#dany targaryen x reader

[bumblesimagines]

i care about you. more than i'd like to admit.

Daenerys Targaryen

i care about you. more than i'd like to admit.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

doesn't really follow canon, Dany doesn't marry Hizdahr

Part of him had expected to be executed right then and there in the fighting pit, after all, he'd thrown a spear in the direction of the Targaryen and nearly impaled one of her knights. His victory in the pits had been shortlived afterward, with a swift order to throw him in the dungeons for an 'attempted assassination' where he'd be thoroughly questioned. A few hours had seemingly passed since then, and he kept himself busy by napping against the rough stone walls and hearing the groans and moans of fellow prisoners. The door at the end of the corridor opened with a loud whine and his eyes parted, hearing heavy footsteps walking right toward his cell. 

"Are you certain he is who you say?" A woman's voice asked, light and youthful. The Targaryen, perhaps, or possibly the advisor girl who trailed after her everywhere. He hardly cared about Meereen's newest ruler, much less had time to learn anything about her and her people.

"Yes, Your Grace. My eyes have yet to deceive me." A man answered, his voice lower in pitch and withered by age. The knight he'd almost killed, no doubt. (Y/N) almost snorted. He must've bruised an ego or two by accident. 

"Very well." The woman responded and the dimly lit corridor brightened with the light of a torch. The man holding it appeared to indeed be the knight if the scowl on his face said anything. (Y/N) hummed and shifted slightly to face the newcomers, his eyes trailing from the knight to the young woman standing beside him. Her long silver hair cascaded down her shoulders partly pulled back into braids and framing her oval face. The ends of her dress had grown stained from the walk through the corridor, the light blue now a dark shade of brown, but she hardly seemed to mind or notice. 

"Will I be killed by fire or eaten by one of your... 'children'? I always wondered how that'd feel like. Horrible, probably, but at least it beats drinking yourself to death, aye, Gaz?" The prisoner across from his cell made a low grunt of acknowledgment, uttering a frail curse directed at him. (Y/N) grinned and the knight's eyes narrowed further.

"You are in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the first of her name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the-" 

"Queen of Meereen would've done fine, Ser. Don't waste your breath on the rest." (Y/N)'s interruption only seemed to fuel the knight's irritation further and he opened his mouth again, likely to bestow some sort of lecture upon him before Daenerys Stormborn raised her hand to silence him, casting a thankful look over her shoulder at him and stepping closer to the cell. 

"Do you have a problem with my titles?"

"You rule Meereen, no? You should, uh, shorten it to Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, first of her name, Queen of Mereen, the Mother of Dragons, and the rest of it. You are not Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Daenerys Stormborn. House Baratheon sits on the throne, though last I heard, those fools were fighting each other."

"And from what I've been told, those fools were your brothers. I'm sorry for your losses, I know what it is like to lose two brothers." Daenerys hardly sounded apologetic, although he hardly blamed her. His brothers, especially Robert, were difficult to like. "But if rumors are to be believed and if your last brother, Stannis, falls as well... it will make you Lord of Storm's End." 

"And those who believe the rumors about Robert's wife believe you are the next in line for the throne. Yet, here you are, fightin' in pits like an animal and sittin' in dungeons. What happened to you, boy? Everyone's been searchin' for you." (Y/N) tore his eyes away from them and stared at the wall in front of him, his lips twisting and jaw clenching. He'd been the last born, the last son of Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana Baratheon. He wondered what they would've thought of the messes their sons had created for themselves. Two were dead, the other lost his mind, and the last one fled home before a marriage could've been thrusted upon him.

" I suppose I am already Lord of Storm's End, seeing as Stannis believes himself to be King. If you have come here to ask for my support, you will be disappointed, however. You can hardly rule Meereen. How will you rule the Seven Kingdoms? You've been away from court for years, Daenerys Stormborn. You have no right to the throne unless you take it as my brother did, and even then, those who survived King Aerys will fear having another Targaryen as ruler. You will have to work harder than Robert to win the trust and loyalty of any noble." 

"Sounds as if you know quite a lot about ruling. I am in need of another advisor, Lord Baratheon. Perhaps, you could fill that role."

Daenerys's room had the best view in Meereen with its large balcony showing the large expense of the city and the breeze that flowed in, keeping the room cool even on the worst days when the sun shone down on them relentlessly. (Y/N) enjoyed the view, and especially enjoyed the breeze, although he hardly had reason to leave the Great Pyramid after having been ordered to remain inside unless accompanied by a loyal servant of Daenerys. At least her distrust in him had lessened tremendously over time.

"(Y/N)," Daenerys sighed, nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder and opening those dazzling eyes of hers to peer up at him. "Tell me more of Storm's End." She said softly, her fingers trailing down his arm until she found his hand, intertwining their fingers together. (Y/N) chuckled, resting his chin atop her head and feeling her silver strands tickle his skin.

"Well, as the tale goes, the Storm Kings ruled the Stormlands for millennia until Aegon's Conquest when he sent his commander, Orys Baratheon, to battle with the last Storm King. Orys won the battle and took the late Storm King's daughter as his bride thus becoming Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Since then, Storm's End has been ruled by House Baratheon." (Y/N) recounted the history that'd been engrained into his head from the moment he could understand language. Baratheons had always been proud of their history, of their ancient lineage. He tilted his head, lips brushing over her hair and pressed against her forehead. Daenerys smiled. "Why are you interested in Storm's End, Dany?"

"Because..." She trailed off, eyes flickering away briefly. She moved slightly, peeling away from his side to instead straddle his lap, her bare chest pressing against his. "Because I care about you. More than I'd like to admit. You are not the man I thought you'd be. You are... incredibly vexing and arrogant but you are intelligent and a just man. I have been... thinking... about what was said that night in the dungeons. Ser Barriston is right, as are you. I have much to learn, but I believe with you at my side, we could rule the Seven Kingdoms together."

"Dany-"

"I know you care about me, too. I know Kings Landing will accept you as their king and any other children we have will rule over Storm's End, just as your family has all these years. I spoke with Ser Barriston, I asked for his advice and he gave his approval. We could wed, whether in Targaryen custom or Baratheon, and rule the Seven Kingdoms."

"Wait, wait," (Y/N) exhaled, sitting up further and delicately cupping her face in his hands. "Any other children?" Her features softened, her lips forming a gleeful smile. She leaned back, away from him, and peered down at herself, her hand coming to lovingly rest on her belly. 

"Missandei and I believe I am with child, (Y/N)."

[witchthewriter]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

Warnings: mentions of self-harm & self-harm scars, how reader got self harm scars, gets dark at some points, I do go into detail about self harm (kinda). Please don’t read if it will upset you xx

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ      

𝐉𝐨𝐧

・Stiffened when you showed him.

・He thought they were battle scars 

・Jon wasn’t very good at talking about the aftermath of traumatic events - only good at surviving them

��But he knew you were opening up; being vulnerable. And that’s never easy. So he thought you were being really brave - 

・He came and sat beside you on the bed, slipping his hands into yours. 

・You rested your head against his shoulder and he rested his head against yours

      “Whenever you want to talk ... about it. You, we, can.” 

・You huffed out a laugh and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. and ran a thumb over the back of your hand. 

・The fire burned bright in the fireplace, sparks popping here and there

・And even in the silence, you felt comfortable. You knew Jon meant it. He didn’t want you to tell him if you weren’t ready. Because he knew he was spending the rest of his life with you. 

・So there was no rush. No need to feel pressured. 

・When you were ready, you would tell him, but for right now. You just needed to take it slow. 

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐲

・Sympathetic

・Wanted to touch and trace every part of your injuries 

・Asked questions but then apologised if she was being too forward

    “You can tell me whenever you’re ready, I’m sorry if I’m bringing up old memories-” 

   “No, no, it’s okay. I knew you would be curious, it’s fair for you to have questions.” 

・She led you over to the bench in her room that was infront of a large window. The sun was setting and although the view was breathtaking, Dany couldn’t keep her eyes off of you

・She hadn’t heard of self-harm; not in this sense. She knew people took risky behaviours, drank, took poppy of the fields to feel numb. But she didn’t know of this. 

・Dany had judged when she was younger, but now ... she understood that the world was brutal, and unforgiving.

・Her legs wrapped around your waist as yours did the same to hers. 

・You showed her every injury and at first she wanted to know how you did it, but after a while ... it was like she couldn’t stomach it 

・Not you. She had seen horrors, unimaginable horrors, but you... not you. 

     “I will do everything in my power to make sure you never feel like that again.”

・Her words hit hard, and you let your tears slip freely

・She held out her hand and you lent your cheek against it

      “I love you, ñuha prūmia,” (I love you, my heart in High Valyrian)

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐫

・Not much for words

・He thought they were scars someone had given you 

・And you thought, ‘fuck it, he’ll have to find out one day.’

・So you explained it to him, trying your best to keep your tone light. 

     “...I did it to myself.” 

・Sandor didn’t really react... he didn’t shake his head, or yell, or berate you. 

・It took him a few minutes to process it, but he actually ... understood. On some level, he identified with that type of pai. 

・ Not that you could see it on his face though. He looked, well, very dazed, but sad

・You were about to explain more about it, when his next actions shocked you. 

・Sandor, the Hound, the man who killed, maimed and slaughtered. Got up, walked over to you and took your head in his hands

・He didn’t say anything, just looked into your eyes. 

・And ever so slowly, he moved his forehead to rest to yours. His nose brushed your own, and then he leant down to wrap his arms around you and shifted his head to your neck. 

・He held you, in this sort of protective cocoon.

・Like he was saying the world can’t get to you now

・That pain will never be felt again

・And you wrapped your arms around his middle and pushed yourself against him. Wanting to melt into his arms. 

𝐀𝐫𝐲𝐚

・Blinked. Once, twice, three times. 

・And then her eyes softened and her head moved to one side

     “The world is cruel, but I wish it had spared you.” 

・You couldn’t meet her eyes, because they had teared up and you couldn’t stop them from falling 

・Shaking your head softly, you slumped to the ground and leaned against the cold wall. 

     Whispering, you said, “It didn’t spare me.” 

・And you started to sob

・With light footsteps, she ran over to you and sank to her knees 

・Looking around she found something you could use to blow your nose and wipe your eyes 

・Then she stayed with you, unmoving, until you were ready to talk

      “I want to know everything. When you’re ready.” 

・You shifted so your head was in her lap and she stroked the hair out of your face. 

・Although she wasn’t the best with physical affection, she remembered what her mother did to her when she was  young. She also remembered how safe, and how loved she felt. 

・So she stroked your hair and gently ran her fingertips over your features. 

・Even if this was how you fell asleep, she would stay in this position until you woke

      𝐉𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞

・Perplexed and had a lot of questions about your scars, but was still supportive. 

    “You never sought any help from the maesters?” 

You scoffed, “and what good could a bunch of old men do? They would ask questions and my mind wasn’t ... it couldn’t handle any questions.” 

・He nodded and sat on the chair, facing opposite you. 

     “I guess we all do some self-damage in one way or another.”

・You were a bit embarrassed in bringing it up. Like you had a secret that could ruin how Jaime saw you

     “I think your way is probably the healthiest...” He said and walked up to you

・Jaime gave you the lightest, most tender kiss, then closed his eyes and lent his head against yours. 

・Wrapping his arms around you, he swayed from side to side (knowing that movement calmed you down)

    “Safe. You’re safe with me. Now and forever.” 

・You nuzzled into his neck and took a deep breath in. 

・He rubbed up and down your spine, while planting a kiss on your cheek

・You knew Jaime brought this warm light with him, wherever he went. Especially when he was with you. 

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚

・Is the most understanding, because during the times in King’s Landing then being sent to the Bolton’s... she did indulge in self harm

・It was in places that no one would see

・So when you opened up about your own self-harm, she immediately went to you, and held you in her arms. 

    “I understand, I understand,” she said over and over, stroking your hair and holding you to her chest

・You could feel her heartbeat; steady and strong. 

・You didn’t notice when the tears started to fall, but they did - and didn’t stop until someone knocked on her door, asking if you wanted dinner 

・She had looked to you and you had shaken your head

     “No thank you,” Sansa called out and you heard the shuffle of feet leaving the corridoor

・That night Sansa had opened up about her own experiences and you both cried in each other’s arms 

・You stroked each other’s faces and cried about the hurt that you both endured. Even at times you held the other as they screamed into a pillow (it’s liberating trust me) 

𝐏𝐨𝐝

・He was so sad 

・But tried his best not to show it, but you caught a glimpse of it. 

・So SO SO SUPPORTIVE

    “Are you still doing it now? Have you got a way to stop doing it? Should we make some sort of ... plan?” 

・Knows exacty how you’re feeling just by looking at you - even when you’re trying to conceal you’re true feelings. He just ... knows. 

・Has a plan for you, even if you can’t think of one

・There’s herbal remedies if you can’t sleep, bandages and salves in case you do self-harm again

・He even learned how to stitch in case ... well ... you know 

・Absolutely no judgement when you told him about the self-harm. He had tears in his eyes, and knelt beside you as you told him everything 

・Didn’t interrupt you, or make you feel as though it was burdening him

      “I want to know everything about you. You mean the world to me.” 

・Is more upset that you had to go through certain experiences / feelings. Wish he could have been there to support you during those times 

・Only asks questions when he gets your consent to do so

・Is so steady with the questions as well

・Holds you tight every night after that, and when he’s away, he’ll write little reminders and notes so he doesn’t feel so far away

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐲

・Didn’t fully understand what you meant, because self harm was a foreign thought to her. 

・She always had a plan, or her thoughts were always certain. Her grandmother helped with that, because of how grounded and honest she was with/for Margaery

・It was a bit intimidating telling her but you knew you had to at some point. And in your mind, you thought this would make or break your relationship

・You were honest and told Margaery exactly that - and she was shocked 

     “My dear, my absolute love,” she held your hands in hers and put them to her lips, “I love you. And this is not ... there is nothing wrong with how you expressed yourself. You did what you had to, to survive.” 

・Tears sprung in your eyes when she said that

・Because that’s exactly what these scars were - memories of a time when all you could control was your self harm. 

・Asked when was the last time you did it and if you were still doing it. If you were still, then she would ask to see - in case of infection or if the maester needed to get involved 

・Then she promised you that you would never need to self-harm again

𝐎𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐧

・Kissed you, every part of you

     “I am so sorry you felt so ... low, that you felt like you had to do this to yourself.”

・Led you to the bed and brought over the wash bowl, wash cloth, called for food and wine

     “You will never feel like that again, I promise.”

・He kissed the inside of your palms and held them to his face, where he looked you in the eyes and smiled sadly 

・Washed you from head to toe, (every part of you), wiped your face and helped you move into bed

・He held you close, bringing you the cup of wine and making you a plate of food so you didn’t have to get up

   “Tell me whatever you wish to.”

・He was so tender and caring

・Oberyn truly loved you, every part of you, and not just superficially. But the whole of you. Your personality, your thoughts, memories and experiences. Everything that made you, you. 

[multiversal-fiction]

Game of Thrones P.links

Daenerys, Robb & Jon…

Jon Does "that thing he does with his tongue" on Daenerys

Daenerys Using Her Maid For Pleasure

Jon and Dany’s Sensual Morning Sex

Jon Breeding Dany…

Daenerys Handmaiden Loves To Please Her Queen

Arya and Gendry - Size Kink…

Jon Teases His Queen

[blxkstar]

When the snow falls and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.

I made a playlist for House Stark, please check it out!

The North Remembers

We Know No King But The King In The North Whose Name Is Stark...

[j-k-writes]

Lost and Found

Summary - Viserion's death reopens old wounds in Y/N Targaryen. But the world keeps spinning as he shuts himself away, and the young king must cope with his grief as Westeros falls further into war.

Warnings - General GOT warnings, canon character death(s), grief and mourning, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mild sexual content (I think it's mild at least), Targcest (brother/sister & uncle/aunt/nephew)

Viserion was dead. 

Viserion was lying dead beyond the wall where Y/N had no chance of reaching him. His body would rot under the ice to be discovered in a hundred years, and Y/N would never see him again. Y/N could almost laugh at how ironic it was. 

He hadn’t properly thought of Viserys’ death in years. 

That fact alone was enough to make Y/N guilty enough to lock himself in his chambers, turning even his sister away when she came knocking at his door. Jon had woken a few days ago and had stopped by to offer condolences to the young king, but Y/N had just turned him away with the others. 

He was glad the King in the North was recovering from his injuries, but even thinking about Jon brought back memories of Viserion’s scream as the spear of ice pierced his hide, and he went crashing down into the ice. The memories of Viserion’s screams eventually brought forward the memories of Viserys’ screams. Long repressed memories of the molten gold pouring over his brother’s head as Y/N watched, horrified from his spot next to Dany, came rushing back in full force. 

Dany had been half mad with grief in the days after Viserys’ death, but Y/N picked himself up from bed the next morning and continued the journey to the Iron Throne. He’d told himself that Viserys would have preferred his action to Dany’s tears, but now, as he lay in bed, he wondered if he should have shed his tears back then. Perhaps if he’d let them go, he wouldn’t be drowning in them now. 

He was closer to the Iron Throne than he’d ever been before, and instead of claiming it for his brother, he had locked himself in his chambers, too scared to show his sister and the King in the North his grief. 

With a few days left in their journey to Kingslanding, Dany and Jon finally had enough of the elder Targaryen’s hiding. Before Y/N awoke, the two entered his room, bringing food and new clothes. They waited patiently for the young king to wake, and Dany braced herself for the Targaryen fire-like rage that would no doubt be thrown at her and Jon when her brother woke. 

It never came. 

Y/N woke, took in his unexpected guests, and simply sighed. The lack of reaction took Dany and Jon by surprise. Dany stood, walking slowly to the side of Y/N’s bed. She took a seat on the side of his bed, and when he still didn’t react, she pulled the sheets down gently. 

At the feel of the cold air against his bare skin, Y/N groaned, “Dany, leave me.” 

She gently brushed his long hair out of his face, and he opened his eyes. She smiled down at him, “We are almost to Kingslanding.” 

“Leave me.” 

Jon sighed, “Your Grace-” 

“Leave me.” 

“Enough,” Dany said harshly. She grabbed the sheets and ripped them off her brother, causing Y/N to sit up fully. He glared at her and then at Jon, who averted his eyes from the man’s bare torso with a flush. “You must get up.” 

Y/N collapsed back against the bed with a huff, and Dany’s expression immediately softened. She shifted on the bed, lying next to him. She turned onto her side and rested a hand on Y/N’s chest, rubbing soothing circles into his skin. 

“Nyke gīmigon. Nyke shifang.” She said softly, and Y/N closed his eyes as his grief bubbled to the surface. He felt Dany shift slightly, murmuring something he didn’t pay attention to before she laid back next to him. The other side of his bed dipped and Y/N felt the heat of another body laying next to him a few seconds later. 

“Your Grace,” Jon said, voice much closer than it had been a few seconds before. “I cannot begin to understand what you have lost, but you must get up.” 

Y/N opened his eyes, looking at Jon. The man seemed uneasy with his role in coaxing Y/N out of his bed, but Y/N was grateful for the attempt. 

Dany rested a hand on his cheek, moving his face so that he could look at her. She wiped a stray tear from his cheek, “What do you need?” 

“I-” Y/N paused before sighing and hanging his head. “I don’t know.” 

Dany smiled sadly before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Y/N relaxed immediately into the touch, even if the action brought back other memories of death. He’d offered her this after Drogo’s death, a distraction from the grief and an outlet for all the feelings she held for her late husband. 

‘Yes,’ He thought as she deepened the kiss. ‘This will drive these thoughts from my mind.’ 

She climbed into his lap, and the awkward angling of their bodies caused him to fall backward into where Jon was still lying in the bed. He’d almost forgotten the man was there, and the shock of feeling his body behind him caused him to let go of Dany. He turned to face Jon, who was watching them both with wide eyes and paused. 

As he and Jon were looking at each other, Dany wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Jon looked at her, and Y/N could not hope to guess what unspoken conversation was happening between them. It did not matter to him seconds later, as whatever it was caused Jon to softly cup his cheek as Dany had just moments before and connect their lips. 

Y/N groaned at the feeling, and he felt Dany smile against his neck before pressing her lips to his pulse point. Her hand slipped down his chest, stopping just above the waist of his pants, and he nodded. He groaned against Jon’s mouth as Dany’s hand dipped into his pants.

He attempted to pull back as Dany worked in careful ministrations, but Jon snaked a hand into his hair, only allowing him to move away a few inches before the Northerner started to assault his neck. 

The feeling of Jon’s lips and teeth against his neck and Dany’s hand below his waist brought him to edge embarrassingly fast. Far too soon for his liking, Y/N was tensing up and crying out, Jon silencing the man with his mouth. When he fell back into himself, Dany and Jon removed themselves from where they were wrapped around him. 

Jon stood up, giving Y/N a smile and a soft kiss on the cheek, before leaving the room. As he opened the door he gave Dany a look Y/N could not read, and the man turned to face his sister.

Dany was already standing bringing over the plate of food and bundle of clothes. She laid the clothes on his bed and the food on his bedside table before pressing another kiss to his lips. 

“Get dressed.” She murmured against his lips. “We have a throne to win.”

---

Translations -

Nyke gīmigon. Nyke shifang - I know. I understand.

[fenrins]

im gonna be a hater tonight but idc! its a lomg one but i rlly wanted to rant 😔😔

im just gonna go right in and say it: some house of the dragon characters are unoriginal and lazy, and it pisses me tf off. im sick and tired of seeing the same oc regurgitated in this fandom bc istg half of these hotd ocs are literally just daenerys targaryen thrown back in time under a different name.

i usually dont care abt fanfic because its fanfic. nothing i can do, its probably some child having fun, but like i said im just TIRED of looking through hotd fanfics and seeing daenerys pop up as a faceclaim, and then going on to see that half (or all) of dany’s entire character is put into an oc with little to no actual originality if this makes sense.

before i get into this, what the fuck happened to the originality in original character? like genuinely? this is mainly abt one oc i legit just saw like an hour ago off of tiktok bc but still this applies to the daenerys knockoffs i (regularly) see and cry abt like my grown ass should not care but i do!!!!

starting off, the oc’s name is daenera. cool! fine! she’s not a daughter of rhaenyra which is a slay, but is a daughter of alicent and viserys which eh, good enough. we go on to find out that for some reason vizzy t and ali hate her, and at age 16 they decide to ship her off to pentos so she can marry a dothraki warlord. im not even joking. aside from that, she’s in pentos for a year, and comes back with an army of 550k and three dragons. okay hello daenerys! anyways she apparently fights for rhaenyra, but also bangs aemond, daemon, and cregan in the two year timeframe that the dance takes place in.

no one is gonna read this but my ass is mad and idgaf! i need to complain!! but anyways, i am sick and tired of the ocs that are just cheap copies of daenerys because at what point is this an original character? if youre using a faceclaim of daenerys for your character and essentially adding her entire plotline onto your oc, is it even an oc anymore? like i get being inspired to base a character off of her because dany is literally the blueprint, but copy and pasting her entire character and then going off and ignoring grrm’s established lore (yes, its a fanfic, but ive seen too many oc’s claim both cannibal AND vermithor at the same time and i am TIRED) is just lazy and boring.

i wish people did more with their hotd ocs honestly. like theres hundreds of houses and shit and actual ORIGINAL ideas one could use instead of just taking dany’s whole character and just making it their own. i dont even want to start an argument with this but i NEED to see more original characters. like im writing my own two on wattpad rn (one’s a dragonseed whos like schizophrenic idk and the other’s a mormont who slays the day away) but even then i just need more than aemond x his sister or niece or smth idk yk??

im just reiterating points ive made but man its just ughhhh

[mywatchhasnotended]

HotD 2x01 - My Recap

a/n: i used to do the analysis thingy back in 2022 which was fairly popular but i cringe reading those cos just 🫡 (hence on priv now) so anyway, moving on and learning from my mistakes but not breaking the tradition— i present, my recap of the episode! :)

warnings: s2 spoliers, mind the language, might delete later lol

They've changed the intro, perhaps foreshadowed in the last season with Helaena saying, "Dragons of flesh weaving dragons of thread." Blood courses through the characters already dead, much like the S1 intro.

A raven flies through the woods, above the water body and a voiceover begins— not of any character we've known until now. "Duty is sacrifice. It eclipses all things, even blood", a heavy northern accent is noted as we're reminded of Rhaenyra's duty towards the realm— and we finally see Winterfell. It hints at the prophecy, of course.

"Winter is Coming."

Jace (Harry Collett) and Cregan Stark (Tom Taylor)— the latter looking reminiscent of Ned Stark with the former looking eerily like Jon Snow. Thanks for keeping the curls btw, last season's wig was atrocious. (But again, this is just me describing what I see, you don't have to agree.) As Jace is recounting the story of Torrhen Stark and ending it with "The war is coming... We cannot wage it without the support of the North." he finally looks at what lies beyond the wall. Cregan mentions how Jaehaerys and his wife stood at the same spot that Jace is standing at now and, "...watched as their dragons— the greatest power in the world— refused to cross it."

And what is beyond the wall? Jace asks. "Death", says Cregan.

Remember the raven we saw earlier? Yes, that's the "Urgent news from Dragonstone", and the look on Jace's face— he knows something is wrong, very very wrong.

We then cut to Rhaenys riding Meleys, and then unmounting— clearly looking exhausted. They've been patrolling the skies waiting to be attacked at any moment by the greens. They (Aemond) killed Luke. The blacks are threatened and on alert.

"We're flying out," Daemon says, least bit tired or worried. He runs on the chaotic energy, we've seen that before, haven't we? Daemon is not tired of this at all, he's excited, he wants Rhaenyra to do something— anything at all.

Daemon saying, "I cannot face that whorey hoary old bitch alone." Dude you can wtf "..with my dragon and yours together we can kill Vhaegar and her rider", that's right Daemon— make it a son for a son. He's lived with Vhaegar, knows about the dragon perhaps more than Aemond does, but he undermines himself. (Now I'm wondering if it means that there's going to be some kind of treachery at the final showdown?)

Daemon is clearly pissed, "The mother grieves as the queen shirks her duties," he roars. Rhaenys explains how she herself mourned Laena's death, she understands Rhaenyra's pain. Daemon, on the other hand, feels trapped because he could've instead been at Harrenhall but he remains powerless in the matter. I think it annoys him quite a bit.

"She was a fool to go alone," Daemon says, "What if Aemond were to happen upon her?" and I think in that moment perhaps Rhaenys knew Rhaenyra better. Daemon always saw her as a small (vicious, nonetheless, but still a small) thing. Daemon hasn't been there when she fought the most brutal physical and mental battles. The attack in the woods, the birth of her child, even during her miscarriage— he abandons her. Regardless of the fact that he himself was preparing and perhaps grieving in the manner he knew how to.

Daemon taunts her, or perhaps complains to Rhaenys again about the fact that she could've simply killed the greens when she had the chance to while escaping King's Landing, emphasizes that "Luke would be alive."— tell me if that's not father!Daemon at all like? He cared for the kid, enough about the psychopathic allegations. (Maybe calling him babygirl is too much for the creators to handle but don't tell me Daemon isn't human. He's got feelings too, he just knows how to hide them well behind his sharp tongue.)

"Fly with me, it is a command", he declares to Rhaenys but she continues to walk away from him. "Would that you were the King," she taunts back.

The scene transitions to Rhaenyra on the shore, lifeless with grief, lifeless with perhaps hope too. That her son might somehow crawl out of the water alive, or descend from the sky on his dragon. She's holding it in, but barely. She's never been away from him for so long, it is pointless to hope because something terrible has sure to have occured.

Cut to Corlys on the (Dockyard?) of a ship that has miraculously survived the Stepstones. It would take weeks to get these ships back to sea. "The smithey delivered this earlier," and Corlys is handed a weapon— a dagger that was commissioned for the heir to the Driftmark's throne— Lucerys Velaryon.

"They tell me you're the one that dragged my body out of the sea. I'm indebted to you— Alyn." Corlys says. And thus we're introduced to another new and important character.

The scene changes to one overlooking the Red Keep, kingsguard wearing green cloaks and holding the Hightower shield. Much has changed.

Arryk (I think), tells them to focus, someone shouts "Dragon" and the weapon (scorpion is what it's called) is drawn towards an incoming target. They're on high alert too, waiting for consequences. But it is only Aemond riding Vhaegar. She seems to be listening to him now, doesn't she?

Helaena's muttering as usual, and embroidering. Aegon walks in and asks for Jaehaerys, his son. Well, at least he can tell his kids apart. (Are they trying to redeem this man?) Anyway, he asks Helaena and she responds with "Why?", perhaps Aegon has learnt a thing or two because he wants to take his son to the small council. He himself was never the heir, never treated like one, perhaps he realises this.

"I'm afraid," she says as Aegon is leaving her chambers. "Don't be, they'd be fools to attack with Vhaegar protecting the city." But it isn't dragons that seem to scare her, it is rats. Aegon and the maids look around— there are no rats, not in her chamber. But she's a dreamer, she rarely talks of the present. "The Queen is an enduring mystery. Is she not?" Aegon asks dismissively. (The children with wigs— I cannot lol)

The scene then transitions to Alicent digging her nails into the armrest. Something, someone between her legs. Guess who? Crispin fucking hypocritic Cole. That's right, he's the dowager queen's whore. Apparently, he seems to be carrying out these activities in Rhaenyra's chambers. (Are they both thinking of her when they do it? Who knows lol) "We cannot, again" Alicent says to Criston but it looks like it has been happening for a while. Failed promises much, Criston? (Not to quote the duty and sacrifice thing again because Rhaenyra and Alicent were clearly trying to amend things before the men around them decided to make it worse. How does it feel to hate Rhaenyra now that you're being a whore anyway Crispin?)

"Yes, your grace" Cole says, "If you wouldn't mind" — handing her the cloak (remember how they showed young!Rhaenyra taking it off of him? And now Alicent is putting it back on? Yes, please, make Rhaenyra the devil for something that she did once and Alicent does over and over.)

They, Alicent and Cole reach the small council kind of together and that doesn't go unnoticed by Otto. Wonder what are his opinions now? Little Jaehaerys is being little and playful with Tyland Lannister.

Alicent asks if her letters to Rhaenyra have been returned. (How'd you even thunk it, woman?) She's apparently useless now that Aegon has been crowned and she has fulfilled her duty (or whatever she thought it was) towards Viserys. Aegon clearly listens little of her, like Joffrey did Cersei.

Aemond walks in and apparently Alicent doesn't know that Aegon has invited him. Aemond seems just as interested with Harrenhall as Daemon was earlier. Aegon has a valid argument, his dragons are bigger. But is it really? valid? (Does it matter whose balls dragons are bigger?)

Aegon outright dismisses his mother's opinion. Alicent shares a look with Criston. Perhaps they're questioning whether Viserys really wanted this or not. Power doesn't look good on her son.

Larys foot-fetish shows up with a "Good Morrow" and a subtle threat and warning both— nothing goes on here without his notice. (Does he know about Alicole? I think so. Probably doesn't like the idea of another man seeing her feet or whatever.) Ends that with, "I've chosen your new staff personally" sure you did Larys, sure you did. Also probably why Alicent dismisses everyone during her bath? She's clearly paranoid about the man (and the staff he's chosen for her).

Arrax's wing, and a part of whatever remains of Luke's coat is found. Rhaenyra is fast with Syrax, in tune with her (very unlike Vhaegar and Aemond), glides down swiftly. She finally finds confirmation that what she heard was, in fact, true. She breaks down there, and it is a very heart clenching to watch her unravel like this. Syrax roar-cries with her as well in the background.

Back at the Red Keep, Aegon is announced into the throne room as "Aegon the Magnanimous" and that's really funny because he seems to doubt its merit as well. But he nonetheless tries to live up to the standards that his mother and grandfather have set him up for. For once in his life, he feels driven and purposeful and perhaps that is the reason why he's generous and kind to the small folk (or at least acts as such)— he has a reputation to uphold, the one of his namesake's.

Otto is positively annoyed with him, not thinking his actions through. Aegon's clearly never been "prepared to rule" as he had told Alicent to do so all those years ago. And Aegon is aware of the disappointment he's causing. Larys plays a nice game, recognising the mismatch of opinions between the "King" and his "Hand", he gently nudges Aegon into considering appointing a new hand. (Perhaps him, as he's been so kind to suggest the idea.)

Otto and Alicent discuss their frustrations. There's honestly no big takeaway from these scenes other than hearing Rhys Ifans say "Daughter" over and over. Twice actually, that's all. 👀

A more interesting event takes place when Erryk Cargyll discovers Mysaria (alias, 'The White Wyrm') on a Velaryon ship, fleeing from King's Landing. Daemon is frustrated at her definition of loyalty, but he doesn't understand the small folks' lived lives. Erryk tries to explain the conundrum but Syrax roars and Daemon understands that Rhaenyra has returned. "Did you find what you needed?" he asks her, a gentle forehead touch because that's what their language is. Despite the taunts thrown at Rhaenys earlier, Daemon is loyal to Rhaenyra to a fault (and gentle too, now, from whatever tumoultous thing he'd transformed into during the finale, but we'll be seeing that side of him again—no worries there)

Rhaenyra enters and the council around the painted table brings her upto the events of the present, she's not listening though. She has fire in her eyes (no, really, there's the refection) and she says, "I want Aemond Targaryen." And Daemon's really just an uncle trying to please his niece-wife, you want it? you got it.

So that's the story of how blood and cheese begins, comparatively short-lived and different than what GRRM mentions in Fire & Blood.

Jace arrives, seemingly normal before his voice starts to break while informing Rhaenyra that he has secured allies in the Vale and Winterfell. Rhaenyra cries as well, relieved that her firstborn is well, but is hurt from his and her own grief. Once again we see how very differently Rhaenyra and Alicent treat their children. (Coming back to this in the last paragraph.)

So, Daemon is back in his murderous cloak, and he wants a "Son for a Son". The way Aemond never intended to kill Luke; Daemons seems to be following the same path because he instructed them to kill Aemond'. Would've been quite useful too if it worked because Vhaegar would be useless without her rider. But they miss him by minutes.

Aemond was there, plotting behind his brother's back about how to defeat the blacks. He's interested in power more than his brother. He also says that his mother speaks two tongues— he knows her well.

They find Helaena instead. Decide not to kill her because a daughter is worth nothing. Make her point out Jaehaerys and then murder him in front of her while she quietly picks up his twin sister and runs to her mother's chambers. Who btw is in the middle of having sex with Criston despite the— we cannot, again. Helaena is too traumatised to notice though. But yeah, the difference between these two mothers becomes apparent once again.

One who is there for her child when he needs it the most and the other who cannot even bring herself to comfort her daughter when her grandson is slaughtered under the same roof.

[deathordesire]

Hi! Just an update- I'm working on updating Sunlight. Daenerys x Fem reader!

I apologize for my absence and delays, I've been working through almost being homeless as well as getting back on my feet. There WILL be a chapter within the next month. And I'm hoping to finish at least by next half of the year. Mid 2025.

✨ AO3 has the most up to date chapters, I'll be updating on here when I can!

Thankyou for your immense patience and care. I appreciate you.

[nestvrn]

daenerys is the supreme female character of all the tv shows, films or books and I can’t help falling in love with her every single day

[duckyhowls]

Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Baratheon(Lannister) OC - 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 (P2)

DuckPanda Original - PART 1 Daenerys Targaryen x Lannister!OC (Mercia Baratheon)

SUMMARY: The young queen, Mercia Baratheon, is the last living heir to King Robert after all three of her siblings die horrible deaths. As the Seven Kingdoms are on the brink of collapse, Mercia does all she can to hold it all together - though struggles arrive when the Long Night draws near, and The Dragon Queen comes for her throne. But perhaps there is a compromise they can arrange?

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Mercia stroked the soft neck of her loyal lioness, Potami, who sat committedly at her legs as the Queen rested upon the Iron Throne. 

Once again, the young queen was holding court with at least a hundred guards rowed on either side of the room, something that Mercia did just to ease her mother's paranoia. For all of Mercia's siblings had been killed, two out of three were assassinated – so she didn't blame her mother for becoming desperate to have a ridiculous number of guards positioned to protect her last remaining child.

Near Mercia's lioness stood The Mountain, only two paces left of the throne with Maester Qyburn. On Mercia's right was her uncle and her mother, staring down stoically at all of the lords that Mercia had summoned to Kings Landing to speak with.

"If the last Targaryen takes the Iron Throne, she'll destroy the realm as we know it," Mercia spoke, not taking her eyes away from her lioness whose piercing, blue gaze scanned the lords below. "Some of you are bannermen of House Tyrell, but House Tyrell is in open rebellion against the crown. With their help, the Dragon Queen has ferried an army of Dothraki to our shores. Unsullied soldiers who will destroy your castles and your holdfasts for their queen without a second thought. Her armies will burn your villages to the ground, rape and enslave your women and butcher your children."

Mercia lifted her green gaze to the many lords standing before her, all of them listening intently, hanging on to every single word that came out of her lips. "This is how Olenna Tyrell rewards centuries of service and loyalty?"

Her mother then spoke up, stone-faced. "You all remember the Mad King," she called out. "Do you remember the horrors he inflicted upon his people? His daughter is nothing less."

Mercia glanced at her mother for a moment. She hated it whenever her mother sounded so sure. Mercia, despite being the Dragon Queen's enemy, knew from the accounts of spies that Daenerys was nothing like the Mad King. From all that Mercia has witnessed through reports, Daenerys Targaryen was an anti-slavery monarch whose only goals are to free the people of the world and take back her ancestral throne. That, in itself, was different, but not mad in the slightest. Nonetheless, they had to convince the lords to join their forces with the crown. For the sake of Mercia and her family’s lives at least.

"In Essos, her brutality is already legendary." The words tasted bitter in Mercia's mouth, as she forced herself to twist these stories to make the Targaryen Queen sound like a mad tyrant. "She has crucified hundreds of noblemen in Slaver's Bay. When she grew bored of that, she fed everyone that opposed her to her dragons. It is my sworn duty before the faith to protect the people, and I will, but I need your help, my Lords."

"We must stand together," Cersei interjected once again, sounding confident and determined to convince these men to side with them. "All of us. If we hope to stop her."

The lords whispered amongst themselves for a moment before Lord Tarly stepped forward, stoic and tall as he addressed the young queen. "Your Grace, forgive me but she has three full-grown dragons. The same as Aegon when he conquered the Seven Kingdoms. How do you propose to stop them? With your lions?" Some men in the room laughed.

Mercia's hand that was stroking Potami's fur went still, and her eyes met the old Lord's. Then, she turned her head to Maester Qyburn and nodded to him.

The thin, frail man looked over at the lord, blank-faced as usual. "We are currently at work on a solution, my Lord."

Mercia stood then, clasping her hands together and giving the lords a small smile. "Please, discuss this together. Take your time, we have all day. For now, I must insist that I get off this damned, uncomfortable chair. I will call for the court again in a few hours."

Turning to her lion, she lightly tapped her hand on her thigh once. "Come, Potami."

The lords all watched the young Queen leave the throne room with the huge tawny lioness loyally trotting at her heels.

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"I am Eddard Stark," said the man that had been forced to kneel before the enraged common people of Kings Landing. "Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King." 

The man glanced towards his right, where, nearby, his eldest daughter, the Lady Sansa Stark, nodded to him in encouragement. On her left was the newly titled queen regent, Cersei Lannister, her golden hair long and ever so beautiful. She was smiling proudly at her eldest son, the newly crowned King of Westeros, Joffrey Baratheon, who stood near Eddard Stark, smirking satisfyingly at the discord before him.

Mercia watched with a frown from Sansa Stark's right as the man, her late father’s closest friend, who had been in the dungeons for days, was now being publicly humiliated. Mercia had never felt this ashamed of her brother as she did now, watching Joffrey seem so pleased at this poor man's suffering. Despite being a traitor to the crown, Mercia only had heard such kind things about Eddard Stark, that he was the most honourable and one of the most prominent lords in the country. And with every spoken word they have exchanged, even if there wasn’t much to be said, he always treated her with kindness and the upmost respect. This lord did not deserve this shame.

Looking away, down to the ground now, Eddard Stark continued. "I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of the Gods and men. I betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend Robert. I swore to protect and defend his children, but before his blood was cold, I plotted to murder his son... and seize the throne for myself."

What? Mercia whipped her head to look at her mother, Cersei, who turned to look at her with a small smile, though the young girl could see the harsh warning behind the older one's green gaze. ‘Do not say a word’.  

Meanwhile, the crowd had erupted in an outroar, one peasant in the sea of people even throwing a small stone at Lord Stark's head, causing the man to gasp in pain as blood seeped through the wound and drip from his brow. Beside Mercia, Sansa gasped and grasped the princess’ hand. Mercia turned her head away from the sight, squeezing Sansa’s hand back.

"L-let the High Septon and Baelor the Blessed bear witness to what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, by the grace of all the Gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." Through every word, Eddard Stark's face contorted, as if he were in pain of speaking falsehoods. Mercia knew of the letter and will her father had left behind, asking his friend to rule until Joffrey came of age.

The crowd murmured amongst themselves angrily, but Maester Pycelle stepped forward. "As in sin, this man has confessed to his crimes in sight of Gods and men. The Gods are just, but beloved Baelor taught us they can also be merciful." Maester Pycelle then turned to Joffrey and bowed his head. "What is to be done with this traitor, Your Grace?" he asked, spitting the words as if the man accused was some worthless demon.

The crowd jeered and called out angrily, but Joffrey raised his hand with a pleased smile, as if all this chaos excited him. Mercia knew that it did. 

The crowd went silent, and Joffrey spoke, "My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Night's Watch. Stripped of all titles and powers, he would serve the realm in permanent exile," he continued, looking to his betrothed, the Lady Sansa. "And my Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father."

The Lady Sansa smiled softly at the King and Mercia frowned. She knew her brother better than to be someone of mercy. 

She was right when he announced his next words, and Eddard Stark's head was put to the sword and placed on a spike on the city walls for months.

Mercia never forgot the Lady Sansa's screams that dreadful day.

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Part 3 Coming Soon!

[themotherofhorses]

I just had a really cute thought for last of her house no more.

The reason why Danys hair looks so good compared to other targs is because the Dothraki taught her to oil her hair. Now imagine the cute family bonding time the three of them could have of doing each others hair. The greens kids cry in daddy issues when they see drogo oiling his daughters hair in the gardens. Nothing will stop aemond from marrying into the family now, he wants that paternal figure so badly.

Also I headcannon that drogo would love helaena, I don’t know why.

YES my good gods i love this so much

no bc i ALWAYS headcanon drogo to be a girl!dad, like no one can tell me otherwise. fight me on that. ok sure whatever, he did want a son, but then dany put their tiny babygirl in his arms and the mf FELL IN LOVE.

then you got the green kids, the poor & fucked up kiddos of viserys “rhaenyra, my only child” targaryen, with the most legendary mommy & daddy issues known to westerosi history. they (no doubt) weep in envy when they see drogo oil and braid his daughter’s hair, ride around w her, and bring her back lil trinkets and weapons from his random travels <333

(also the drogo & helaena headcanon, i can see it! she would def remind him of his own daughter, a soul too precious for this damned world.)

[noirrose21-blog]

New poll for my Dany time travels to HOTD story.

So because Harwin marries Laena and doesn’t die, Viserys marries a Baratheon

[witchthewriter]

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・There was no fear in you when you were around Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion.

・The first dragons in hundreds of years and you saw them as puppies. Okay well, truly you saw them as beings to be respected and revered

・But you treat animals with that same respect anyway - usually preferring them over human company...

・You understood that each dragon had a different personality. It defined how you treated them

・Drogon was the most independent; he hated being coddled too much. He just likes to play and explore

・Rhaegal always wanted to keep up with Drogon, but he wasn't fast enough. And he liked being close to Dany.

・Viserion though - he adored being held; soft touches and gentle pets were his favourite. It took a long time for him to realise he was too big to sit in your lap :(

・Dany loved that someone else saw her children the way she did. With dignity and astonishment

・Other people were incredibly shocked to find you laying in the grass with three dragons. All lazily flopped on top of you somehow. Either with their head, wing or foot

・You actually know secrets about the dragons - how Drogon has ticklish feet. Rhaegal likes to be called 'a good strong dragon,' and Viserion sometimes whines for his mother.

・Your relationship with Dany definitely helps as well. You adore her, and she you. You do love her ... as more than friends, more than her being your ruler...

・But you could never admit that

・Too bad though, she herself is deeply in love with you. And it shows - you're allowed alone with her children. Allowed to look after them when she isn't there to

・Like ... another mother to them

・And gods forbid if anything happened to you - the dragons would kill anyone who comes into mere feet of you.

・There's always one of them nearby.

[writeshite]

What happens when Viserys'husband and Daenerys actually do try to escape?

“Well, I’m glad to see you’ve packed, can’t go on a journey empty handed can we?”

You turn to Viserys, brows knitted as he speaks with giddy delight, the morning sun had yet to fully rise, which begged the question, as to why the man was awake. “Journey?” You ask carefully, even in the unlikely event that Viserys let go of his delusions of the iron throne, you weren’t ready to throw your cards all out yet.

“Yes,” he responds, “I, my dear husband, have secured myself clear access to that which is rightfully mine, all thanks to my sister.”

“What? What do you mean by that?” 

“What else is she good for?” he sneers, familiar cruel smile on his face. It takes a moment to guess what he’s babbling about, before you all but rush to grab his collar. “Come now, you didn’t think you could just plan to leave me? At the very least, this change in plans gets me an army.”

You shake him, “WHO DID YOU PROMISE HER TO VISERYS?!?” He laughs at the anger you display, “TELL ME!”

“You wanted her to leave me; well, she’ll be leaving for marriage. I’m sure she’ll make a fine Khaleesi.”

[julessworldd]

Idk how I ended on Robb and Dany tik tok but I’m glad I did. God what a duo they would have been, fire and ice frrrr!

Makes me wanna make a fic about them:/ but Idk a plot sooo if anyone has ideas. Please send in my ask box and dms 🩷🩷

[humanpurposes]

The Way You Taste

The lines between friendship and 'more' are becoming difficult to define with you and Aemond. You don't know what's holding you back, but lately you can't shake the feeling that someone is watching you.

modern!vampire!Aemond x reader

Main Masterlist

Warnings: 18+, smut, dub-con, blood play, creepy stuff (tis the season), mentions of murder and violence

Words: 3.8k

A/n: Happy Halloween/Halloween Eve 😼🖤 (depending on your timezone)

You can’t shake this feeling lately, like someone is watching you.

The season doesn’t help. The clocks went back a few days ago and the new cycle of daylight has thrown you off your axis. The mornings are bright but the night comes quicker. You watched the sun fade from the window in your office and by 4pm it was dark. Insanity.

Sure, you can wear your big coat and a scarf to fight off the cold but your limbs still feel shaky and unsure. And it still feels like there are eyes on you everywhere you go; work; the coffee shop round the corner; the supermarket; the gym; your own unassuming flat on the quiet side of Queen’s Park.

Dany’s obsessed with the news stories, always sending you videos and articles with the latest updates and theories. It began about a month ago when a student was found behind some bins in a service yard off Silk Street with a knife in her neck. She was only eighteen, from a small town in Dorne, eager to get a degree and start her life. She had been out with her flatmates at a well known pub in a busy part of town, went outside for a smoke and that was it. According to the police she might have had a chance if someone had found her. Instead she was left to bleed out for hours.

There have been three deaths in total, the student, a 30-something-year-old regular at the club Seven Heavens, and a bartender at Falling Star. Dany thinks the culprit must be some insane conservative with a twisted sense of morals and decency, determined to punish those who actually live their lives– or so she’s seen online.

You don’t know who the culprit is, you don’t really want to think about it. You can’t stop noticing every face you pass on the street, on the bus, on your way into the office, and you wonder, could they be a killer?

Your hands tremble and fumble with the keys to your front door. The key is funny, you have to sort of push it and pull it as you twist it, but the door opens and you scurry inside. The keys are tossed into their usual dish, your coat and scarf thrown on their hooks, shoes off, bag set down on the floor carefully so you don’t smash your laptop. 

You should lock the door. You will lock the door but your head is pulsing and the cold weather has left your throat dry. You need tea, or water. Maybe you could treat yourself to both. 

There are exactly three rooms in your flat. Bedroom, bathroom and the rest of it. The sight of your sofa covered in papers and notebooks fills you with dread but you move on to the kitchen and clear a space on the counter, setting out a glass and a mug. Teabag in the mug. Water in the glass. Water in the kettle. Fuck, the dishes are piling up. 

Your finger is an inch away from the switch on the kettle when your phone rings. The noise is faint, coming from the hallway because it’s in your coat pocket. So you go back around the counter, past the sofa and into the hallway. The ringtone sounds sharper the closer you get and once you’ve got the phone in your hand the name Aemond Targaryen appears on the screen.

Your heart lurches. You let the phone ring for another second before you answer in an airy voice, “hi.”

There’s a soft hum on the other side. “Hello, you. Did you get home alright?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Good day?”

You have to stop yourself from making a sound of exasperation. There’s only so much you can enjoy about a job when you give everything and get seemingly nothing back. “Fine. Long. Emails.”

Aemond hums. Maybe it’s meant to be sympathy but you have this same problem with Dany, the disappointment when they don’t hear what they want to. 

Dany had been the one to introduce the two of you around the end of August. Aemond is a cousin of her’s and at the time had just moved to King’s Landing from Oldtown. She didn’t know him particularly well, but said he got on with her brother, Viserys, which didn’t paint the best image in your mind. But then you met him and right away you knew he was unlike any other man you’d ever met. He was striking; tall, perfect posture, long silver hair, perfectly fitted suit. And his voice, gentle yet chilling. Hypnotic. 

He asked for your number the second time you met and you had given it to him on the basis that an exchange of numbers wasn’t a commitment. Maybe it meant nothing, maybe he just wanted to be friendly. Sometime over the last two months, ‘friendly’ became text conversations into the early morning hours, became phone calls, became coffees and dinner.

“Is everything okay, Aemond?”

“What are you doing tonight?”

You’ve wandered back into the living room. All the clutter makes you anxious. “Need to clean up a bit, get myself some food.”

“Can I come over?”

“Oh, um, I’d rather you didn’t, my place is a mess.”

“Come over to mine, then. I’ll make you dinner.”

You catch your lip between your teeth. 

You and Aemond had gone for dinner last Saturday night. He told you to wear something nice, picked you up in a cab and took you to a steak restaurant where you knew you could barely afford a side dish, let alone a main. He told you to order whatever you wanted, picked expensive wines to go with the food, insisted you get a dessert, and covered the whole bill.

He saw you home. It would have been a shame to end the night before 9pm, so you invited him in. You showed Aemond around, not that your place is spectacular, but he liked what you did with the bedroom, the plants and the postcards on the wall. In the living room you picked out a bottle of cheap white wine from the fridge. Harmless fun, surely.

All self restraint was gone. You were half delirious and cosying up to him on the sofa, telling him about your job, your shitty boss, your obnoxious coworkers. If you had your way you’d start your own blog or magazine, or disappear to a coastal town and write a novel, but that wouldn’t pay off your student loans or pay for a place to live. 

You told him about Dany’s new friends. She had her own startup with her family’s money behind her, and it was doing well but she didn’t have time for anything else. She was unreachable during the week, and every weekend she had started hanging out with her employees. Your chats are filled with photos she's sent you of pints and drunk selfies in clubs. And she never invites you.

But Aemond was there, the only person in weeks who had made any sort of effort to see you. You held his face in your hands and told him how beautiful his lips were.

Then he kissed you.

That took you by surprise. He moved you into his lap, trailed his hands along your legs to the hem of your dress, and all the while your lips moved together so perfectly. You wanted it to happen, more than you had allowed yourself to admit, but you hadn’t expected it. You pulled away and so did he. Something didn’t feel right. Something was holding you back.

He’s Dany’s cousin, you told yourself. 

“It’s alright,” you say, moving your bag to the sofa, paper and pens shifting around it. “Shit– I’ve got some work to do.”

“On a Friday night?”

It wouldn’t be so unbelievable, you staying in on a Friday, but Aemond has a way of picking up on the smallest of details. Maybe there’s a give in your voice. Maybe you’re breathing too heavily– now you’re thinking about it and you can’t get enough air into your lungs.

“I’m fine, honestly, don’t worry about me.”

“I do, that’s the problem.”

You can hardly think over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. And gods, you feel so guilty. Why do you feel so guilty? “It’s just that now’s not a good time.”

“Now as in, right now?”

Now as in this moment. Today. This year. Until you feel that you’re ready, only, you don’t know when you’ll be ready.

“Aemond, you know I think you’re wonderful, I mean, I hope you know that. And I… appreciated dinner last weekend. I just…”

There’s a flow of breath through the speaker, a slow exhale that sets your nerves alight. Aemond has a way of tapping his fingers when he’s impatient or when he’s thinking. You picture him drumming his fingers against his thigh.

“I thought I was being rather direct in what I wanted. I hate to think I’ve imposed,” he says. 

It’s hard not to overthink this kind of thing, after a lifetime of drunk flirting, harmless fun, no strings attached, “not looking for a relationship” and men keeping their options open. Aemond is intelligent and generous. He has an eye for detail, a way of reading you, and a self assuredness that means he can breeze through life effortlessly.

He’s perfect, and you’re not. 

“I’m sorry,” you say.

Aemond is silent. No breathing, no sign of life. It’s like that for a few seconds, but it feels like minutes. And finally he says. “I understand perfectly.” 

“I really am sorry,” you say, but the white noise of the call is dead. 

You finally make yourself that cup of tea. Dany calls and you don’t want to answer. But you do. She’s on her way to the pub. 

“It’s Jon’s birthday and we’re going to Falling Star!”

You don’t want to hate her for being around other people, but why can’t she do it without rubbing it in your face? “Enjoy. And don’t die,” you say.

“I’m too pretty to be murdered,” she says. A slew of true crime documentaries and faces in newspapers would say otherwise, but by then she’s already hung up.

The rest of your evening is a peaceful one. You don’t pay much attention to the dating show you put on the TV, more interested in an algorithm of videos, cats making funny noises, a man shoving his wife’s face into their wedding cake, a tribute to the three victims of the Silk Street murders– no new news there, new economic policies, fantasy book recommendations…

You check your messages. Dany’s just sent you a photo of her pint.

You scroll a little further down and hover your thumb over your chat with Aemond, but you don’t open it.

Nothing in particular wakes you. Still half asleep, you’re aware of your body, the exposed parts of skin against the fabric of your bedsheets, the rise and fall of your chest. Instinct tells you it’s a few hours after midnight. There are no strange noises, no sources of light, just the cold air beyond the duvet, pulled up to your chin.

Then it starts to slip away. 

Your hands struggle to catch up with your mind. You think about grabbing the edge and tugging against whatever is trying to pull it off you, but you can’t. The fabric slips through your limp fingers, dragging over your body until there’s no weight on top of you. Your limbs are frozen in place, curled over on one side, dressed in an old t-shirt, panties and nothing else. Your skin crawls at a silent breeze, but you can feel it again, eyes on you.

Then there are fingers, stroking along your bare legs, closing around your ankles. 

Your eyes blink open, adjusting to the darkness and you can see that the bedroom door is wide open. Without looking, you feel an awareness about the room, a presence looming at the foot of the bed. It pulls on your legs, dragging you further down the bed, positioning you flat on your back.

Even in the dead of night, the gleam of silver hair is undeniable.

“Aemond?”

His gaze meets yours. He smiles and starts to pull at the buttons on his shirt– trust Aemond to show up in a dream wearing a shirt and slacks.

The haze of sleep lulls your mind and sharpens your senses. You run your hands up your thighs, admiring every inch of his skin as it’s revealed to you.

Shirt discarded, his hands come to his belt and linger on the buckle. He hums and it infuriates you how even the slightest of sounds makes you desperate for him. But the belt stays where it is, so do the slacks. 

His palms fall to the mattress and he crawls towards you like an animal. You’ve rarely seen that side of him in real life, maybe that night when you kissed, the way he groaned against your mouth and grazed his teeth over your lips…

His hands are on either side of your head. The colour of his eyes and the line of his scar are difficult to make out in the dark. His body leans against yours, slowly pressing his weight on top of you, making a home for his hips between your legs. You don’t just let him do it, you wrap your legs around him, pulling him in closer as your hips start to rock. 

He leans down, placing a firm, slow kiss against your lips. You try to follow him as he pulls away, but he moves down to kiss your neck, then the base of your throat.

“You can’t lie to me,” he mutters against your skin, “I know what you need.”

He lifts your t-shirt enough to expose your breasts, taking one into his hand and squeezing, just to the precipice of pain. You’re already moaning when he takes the other nipple into his mouth, bruising and licking and sucking. 

With every moment that passes you feel the control slipping, his and yours. Perfect, sweet, refined Aemond, gripping his fingertips into your flesh like claws, restless and grinding himself against you. You thread your hands through his hair, surfaces of bone, chin and forehead, fall against each other. 

Aemond slips further still. He trails his lips along your sternum and your stomach, positioning his face between your legs. There’s no more pretence. He parts your thighs with his palms, pulling your underwear down your legs before he runs a single finger through your folds. You feel how effortless it is, how wet you are for him.

Until his finger is replaced by his tongue in slow, agonising licks. His eyes are on you, but the rest of him is obscured by your own body. You rock against him to chase the feeling, keeping a hand on his head to keep him where you need him. 

It’s like a silent conversation. He takes your queues, responds to your moans and the way your jaw slacks when he finds the right spot.

You watch his shoulder shift and feel the pressure of his finger at your entrance. He doesn’t push it in, not yet.

“Aemond,” you whisper.

He hums against your cunt and you feel it in the rest of your body, an echo through your bones and your blood.

He wants you to beg.

“Aemond, please,”

He slips inside you and you’re weightless. 

The noises you make aren’t conscious. You feel the air flowing through your lungs, the sound in your throat, panting and moaning as he nudges against the flesh inside you. 

It rises and rises until the pleasure tears through you. Aemond holds you in place with a palm splayed on your stomach, unrelenting, working you through the high.

“Aemond,” you whimper, “I can’t take it,”

He pulls away from you, and still gasping for air he comes to his knees on the bed, hovering over you. “You taste too fucking good,” he says.

You’re still writhing in the afterglow when he reaches for something in his back pocket. The shape of it is obscured in the darkness but you can see how he’s holding it, like he’s holding up a pen. It doesn’t even occur to you that it could be anything dangerous. 

“Are you going to let me have another taste?”

You should say yes, that’s how these things go, play along and see where you end up.

He leans over you again, on one hand. You watch the way his hair falls, the way he draws his tongue over his lips. 

It happens too quickly for you to make any kind of protest. Aemond puts the object into your face and there’s a stinging sensation on your lower lip. By the time he has pulled away you feel a liquid pearling at the cut he’s made, wet and warm. 

“What… what the fuck?” you utter.

Aemond surges back into you, a man starved, kissing your bloodied lips. His tongue delves into your mouth and you can taste it, the sweetness of your own arousal, the metallic tang of your own blood.

“Too good,” Aemond growls under his breath, “too fucking good,”

You meet him with hunger of your own and feel his mouth break into a smile.

“See? I knew you wanted this,” he says as his hand curls around your neck, “desperate little thing, aren’t you?”

Your body is screaming for another release. You rake your nails down his back, press your chest up and into him.

“Say it.”

“I want you, Aemond.”

“So why do you keep pushing me away?”

You pause. There’s hardly any space between you, the tips of your noses are the slightest move from touching. You see the stains on Aemond’s lips, the darkness in his expression.

“I’m not ready,” you say.

Aemond huffs to himself, you’re unsure if it's amusement or disbelief. He sits back on his haunches, grabbing you by your wrists to pull you up. He doesn’t let go. His hands are so much bigger than yours, curling around your forearms. “I could give you everything, do you know that?”

You feel yourself frown.

“Why aren’t you ready? What’s stopping you?”

There are so many imperfections in your life. People like Aemond and Dany, they make life look easy because it is easy for them. If they work it’s something to fill the time. 

Your eyes are starting to sting. “I– I have things I need to focus on. I can’t get caught up in this, I can’t distract myself.”

Aemond’s mouth curls into a small smile, his thumbs tracing circles on your skin. “I could take the distractions away. I could make you mine.” He brings one of your wrists to his lips, placing a delicate skin against it, leaving a smear of blood in its wake. "Why deny yourself the pleasure I could give you?"

It’s an enchanting idea, a life outside of a job that makes you miserable, untethered to a friend you can feel is drifting away…

You feel your head nodding.

“Good girl,” Aemond mutters.

You expect him to kiss you again, or lay you down on the bed and fuck you. Instead he reaches for something beside him. The knife.

You flinch away and get as far as the headboard. Aemond still has one hand on your wrist and pulls you back in. 

He takes the blade to his chest and makes a shallow cut down his skin. Your insides turn and tighten at the sight, unable to decide if you’re terrified or fascinated. 

You know what he wants you to do. That’s always the way with dreams, somehow you just know what you need to, even if what’s happening in front of you doesn’t make sense. 

You lean forwards, bracing yourself against his firm torso, tongue out, licking along the cut. His blood pools and burns on your tongue. It’s bitter and sweet, and you relish it.

Aemond moans, cradling your head in his hand.

He pulls on your hair to tilt your chin up. His face is full of admiration and you preen at the praise.

He moves your head down, to the bulge in his slacks. With his other hand he undoes his belt and you pull it away eagerly. He seems pleased at that and makes quick work of freeing his cock.

You delight at the sight of him, watching his hand work himself to hardness, precum glistening at the tip, and take him into your willing mouth. His sighs of pleasure spurn you on, your own arousal rising in your belly. 

Aemond’s grip on your hair tightens as he starts to thrust into your mouth. “Good girl,” he coos, “my perfect girl,”

Until he decides he’s had enough. You hardly comprehend it as he draws you away from his cock, turns you around and positions you on your stomach.

You gasp as he enters you, the sweet sting of stretching around his cock. It’s worth it when he reaches so deep inside of you. You can hear him gritting his teeth as he moans, like he’s torn between desire and restraint. 

And you wish you could watch him while he fucks you, moving in and out of you, his hands digging into the flesh of your ass, the blood dripping down his chest– you can still taste it.

Aemond’s hair tickles against your skin as he leans down, keeping his brutal pace. “Mine,” he misses against your ear, “you’re fucking mine.”

You cry out as your second orgasm washes over you, soft and simmering as he fucks you through it.

You press your fingertips into the mattress, basking in the heat of your skin, the dampness of sweat, the taste of blood on your lips…

When you open your eyes again daylight seeps through a gap in the curtains. You’re still on your front, still in your t-shirt. You move your hand between your legs and find a damp patch on your panties. 

Your legs and your arms are aching. You feel feverish, hot and cold, restless in your own skin. It’s that time of year, you suppose, flu season.

You can’t stop thinking about that dream. It almost makes you laugh, the absurdity of it, Aemond sneaking into your room, and the blood– the blood. 

It would make sense to be disgusted by it, but you’re not. You feel a sort of pressure ghosting against your lips and your tongue. You imagine the sight of him, his toned torso, offering his very lifeforce to you, and tasting yours.

“Mine,” he said. 

You drag yourself out of the bed. Everything hurts. Even setting out a clean t-shirt and sweatpants exhausts you. Worst of all is the hunger starting to appear in your stomach, the kind that twists and churns.

Maybe a shower will put your head right. It’s amazing how many problems can be solved by warm water. You move in slow, sluggish steps to the bathroom. With the water running, you turn to the sink and reach for your toothbrush, catching sight of your reflection.

Something about your face feels different, and you’re not sure it’s a bad thing. You can’t pinpoint it, but you don’t think you’ve ever felt so beautiful.

There is one thing though, a scab on your lower lip, right where Aemond had cut you in the dream.

“I could take the distractions away. I could make you mine.”

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