl behind your ear. “Would you like for us to meet in the city, instead?”

You think of meeting him in the city’s market. Of the rumors that would sure follow, of the names you would be called. Of your father finding out. You know what it would look like to him. That you are making the same mistake as your mother did.

You are not dumb. Daemon is not here to simply plan an alliance. Alliances are always sealed in blood, and your half sister is barely old enough to be considered.

Your mother and you are different. She didn’t know your father was using her. You know Daemon is using you. And you intend to use him right back, milk him for all of his worth.

So why does it hurt like this, why does it feel like something inside you is breaking?

You take the parcels he gives you without any shame. That night, as the three of you are eating a generous serving of venison, Allyn scowls.

“I don’t like it. Can’t you see what he wants?”

Addam’s fork freezes midway to his mouth. He looks down at his plate, as if he is truly seeing the meat he is being served for the first time.

“I am not mother.” You say, icily. The venison tastes bitter on your tongue, but stubbornly, you keep eating. Allyn is just angry that it is not longer him who is putting the meals on the table. “I know what highborn men are like.”

What your father is like, too. How they use women as if they were little more than things, how they produce children and leave them to their fates.

“All the more reason not to allow him to take your maidenhead.”

“Do you listen to yourself?” You scoff, getting up. “Maidenheads, as if I were some great lady. I can handle it. Handle him.”

Allyn looks at you, eyes full of pity. You cannot bear it. Your eyes sting again. You hurry out of the table.

“Where are you going?” Addam reaches forward, as if to grab you.

Alone, in your room, you tear the headscarf he had given you to shreds. You squeeze the rests on your palm, you make a ball, you throw it against the wall.

The next morning, you have sobbed your throat raw. You still go to meet him in the afternoon.

SOMETHING IS WRONG. Daemon can tell when he picks you up that day. Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot, and your complexion an awful gray. The headscarf he had given you is nowhere to be seen, and you are back to your severe gray one.

Like a bad case of heartburn, the lie he had told you comes back to him, leaving an acrid taste in his mouth.

Daemon is not ashamed of you, but doesn't want to be seen with you either. The consequences for you would be too great. He had learned his lesson with Mysaria. The double stain would have made you a pariah, both because of your birth and because of whom you were bedding.

Because it was all that people would think about when they found out. No one would believe Daemon had yet to touch you.

He was unsure if he ever would.

You were an extraordinary girl, yet still a bastard. There was nothing to be done about it. All you could be was friends and lovers, and nothing more.

Daemon had been like you, once. When younger. He, too, felt a lack of acknowledgement by those around you, and an urge to prove himself. His father had passed when he was still young, and Viserys had received all laurels. It would have never bothered him because he loved his brother, but Viserys had left him behind. Married Aemma. Had children. Gained the love of his people, found new friends.

Never once Viserys had looked at Daemon. No matter how hard he tried to reach for him, his brother always evaded his hand. Daemon had been left there. He, too, had stood on the shadows and feigned indifference, burning up with secret resentment.

The idea of you growing up to be like him was both appealing and horrifying. There was a sweetness to you, a naïveté that he had lacked even in his younger years. He wanted to preserve it. Shield you from the world.

You would taste exquisite on his tongue, crumbling from his caresses. Your cunt would feel like wet velvet around him, and you would sound your sweetest when he was spearing you open on his cock.

And how would you smile, joyous and fierce, his brave girl. Some maidens cried, but not you. You were made of sterner stuff, a heart that burned brighter and stronger than the Fourteen Flames. You had stood your ground, terrified but unbowed, in front of Caraxes himself.

Such a face you had, all Valyrian empress. A sovereign nose, the fleeting shadow of your eyelashes, and a slippery laugh that always gave you an air of mischief. A face not made for sadness. It is what prompts him to do what will become either the greatest mistake of his life, or his greatest triumph.

“I was thinking…” Daemon says, watching your expression closely. “We could go to a tavern tonight.”

“A tavern?” The surprising offering shakes you out of your sadness. Your face changes from a sad little frown into a curious one.

“Have you ever gone to one?” Daemon tugs the hair scarf from your hair, softly. The silver curls fall free, in a lovely mess. You scowl, trying to get it back, but he holds it just out of your reach. It’s a lovely thing, to watch you give little jumps on your tiptoes, curls bouncing with the motion. “Ah! None of that, now. Answer my question first.”

“No, I haven’t. Addam and Allyn go from time to time, but it sounds too rowdy for my liking.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“I hate drinking.” You wrinkle your nose, cutely. He fights the urge to bite you. The face you make is too sweet, too tempting.

“Because you have only drunk swill. I’ll teach you to drink real wine.” He tugs you into his side, and begins walking back into the city.

The walk to the city is awkward. Not because the two of you have nothing to talk about, but rather, because of the stares. Your silver hair, despite your simple clothing, commands attention. So does Daemon’s presence, and the arm he has around your shoulders.

He had not been wrong. This would cost you. A cost too steep for someone he sought to keep safe.

It’s delicious. But when he serves you a goblet, you take a big sip and begin to splutter.

“Mittys hunes iksā.” Daemon tuts. His silly bunny. “You are not meant to drink it such. You ought to savor it.”

“Savor?” You arch an eyebrow. “Tastes like dragonfire.”

And perhaps it's the choice of words, or the glint of your silver hair under the low light emanating from the torches, but something about you reminds him of the way he had loved Rhaenyra and admired Laena, the other Valyrian beauties in his life. They are not here, he cannot reach them. But you are.

You eye him warily, but get up from your chair and move until you are standing in front of him. It's not enough for Daemon. It never is. He always wants you closer, closer to hold, to protect, to own.

He tugs you between his parted legs.

“Do you trust me?”

There is a slight furrow of your brow. The barest hint of hesitation. Yet, your voice is firm when you answer him.

“Yes.”

His girl. His precious girl. If you had been his, he would have never hurt you like Corlys had. Never allowed to become easy prey for men like him. You shouldn’t trust him.

Daemon shouldn’t be doing this, either. It is a good thing he has never claimed to be a good man.

He takes a sip of his wine, and leans towards you, capturing your mouth in his. At first, you fight him, the suddenness startling you. It’s only when he gives your lower lip a sharp nip, that you melt into the kiss. When your mouth parts slightly, he passes you the wine.

You splutter, but Daemon holds you down, arms held by your side. He forces you to take and take some more, chasing the tart taste of the wine into the honeyed one of your mouth.

Your obedience and compliance only makes him wilder, drives him to grasp at your hips, pull you closer. Just when you begin to lean into Daemon, dutifully swallowing the wine, someone jerks you out of his grip.

Your face turns ashen. You look like you are about to cry, or worse, flee. Daemon jumps up, and gets between Rhaenys and you.

“You were always a whore!” She screams, her index finger digging into his chest. You let out a sob, quietly. Daemon’s heart feels like it is being wrenched from his chest. At this point, the screams have attracted all the tavern's attention. Daemon doesn’t doubt that by this time tomorrow, the whole island will know.

You will be shunned. Just as he had feared.

“I am talking to you!” Rhaenys insists. You cower behind him. It only makes Rhaenys angrier. “No, not you, you stupid girl. You, Daemon.”

Daemon feels utterly stunned. Never in a million years he would have thought Rhaenys was referring to him.

“Are you calling me a whore?”

He feels the slap before he even sees her move. His head gets forcefully turned to the side, and he hears you whimper. His cheek stings. Daemon has to blink back tears, Rhaenys has hit him that hard.

He wasn’t even aware that a woman could land such a blow.

“You dare! You toyed with my daughter and this girl as you saw fit.” And Daemon cannot even get a word in because she is too angry. He feels his cheeks reddening, and its unsure if he is feeling embarrassment at being scolded like a child, or rage at her words. “But worry not. I will make this right.”

Rhaenys has a manic gleam in her eyes. For a frightening second, Daemon thinks he sees in her the famous Targaryen madness.

Instead of setting you both on fire, she lunges, avoiding Daemon, and grabbing you hands in hers.

“I shall not allow you to make the same mistake your mother did.” Rhaenys says, and she is gone before Daemon can answer anything.

THIS IS YOUR greatest triumph. Why, then, does it taste like ashes on your tongue?

You are wearing the finest dress you have ever owned, gifted to you by Daemon. Princess Rhaenys has forced both him and your father into complacency, and even forced King Viserys to allow your betrothal. Still, you feel adrift. Even betrayed.

The stink of shame that followed you around, the whispers of dishonor and the looks of distaste, would have been even more intense. You would have been ruined, known as little more than a whore. And your family no longer had the money that had shielded your mother during her pregnancies.

You had not known it. But Daemon must have. He had a reputation for taking maidenheads as he saw fit, Addam had informed you. You were a fool for not knowing, and a fool for believing he wanted something else from you.

The royal decree is read by a Maester, in front of all the Lords of near castles, the smallfolk of Driftmark and the Velaryons. Even in the first beautiful dress you own, you feel small. Out of place. The looks your half siblings are shooting you do not help you feel better.

Once the bill is read, Lord Corlys steps forward.

“Daughter.” He says, grasping your hands in his. He is cold. He is cold, and it makes your skin crawl, even when it is all you wanted as a little girl. It’s the first time he acknowledges you, and he is not at all like the man you imagined, when dreaming as a child of what it would be like for him to look at you. Because even a glance would have been enough back then. “It’s a pleasure to finally have you join the family.”

Your brothers could not be recognized as you were. You had shyly asked Princess Rhaenys, and if she thought you dimwitted before, she had probably confirmed her suspicions. They were men, she had explained, and a threat to Laenor’s rights once your father passed. You, instead, were nothing but a girl who had sullied herself, whose honor had been compromised so thoroughly you had turned even less important in the great scheme of things.

She was helping you because you had been taken advantage of by Daemon, Princess Rhaenys had said, but also to spare her daughter from your fate. Wife to a husband that would most likely betray you and sire bastards.

Lord Corlys was just happy to have another pawn to marry off and forge alliances. Freeing his daughter from a disloyal husband was an added bonus.

Every time you heard them, your hands turned into fist, and you could barely fight the rage from clouding your expression. You had not done the thing everyone was accusing you of, and yet were being judged for it all the same. Daemon, too, did nothing to correct them. Not even when the most scandalous rumors surfaced, saying you would wed him with a child already in your belly.

You had not let him touch you like that. You were not as stupid as everyone thought. As a daughter to a single mother, you knew all about scorn and loneliness. You would never doom a child to your same fate.

The day doesn’t pick up from there. The feast to follow feels just as empty, and you turn down an insincere offer from your father to be housed here. You cannot wait to run back to your brothers.

It would be impolite to leave so soon, though. Lord Corlys has thrown this feast in your honor and is making the lords and members of his household present you with gifts. You admit it is a clever strategy, to avoid having to spend money in your trousseau. Hence, you need to stay a little bit longer.

You get handed new quills and parchments, alongside a new seal for your correspondence by Laena.

“I figured you wouldn’t have one of these.” Her smile is strained as she reaches for your hands. “Since you weren’t raised the proper way.” It says a lot about the company you are in that it is the most polite greeting you receive all afternoon.

When it all begins to become a bit much, and your eyes are stinging after a lady said you had no grace and no manners, you decide you need to run. But when you are stepping a foot outside the hall, Daemon appears by your side.

“Rather improper, isn’t it?” He asks, grabbing your hand in his. You try to jerk away, but he merely interlaces your fingers together. “A lady cannot quite run around unescorted as you used to.”

“Leave me alone, Daemon.” You say, still trying to free yourself. The last thing you want today is to deal with him.

“You heard all those people. I do not belong here.” You look up at him, fighting your tears. You feel like such a whiny child. What happened to you is something that only happens in fairytales, it's the stuff songs are written about. No bastard girl gets acknowledged by her father and marries a Prince.

“Who cares what those cunts think?” Daemon scoffs. “You are above them. You always were.”

You bloom under his praise. There is no other word for it. It warms you, from head to toe, and your stomach fills with butterflies. A small smile forms, even through the tears that threaten to fall.

“There she is.” Daemon brushes his thumb over your cheek. “That’s my girl.”

His girl. There is nothing you would like more.

“I never wanted to be a Lady.” You lower your eyes, embarrassed at the admission. You feel ungrateful for saying it, but it’s the truth. You had never imagined a home away from your siblings. The marriage will mean you will be taken away from them, and only see them if Daemon feels like it.

You do not own a dragon, after all. And you aren’t too sure Allyn and him will be the best good brothers.

He grabs you by the waist and gives a little tug.

“Be mine instead.” Daemon whispers, and when you nod, he kisses your forehead.

MARRYING YOU HAD never been in his plans. Yet, when he saw you walk down the aisle, dressed in Velaryon blue and looking awkward, Daemon was sure you were the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

You were not a lady or a princess, yet you and him were alike. Birds of the same feather. For the first time, Daemon could say there was someone who understood him.

Daemon had never been poor, nor had he been born a bastard, but he too, had lost his parents while young. He, too, was considered too wild by his brother. And he knew all about of trying to fulfill an impossible task while honoring the legacy of his ancestors.

Laena was a mere child by your side. Her innocence and Valyrian looks had appealed to him once, but after meeting you, Daemon knew no other woman could compare. There was an edge to you, beneath all the innocence and beauty. A fire that burned bright in your belly, and could not be quenched. An anger that both amazed him and scared him, and drew him in like a moth to a flame.

You would have been great if you had been born into his house. Great but terrible.

Or perhaps you wouldn’t have. Perhaps, if you had grown acknowledged by your father, you would have not been the lost little girl who dreamed of recognition and slept lulled by the sea. You wouldn’t have grown into the woman who got the recognition and understood she did not need it at all.

A shame that recognition had come at a price so steep. Recognition in exchange for rumors of dishonor, whispers of the shame of your existence and the shame you had brought on yourself. These cunts did not see you for what you were. Not some malicious creature, some silver tongued temptress. No. You were determined and fierce, brave and true. You honored your house’s words. Your ancestors would have been proud.

Yes, Daemon decided. He would marry you and take you away from here, from this horrible little island where people behaved like they were above you. The cunts should be honored that you were even looking their way.

The distance might even help those stubborn brothers of yours to forget all about the way Daemon had become part of their family. When the grudge was forgotten, he would bring you back, less the eldest skewered him alive.

Not because Daemon feared Allyn. Of course not. But because killing him would be such a nuisance, and you would cry, and… Ugh. He couldn’t stand to see you cry.

You were about to burst into tears right now. He could tell. Daemon grabbed your hands in his, uncaring he was breaking protocol, and pressed his forehead against yours.

“We can still marry on the beach, with only Caraxes as witness.” He whispers, gently. “Hells, I would prefer it. We can run still. The Septon has not spoken.”

You laugh, a bit watery.

“Addam and Allyn would drop dead, thinking we will not be wed.”

“Allyn looks like he would attempt murder.”

“Attempt?”

“I doubt he would succeed.”

Daemon's mouth opens and closes.

“You little..!”

You laugh, but before he can lunge and throw you over his shoulder, the Septon clears his throat.

“If the two of you are done..?”

“Just get to the part where you handfast us.” Daemon says, giving him his best lecherous expression. “I have many things I wish to show my new bride.”

And there were. He had taken many of your firsts already, he wasn’t about to stop now.

#HAHAHAHAHAH #im insane #daemon fanfic #loVEEEE

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ahhhhhhhghghhhgg · 3 hours ago

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Malleus x reader: Malleus is trying to ask reader out by using fae courting

TW: Malleus being adorable and you being oblivious, not proof read

The reader will just be referred to as you (like you yourself not Yuu)

You were making dinner for you and grim (or trying to with whatever you could scrounge up) when you heard some rustling outside your dorm, honestly you weren’t really surprised by the odd noise, it wasn’t uncommon for one of your friends to escape there house warden and show up at your door so you put down the bag of rice in your hand, went to your door, and opened it to find… nothing, well not exactly nothing just nobody. The only thing there was a small pile of shiny things like some coins a few pins and a particularly cool rock, you smiled and picked up the trinkets knowing exactly who had put them there, this had been happening for a few weeks now. You’d hear rustling and go out to check only to find a pile of shiny things. Now you knew it was none other than your friend Malleus, and you knew it was him because the first time this happened you looked around to find the culprit and saw him hiding in a nearby bush, you wouldn’t have been able to spot him if it weren’t for the two distinct horns coming out of the rather shaken up bush, you just giggled to yourself and and rolled your eyes as you picked up the gifts and then watched from a window as he scurried out of the bush and disappeared in a cloud of green. This wasn’t the only new behavior of your friend, in the past few weeks you had noticed he had been a lot more touchy, not that you minded, he’d rub his cheek on yours and nudge you lovingly, he’d want to cuddle more than usual and he’d often place your hands on his cheeks. He had also asked you to help him clean his horns (a very big step for fae, to touch one’s horns is very intimate) you of course agreed you’d lay his head in your lap as you gently scrubbed and polished his horns, you’d massage the base of his horns and his scalp too which he enjoyed very much. Malleus was aware you had no idea about fae courting however he assumed you’d catch on. (You didn’t) you loved Mall very much but you didn’t want to call you two anything other than friends incase Malleus didn’t feel the same, he on the other hand had assumed by now that you were already dating, after all you did accept all his gifts and physical affection, you had even been giving him gifts too! (Including a gargoyle plush you made for him) you only caught on when he finally made a VERY clearly romantic move…

You: *complaining about how you and grim have nowhere to go during school break*

Malleus: “child of man, why not just come with me to Briar Valley? I’m sure my grandmother would be delighted to meet my partner and you can even bring your large rat (Grim) with you”

You: “thank you Malmal! I’d love to come stay with you…”

You: “wait partner?????”

@orpydorpy

I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS!!! I tried to do as much research on fae courting (especially dragons) as I could, and I’m really sorry if there is spelling errors I have dysgraphia so please forgive me 😭

#incorrect quotes #twst #disney twst #twst incorrect quotes #twst wonderland #tumblr milestone #twisted wonderland #twst malleus x reader #malleus draconia #twst x yuu funny #mallyuu #first fanfic #ahhhhhhhhhhhhh #i hope you like it #fae folk

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venusbyline · 3 hours ago

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Revenge ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 30, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Aemond Targaryen x niece!reader x Aegon II Targaryen

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

— kink: mirror sex

— summary: Aegon wants to please you, his niece and betrothed, during the night of your nineteenth name day. However, everything goes wrong when you reject Aegon's touch and he decides to try to make amends with Aemond, letting the younger prince take revenge on your brothers in the worst way possible.

— tags/warnings: kinktober 30th day, female!reader, dark!Aegon, dark!Aemond, Jacaerys' twin sister!reader, betrothed!Aegon, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT (i'm not kidding, this is REALLY disgusting), rape/non-con, mirror sex, Targcest (uncles/niece), degradation, non-consensual somnophilia, vaginal sex, rough sex, breeding kink, blood and violence, squirting, overstimulation, forced orgasm, dacryphilia, crying, dumbification, vaginal fingering, unconscious sex, fainting/collapsing, forced pregnancy, breeding kink, cum eating, cum swallowing, blood licking, sexism, age gap (older men/younger woman), marriage of convenience, ambiguous/open ending, implied/referenced cheating, face slapping, hair-pulling, sadism, revenge sex, threats of death, emotional manipulation, book accurate ages (It's 133 AC. Reader's 19, Aemond's 23, Aegon's 26, Jacaerys' 19, Lucerys' 18, Joffrey's 16), referenced Targaryen-Velaryon Incest (sister/brothers), referenced consensual underage sex, minor Velaryon brothers/reader, implied Aemond Targaryen/Helaena Targaryen, bisexual(?)!emond, bisexual(?)!Aegon, minor Aemond Targaryen/Aegon Targaryen, Aegond, dark content, dom!Aemond, switch!Aegon, sub!reader, canon divergence (No Dance of the Dragons/War for Succession), porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

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

— author notes: It's MENTIONED during the fic that Aegon's obsession with the reader has been going on since before the night in Driftmark, 120 AC. So at that time, you would be 6 years old and Aegon would be 13/14. Although this is just a MENTION of Aegon's dark desires and isn't graphic at all, it's important that you understand about the Dead Dove: Do Not Eat tag and read all trigger warnings. This is just a FANFICTION, but Aegon's thoughts are disgusting anyway.

Aegon II Targaryen had been quite impulsive when choosing the woman he would marry. He knew that getting betrothed to his niece, Jacaerys's twin sister, would not be an idea well received by his family, especially by his mother and his younger brother, Aemond, but he decided to act on that decision without thinking too much about the possible consequences.

His obsession with you, the only daughter of his half-sister, Rhaenyra, was almost unhealthy. Aegon has watched you grow, just as he has watched Jacaerys and Lucerys grow. He liked to see you trying to keep up with them when the three boys got together to play some trick on Aemond. They never let you spend much time with them, and Aegon even made fun of you, just like he did with Aemond.

At that time, Aegon did not know how to deal with the intense feelings he felt about you, finding it disgusting that he was much older than you. Gods, you were younger even than Aemond. He really could not deal with those thoughts, and venting about them to someone would be a bad idea. He would probably get a beating from Harwin Strong — the man all people of King's Landing knew was your true father — when the knight was still alive.

Trying to keep you far away, Aegon chose making you a butt of jokes. Jacaerys and Lucerys never seemed to notice how Aegon really felt about their sister and even liked to have fun at your expense.

As the years passed, the family had grown apart. The fight involving Aemond against Lucerys, Jacaerys and Daemon's daughters parted the Targaryen family into two sides. Despite always being a terrible older brother, Aegon had tried to make it up to Aemond after he lost his eye. He did not like to admit that he blamed himself a little for what happened. However, the thought occurred to him with a damn frequency. If Aegon had not been drinking like an asshole that night, perhaps he could have defended his brother.

He wanted to be a better brother to Aemond, he really tried to be, but nothing seemed to be enough for the younger prince. Nothing seemed to make him happy. Not even when Aegon took Aemond, who was still ten and three years old, to a brothel and introduced him to Madam Sylvi. Aegon thought his brother would like to become a complete man and he would like to get his cock wet. But he was definitely wrong.

He could remember with anguish how Aemond opened the curtains and walked out into the halls of the brothel after the act. Aegon tried to ask him how the sex had been, if he had liked it... But all Aemond did was give him a cold and hurt look, replacing his eye patch and continuing to walk so both of them could leave soon.

When Aegon returned to the brothel the next week, he asked Madam Sylvi about Aemond performance and expected a naughty response from the whore. Anyway, hearing the phrase "He is not a child now" clearly did not sound as sensual as he imagined. He needed to drink a little more to avoid wanting to cry when he realized that in fact Aemond was no longer a child. He had taken that away from his brother when he convinced the younger to joined him to Street of Silk. Even after so many pranks, until that fateful day in Driftmark, Aemond still trusted his older brother. He was still an innocent child, with just one eye and his fierce Dragon.

And Aegon had destroyed the last vestige of innocence inside Aemond's heart. Aegon had ruined everything again, just as he had ruined everything every time he played tricks on you with your brothers and called you a fucking bastard the night Lucerys accidentally took out Aemond's eye during the childish and violent fight. You were not even there when all of that happened, but Aegon thought offending you would be like making up to Aemond for his absence and lack of protection.

Now, 133 AC, thirteen years after the family chaos in Driftmark, Aegon was trying to slowly restore some peace by proposing to his half-sister, Queen Rhaenyra, a betrothal to you. It was a way of seeking a truce between the grudge that Rhaenyra and Daemon held for Alicent and her children. And most important of all, it was a way to make amends with you and Aemond, even if his brother hated you.

"What do you think about your new necklace, my dear?" Aegon asked you after the festival in King's Landing to celebrate your and your twin brother Jacaerys' nineteenth year of life.

"It is very beautiful, uncle." You replied with a tense voice, observing yourself in the large mirror with golden edges in Aegon's private chambers.

You were not someone who liked breaking the rules, especially when they involved secret meetings with your uncle Aegon. You still harbored resentment for the way he started to mock your and your brothers' legitimacy after Rhaenyra and Alicent's complete estrangement. At first, you thought about denying his call for you to accompany him through the castle corridors, but the idea of receiving one more gift seemed tempting. And in fact, you did not regret. Actually, you were enchanted by the necklace with the pendant of a golden dragon with silver-toned wings.

"Do not call me uncle anymore, my dear. You are my future wife now." Aegon reminded you with a chuckle, standing behind you and watching as you admired the pendant. He could see the way you seemed to want to ask something and he knew exactly what it was. "Yeah, the dragon on the pendant was made especially to represent Vermithor."

He said and your eyes widened immediately. Just like Rhaena and Aemond, there was no dragon for you when you were born. You only managed to claim Vermithor four years ago, however, your bond with the elder dragon was already quite admirable. Vermithor was a fierce creature to everyone and he was like a puppy to you, so meek and docile that sometimes you found yourself venting alone to him. A habit that only increased even more after your mother confirming your betrothal with your uncle.

"This is... This is... This is incredible." Your eyes filling with tears. You lifted your face to observe Aegon's reflection behind you, his soft smile as he returned your gaze. "My most sincere thanks, Aegon. This is the kindest and sweetest gift I have ever received. I swear."

Aegon's cheeks flushed a little. He was not used to being kine or sweet. Much less listen someone calling him like that. Your thanks slightly caught him off guard and he cleared his throat, trying to hide his sudden nervousness, hoping you would not notice how sweaty and shaky his hands were when he placed them on your shoulders, a little taller than you while you were still watching each other in the mirror. "You look so fucking delightful right now."

He purred into your earlobe. The warm air and the smell of wine made you frown and step back. You were not used to being touched like this by men who were not your brothers and you did not feel comfortable with Aegon's sudden physical proximity. Of course he was your fiance and very soon you would be forced to consummate the marriage, but there were still many barriers between the two of you. Barriers he built to keep you away when you were a child and now he was determined to break them at any cost.

"Do not do that again." Aegon scolded you, fire coursing through his veins at your abrupt departure. He hated that you were acting like you were disgusted by him. Damn, he was trying to be good, was not he? He was being a good betrothed and redeeming himself with you. "I gave you a fucking gift you loved!"

You flinched at his loud husky voice, stopping just looking at him in the mirror and turning to him, the size difference not being as intimidating as it was when you were still a little girl seeking approval from your uncle and your brothers. He did not even have the same long hair as before. Now, Aegon kept his dry silver hair to a medium length, giving him an appearance of lack of care, as well as the intense dark circles under his eyes. Even though you would never admit it, you feared him but also you thought he was very handsome at the same time. Like your child version also thought these same things about Aegon when he was a teenager.

"And I already thanked you for it. However, I do not remember allowing you to touch me the way you just did."

"Seven Hells, do not be an annoying prude! I just rested my hands on your shoulder."

"And purred in my ear like a cat in heat, surely thinking I would give in to you so easily and we would sleep together before our wedding ceremony!" You exclaimed, without thinking straight. Your heartbeat was racing, your face red with anger that he had the audacity to call you an annoying prude.

Aegon growled at your words, moving closer to your body, until your faces were practically glued together and you could smell the wine he had been drinking throughout the festival, just as he could smell flowers fragrance coming from you. The tension was palpable, both of you staring at each other with anger in your eyes. It was like flames burning each other just with gazes.

You thought he would yell at you or at most throw you out of his chambers and take the gift back. You expected many things, except Aegon to abruptly cover your mouth, holding the back of your head with his other hand to stop you from struggling and running away.

"Perhaps, you bastard bitch, I am acting like a cat in heat because I know what a cheap whore you are." Aegon growled one more time, the fingers that had been holding the back of your neck now gripping your hair. "You always act like you are a maiden, but all people of King's Landing is already suspicious about how your cunt has already been filled several times by your twin brother. Jacaerys seemed quite furious when my betrothal with you was made official."

Aegon pushed you onto his large bed and you immediately tried to get up and scream, being stopped by the hard slap he gave you in the face, making you fall back onto his sheets, terrified as he climbed on top of you, holding both of your arms on top of your head. "If you try to do that fucking shit again, I am going to rip your fucking head off and gut you until you die. Our entire family is going to go to war and blood is going to be spilled because you are still the same spoiled bastard who cried and wanted to fit in with me when we were younger."

Something made you stop fighting against the situation. Perhaps it was your childhood memories of seeking approval from Aegon, Jace and Luke. Perhaps it was the threat of more chaos happening in your family if Aegon killed you. Perhaps it was all the alcohol you happily drank during your and Jace's name day celebration. Perhaps it was because you already knew that Aegon would rape you anyway if he was determined to do so. Perhaps it was all of that. You simply stopped, sobbing a few times before shaking your head.

"Good girl..." Aegon chuckled at your submissive reaction. "Just look at the ceiling, alright? I promise it will be good."

You did not know what Aegon meant, only understanding when you obeyed. Looking up at the ceiling, you saw that there was a large mirror placed there. You could watch yourself lying in bed, your face soaked with tears, your hair disheveled and your hands being held above your head. You had never been so shocked due a reflection. It was a clear sample of Aegon's obsession, firm fingers holding your wrists in the way he wanted, while his other hand simply hiked up your nightgown, taking advantage of your lack of reaction to take off and throw your underwear on the floor. Aegon was about to take off the tunic he was wearing, before being interrupted by the door opening and then closing.

"Am I interrupting something, brother? One of your guards said you demanded my presence here. I was busy and could not arrive at the ordered time." Aemond's cold voice echoed through Aegon's chambers and your eyes widened. You looked away from your reflection for a while, barely feeling Aegon fingering your slightly wet folds. You was incredulous at the fact that Aemond was so nonchalant with the sight of his older brother about to rape their niece. You could not tell if it was simply because Aegon often did atrocities like this or if it was also because Aemond had hated you since both of you were kids and he was not at all pleased with his brother's obsession with marrying you.

"Oh, busy with Helaena, I must assume." Aegon teased his brother and Aemond rolled his eyes, clearing his throat and pointing to the scene in front of him.

"May I know why my presence here is necessary?" The youngest asked and a moan escaped your lips when Aegon stuck two fingers inside you at once, drawing your attention back to him. Aegon raised his eyebrow as he noticed how, despite the painful and abrupt intrusion, your little cunt accepted his fingers without much difficulty, which meant not only that you were no longer a maiden, but that you had also fucked with someone recently and completely ignored your future marriage with your uncle.

"Looks like you were not the only person to fuck with your own sister today, brother."

Aemond could not help but smirk, tilting his head in mockery when he saw Aegon took his fingers out of you and shake your wetness away, almost as if he was disgusted. "Who would have thought that the rumors about her and Jacaerys were true..." The prince mocked, approaching the bed and making you flinched your body into the mattress. "Tell me, dear niece and sister-in-law... Which of your Strong brothers has already fucked your dirty and disgusting cunt? Only Jacaerys? Or also Lucerys and Joffrey?"

You whimpered at the invasive and demeaning question, knowing you would be in danger if you revealed the true, but you would also be in danger if you lied. "Not Joffrey yet."

It was Aegon's turn to mock, with some irritation. "Joffrey's small cock has not gotten wet inside you yet, but I bet you at least taught him how to eat you out. After all, he is already ten and six. That is old enough." The stare Aegon received from Aemond made him swallow hard. It was clear that his younger brother still felt angry about what happened at the brothel when he was thirteen. "Well, I mean..."

Aemond ignored his brother's attempt to justify himself and looked back at you, his cold hand touching your warm core, enjoying your wetness and rubbing your pearl, eliciting confused and tearful moans, your mind trying to encourage you to scream and run far away of them and your body begging him to keep rubbing your clit. Perhaps a little stronger. Stronger enough to draw your blood. Jace, Luke and Joffrey were always too sweet to you. Too noble. "That does not matter. What matters is that you are nothing more than a hole for your brothers to use."

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes and letting the tears flow. When you turned your face away, Aemond's hand grabbed you by the chin, forcing you to pay attention to what he was saying. "Now I understand why my brother was obsessed with you when we were younger. You were always a cockslut, I bet."

His words sinked your heart and you shook your head, so fast that your vision even blurred. You wanted to deny it, say that you were nothing like that, say that Aegon had never been really obsessed with you. But nothing came out of your lips. Actually, your panicked mind was starting to make you believe that Aemond could be right about both things.

"Uhm, I still remember everything before that night in Driftmark... How you were always running after Aegon and your brothers, desperate to be seen... Just like how my brother was always pushing you away." He scoffed, gripping your chin tighter. "Probably because he felt sick about himself thinking those naughty things about you. After all, you were only six years old and he was almost ten and four. A drunk teenager wishing for such perverse things and—"

Aegon grimaced as Aemond spoke, clearly uncomfortable about having his dirty little secret exposed right in front of you. "That is enough, Aemond." The older man softly growled and Aemond frowned and let go of your chin abruptly, his thin lips pulled into a sarcastic smile.

"You still have not told me why you demanded my presence here, brother." The last word sounded bitter to the ears of the three of you and Aegon took a deep breath, determined to take control of the situation again. Or at least a little part of the control.

He pointed to you, lying on the bed with the legs open, your cunt now wetter and your face reddened from crying, the empty look in your eyes making it obvious how confused and vulnerable you were. The confused and vulnerable state that your own uncle and future husband had left you simply because you refused his touch.

Aemond did not seem at all bothered by what he was seeing. You did not notice any trace of desire coming from him either and if it were not for the way a slight bulge began to appear in his pants, you would even believe that the scorn and resentment he always felt for you was bigger than the anger and desire to get revenge on Jacaerys and Lucerys.

"Are you offering me our niece?"

The question was said without a hint of enthusiasm and Aegon laughed, knowing his brother well enough to know that he just wanted to maintain the typical facade of indifference. "Well... I wanted to give you and my betrothed a gift. I was going to suggest that the three of us have some fun tonight to celebrate her name day..." Aegon purred, his calloused fingers caressing your bare thigh. "However, due to her spoiled and thankless behavior, I wish you to take her first."

Aemond was surprised at first, his good eye switching between you and his brother. He had already imagined several possibilities to get revenge for the things his nephews did when they were all kids. He had even thought that your betrothal to Aegon was already a good form of revenge, despite hating his brother even more when he realized that he had never gotten over that ridiculous obsession with you.

Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey had been furious when they discovered that their mother had agreed to let Aegon marry you. They were scared of what would happen to you, neither of them ever believing Aegon's stupid explanation about a peace treaty.

Aemond knew that his nephews would be furious if they knew what he was about to do with you, just as he knew what Aegon wanted. Aemond was not dumb, he understood that Aegon blamed himself for the tragic events in his life. Aemond understood that Aegon blamed himself for taking away his chance to lose his virginity willingly and with someone he was really attracted to.

And then, Aegon was there, giving you to him like an apology. Also, he was giving Aemond the chance to take revenge on his nephews and take you before himself.

Aemond did not respond with words. Instead, he just pushed Aegon aside, taking his brother's place on the bed and starting to undo the ties of the tunic he was wearing.

With each brutal thrust from Aemond, a tearful scream from you resounded throughout the chambers, muffled by Aegon's large hand, who was sitting next to you, caressing your dark hair with his free fingers.

All of the three of you was admiring different points of the view reflected by the mirror on the ceiling. Aegon was focused on the sight of your little cunt, so tight and being brutally fucked by Aemond's thick and rosy cock. Aegon could hear the sudden noises caused each time Aemond's body hit yours hard, your wet core making it easier for your uncle and brother-in-law to fuck you rough and deep enough that the walls of your pussy began to feel so much sore.

Despite the blurred tear-filled vision, you stared at yourself in the reflection, your heart clenching with self-loathing as your muffled screams stopped being pleas for Aemond to stop hurting you and started becoming just loud whimpers about how you were cumming again. You had actually lost count of how many times you had cum around Aemond's cock. You had already lost count of how many times you had squirted and even lost consciousness for a few seconds.

You felt like you were about to die and all that kept you alive was Aegon's fingers stroking your hair like you were his precious doll and Aemond's seed filling you for the second time in the last hour. Aemond looked at his own reflection after cumming inside you, his Sapphire's eye shining in the mirror, as well as the sweaty skin of his chest. He felt powerful. He felt alive. And best of all, he finally felt the good but bitter taste of revenge.

You were almost sure that Aemond was determined to breed you. And you were almost sure that Aegon had allowed it, because even when his younger brother pulled his wet cock out of your sensitive and bruised hole, Aegon just waited for Aemond to start getting dressed to take his place, bending down in front of you and licking the mixture of blood and cum that dripped from your cunt, ignoring your tears and the forced submission coming from your trembling body.

"You are disgusting, Aegon." Aemond huffed after Aegon licked and sucked your clit until you were squirting on his face too, your weak whimpers making you look like a sad kitten. "You should stop. She will end up convulsing and dying if she cums again."

"Oh, but she wants to cum again. Do not you want that, my dear?" Aegon teased, rubbing your swollen reddened pearl. You shook your head, the confused movement seemed like a confirmation and a denial at the same time, which elicited a chuckle from your future husband. He turned to Aemond and pointed at you. "See? She is going to be a perfect wife. All it took was a cock and she is already completely stupid and brainless, like a real good wife should be."

"Uhm, I guess she is not a very strong girl." Aemond scoffed, the word Strong bringing you horrible memories and making you whimper and turn your face into the pillow, until you finally fell asleep while Aegon was still eating you out. "I am serious, brother. Let our whore niece sleep and get some rest." Aemond murmured a little impatiently, his eye scanning the Vermithor pendant of your new necklace and then to Aegon's lips, wet with your juices and creamy with the mess of your blood and Aemond's seed. "Just stop eating my seed. Your future wife will not get pregnant with my child if you keep being a greedy and needy slut, sucking out all my cum just for you."

Aegon's eyes widened, in disbelief at his brother's words, raising the head and being interrupted just as he was about to defend himself. "Besides, you are going to end up cumming in your own pants if you keep just watching everything and settling for scraps. Our niece cunt is delightful, however, I will be waiting for you in my private chambers so you can continue apologizing to me, brother."

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idkyetxoxo · 11 hours ago

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Aegon Targaryen - Blood of the Night

Summary - In the shadows of the night, she seeks to claim the blood—and soul—of him. What begins as a dangerous temptation spirals into an intoxicating, dark obsession, where pleasure and power intertwine. As desire deepens, so does the irreversible price of surrender.

Pairing - Aegon Targaryen x Vampire reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!!)

Word count - 2280

Masterlist for Aegon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Bloodthirst was undeniable—a relentless fire that coursed through my veins, setting my nerves alight and carving a deep ache into my bones with every whiff of that sweet, metallic scent.

Desire and hunger twisted together into a single, irresistible urge.

Tonight, fate had graced me with an exceptional quarry: Prince Aegon Targaryen. He strolled through the cobbled streets of the city, the faint sway of drunkenness in his step.

Silver hair gleaming in the moonlight, regal bearing softened by wine—he was both exquisite and vulnerable. The perfect temptation.

My body tensed with anticipation, an almost uncontrollable impulse to sink my fangs into the tender flesh of his neck, to feel the rush of his life coursing through me.

I drew my maroon cloak tightly around myself, a protective shroud against both the chill of the night and the depth of my longing.

I followed in the shadows, my steps silent as I watched him navigate the streets, seemingly oblivious to the predator in his midst. His path led him to the Keep, and I trailed behind, every nerve on edge, my senses honed and ready.

Inside, I moved with precision, slipping past the guards who loitered with false confidence.

To them, the Keep was impregnable—a place of safety. They could not imagine the kind of danger I posed.

I ghosted through the hallways, each step drawing me closer until I stood before his chambers.

Aegon entered, his exhaustion evident as he all but fell onto the bed, his body sinking into its luxurious embrace with a sigh that might have been contentment—or surrender.

The door closed behind me with a soft click, the only announcement of my presence.

He turned, his gaze meeting mine, and I smiled—a predatory curve of my lips that hinted at secrets and danger. My steps were unhurried, almost leisurely, as I approached him.

The scent of him—of royal blood and power—was intoxicating.

"You're pretty," he murmured, voice softened by the haze of drink. His hand reached out, fingers brushing through my hair as though I were a dream. "What are you doing?"

"I followed you, my prince." I allowed a shrug, the casualness of my words at odds with the thunderous rhythm of my heartbeat.

His brows lifted, a flicker of surprise cutting through the fog. Propped on his elbows, he regarded me with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

"And why would you do that?" he asked.

"I wish to please you," I lied smoothly, each syllable a coil of silk wrapping tighter around him.

My hands rose to the clasp of my cloak, untying it with a deliberate slowness. The fabric pooled at my feet, leaving me in a nightgown as dark as midnight, lace clinging to my body like a whisper of shadows.

His eyes followed every motion, caught in the dance of intrigue and allure.

I stepped closer, each movement a calculated blend of grace and purpose. The distance between us narrowed until I could feel the warmth of his breath, the heat of his body.

My fangs ached, the hunger rising with every pulse of his blood—a symphony calling to me, one I would soon claim as my own.

The scent of his blood was intoxicating, rich and warm, and I craved it, craved him, with a hunger that went beyond flesh.

I lifted myself onto his lap, straddling him, my thighs locking around his hips as his hands found my waist, gripping me hard enough to bruise.

The fabric of my nightgown slid up my thighs, exposing more skin with every shift of my body.

"Undress," I whispered, grinding my hips in a slow, teasing rhythm against him. My voice was silk and shadows, a command laced with the promise of something darker.

His fingers trembled slightly, but he obeyed, reaching back to unfasten his pants, urgency flickering in his gaze.

In moments, the last barrier between us was gone, and I could feel the heat of him, feel how much he wanted me, wanted this.

"Are you ready, my prince?" I purred, my fingers gliding down the hard line of his jaw, his breath quickening at my touch.

He leaned into my hand, his face a portrait of unbridled need, and I revelled in it.

I let my gaze linger over the line of his jaw, aware of the bloodline I was about to claim—the blood of dragons and conquerors.

"Ye-yes," he stammered, his voice ragged. I tilted my hips, letting him ease the delicate fabric of my gown further up, feeling his eagerness, his desperation.

Then I lowered myself onto him, a slow descent that stole both our breaths, our bodies meeting in a heated embrace.

For a moment, I held still, savouring the power, the way he looked at me as though he'd die if I didn't move if I didn't give him more of me.

I let him wait, let him suffer for it, watching his desperation grow.

"Will you please me?" I murmured, rocking my hips in a torturous, deliberate rhythm. His hands trailed up my thighs, gripping tighter, his head falling back as he surrendered to the pleasure, baring his throat to me in unguarded abandon.

"What... what do you mean?" he gasped, his voice a soft, unsteady thing as I continued to move, to draw him deeper into this dance.

I traced my fingers up his neck, pressing my thumb against the rapid pulse under his skin.

His eyes lifted to mine, and in that charged instant, I let my fangs slide into view, a slow, dangerous smile curling across my lips.

His eyes widened, a flash of fear and thrill sparking through him, but he didn't pull away; if anything, his hands tightened on me, an almost frantic need to keep me close, to keep this intensity between us.

"What... what are you?" he whispered, his voice torn between wonder and dread.

"Thirsty," I replied, drawing my tongue slowly over my fangs, letting him see the hunger in my eyes, letting him feel it in every undulation of my body as I moved against him.

"I want to taste you, my prince," I murmured, my voice dripping with a sweetness that was anything but innocent. "Your blood... it smells divine."

He didn't speak, his gaze transfixed, his breath hitching as I bent forward.

My lips brushed his neck, feeling the heat of his pulse just beneath the surface, and I sank my fangs in, breaking the skin in a slow, exquisite bite.

A gasp tore from his lips, his hands clutching me tighter as I drank, the taste of him flooding my senses, sweet and coppery, a nectar that filled me with dark ecstasy.

I moaned against him, savouring each drop, feeling his life pour into me as I claimed him, body and blood.

I pulled back, licking my lips as rivulets of blood trailed down my chin. His head lolled back, his eyes glazed with pleasure and awe, his mouth parted as he stared at me, dazed and utterly lost.

He was a beautiful wreck, his face a mask of blissed-out surrender.

The sight of him, drained and undone, only sharpened my desire, my need.

Each desperate gasp that escaped his lips fed the maelstrom within me—a twisted sense of power and longing that blurred the line between predator and seducer.

With his cock buried inside me and his blood on my lips, I felt my climax crest, a wave of pleasure that consumed me, tearing a shudder from my body as I rode him, lost in the ecstasy of him, of the perfect mingling of pleasure and pain.

Reluctantly, I pulled away, our bodies parting as I collapsed beside him.

He lay there, breathless, his chest heaving, his skin still flushed from the intensity of it all.

My gaze lingered on the bite mark at his neck, a perfect reminder of my claim. Gently, I traced my fingers over the wound, collecting the last few drops of blood, bringing them to my lips.

He watched me, wide-eyed, his fingers brushing against his neck where my fangs had marked him. He touched the blood staining his skin, fascination overtaking any fear that might have lingered.

"What... what are you?" he asked again, his voice softer, more reverent, as if he couldn't quite believe I was real.

I leaned in close, letting him see the fangs that had left him weakened and wanting, a predator's smile curving my lips.

"Your nightmare, my prince," I whispered the words a promise and a curse.

He shivered, his gaze locked on mine as he lifted his hand, the blood on his fingers glistening in the dim light. Slowly, he pressed them to my lips, his eyes dark with curiosity and desire.

I parted my lips, taking his fingers into my mouth, licking the blood from them, savouring every last taste as I looked up at him through my lashes.

If he was afraid, he didn't show it. He was entranced, bound to me by blood and lust and something far darker, something he couldn't name but was helpless to resist.

His fingers lingered at my lips, blood-stained and trembling, the taste of him, warm and metallic and sweet.

My eyes stayed fixed on his, daring him to look away as I dragged my tongue slowly over his skin, lapping up every drop.

His gaze grew hazy, his lips parting as he watched, utterly entranced, and I could see the flush spreading across his cheeks, feel the familiar heat building between his thighs.

He was utterly undone, consumed by a need he barely understood—a need that pulsed under his skin, one that I had ignited in him, an endless thirst that only I could quench.

I let his fingers slip from my mouth, leaning back just enough to see the stirring desire flickering in his eyes.

He was hard again, and I smiled, a low, sultry laugh escaping my lips as I arched a brow.

"Oh, my prince," I murmured, reaching down and running my hand teasingly over the hardness pressing up against me.

"Still hungry, are we?" I teased my voice a velvet taunt that seemed to drive him even deeper into a dazed state, his pupils dilating as he watched my every movement, helpless under my gaze.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice raw with need, his breath a shaky gasp.

"I... I want more. Whatever it is you just did—I'll give you anything. Take my blood, my soul... all of it, if you can make me feel like that again."

I chuckled, running my fingers down his chest, letting my nails scrape lightly against his skin, leaving faint red lines in their wake.

"Oh, I know, darling. And you'll beg me to take it," I said, lowering myself until my lips brushed against his ear, my breath warm against his skin.

"But be careful, my prince. A pleasure like this has a price."

He shuddered under me, his hands finding my waist as if to anchor himself, to steady himself against the pull of my power.

But I could feel his resolve weakening, his pulse racing under his skin, the need for me thickening in the air between us, making it almost too easy to bend him to my will.

"I don't care what it costs," he gasped, his eyes locking onto mine with a desperation that only fanned the fire inside me. "Please... I'm yours, completely."

I smirked, pressing my lips to the hollow of his throat, letting him feel the sharpness of my fangs grazing his skin.

He moaned, his head tilting back, surrendering to me entirely, and I could feel his body straining beneath me, aching for the touch of my lips, my teeth, the promise of the sweet, intoxicating agony I could give him.

"Is that right?" I whispered, my lips tracing a path down his neck, my voice a purr as I let one hand wander down, fingers brushing lightly over the tautness between his thighs.

"You'd give me all the blood in your body... for this?" I squeezed, and his entire body tensed, his breath catching as he nodded, eyes wild with need.

"Yes," he breathed, the words spilling out in a shaky whisper. "Every last drop, if you'll have it."

My laugh was dark, indulgent, a sound that promised everything and nothing.

"Oh, my prince, I will have all of you... over and over again, until you forget anything but the feel of my fangs in your neck, my body around yours."

His grip on me tightened, his hands desperate, pulling me closer as I let him think, just for a moment, that he was the one in control, that he was the one pulling me toward him.

But he knew as well as I did who was truly in charge, who was truly devouring whom.

I took his face in my hands, my fingers brushing along his jawline, and looked into his eyes with a dark, smouldering intensity.

"This is just the beginning, my sweet prince. You will give me everything... and I will take it. Again, and again, and again, until there's nothing left of you but a memory."

He swallowed, his gaze captivated, his lips trembling as he stared back at me, helpless, spellbound.

I leaned down and kissed him, a deep, consuming kiss that stole his breath, his thoughts, leaving him as nothing more than a vessel for my pleasure, my hunger.

As our lips parted, I smiled, a glint of mischief in my eyes, and whispered, "You've made your choice, then. You're mine now... forever."

And as I felt his pulse racing beneath my hand, the warmth of him, the life I would drink from him, I knew he would keep that promise, every last delicious drop.

This taste, this night—it was just a morsel. He would come to understand what eternity truly meant.

A/n - This is my new favourite one-shot, inspired by Raphael Santiago from Shadowhunters! This was so so fun to write I literally couldn't stop once I started I had to finish it in one sitting 🤭

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd one shot #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #team green #aegon the second #aegon targaryen #king aegon #hotd aegon

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