#let Rhaena have a dragon 2024

[thebiggerbear]

Truthfully, I have not been the biggest fan of Rhaenyra's since the end of last season (though Emma has been killing it!). I was especially upset after Rhaenys. But after the ending of tonight's episode, I am happily back on Team Rhaenyra. Not just because of what occurred in that scene (I was screaming btw) but also it was a true Queen that left that chamber and left to do what she did.

Fucking incredible episode. And Seasmoke was amazing but if that other wild dragon doesn't go to Rhaena, I swear HBO is going to hear me yell from here.

[star-girl69]

I Loved You Like the Sun

a/n: i’m not ready to let go of this fic so i WILL be continuing it into the dance of dragons and i’ll be separating it into two parts. part one should conclude in what i hope to be 5 or less more chapters. i’ll be following the show plot bc that’s easiest for me. so that unfortunately means once i get through what’s happened in the show so far this book will be postponed until the new season comes in 2024 :( also- i heard all of you guys!! y/n will be claiming cannibal later in the series.

and i apologize for the weirdness with her father- after i decided to expand on this series, i decided to leave that conflict out. kinda a messy ending, but i’m eager for daemyra and reader to solidify their own family.

and btw guys it’s still me i just changed my username and stuff 😭

warnings: incest, swearing, violence, kinda sex tbh, mentions of death, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Twelve- Silk Sheets

—-

Jace admits Lady Y/N confuses him.

He knows the facts- he knows that his mother and Daemon clearly feel some affection towards her.

He thinks back to their time in Kings Landing, when he saw Daemon with his hand on Y/N’s thigh and his mothers arm around her chair.

He remembers hearing a scream, muffled, coming from the other wing of their apartments. He remembers the banging on the door, and then the silence before screams of pain. They were unfamiliar. He remembers sneaking out of his bed, past the guards roaming the halls to look for something, he wasn’t sure. He remembers his mother crying, before bringing Lady Y/N into her arms. He remembers her calling the Lady “my Y/N.”

He remembers the special attention, the red dresses, the longing looks.

And he notices.

He notices how his mother and Daemon insert Y/N into their lives, scheduling bonding time with each of the children. He notices how his mother always makes sure Y/N is there.

His siblings are already entranced with her. Lucerys worships the ground she walks on, Baela proclaims Y/N to be her best friend, and Rhaena always draws her attention with soft words and nimble sewing hands. Joffrey and Aegon adore her as well, although they are too young to truly understand what is going on.

Jace does not know how his siblings have surrenders to her web. Does not know how his parents have. Does not know why he feels the webs clinging to his skin.

But now, she only watches him with fire-bright eyes. She does not carry their name. But fire burns in her, and Jace would be a fool not to see it.

He parries and blocks, rallies and ducks. He evades the wooden sword of the non-descript guard, feeling Lady Y/N’s eyes on him.

It is a blur of movement- an empty brain, devoid of thoughts about Aegon and Aemond and the rest of the Hightowers. His ailing grandfather. His poor aunt, who is subjected to a life with Aegon. How the crown already weighs heavy on his mother’s shoulders and she does not even have one yet. How one day that will be his.

He isn’t sure he can imagine it.

Baela at his side, Jace and Rhaena in Driftmark. Joffrey will be with him, of course. He needs a cupbearer if he is to be king. He likes to imagine Aegon will be a fierce warrior.

His grandparents dead. Daemon dead. His mother dead. Uncles bitter about their lack of power.

With a grunt, the knight yields. Jace’s sword at his throat. Lady Y/N claps.

Jace is burning under the spring sun.

—-

You supposed you shouldn’t be surprised how grand Daemon and Rhaenyra’s chambers were- much less the rest of Dragonstone.

Sometimes you forgot they were as powerful as they were, that the commanded the skies and the sea, the earth and the wind. They had thousands of men at their beck and call- to fight for them, to die for them.

Knowing that Daemon and Rhaenyra had all of that power at the word of a raven made you feel better about the letter from your father.

The two had wasted no time in furnishing their room to become yours as well. A bookshelf on the far wall, the comfiest chair next to the fireplace, tapestries of your choosing on the walls. It was more of a home then your room at Chambers Manor ever was.

You let your hand stretch over the silk sheets, blood red. Your hand splays, fingers dig in, making that scratching sound that makes a shiver run down your spine.

You sigh, falling back onto the bed.

What would you think if your father could see you now? You, the youngest of four, just trying to make it by unnoticed by your family. Your mother had passed years ago- one of the reasons you bonded so well with Rhaenyra.

—-

“I miss her.”

It is her mothers birthday.

She demands that you stay with her all day, so unlike her usual sweet asks and subtle coercion (you can’t refuse the feel of her lips). And her harsh tone is nothing like normal.

But she is hurting. You let her boss you around. If it made her feel better, you would rip out your own heart for her. You are already walking around with something inside of you that belongs to her, what difference does it make if it is in your chest or her hands? You never survived on blood. You survived on star power, on something mystical and otherworldly. Something no one else could understand.

Rhaenyra stifles another sob into your hair, as you hold her with tight hands. You urge her to breathe, and she does. Your chest aches.

Rhaenyra is your savior. Your lover. Your everything. She is like dragonfire being blown in your face- leaving you unscathed. She burns bright and hot but as you get closer, you see that she is just a young girl. Motherless. Powerless.

You know that one day she will burn. But today is not that day.

Besides, she is stronger than that. She is more than her loss.

It is a while before her sobs quite down.

“Tell me something. Distract me, my love.”

You sigh, mind scrambling. “Did I ever tell you about my great grandmother?” She shakes her head, and you hum. “Her name was Alyssa. She was a Targaryen, a cousin to Old King Jaehaerys. She had a dragon, you know. Pink, if the stories are to be believed. A ferocious she-dragon named Heartfyre. My grandmother claimed Heartfyre when she was only 12 years old. She said she wasn’t even sure what was happening. She thought the old dragon was going to kill her. But she did not. After my grandmother died, Heartfyre flew off- to Old Valyria, traders on the sea said. No one ever saw her again.”

Your hands tangle in Rhaenyra’s hair.

“That’s sweet,” she murmurs, and you are relieved to hear no remnants of a sob in her voice. “‘M sorry for being so rude today.”

“It’s okay, Rhaenyra. I know. I know.”

She does not cry. She is a princess. She is a Targaryen.

But here, with you, she lets herself fall. It is the sweetest thing.

—-

The door opens with a sharp creek, and voices fill the room. It is what you have been waiting for.

You stand, skirting past Rhaenyra and Daemon in the doorway.

“Y/N, come back!” Rhaenyra calls, and for once, you do not answer her. You grab the letter you received late last night. It is hidden in your bookshelf, in between the cover of your favorite book.

When you turn back around, Rhaenyra is sitting leisurely on the bed. Daemon sets Dark Sister on the side table, fingers carefully tracing down the blade. He handles it with such care and reverence, you admire it.

You pad over to the wordlessly, letter burning in your hands. You do not trust yourself to speak, and Rhaenyra frowns when you hand her the letter. She tugs on your red slip, pulling you next to her on the bed.

“What’s this?”

You sigh, wordless, placing your forehead on her shoulder. You can tell she is concerned, placing a hand on the side of your face. You hear the sound of the wax seal ripping.

You did not dare open it.

Her eyes scan over it quickly, and you hear the sound of Daemon’s holster falling to the floor.

“Your father.” She whispers, and it is a breathless thing.

You nod against her, her hand curls into your hair.

“I won’t let him take you. Not again.”

“What?” Daemon asks, walking over, finally in earshot of your hushed voices.

“Letter.” Rhaenyra whispers. “Y/N’s father.”

“Tell him to fuck off,” Daemon scoffs.

You are too nervous to admonish him, Rhaenyra too busy reading.

“He says you can stay in Dragonstone. That your siblings married better than you. He doesn’t care.”

You let out a breath of relief.

The years of letting him pass you by have paid off.

“Thank the Gods,” you murmur.

“Were you scared, my sweet girl? You must know by now, we will not let anyone take you, hm?”

You pull back from Rhaenyra. Miss her warmth.

“I know, but, still. We are not married.”

“That can be arranged.” You do not need to look at Daemon to know his face is sporting a large smirk.

Rhaenyra sighs from beside you, beginning to take down her intricate hairstyle.

“We won’t do anything until you say so, my love.” She shoots a look to Daemon, and you smile. You fall back onto the bed, on your side, cheek pressing into the silk fabric. Daemon comes into your point of view, but only for a second. He walks past you, to the other side of the bed, bed dipping as he lays down.

It is domestic. It is normal. It is all you have ever wanted.

Daemon winds a hand into your hair, tugging you up. You sit up, and he beckons you over with a lazy grin and a movement of his finger. You come to your knees, and he palms your hips.

“Made for us,” he murmurs.

He pulls you to straddle him in one swift move- and he moans at the sight of your flustered from the lack of warning.

He is drowning in his own lust, in the tightening of his pants. You can feel it below you. Pressing up against you in the most delicious way-

When your hips move, it is a reflex. A desperate chase for more of this feeling.

Daemon and Rhaenyra have not ravaged you like this. No one has. Your husband neglected his duties to you. But you are take by the sudden need to be taken by them, to be full, to feel loved.

“Daemon,” you moan. He grunts, face burying into your neck to leave hard kisses.

You hear the silk sheets rustle from behind you, the press of something warm against your back. Rhaenyra is right behind you, breath fanning the side of your face. Her hands rest on your stomach, a comforting, sure pressure.

“This is what I want to see for the rest of my life. The prettiest girl, a desperate mess for us, yeah?”

You moan at her words, hips moving again. Daemon throws his head back, hands gripping your hips tighter, pushing you down-

When Rhaenyra’s hand travels along your stomach, you grab it, instinctively. You do not know if you are ready.

“We will have you as you are,” she whispers, and you let her hand go. When her warm hand dips under your skirts you shiver with anticipation. With want. With need.

The head of Daemon’s manhood touches his stomach, and you press against the length of it. It must be a painful thing, you think, by any way Daemon grips your hips.

Her hand moves past your small clothes, and Daemon lets out another groan at the press of her hand as well.

Daemon grabs the front of your dress, ripping it in half in a show of raw strength. You shriek in suprise, but he only laughs, dark and promising.

He leans back, admiring.

Your arms come over your chest, but Daemon grabs them with a growl.

“Did you not hear me?” Rhaenyra whispers, hot and breathy in your ear. The tip of her finger circles for the first time in so many years, and you throw your head back onto her shoulder. “I said we will have you as you are.”

And when they have you, you swear you melt into the silk sheets.

—-

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