#lucerys velaryon imagines

[neilsbeloved]

amidst the waves: special part

summary: born a lowborn, your family a group of fishermen that supply the market; one day, it wasn't a fish caught but rather, a young man.

pairing: lucerys velaryon x fem!reader

notes: heree’s a special gift in the name of hotd s2 !! had this in the drafts for so long and just finished it after the first ep as a warm up for the fics to come :D i hope u guys enjoy

part: I, II, III, special

You had hoped for a nicer sea.

Inside of a sturdy wooden fishing boat, situated in the middle of the waters, all the while rain was pouring down on you, the waves wasn't cooperating as well.

Your hair was tied into a knot, absolutely drenched from the rainwater, as you desperately tried to help Alaine tie the net inside of your boat. Some of the sea creatures you've captured managed to jump back out because of the chaos inside of the boat.

"Are we not heading back!?" Alaine yelled, hands clutching the sides of the boat as the waves rocked the both of you.

"What do you think I'm doing!?" You moved the oars aggressively. Alaine groaned before joining you in rowing the boat.

Your hair strands stuck to your forehead by the time you arrived at a part of the sea where the storm had calmed down. Only a light shower of rain droplets fell on the both of you.

Alaine wiped her forehead tiredly, resting her head on her hands while you continued rowing. Desperate to head back home and escape any possible storm that may follow your boat.

Something seemed to feel wrong; like you were forgetting, neglecting something.

You sneaked your eyes to the side, a second before you sharply turned towards your sister's direction. Her skin was pale, body shivering.

"Alaine? Alaine!" You pulled off the extra piece of clothing around your neck and proceeded to place it around your sister. "Hey? Stay with me, okay? I'll bring us back." You whisper on her forehead and she weakly nods.

A sigh leaves your lips, forgetting the ache in your arms as you started to row continuously without any break.

It took the both of you an hour at most; your arms were practically crying and shaking. The fear and nervousness inside of you growing whenever you glance at your sister still trembling in your scarf.

The familiar shore reappears in your sight, even though it was still far away, you felt a bit relieved seeing it.

There was no one by the shore when you got closer. Your hut's door closed shut and you couldn't see any movement from inside of the open windows. You gently grabbed your sister's head, whispering her name on her head as you tried to wake her up.

"We're here, Alaine. Please stay for me," you spoke, rubbing her head as you started screaming your brother's name. "Arrel! Where are you! We need you, now!"

By your first scream, there wasn't anyone that came out to help bring you fully to the shore. You screamed Arrel's name again, this time even louder which caused Alaine to groan.

You apologized softly, pulling back the oars and rowing.

Someone yells your name, at first you thought it was Arrel but it wasn't.

There was another figure right beside your brother's. A figure that seemed taller, a little bit bulkier, and certainly more layered. The figure had a unique coat on, a luxurious one.

Your eyes go wide when the two of them run to your boat, pulling the front to the shore as your body freezes on the spot.

It's Luke.

Or, to be correct, Prince Lucerys.

"What happened to her, Y/N?" he asks out with concern, rushing to pull off the coat he was wearing and place it on top of your sister.

You weren't sure what to tell him; do you just answer and act normal as if there wasn't anything that went on between the two of you three years ago? Or do you ignore him, throw a tantrum, reject his offer of a helping hand?

"Y/N! What happened to her?!" You were snapped back to reality when Arrel was the one that asked you. Your eyes blinking erratically as you stammered through your words, telling them that it seemed Alaine caught a cold because of the rain.

"We have to bring her to the hut. Arrel, get some new clothes for her, the ones I bought, those are comfortable and warm enough for her." Luke instructs, your brother nodding as he runs off.

"What- Arrel! Help me bring Alaine there what are you doing!"

Luke sighs, obvious to him that you were ignoring him.

He grabs hold of Alaine's arm, helping her up with his hand on her hips. Despite not wanting to, you grabbed the other arm and proceeded to help your sister out of the boat. Choosing to set aside your pride for now.

"You should run inside. You're drenched! I will carry her." Luke says, stopping for a moment.

"No!" You yelled.

Luke huffs, rolling his eyes as he nods.

By the time you got to the hut, you had quickly finished dressing Alaine in a new set of clothes from her wardrobe, not taking the ones Arrel was handing you that were from Lucerys.

Arrel had brought in a pot with cold water, and you grabbed a towel and submerged it in cold water before folding it to place on top of Alaine's forehead. The younger woman was still shivering, even though her forehead was hot.

"Here," Luke joins, entering the open room with some liquid inside of a small cup.

You looked at him, confused. "This," he says, raising the cup. "It's tea. We can use it to make her sweat and get the cold out. We have to get the heat out of her body."

"I know how to treat a cold, Luke," you grumbled. Arrel is looking at you with an "are you serious" look. Another sigh leaves your lips. Arrel rolls his eyes and takes the tea from Luke.

You held the back of your sister's head up, helping Arrel and Luke as they tried to make her drink it. Making sure that none of the hot liquid falls on her. Alaine coughs loudly, grimacing at the taste.

When the two males get her to drink it all, you set her back down and wrap a blanket over her body. Letting her rest and sleep.

Hours passed by in such an awkward atmosphere. You were seating on the seat by the kitchen, quietly cutting an apple as Arrel assorted today's catch into different tubs. Luke was out for a bit, unclear to you what he was doing but all that you remembered was him borrowing a piece of parchment and some ink. After that, he stayed inside of the living room, right across from the open kitchen with Arrel in the middle.

Your youngest sibling suddenly stands up, informing you that he'll be taking them to the market and that he left some to cook for later.

"W-what, you're leaving now?" You stammered, eyes flicking over to Luke before snapping back to Arrel.

"Yes. I have to get these to the market. I have to buy some herbs and other food as well, some you can use for our dinner with Luke later-"

"I appreciate the thought, Arrel, but there is need not of an extra dinner. I can leave before dinner if needed-" It was Luke's turn to speak now.

Your lips go dry, Luke gulping, Arrel staring at the both of you weirdly.

Taking none of yours statements into account, he leaves the hut. Ignoring your empty threat.

That is why here you both were. Sitting in silence, not a word spoken, no stories of what happened in the other's life for the past years.

You lean back a bit, catching a glimpse of the sun setting so you stand up. Rubbing your hands on your hips. "I'll start cooking."

Luke was quick to stand as well, following your footsteps to the kitchen. "I can- I'll help!"

"No need. Sit."

"Nonsense. I used to cook for your family all the time." He says with a chuckle, an attempt in lightening up the atmosphere. "Used to, Luke. I'm sure your maids and cooks cook for you now, of course you'd forget how to grill and cook."

He grabs the small pail filled with fish, running outside and away from you.

Being the person that you are, you ran after him. Dashing out of the door while screaming his name, glaring at him. A smile draws on his lips as he runs near the shore, the weight of his clothes evidently wearing him down.

You shove him hard, gripping the padded shoulder of his shirt when you catch onto him. Luke laughs at that, acting as if he was getting hurt with each time you smacked his shoulder.

"Give me it; I'll cook," you demanded.

He calms down a bit, sealing his lips as he thinks for a second. Eventually, he hands you the pail with a small grin. "As long as you'll let me help."

Your eyes narrowed at him, and he walked away without a word. Luke catches up to you with no problem and sets out to walk beside you with his hands behind his back.

"I missed you, you know," he said. The sudden statement surprised you, a faint red hue threatening to show on your cheeks.

"I wrote to you many times," and you started to feel a bit apologetic. Remembering the times when a random raven flies to your hut, having a letter with Luke's signature? Speaking about how being with his family was weird but great,. He was still weird even after months, but he grew back into his family. Though he also missed staying in the hut, in his own little tent, grilling seafood at night for dinner.

"I didn't know you did," you lied.

You hear him scoff a bit: "I found my letters underneath your bed; Y/N. Arrel showed them to me."

And there it is. The nerve to apologize after being caught.

"I assume you have your reasons, and I respect that." He cuts off your train of thoughts, already assuring you when he sees the guilt strike your face.

"Forgive me," you said. "There is nothing to forgive, Y/N. I understand that we did not really leave each other on a good foot." He spoke with some sense of maturity, different from the one he already had way back.

You nod, pursing your lips.

The two of you remained silent, him watching as you prepped the fish, expertly using your knife quick and clean.

"So what brought you back here?" It was your turn to speak, opening up a conversation.

"I told you." He smiles at you. "I missed you."

You look away from him, acting as if you were looking for something, just to avoid him seeing your cheeks. The sun was still setting, and he would still be able to see the rosy stains on your cheeks from his reply.

"And the sea," he laughed, pointing at the waters. You laughed with him, and although it was forced, you tried your best not to. "Of course, the sea."

The rest of the conversation passed by awfully comfortably. It was like two childhood friends catching up about what happened in their lives. Loud laughs and playful remarks thrown here and there whenever one joked about something.

Arrel arrived, not really interrupting them when he did. Just simply walking inside the hut silently carrying some other already cooked food.

You remember one simple question that you had—something that was lingering in your head for the whole day ever since you saw him today. "What is it, my lady?"

"So, uh, how is life betrothed?" The response you got caught you off-guard.

Luke laughed. He laughed. Loudly. Not just a simple laugh; no, he was laughing hard.

You got thrown off by that, shaking your head and looking away. Focusing down on what you were cooking over the fire, as you just chose not to push on it. When he laughs at your name, you scowl. "What?!"

"Y/N-"

A loud roar cuts you both off, and your heart almost falls out of your ribcage when you see two big dragons flying in your direction. Your hand immediately comes over to grip Luke's arm, squeezing it as you point at the two creatures with fear on your face.

Compared to the pure fright on your face, Luke's face had relaxed as he recognized the two dragons despite the dark skies.

Both dragons flew above them, circling their little vicinity before the two dragons disappear for a few moments. Taking deep breaths, you slowly released your hold on his arm. A small smile appeared on his face as you went back to the clay pot hanging over the fire as if nothing had happened.

He followed you to your spot, ghosting over the fire as he watched you in silence. I watched the way your forehead creased in concentration, but the nibbling on your lips told him you were still irritated.

"I do not have a betrothed, my lady," he says the answer that was interrupted before.

"Rest her soul."

Luke shakes his head, "She is not dead. The betrothal was called off a few days after I returned."

"Oh!" you sigh, biting the inside of your cheek awkwardly at the piece of information. You didn't necessarily know what to do with the information but it certainly did lift a lot of weight off of your chest. "That is... unfortunate."

"Incredibly unfortunate," Luke echoes in the most monotone voice you ever heard. A deadpan look on his face.

You were about to take notice on that response of his when three figures appear behind him. I am walking towards the both of you. Luke, looking back as well, turns again to you but now with a genuine smile.

When they come closer, your breath hitches. It's Queen Rhaenyra with Prince Jacaerys and Joffrey.

"Your grace," you say, taking a knee and bowing to them. Luke glances at you as he does a shallow curtsy himself before he stretches his arms to hug his family.

"It is our honor to meet you, Lady Y/N. You are my son's savior," Rhaenyra reaches to shake your hand, a look of genuineness on her eyes. Jace and Joffrey reach as well, each taking turns saying their greetings.

"You praise me, your grace. I simply did what any normal person would do. It is more surprising and commendable that Prince Luke—" you pause, "Lucerys—managed to live through our impoverished, penniless—"

"Y/N." Luke stops you there, holding your arm with a frown. "You should not bring your family down. You guys have been more than welcoming and accommodating for me."

"I agree with Luke. It is us that are in debt to your hospitality. Without you, I do not think our family could have been complete again." Jace cuts in with a solemn smile.

Rhaenyra comes forward, glancing at your family's hut. "Oh, my parents are yet to come back from the town. My brother, Arrel, is also in the market for dinner—perfect!"

"I had just remembered. I will be able to cook a bigger dinner once he arrives."

"There is no need, dear. We have come here to express our gratitude for your hospitality to my son," Rhaenyra says softly. "May we?" You nod eagerly, opening the front door of your hut to welcome the unexpected family.

Luke tends to Alaine first, covering her with the curtain to provide her with some privacy as she is sleeping, before he happily accompanies his own brothers. Even telling Joffrey to start fanning the pit of fire while Jace skewered the fish. You and his mother having a cup of tea inside.

"You are all fishermen?"

You nod, "My mother and father deliver these seafood to King's Landing on occasion, which is why only us three are left here."

Rhaenyra hums, looking around. "Luke has told us all about this. According to him, he learned a lot more lessons on livelihood here than in King's Landing."

The two of you share laughters at that. "My apologies, your grace. My family—I included them—had not known of Luke—Prince Lucery's status so we had treated him as normal as we would any other person."

"There is no need to call him with such formalities. I am aware of the relationship you both share," Rhaenyra replies and you look at her awkwardly.

What even is this relationship that she speaks of? You weren't quite sure.

"There is no need to feel troubled, Y/N. If my son has yet to tell you, his—"

"Betrothal was called off," You finish for her. The Queen sends you a knowing look as she nods. The two of you comfortably sitting in silence.

A gasp disrupts the silence, "Oh my, your grace," Alaine's head falls to bow. Gulping as she looks at you with major confusion. You shrug discreetly, not knowing how to reply.

"This is Alaine. Our middle-born." Alaine does a curtsy with nervousness before Luke's call from outside echoes inside. "Mother! Y/N! Dinner is ready. Arrel has arrived back as well!" Luke yells from outside.

The three of them head back out to reveal the four boys getting along with each other. Arrel, despite being younger than the other three, is tallest and is the one ordering them around. They were fixing the plates and preparing the cooked meat.

Alaine had already run to the food as soon as she came out. You and Rhaenyra... still chatted.

"I know my son's attachment is heavy but I tell you this as a mother: all I want for Luke is happiness. He is to rule Driftmark after his grandfather. I figure it will be an incredibly burden, not to discredit your or..."

"Your grace, I do not know."

"Mother," Luke calls. The two of you turning to him. "You shan't pressure Y/N. Let us have supper."

Rhaenyra squeezes your hand as she sighs, nodding while pulling the both of you to where they were eating.

It was a rowdier but definitely cozier supper. Laughters and stories both from the sea and the castle were shared as if there weren't a barrier between their status—because to them, there weren't.

Luke was right beside you throughout supper. Comfortably jesting with your siblings and his. It was all too casual.

The two of you share a look at that moment, eyes staring longingly at each other. A smile comes onto your lips when you feel his hand slowly and softly creeping into your free hand. You glance at his hand, then at his face.

He's smiling at you. One that pulls at your heart again, just like before. Only this time, he's sure he won't be leaving you any time soon.

[jacesvelaryons]

the summer i turned pretty.

jacaerys (jace) velaryon x fem!reader x lucerys (luke) velaryon

series or one shot (TBA)

rating: pg13

fandom: house of the dragon (modern au)

summary: you return to your summer vacation with boys you grew up with your whole life and experience a glow up unexpectedly - as you navigate the sudden attention coming your way, but your heart has always felt you were destined with a velaryon boy. the question was - which one?

choose your ending/ who you end with au

“It was a summer I would never, ever forget. It was the summer everything began. It was the summer I turned pretty. Because for the first time, I felt it. Pretty, I mean. Every summer up to this one, I believed it’d be different. Life would be different. And that summer, it finally was.”

-Jenny Han, The Summer I Turned Pretty (Summer, #1)

Please keep an eye out for more information and let me know if you wish to be on the tag list.

[pizzapottah]

the future queen

summary: Sources say that the Wandering Princess was downright brutal to her uncle Vaemond Velaryon during the trial for his petition, despite having shown fondness of him in the years before. When he himself made her notice that, she laughed in his face, "Oh, dear uncle, did you hope to receive a kinder treatment than the others that come in this room and demand some fleeing claim over some land just because I hold your brother dear in my heart? Then you shall know at your own expense that everyone who tries to harm my brothers harms me and, by consequence, the Throne."

pairings: cregan stark x velaryon!reader (no use of y/n), platonic (familial) relationship between the targs/velaryon and reader

word count: 7.0k

warnings: aegon is not a rapist not because he didn't rape dyana in the series but because I don't want her to suffer, mommy issues, i support women's rights and wrongs, vaemond is killed, my girl reader is going THROUGH it, aegon and princess' shenanigans (they hate everything and everyone)

author's note: rhaenyra when i catch you rhaenyra... but also aemond. AEMOND WHEN I CATCH YOU AEMOND THIS WAS ALL YOUR FAULT

click here and join the taglist

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As always, you enter to find the tapestries back to a boring green. “Ugh,” you huff, “not again.” 

“Again?” Oscar asks, confused. 

“Happens every time I’m away for more than three days,” you mutter. “The wench changes the tapestries and hides the paintings. Like it’s named the Green Keep.” You bark at the first servant that passes, making him yelp, “You! Find the steward and tell him that the Princess is calling for him. I want these horrendous tapestries burned once and for all.”

The servant nods, trembling, and promptly runs away. “Aren’t you a bit too harsh?” your friend asks. You shrug. “If you think I’m harsh, then you should see the way Daemon treats the servants. Besides, I don’t treat them badly. It’s just one of the bad days. I make sure they get paid plenty enough for the trouble.” 

As you keep walking, lords and ladies of all kinds briefly stop to greet you, but you move on quickly, barely thanking them back — there’s no reason for them to make such greetings for you, when you’ve been away for barely a sennight. You figure they’re mostly happy to see you because it means the Queen and the Hand will be getting off the Throne soon. 

A month or so ago, your grandsire fell ill. The Maester wasn’t sure he would make it, but he did — he was just… weak. Too weak to attend court, to hold the councils and settle the Kingdom’s matters. 

And so his responsibilities were passed down to you. That was because he didn’t want his vicious wife as regent nor his Lord Hand on the Throne, after the various accidents that had happened when he had let them do it. I want you to understand what it’s like to take care of the Kingdom, he had said, wheezing. To learn who you should support and how to do it. 

There is no manual to learn how to rule. You could listen to the lords all day while they give you their advice, and you would wake up the next even more confused than before, so — as your mother said — there’s no other way to do it but to understand it yourself. 

You think that in the end, you worked pretty well as regent. You were the only one who dared speak back to the Queen and Lord Hand, so the councils went pretty smoothly, and court was held without too much of a hassle. But then you had to go to the Riverlands to help Oscar, and the Red Keep was left in the hands of the green wench and her vulture of a father. And as it always happened, you returned to find it changed: the tapestries of your ancestors were replaced with portraits of the Seven and the dragon statues with towers, seven-pointed stars and so on. 

It’s really incredible how in a sennight they've managed to turn the Keep upside down. Shivering, you briefly wonder how the castle would be if it was completely in their hands. 

“Princess!” someone calls behind you. It’s the steward, who pants and bows before taking a napkin from his pocket to wipe away the sweat from his forehead. “It is good to see that the Riverlands have treated you well. I hope your travels went without any problems.” 

You nod briefly, pointing at Oscar. “Yes, they were fine. Could you show Ser Oscar Tully the guest rooms while I go talk to my grandsire? He’ll be staying for a while. And, most importantly, tell the servants to bring back the old decorations; take the new ones to the Dragon Pit, Nādrēsy will take care of them.” 

The steward nods, unphased; it’s not the first time you make him burn the Hightowers’ decorations, so he must not be surprised at all. “Will do, Princess.” He bows to Oscar, showing him the way. “If you’ll follow me, my lord…”

The way up to the King’s chambers feels like forever. Before you departed for Riverrun, you made sure that the guards assigned to his rooms were ones you could trust — so that no Hightower page or servant could enter and poison the King, as they have already tried numerous times. You made sure the only one who was allowed in the chambers was Grand Maester Orwyle — and Mushroom, when your grandsire needed a cheer-up — who you paid generously to make sure that the Hightowers couldn’t get to him. 

“Lord Commander, Ser Erryk,” you greet the guards, right out of your grandsire’s quarters, They bow their heads, murmuring their own greetings, opening the doors for you. The smell of burned wood and the warmness of the room engulfs you as the guards quickly close the door behind you, your grandsire barely raising his head from the pillow. 

“–’Nyra? Is that you?” he rasps. 

“No, Grandsire,” you reply gently, taking a chair and sitting down beside his four-poster bed. You murmur your name, “It’s me, I have returned from Riverrun.” 

“Ah,” he murmurs, letting his head fall back down into the pillow, raising his hand for you to take. “It all went well, I hope?”

You squeeze his hand, barely nodding, “For now, the matter has been settled. What about you? What has the Maester said?” 

“That I need to rest,” he coughs, “did you know Rhaenyra has arrived, too?”

“I figured out as much; when she wrote to me, she was already on the boat to King’s Landing.” 

He hums. “She has shown me the boys– oh, they have grown so much. And little Aegon and Viserys…”

Ah, yes: he had never seen them before. Your mother hasn’t come back to the Keep since Joffrey's birth, and she only ever allowed you to sometimes bring Jace, Luke and Joff to the capital, insisting that Aegon and Viserys were too young — as if you weren’t almost a dragon rider by Aegon’s age. 

“They are so cute, aren’t they?” you chuckle, “They don’t look like Daemon at all, thankfully,” he adds. “They look a lot like Rhaenyra when she was little– a lot like you, too.” 

You are happy to see that he remembers when you were little — he has been forgetful as of lately, calling the Queen ‘Aemma’ and referring to Otto as ‘Lyonel’. Sometimes he slips with you too, calling you Rhaenyra, asking you when you plan to do the tour to find a husband. You haven’t heard him talk about Aegon, Aemond and Helaena in ages, and when you bring Aegon or Helaena to visit him with you, he seems to be hardly recognising them.

“It pains me that we were all reunited because of Vaemond’s petition,” your grandsire says, voice strained. “I would like to keep your mother closer to me, closer to the court– but the only idea seems to repel her.”

“I’ll talk to her,” you reassure him, “you know I have my ways. Besides, I can’t always be here. The Hightowers…”  

“I don’t trust anyone in this castle more than you and your mother,” he seethes, “how can I change Lord Hand, if you already have your own matters in the Seven Kingdoms and my own daughter won’t stay with me? This trial, the petition– it would’ve never happened if I hadn’t married Alicent and Otto wasn’t my Hand.” 

You press your lips into a thin line. “What has happened can’t be changed, my King. After these matters are dealt with, with your permission, I would like to… clean the court, so to say, from all the snakes that have made it their nest in these last few years.”

“Of course, of course,” he coughs violently, trying to scoot enough to lean his back against the headboard. You hear a clutter outside, but ignore it for the most part, focusing on the heavy breathing of your grandsire. “Do of Vaemond what you think it’s best for the Realm.” he coughs again, trying to straighten up, “Could you pass me my quill and paper? Otto’s started to become more and more meticulous, and I suspect that without my word, he won’t leave you to handle the petition…” 

You do as he asked you while the rumble outside is getting louder; if earlier it was only a few whispers and angry stomping, now it’s turning into what seems to be a full-on argument between the guards and… Oscar? Is that his voice?

Your grandsire continues writing the delegation, handwriting shaky, and you’re horribly reminded yet again of how much he’s aging. ‘Tis a wretched thing, watching someone you love slip and slip and slip until only the Stranger can catch them. You wonder when the last time you’ll be able to talk to him with him recognizing you will be. 

“The seal,” he murmurs, passing the letter to you, “forgive this old man, I don’t think I should be trusted with wax as of now, or I’d spill it all over the letter.”

You shake your head, “Never apologise to me for such a trivial thing ever again, grandsire.” you smile at him tenderly, caressing his hand. “I’d be glad to seal every one of your acts and letters for the rest of my life, if it meant having you by my side.” 

You are preparing the hot wax for the royal sigil, when the doors slam open and the guards yell curses as they try to keep out a panting, screaming Oscar. “The trial!” His voice is so shrill that for a moment, you wonder if it’s just a maid dressed up as him. “They’re making it start now! And your grandfather–” the guards push him back, closing the doors with a loud bang!, making your grandsire blink in confusion. “What was that about?”

You hurriedly pour the wax, only half-melted, over the parchment, blowing air upon the sigil in hopes to fasten the making. “Sorry, grandsire, I fear this was my call for the Throne room.” You press a kiss onto his forehead, leaving even more confused than before as you dash out of the chambers. “Oscar! Oscar!” 

You find him outside, right in front of the doors, arguing with the guards, insisting to be let in. “The Princess’ orders were specific,” Ser Erryk reiterates, “no one, besides very few, are to be let in–”

They stop at your sight, and you wave them away, hurriedly marching down the stairs while being followed by Oscar. “So, I guess the trial is starting now?” you muse, not actually amused at all. He pants, shaking his head. “The steward– he, he was showing me to the rooms, aye? And then a guy wearing the Hightower signet came and asked him for a fine pillow for the Lord Hand so that he could sit more comfortably on the Throne during the ongoing trial. And then– gods, I looked for you everywhere, I have no idea how you manage to live in this castle– I heard some maids talking about the arrival at Driftmark of Lord Corlys, who apparently is on the verge of dying.”

Your what?! echoes through the hallway and makes a few maids flinch and some guards straighten up, but your steps don’t slow down. “You mean to tell me Vaemond called this petition because my grandfather is deadly injured and nobody thought of telling me? And even worse, that right now Otto Hightower’s arse is sitting on the Iron Throne with a pillow? My ancestors have burnt down entire cities for far less!” you gag, “Oh, forgive him, Aegon, he doesn’t know what he’s doing�� sitting on the throne he forged with his fallen enemies’ swords out of dragonfire– with a fine pillow no less!” 

The guards that are stationed outside the throne room clearly have no intention of blocking your way in, opening the doors for you with no fuss and bowing their heads, “Princess, Ser Tully,” 

A page jumps at your sight, interrupting Vaemond’s speech by yelling out, “The Princess, ambassador of the Crown and the Seven Kingdoms and– uh… Ser Oscar Tully, accompanying her.” 

Murmurs spread across the room; your mother smiles at you, moving forward but then stopping — you know she has just stopped herself from hugging you — and Vaemond tries to smile, too, but it ends up being more of a grimace than anything else. You try to think more of your mother rather than him, or else you’re going to strangle him right now, in front of all these witnesses. 

“Princess,” Otto Hightower gloats from above, sitting on the Throne with his stupid, horrendous green pillow. “You’re awfully late — unusual of you.” 

“Well, Lord Hand, I would’ve been on time if only anyone had told me that the trial’s time had been moved,” you hiss, “and I think that’s probably why you didn’t bother sending anyone to call for me. Now do me a favor and get your smelly and sensitive buttocks away from my Throne.” 

He raises both eyebrows, forehead wrinkling. “Pardon me?”

“I am not going to repeat myself twice, Otto,” you say, harsher this time. “I am the wielder of Blackfyre, which is the royal scepter. No one can hold court or trials without it, unless they’re the King.” he moves to open his mouth, but you don’t let him talk — he doesn’t deserve that privilege. “Besides, if you need a pillow to sit on the Iron Throne, were you really made to sit on it?”

Daemon laughs openly; besides him, everyone tries to keep their chuckles as silent as they can, even if you’re sure Mushroom’s going to combust soon if he doesn’t laugh out loud. “The Throne is made out of swords, nobody would ever be comfortable in it,” Alicent butts in– you had hoped she had called in sick today. Of course not. The sight of Aegon still holding in laughter from your remarks to Otto lightens your mood a bit. “But that does not matter. He is the Lord Hand, and unless the King has given other instructions, he is to replace the void left by the regnant.”

You snort. “Yes, grandsire said that you would have given me trouble about that. In fact, he did leave special instructions.” you pass the delegation to one of the public notaries present. He nods at it, confirming to everyone in the room the truth of your words, “Well, I guess the matter is settled then.” you squint at Lord Hand dearest, “Off of my Throne, and be quick with it.” The proud expression of your mother fills you with more happiness than it should. 

To say that you’ve had a rough relationship with her in the last few years would be an understatement to say the least. 

For the sake of your brothers, you try your best with her. You still love her dearly, but in the years your resentment towards her has grown immensely, and even if you would still die for her, that doesn’t mean that sometimes you just don’t want to kick some sense into her. You hope that after this, she fucking wakes up. You hope that she finally acknowledges that she stole what should have been your careless years and used them as her own. 

As for Daemon, you don’t necessarily despise him as much as you did once. Sure, he’s obnoxious and loud and a terrible man, but you can’t just continue to ignore him for the rest of your life. Your conversations these days mostly consist of sly remarks and jabs, but they are not made out of spite anymore, rather out of respect and complicity. In the end, Daemon — whether you like it or not — has seen you grow up, and sometimes, you think it could even be fondness the thing that softens his eyes when he looks at you  — something much similar to the gaze he holds exclusively for his own daughters. 

You nod to your grandmother Rhaenys and glare at Vaemond, proceeding to sit on the Throne and throw the cushion over the ends of the sheathed swords that surround the King’s — for this occasion, your — seat. You keep Blackfyre in your hand, holding onto the handle, keeping it like a scepter– like your grandsire once did. “Go on, Vaemond,” you muse, “I’m really curious about what you’ll say in your defense.” 

Vaemond’s eyebrows shoot up so high that for a moment, you think they might start flying around the room. “Pardon me– defense? I am not accused of anything. I am claiming my legitimate right for the Driftwood Throne.” 

You narrow your eyes. “If what I’ve heard is correct, you are issuing the legitimacy of my brothers.”

He blinks. “I am, Princess. Driftmark must–”

You huff, “That matter was settled long ago. The King himself said multiple times that anyone questioning Prince Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey Velaryon’s lineage was to have their tongue cut; besides that, our father, Laenor Velaryon, has always declared them to be legitimate. Did you think you were exonerated from such considerations, perhaps?”  

“I didn’t, Princess,” he hisses, and from the glare he sends Otto, you understand that they had planned not to bring that up. “But now the legacy is at stake. With my brother between the land of the dead and the one of the living, I want to set things right for the succession.” he falters, “I– I had hoped you’d understand.” there is much more behind his words, and you take immediate notice of it. 

You snarl. "Oh, dear uncle, did you hope to receive a kinder treatment than the others that come in this room and demand some fleeing claim over some land just because I hold your brother dear in my heart? Then you shall know at your own expense that everyone who tries to harm my brothers harms me and, by consequence, the Throne."  you wave your hand in the air. “My grandfather is not even dead yet and you already hover around his possessions like a vulture! Has nobody told you that during a Lord’s absence, a regent is named to make all the decisions for him?” 

He seems to be horrified. “The regent has much less of a claim over Driftmark than I do–”

“Yet my grandfather didn’t name you,” you counter. “I wonder why, uncle. Could it be that the regent holds his wishes more to her heart than you do?” You raise your eyes from his form, “Princess Rhaenys, a word?” 

Your grandmother steps up with a smile on her face. “Gladly,” From the way she looks at you, you understand that once you get out of this room, she’s going to brag about you to all her friends and every servant that is willing to listen. “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son– Jacaerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra just informed me of her desire to marry Lucerys Velaryon to my granddaughter Rhaena to strengthen the bonds between our houses once again.” she chuckles, “And, as it is both Targaryen and Velaryon tradition to do so, Prince Jacaerys’ and Princess Helaena’s firstborn could marry Prince Lucerys’ and Lady Rhaena’s firstborn daughter.”

“Creating an engagement between kids who have yet to be born is a little tricky,” you murmur, an eyebrow raised, “But I don’t have anything against it. We can consider this matter settled once and for all– even if, I’m sure, once he wakes up, my grandfather will waste no time in stating his will once again.” you sigh, “I hereby reaffirm Prince Jacaerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne and the next Lord of the Tides.”

“You break law,” Vaemond hisses, “and centuries of tradition that I had hoped you’d have understood by now, niece.”

You shake your head. “Don’t try that with me, uncle, you know it won’t work.” you point your finger accusingly at him, “The regent has spoken, and her word is Corlys’. Besides, what good would you do ascending to the Throne of Driftmark? You’re old and you have no heirs, no daughters, no wife. You’re just a second son who hopes in his brother’s demise to have all that he could never have by birthright. Prince Jacaerys is already betrothed to Princess Helaena; the Velaryons will be princes, Vaemond, princes!”

“The fact that I have no heirs can still be changed,” he bluntly says. “I’m still young enough to find a wife.”

You grimace, “Yes, yes, there are way older men than you that get married at their elderly ages, but it will be a great feat to find you a wife with the face you find yourself in, even for all the gold in the world.” 

“You dare tell me who deserves to inherit the Velaryon name?” he rages, “I will not allow it!”

“Do not forget yourself, Vaemond!” you state back, “I myself hold the Velaryon name, and you have no right to tell me who deserves it and who doesn’t when my own father and the man that is now miles away, fighting for his life, taught me everything I ought to know to carry it with pride!” 

He points angrily at Jace, “That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine!” the whole room gasps; you get up from the Throne, surely matching the tone of anger. “Continue and I’ll have your tongue cut out for this, Vaemond–”

“You all may run your house as you see it fit!” he shouts, “But you will not decide the future of mine. The Velaryons have survived the Doom and a thousand of tribulations aside– and gods be damned, I will not see it ended because of this–”

He stops in his tracks; from the look in your eyes, he knows that if he ends the sentence, he could lose much more than his tongue. But Daemon taunts him, “Say it.”

Vaemond’s right eye ticks. “Her children are bastards!” he bellows, causing the fainting of one of the ladies standing behind and the general outrage. “And she is a whore.” 

Before you can yell out every insult under the sun and call for the guards to bring him to the Dragon Pit so that Nādrēsy may feast on him, a sword comes behind him, slicing his head in two — leaving his tongue intact. Many scream and run out of the room, while both sides of your family stand there and watch his body fall forward. The guards are stopped by a gesture of your hand; Daemon merely grins, cleaning his sword with the dead’s clothes. “Let him keep his tongue,” he murmurs, “I’m sure the Stranger will be delighted in hearing his laments.”

Oscar is downright traumatised by the experience. “Do people often die here, during trials?” he asks you for the fifth time, anxiously tapping his foot on the ground. “Not if Daemon isn’t around,” you quietly reply, looking over at your uncle and mother chatting — or, better… discuss animatedly — about what has just happened. The room is filled with the murmurs of your family: Baela and Rhaena are whispering with Rhaenys as Jace and Luke chat quietly. 

Anybody has yet to come to talk to you, too preoccupied with their own matters — not that you care. You’re waiting for everyone to be out of this room to be finally left alone with your mother and have a decent talk. As of now, you’re just sitting in your chair with your arms crossed, brooding. Oscar taps his fingers on the table beside him, and it irks you. “Will you please stop, before I send you out of this room?”

“I shouldn’t even be here!” he counters, shouting-whispering. “This feels like a family reunion!”

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes, “my grandmother already hates you as only family can do.”

“That’s just because she thinks I’m your prostitute or something,” he mutters, offended. Though it is true that she loathes him– you have brought him with you to Driftmark many times, and every time, her despise for him was basically impossible to hide. 

“Why, you think she doesn’t hate Daemon for the exact same reason?” 

As Oscar stays there with his brows furrowed, gears turning in his head over your last sentence, your patience runs short. “This is madness. I am going to talk to her.” you rise from your seat, every eye but your mother’s and Daemon’s turning to look at you — and everyone knows you well enough to get out of the room before the storm can hit. 

Your mother and her husband are still hissing to each other for the Seven know what reason why, so much that they don’t even notice you. “Are you finished?” you say flatly, raising an eyebrow when their heads turn to look at you, surprised. Luke is the last one to exit the room, and he makes sure to close the door. “I thought you two were adults, but clearly I am in front of children. I would’ve killed Vaemond either way; could you kindly stop arguing now?” 

Rhaenyra’s face warms. “I– sorry, of course.” she still sends a glare to her husband, relenting only because of you. “Could you kindly leave us alone, kepa?” Daemon rolls his eyes, begrudgingly heading towards the door. Before he closes it behind him, he sends a look at Oscar, whispering, “I think you may want to leave now, too, whore-boy.” 

Unfortunately, Oscar only hears a few muffled words and then the door closes. He focuses on trying to make himself as invisible and small as he can, as he hasn’t been excused by either you or your mother, and figures he can’t leave his little sad seat until one of you tells him to. 

Rhaenyra is the first to extend an olive branch. “I wanted to thank you for what you did today,” she says calmly, smiling at you. “With Otto holding the trial, I don’t even want to think about what the outcome could’ve been.”

Your face remains still, not a smile in sight and no emotions to show. “Good. You have seen how to handle such matters. From now on, they will be in your hands.”

Your mother’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

“Excuse me?” you mock, “You let me pick up your slack for the last eight years, mother. I’m done.” she’s about to open her mouth again, but you talk over her, “You called me here because you needed my help — and I will help when I can, you know that, but you didn’t even tell me that in the first place this godsforsaken petition was called because my grandfather could be dying as of now.” you shake your head, eyes clouded with memories: of all the swims you and Corlys had taken together, of him and your father teaching you how to navigate — the only thought of them both dead makes you want to throw up. “You think you may lose an asset if he dies, maybe a once good-father– but he is my grandfather. He is much more than just a lord to me. He taught me how to swim, how to survive out in the sea — and he is, besides grandmother, the last thing left of my father.” 

You blink the tears away from your eyes. Blinking, you notice her eyes are watery too. “We have already talked about this, sweetling,” she murmurs. 

You shake your head. “We have, but you never actually listen to me. I am tired, mother.” A tear escapes her eye at seeing you in this state — head bowed, eyes full of tears, lip trembling. She has gotten so used to seeing you act mature that she has almost forgotten that you are only six and ten; at your age, her main concerns were fighting off suitors and assuring that nobody found out that she was sleeping with her ward. Meanwhile you are trying to hold the whole realm intact by yourself while trying to keep the Hightowers as far as they can be from the Throne, handling every lord and lady that complains, and — Rhaenyra as of now doesn’t know you well enough anymore to say it, but she suspects you are having an affair too. Just in case, she glares at Oscar through the tears. 

“I want to stay here, in the castle, with little to no worries until I am to be married off– oh, don’t look at me like that, mother, we both know it’s going to happen soon.” you wave a hand in the air, sniffling, “I want to finally be able to mourn my father. I want to wear all the pretty dresses I’ve bought in the last two years. I want to have handmaidens, I want to fly on Nādrēsy for fun rather than for Kingdom matters, I want to stop worrying about the Hightowers colonizing the Red Keep everytime I’m away. But I can’t do it without you, mother.”

She wipes away her tears with the sleeves of her dress, “I– I thought you enjoyed being the ambassador and having so many duties.”

You laugh bitterly. “I did for the first two years. When you give a child a cup of wine, he doesn’t think of the headache that he will have after drinking it– he only sees his opportunity to finally prove himself as an adult.” you grimace, a tear slipping from your eye, “At first it was fun. Grandsire kept me mostly away from political affairs and sent me around just to make Nādrēsy clean the Kingdom’s prisons; I didn’t have to do anything. But then he started considering me for political missions.” you spare a glance at Oscar, now trying to melt into one with the seat, clearly awkward. It was during one of the missions that you met. “He kept giving me more and more power, and I found it so funny. At ten I sentenced every remaining member of Cregan Stark’s family just because. I could have sent them to the Wall — after all, it wasn’t really clear how much his uncle’s sons had helped their father usurp Cregan, and the Wall is the usual punishment for Lords. But then, as I grew, I started feeling the weight of it. Not every situation was black and white, and sometimes I just wanted to kill both parties and call it a day.”

Your eye ticks. “And I don’t know how long I can hold it until it breaks me. I just need… time. If you pick up from where I left and become Hand, I won’t have to worry about anything until I become Queen or you become Queen and name me Hand. And until that happens, I think I will have learnt how to handle the weight just fine.” 

Your mother doesn’t say anything. She opens her mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. In the end, she just hugs you and goes for the door. As she opens it, she turns towards you, eyes red. “I– I’ll send a… servant. So that you two might be… chaperoned.” 

You raise an eyebrow. You open your heart to her for this? A dry laugh escapes you as she closes the door behind her, “Whatever,” and you move back to your original seat, letting your head fall on Oscar’s shoulder. You sigh. “Do you think she understood?”

He grumbles. “I hope so. I’m not willing to sit like this through another mother-daughter talk like this ever again.” 

Supper is predictably going to be a disaster. 

As your Grandsire enters the dining hall, wheezing and leaning against the maester, you glare at Aemond, who has graciously decided to sit as far away from you as possible — that does not deter you from cursing him to all kinds of pain and suffering in your head, though. 

You told Oscar to dine in his own room, knowing that as soon as any kind of cataclysm starts, he won’t want to be around. Looking at the faces of your relatives, you ask yourself who’s going to strike first — if Aemond, Aegon, Luke or, even worse, Daemon. 

Your grandsire groans loudly as he finally sits in his chair, Alicent on his right and your mother on his left, smiling as the Maester wipes sweat from his forehead. He tries to muster up a smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. “How good it is… to see you all tonight, together.” 

His wife hums. “Prayer before we begin?” as the others move to intertwine their hands, you and Daemon stay still, sending each other amused looks. Neither of you has ever been the greatest believer, not of the Seven at least. There’s a lot of things you believe in — your mother’s right to rule, the legitimacy of your brothers, Aemond’s utter and clear idiocy… 

“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods make him rest.” you roll your eyes at that; you hope they make him burn for the rest of eternity. 

Your grandsire takes the word again. “This is an occasion of celebration. My grandson Luke will marry his cousin Baela, strengthening the bonds between our houses.” he turns to your mother, giving her the biggest smile you’ve seen him make in a while. “And my firstborn Rhaenyra has asked me permission to stay here in preparation for her role as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, making her the first Lady Hand to be named in history.” 

You perk up, surprised. Looking over at Otto, you find him staring blankly at the King, no hand pin on his chest. You instead find it on your mother’s dress, pinned right above her breast. You look up at her to find her already smiling tenderly at you, eyes full of affection. “She also requested that her daughter be lifted from her duties until she is to be married, so that she may enjoy the last years as a girl that she has left. I think her reasoning is right, and with her by my side, I know my granddaughter will be able to step aside and spend freely the next few years.” he takes his goblet of wine, barely managing to raise it in the air. “So, a toast to the young prince, his betrothed and the princesses!” 

You all clank your goblets and dive into your food, as silent as ever. Aegon nudges your side, “You’ve planned this well, haven’t you?” he whispers. The smirk on his face tells you that he couldn’t care less if his grandfather has just lost his position as Hand. “We should go visit the Free Cities together now that you have no more obligations, niece. Ever heard of Tyrosh’s pear brandy?”

You roll your eyes, holding in a smile. “Always thinking about drinking, aren’t you, uncle? I’m surprised you’re still so awake this late in the evening with all the cups you down usually.” 

He huffs. “Mother kept me from drinking today because of the trial.” he shrugs, grabbing his goblet and motioning for a servant to fill it up again. “Guess I’ll have to make up for it now.”

The chit-chatting goes on for a while; mostly everyone keeps to either themselves or the ones beside them, keeping their eyes on the plate and eating as fast as they could to get out of here soon. Your grandsire coughs, making everyone raise their eyes to look at him wheezing. “It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in the world… yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” he shakes his head, making both you and Aegon grimace while looking at Aemond, who is nodding like he’s not the one who has mostly caused all of this.

“Let us no longer hold ill feelings into our hearts. The Crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside all your grievances — if not for the sake of the Crown, then for the sake of this old man, who loves you all dearly.” 

Either he doesn’t see the whole situation clearly or he keeps being a hopeless romantic, because you doubt anyone in this room will ever set their grievances aside. Even if you were to forgive Aemond for what he had done to you, your brothers would still hate him, and Baela and Rhaena would continue to resent him for stealing their mother’s dragon. Otto made your last six years a living hell, as you continuously tried to keep your grandsire from being poisoned by his stupid maesters and pages, and Alicent did the same to your mother, terrorizing her in her own home, making her walk right after giving birth to Joff and such. 

You’re about to open your mouth and protest on your family’s behalf when your mother herself rises from her seat, goblet high. “I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father, but I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife.” The look Aegon sends you says loyally?, and you have to look straight ahead to the windows to not burst out laughing. 

“She has tended to him with… unfailing devotion, love, and honour. And for that, she has my whole gratitude — and… my apology.”

The Queen presses her lips into a thin line, getting up and raising her cup. “Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers, and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you… and to your house. You will make a fine queen.”

You and Aegon share a doubtful glance. “Are we the problem?” He asks you quietly, concerned about why everyone’s accepting this so quickly. You shake your head. “I have no idea, uncle. Maybe we are crazy.”

Jace clears his throat, raising too. At this point, you think you might actually be the problem. Is it possible you’re the only one who’s spiteful in this room? “To Prince Aegon and… Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles.” He sits back down, friendly punching Aegon’s shoulder. Your uncle coughs, “To you as well.”

Baela boldly gets up, and you’re starting to wonder for how long the toasting will go on. “I would like to toast to Rhaena and Princess Helaena. They'll be married soon, and even if I do not wish to marry, I am sure they’ll find good husbands in Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys.”

The rest of the night goes fairly well, with bards starting the music and Mushroom fooling around, raising everyone’s spirits. Without him, you think, the family wouldn’t stand half as strong as it did. Once, Alicent tried to ban him from court, saying he was too obscene- as if your grandsire would’ve ever allowed that, with the way the fool made both you and your mother laugh. 

At some point during the evening, your grandsire leaves for his chambers, not feeling well; and as soon as he leaves the room, your fears become reality. 

Aemond gets up from his seat, cup raised, malice in his eyes. He has waited for grandsire to retire to speak– he knows the King would not have appreciated what he has to say. “Final tribute. To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… and strong.”

Jace flinches. Alicent grimaces, reprimanding, “Aemond.”

He doesn’t listen. “Come — let us drain our cups to these three… Strong boys.”

You and Jace both get up. “I dare you to say that again.”

“Why?” He laughs, “'Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?” 

Jacaerys strikes first, attacking Aemond with a punch on his face. Your mother is horrified, “Jace!”  Aegon whistles, laughing until you push his face into his food. “Not now, you dumb fuck!” She turns to you, eyes lost, “Not you, too!”

“S’fine,” Aegon chokes, face covered in sauce and peas and a piece of a roasted potato up his mouth. “She usually does worse.” 

Luke is on his feet the moment Jace’s knuckles touche Aemond’s face, but the guards stop him– they don’t come for Aemond quick enough to stop him from sending Jace tumbling to the ground, though, and your brother falls down only to rise up again, even more enraged– and that’s where the guards decide to step in. 

“That is enough!” Alicent yells, getting up and going to her son as your brothers struggle in the guard’s hold. She takes her son aside, raging, “Why would you say such a thing before these people?”

Aemond only snickers. “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother.” he then turns to your brothers, still fighting the guards’ hold, “Though it seems my nephews aren't quite as proud of theirs.” 

Your mother hushers your brothers and cousins out of the room, “Go to your quarters. All of you go, now.”

Daemon goes to stand in between your uncle and your brothers, hands joined and sword on his hip. His gaze is clear: if you have something to say, say it to me. Aemond opts for the better option — the one that will allow him to keep his head steady on his shoulders — and decides to just flee the scene, exiting the chamber.

You sigh, looking at your mother. “Well,” you mumble, “I’m departing for Driftmark early in the morn to see my grandfather,” you tell her, patting her shoulder. “Good luck with everything else though. It’s rare around here that supper doesn’t end in a fight.”

if my calculations are right, the slow burn will start burning next chap

[aeralux]

"Feel It" - Lucerys Velaryon

Modern!AU Stepbrother!Lucerys x OlderStepsister!Reader

Summary: Since moving in with your new stepdad Harwin, things have been more than chaotic. Your hair products are used up, and all the chores are left on your shoulders to carry. Lately, though, you've noticed a certain article of clothing going missing from your dirty laundry basket- your panties. And you're damn determined to get them back... while simultaneously teaching your stepbrother a lesson.

Warnings: SMUT 18+; cunnilingus; handjob; virgin!Lucerys (I see a pattern here); whiny boy; kind of mean reader, but she also praises Luke; stepcest; panty sniffing; lots of “good boy”; masturbation; submissive leaning!Lucerys

Words: 8.9k

Notes: In this story, all characters are of legal age. Jacaerys is 21-22 years old, while Lucerys is 19, with the reader being slightly older. Feel free to imagine different ages, but these are the ones I used while writing this story. There is no physical description of the reader, except that she is female. If you do not feel comfortable with any of the warnings, please do not read. I am not responsible for the media you consume.

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Ever since moving in with your mother's new serious boyfriend, Harwin, life had taken on a new, chaotic rhythm. No longer was it just you and your mom in your cosy three-bedroom apartment. Now, you found yourself in a big house that felt overwhelming, complete with a large backyard, a sparkling pool, and a patio perfect for lazy afternoons. It was easy to see why your mom had fallen for Harwin—he was handsome, charming, and undeniably wealthy. Sometimes you thought, with a hint of amusement, that you might have liked him too if he weren't your stepfather.

Harwin was genuinely a nice man. He always made an effort to be kind and considerate, never pushing to replace your biological dad, and he respected your space.

But the real challenge began with his two sons. You had only glimpsed them in passing while visiting the house. Harwin and your mother had agreed to wait until things felt serious before you met, so now you were living with three near strangers.

Jacaerys was closest to your age, and you could sense the instant rivalry between you, even if you didn’t know him well. He was confident and had an attitude that seemed to dare you to challenge him. Lucerys, a few years younger, had a carefree spirit but could be just as devilish as his older brother. And then there was Joffrey, the youngest and, in your opinion, the least troublesome. He was the one who often stayed out of trouble and seemed to want to make things easier for you genuinely.

While Joffrey quietly supported you—snitching on his brothers and sharing snacks during your study sessions—Jace and Luke relentlessly wanted to annoy you. They would blast music that echoed through the halls, turning your moments of peace into a lively party you never asked for. They also had a habit of stealing your hair products, needing them to style their pretty brown curls. And as for chores? They had the ability to vanish just when there was work to be done, leaving you to do everything on your own.

Despite the challenges, you appreciated Joffrey’s companionship. He seemed to prefer a sister figure, bringing a sense of connection that comforted you amidst the chaos of living with his irritating brothers. It was clear his brothers didn’t appreciate it, sometimes being even jealous of yours and the 17-year-old's bond.

Lately, however, a thought had begun to creep into your mind. You were used to the occasional missing sock here and there, but when your favourite pairs of panties and thongs started to vanish, you couldn’t help but suspect Luke and Jace.

You knew better than to just confront them outright. You’d tried that with Jace once, and it hadn’t gone well. It turned into an argument where he insisted he already had plenty of underwear from other girls, which only made you more suspicious.

No, this required a clever plan. You decided to gather the boys' laundry instead. It wouldn’t look suspicious at all. After all, you liked doing the laundry and the lighter chores around the house. So, you made your way to Joffrey's room, where you could hear the familiar sounds of his Nintendo Switch.

“Hey, do you have any laundry for me to do? Lights and darks, I’ll be doing both today!” you called out, trying to sound casual as you knocked on his door.

“Yeah, they’re in the grey box,” he mumbled, barely glancing up from the screen. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his nonchalance. “I better not find a hard sock in there!” you joked back, and you heard a muffled “Ugh! Shut up!” in response, which made you smile as you left with his dirty clothes.

Next, you headed to Jace’s room, where the loud blaring of classic rock music spilt into the hallway. You didn’t even knock; you just pushed the door open and announced, “Laundry.” It was a given that he’d have a pile waiting.

Jace groaned and looked up from his textbook, his expression a mix of annoyance and disbelief. “Can’t you knock first, seriously?” he shot back, slouching against his desk. His gaze landed on the laundry basket you were carrying, and he rolled his eyes. “Oh great, laundry day.”

He stood up and walked over to his closet, digging around to grab a handful of wrinkled clothes and tossing them into your basket. “Anything else you need, Miss Perfect?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from his words.

You rolled your eyes, feeling irritation and something else entirely. There was that infuriating smirk again. It was maddening how attractive he was, even while being the most annoying person in your life. The universe had played a cruel joke on you.

You glanced into the basket; it felt unexpectedly heavy, even for him. “What have you got in here? A fucking rock?” you mocked, lifting it slightly to emphasize your point.

His smirk widened at your jab, clearly enjoying the banter. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Aw, someone’s a bit sensitive today, huh? Don’t worry; I’m sure there’s nothing too interesting in my laundry.” He patted the basket, the sheer weight of it making you wonder just how many clothes he had stuffed in there.

“Maybe I just have a lot of clothes, princess,” he said, his tone playful yet infuriatingly smug.

You huffed in response, bracing yourself as you lifted the basket. It was heavy, and you could feel the embarrassment creeping in from the struggle. The weight and his knowing smirk made you want to scream, but you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

“Just don’t be surprised when your whites come back pink,” you shot back with a scowl as you turned to leave, making your way to the storage room to get started on the first load of laundry.

After starting the first load, you made your way to Lucerys' room, where he had no clue you were on your way.

Lucerys let out a whimper as he felt his cock throb in his hand, the silky fabric of your panties wrapped tightly around his shaft. He couldn't believe he was doing this, masturbating with his stepsister's underwear like some kind of pervert. But the thought of you, of the way your ass would look in these tiny thongs, was too much to resist.

"Fuck…" he moaned softly, his hips bucking up into his fist as he stroked himself. The lace was already damp with his pre-cum, the sticky fluid coating his fingers as he pumped faster.

Lucerys' mind raced with dirty thoughts, imagining pinning you down and fucking your tight little cunt until you screamed. He wanted to fill you up, to pump you full of his hot, thick seed until it was leaking out of you. The idea of breeding his stepsister, of watching your belly swell with his child, made him throb even harder.

"God yes… gonna knock you up…" he panted, his voice rising in desperation. "Take my cum… fucking take it all…" he whined, his strokes becoming erratic. Quickly placing the thongs on his face instead, wanting to smell you.

"F-Fuck…" he whimpered, his green eyes glazing over with lust as he breathed in your scent. His right hand was wrapped around his hard cock, pumping it slowly as he sniffed your underwear.

Lucerys's breath came in short, desperate gasps as he tugged at his aching member, the slick sound of his hand moving over his shaft filling the room. His face was flushed, and he squirmed on the bed, hopelessly turned on by the intoxicating aroma of your pussy that still lingered on the thin lace.

"Mmm, sister please…" he moaned, high-pitched and needy. In his mind, he imagined burying his face between your legs, lapping at your dripping slit as he breathed in your scent directly from the source. He fantasized about plunging his tongue deep inside you, tasting your essence as he fucked his face against your cunt.

"Ahhhn, your pussy tastes so fucking good," Lucerys panted, stroking himself faster as he rubbed your thongs against his blushing face. Drool dripped from the corners of the thong and down his chin as he lost himself in his lustful daze.

As you stood outside his door you considered knocking as you had for Joffrey, but Luke had been getting on your nerves lately, so you decided not to grant him that courtesy. Instead, you swung the door open swiftly. "Laundry, now."

Lucerys froze like a deer in the headlights, his green eyes wide with shock and fear as you barged in. He yanked his hand off, his rigid cock throbbing and leaking pre-cum, the wet spot on his boxers clearly visible. Throwing the thong, he had been sniffing, behind him.

"Wh-what the fuck?!" Lucerys stammered, his face turning beet red. He quickly tried to stuff his dick back into his pants, wincing at the sensitivity. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as humiliation washed over him. He had never been caught doing something so depraved before.

"I-I can explain…" he whimpered pathetically, his voice cracking with emotion. He looked at you pleadingly, silently begging for forgiveness and understanding. At that moment, he resembled a scolded child more than a young man.

His gaze darted to the thong on the bed behind him, hoping you hadn't seen it. Lucerys swallowed hard, his mouth dry with anxiety. "It's not what you think…" he tried to protest weakly, even though it was exactly what you had caught him doing.

You slammed the laundry basket down on the floor with a thud, your heart pounding in shock and anger as you glared at him. Folding your arms across your chest, you looked at him with an expression of utter disbelief, your eyes narrowing.

"You can explain?" you repeated incredulously, your voice dripping with sarcasm and outrage. "So let me guess, you were just… admiring the lace, Luke? Checking if any holes needed fixing?" Your tone turned mocking and bitter.

You took a step closer to him, your full hips swaying with each movement, drawing his gaze to your body. "Or maybe… you were just sniffing how well your dear stepsister smells, huh? Thinking if it would actually cover my ass, hmm?" Your voice rose.

"No, I… I mean, yes…" Lucerys stammered, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. He couldn't meet your gaze, his eyes darting nervously around the room. "I'm sorry, okay? I don't know what came over me. I just… I couldn't help myself." He looked down at the floor, shamefaced and remorseful.

"I didn't mean to…," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "It was stupid and wrong of me. I crossed a line, and I'm truly sorry." He swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he clenched them into fists at his sides. "Please, don't tell anyone about this. I'll do anything to make it up to you, I swear."

Despite his shame and embarrassment, Lucerys couldn't help but let his gaze linger on your swaying hips and curves. The way your anger made your breasts heave and your eyes flash was incredibly arousing. He quickly looked away again, hating himself for his inappropriate thoughts and reactions at a time like this.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," he whimpered, his voice wavering with genuine remorse. "I don't know what to say. I just… I swear it won't happen again." He looked up at you pleadingly, his eyes filled with desperation and a hidden, lingering lust that he couldn't quite suppress. "Please, can we just forget this happened?" he asked softly.

You leaned in closer as you stared at Lucerys's flushed, pitiful expression. With a smirk, you shook your head slowly.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now? Wow… just wow," you said quietly, your tongue flicking against your cheek as you eyed him with utter contempt.

"Let me guess, you've never even had your clumsy, inexperienced hands anywhere near a real woman's pussy. Is that why you need to resort to sniffing my dirty panties like some sad, pathetic virgin? Huh?" you mocked, your brow arching in disbelief.

You sat next to him on the bed. Your voice lowered to a biting whisper as you hissed,

"And thinking about shoving my cunt in your face is supposed to do what, exactly? I mean, do you even know how to eat a pussy right?" you challenged.

He swallowed hard, his eyes flickering down to your lips as you whispered biting words in his ear. He could feel the heat of your breath on his skin, making him shudder. Lucerys's cock strained against his pants, desperate for stimulation, even as his mind reeled from your mocking.

Your eyes narrowed as you glared down at his shaking, nervous form. "Just look at you, trembling and blushing like an overgrown toddler…" you declared, your voice rising with each word. Smirking as you knew you were finally getting payback for all those times he had messed with you.

He could feel the heat radiating off your body, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to reach out and touch you.

Your mocking words stung, and he felt his face burn with shame and embarrassment. He knew you were right, that he had acted like a pathetic, inexperienced virgin. And yet, despite the humiliation, he couldn't deny the way his cock throbbed at your words.

"I… I didn't mean to take them," he stammered, his voice shaking with nerves and a confusing mix of embarrassment and lingering lust.

"And I'm sure I could learn," he blurted out, his voice barely above a whisper as he gazed at you with desperation and hidden desire.

Lucerys's hands clenched tighter in his lap. He was terrified of your reaction, but he couldn't deny the overwhelming urge to kiss you, to worship your body, to make you feel good in any way he could.

He looked up at you from beneath long lashes, his green eyes filled with a swirling mix of fear, shame, and barely restrained lust. "Please… Tell me what you need me to do," he begged softly, his voice low and desperate.

You leaned in closer, your hand coming up to gently cup Lucerys's flushed cheek. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of him looking so meek and submissive, a far cry from the brat he usually was.

"You know you're rather adorable when you're being this good," you teased softly, your thumb brushing lightly over his burning skin. "Such a pretty thing, so eager to learn…" you murmured, almost admiringly.

But then you sighed, shaking your head slightly as if disappointed by his past misdeeds. "Too bad you couldn't have been this well-behaved from the start. Think of all the fun we could've had sooner." Your tone turned playful at the end, a hint of flirtation slipping through.

You had always thought that he and Jacaerys were handsome, thinking that if they weren't your stepbrothers you would have probably made a move on one of them. Too bad they got on your nerves all the time.

You let your gaze travel slowly over his trembling form, taking in the way his chest heaved with shallow breaths, the way his eyes clung to yours with desperate hope and barely restrained hunger.

"But look at you now," you purred, leaning in until your lips were a mere breath from his ear. "Aren't you lucky, getting a chance to learn from your big sister?" you whispered teasingly, your breath tickling his sensitive skin. "I have soooo many lessons to teach you, baby boy…" you trailed off, letting the promise linger between you, heavy with wicked intent.

Lucerys shuddered as your hand cupped his cheek, his skin burning at your gentle touch. He leaned into your palm instinctively, craving more of your touch despite the humiliation that still raced through him.

His heart skipped a beat at your teasing words, a small, shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He knew he had been a brat, always trying to get under your skin and rile you up. But hearing you call him adorable and well-behaved made a warmth bloom in his chest that had nothing to do with shame.

"Does… does that mean I have a chance to be good for you?" he breathed, hardly daring to hope. His eyes clung to yours, desperate for any scraps of affection or approval.

Lucerys's cock strained against his boxers, leaking pre-cum and creating a growing wet spot. The thought of you teaching him, guiding him and moulding him into your ideal lover made him throb with need.

"Please…" he breathed out, his voice barely audible. "Please, I'll… I’ll be your good boy… I promise." His words were punctuated by another desperate shudder, his body aching.

You leaned in close, letting your fingertips trail teasingly through Lucerys's hair as you tilted his chin to meet your stern gaze. "Oh, you're a good boy now, hmm? That's rich, coming from a brat who's done nothing but make my life a living nightmare these past months," you scolded, your voice laced with mock exasperation.

He shivered under your touch, feeling a confusing mix of shame and arousal at your mocking words.

"Cleaning up after your messes, hunting down my stolen things, finding my expensive hair products used up… do you have any idea what a pain in the ass you and Jace have been?" you huffed, your chest heaving slightly as you voiced your grievances.

Despite your words, a playful smirk tugged at your lips. "But I suppose even a dumb puppy can learn new tricks. And much as it pains me to say it… you do seem genuinely sorry." You reached under your skirt, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your skimpy white panties.

"Since you've got such a hard-on for my panties, here," you purred, handing him the dainty white cotton with its cute pink bow and noticeable damp patch. "Fresh from this morning. Why don't you show me what you usually do with them, hmm?" You cocked an eyebrow, a wicked glint in your eyes as you settled yourself back down beside him.

Lucerys snatched the offered panties from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. The still-warm fabric and the damp patch on them made his cock throb painfully in his pants. He could smell your scent, the lingering aroma of your arousal, and he knew he'd never be able to get enough.

"Th-thank you," he stammered, clutching the panties like a treasure. His cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red as he looked up at you shyly, wondering if he should do this if he dared to do this.

As he brought them to his nose, inhaling your intimate scent, he whimpered softly. "Fuck…" he breathed out, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. He rubbed the fabric against his cheek, savouring the feeling and smell of your panties.

"I… I usually just sniff them," he confesses, his voice low and shaky with desire. "Over and over, until the scent fades. It's not enough… but it's the only way I can get close to you like this." He gazed at you from beneath thick lashes, his green eyes dark and hungry.

You watched, eyes narrowed and lips curved in a smirk, as Lucerys's nose wrinkled and breathing quickened while inhaling your scent from the damp crotch of your panties. "Mmm, sniffing them is cute and all," you murmured, tone laced with mocking amusement, "but you've got to do better than that if you want to prove you're sorry."

Leaning in closer, you cupped Lucerys's flushed cheek, fingers curling under his chin to tilt his gaze up to meet yours, making him look at you with wide nervous eyes. Your thumb brushed over the quivering curve of his bottom lip and he felt his resolve crumble "Lick them," you commanded firmly, voice low and authoritative. "Show me exactly how you'd use that tongue of yours to worship your big sister's pussy, hmm? Since it's obvious how badly you want to taste me." You patted his cheek a few times.

"Don't hold back, baby boy. Pretend my panties are the real thing…" You arched an eyebrow, a wicked gleam in your eye as you awaited his response.

With shaking hands, he brought the crotch of your panties to his mouth, taking a deep breath of your scent one last time before parting his lips. He extended his tongue, the tip of it brushing against the damp fabric.

Lucerys let out a low moan as the taste of your arousal exploded on his tongue, his eyes fluttering shut as he savoured it. He could feel the wetness seeping through the thin cotton, coating his tongue with your essence.

He began to lick more insistently, his tongue dragging over the fabric in long, slow strokes. He imagined this was your pussy, your dripping wet folds parting under his ministrations. He licked harder, more urgently, his tongue delving into the damp patch, trying to lap up every last drop of your juices.

Soft whimpers and needy whines spilt from Lucerys's lips as he lost himself in the act, his hips bucking slightly as he pleasured your panties with his mouth. The taste of your pussy was intoxicating, and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face between your thighs and feast on your cunt until you were screaming in ecstasy.

Lucerys's cheeks burned with shame and humiliation, but he couldn't stop. He needed to prove to you that he would do anything you asked, that he would be your good boy.

You snatched the panties from Lucerys's hand, giving his flush cheek a light smack to snap him out of his lust-filled daze. "Eyes up here, perv," you teased, rolling your eyes. "If you really want to apologize, you're gonna have to do better than just sniffing and drooling on my underwear like a dog in heat."

Sighing dramatically, you crawled over to the other side of the bed and leaned back against the wooden headboard. Spreading your legs, you let them fall open slowly, revealing a glimpse of your glistening, bare pussy. The scent of your arousal perfumed the air between you.

"Isn't this a first for you, little brother?" you purred mockingly, arching an eyebrow. "I bet you've seen plenty of fake tits and ass in those porn videos you jerk off to, but a real, live cunt? That's a whole different story."

You could see the way Lucerys' eyes widened as he took in the sight, his pupils dilating with hunger and desire. A smirk played at the corners of your lips as you watched him drink in every detail of your most intimate place.

"Go ahead, get a good look," you encouraged, spreading your legs wider. The glisten of my wetness was unmistakable, and you could feel a trickle of arousal dripping down the curve of your ass.

Lucerys swallowed hard, his mouth going dry at the sight of your glistening, naked pussy mere inches from him. He had never seen anything so beautiful, so perfect. The way your lips shone with your arousal made his mouth water and his cock throb almost painfully.

"I… I've never seen one off-screen," he breathed, his voice shaking with a mix of nerves and unbridled desire. He couldn't take his eyes off your cunt, watching as another trickle of wetness slid down your folds.

Despite his inexperience, Lucerys knew exactly what his body craved. Slowly, hesitantly, he brought a hand up to your knee, his fingers trembling as they brushed against your soft skin. He looked up at you questioningly, seeking permission as he began to inch his hand upwards.

"Can I… can I touch you?" he asked softly, his eyes flickering from your face to your pussy and back again. The tent in his pants was only growing more pronounced, the outline of his hard cock straining against the fabric.

Lucerys's heart raced as you considered his request, hoping desperately, that you would allow him this small mercy. He was terrified of fucking this up, of ruining whatever chance he had with you. But more than anything, he wanted to touch you, to feel the silky heat of your skin, the slickness of your arousal coating his fingers…

At Lucerys's hesitation, you smiled condescendingly. "Oh, how rude of you," you teased, your voice dripping with mock hurt. "Don't I even get a kiss before you go exploring?"

Leaning in closer, you caught his chin gently but firmly between your fingers, tilting his face up towards yours.

"Come on, baby brother," you purred, your breath hot against his lips. "Give me a kiss and maybe I'll let you have a little taste…"

You brushed your lips against his in a feather-light caress, your eyes sparkling with barely concealed desire.

Your thumb traced the curve of his bottom lip, coaxing it to part. "That's it, sweetheart. Be a good boy for me," you encouraged softly, your voice low and laden with promise. "Kiss me like you mean it."

Lucerys shuddered, his breath catching in his throat as your thumb traced his bottom lip. His eyes fluttered shut, and he parted his lips, inviting you to deepen the kiss. He had dreamed of this moment for so long, and now that it was finally happening, he was determined to make the most of it.

Pulse racing, Lucerys pressed his lips more firmly against yours, pouring all of his pent-up desire and longing into the kiss. His hands came up to tangle in your hair, holding you close as his tongue shyly brushed against yours.

He moaned softly into the kiss, the taste of your mouth making his head spin with arousal. Your lips moved skillfully against his own, guiding him and coaxing him to be a good, obedient boy.

Lucerys's cock throbbed almost painfully as he lost himself in the kiss, one hand sliding down to grip your hip tightly. His body pressed against your own, the hard length of his erection nestling against your thigh as he tried to get as close to you as possible.

He gasped into the kiss as he felt himself losing control, his hips starting to rock instinctively against your thigh. You abruptly ended the kiss, gripping his hair and yanking his head back.

"Did I say you could hump my leg like a doggy?" you asked, eyes flashing dangerously. Lucerys flushed an even deeper shade of red, looking mortified.

"No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" he stammered, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

Your voice turned stern. "I thought you wanted to worship me properly, not just rut against me like an untrained puppy?" you asked pointedly. "Clearly, you need a reminder of your place."

"On your knees, Lucerys," you ordered, your tone leaving no room for argument. "The floor, now. Show your big sister the respect she deserves."

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you spread your legs wide, revealing your needy cunt.

Lucerys knew better than to disobey a direct order from you. He quickly slid off the bed and lowered himself to his knees on the floor before you, his eyes never leaving your exposed sex. He swallowed hard, his mouth going dry at the sight of your wet, glistening folds.

"Like this?" he asked softly, looking up at you for confirmation. His hands rest lightly on your thighs, just above your knees. He was acutely aware of the bulge in his pants, his hard cock straining against the confines of his pants.

"I… I want to please you," Lucerys declared solemnly, his eyes filled with a mix of reverence and hunger. "Tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do my very best to be a good boy for you."

He gazed at your dripping sex, feeling his head spin. The scent of your arousal was intoxicating, and he couldn't wait to taste your essence directly from the source.

You smiled indulgently at your naive younger brother, your fingers playing with his messy hair as you gazed down at him with a mix of affection and amusement. "Aww, you really are just the most adorable thing when you're being this good," you laughed softly.

"I'm not going to stay mad at you, sweetheart. Not when you look at me like that." Your voice was sweet but with an underlying current of domination.

You gave him his first instruction. "Now, I want you to start by kissing up my thighs. Slowly, sweetheart. Take your time and worship every inch of your big sister's legs until you reach the top."

You leaned back on your hands, making yourself more comfortable as you watched Lucerys through lidded eyes. Your perky breasts rose and fell with each breath, drawing attention to your pretty curves.

Lucerys shuddered in anticipation as your fingers played with his hair, a soft moan escaping his lips at your touch. He gazed up at you with wide, adoring eyes, feeling his heart swell with affection and desire.

"Thank you," he breathed out, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. He knew he still had a lot to make up for, but at least he had a chance now.

Lucerys hesitated for a moment before leaning forward and pressing a soft, reverent kiss to the inside of your left thigh. He started at the knee, showering your smooth skin with tender kisses as he slowly worked his way up.

He took his time, just as you had instructed, worshipping every inch of your legs with a mix of innocence and growing hunger. His lips trailed higher and higher, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake.

Lucerys's hands slid up your thighs as he kissed them, gripping and caressing gently. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way it seemed to burn hotter the closer he got to your aching sex.

Soft whimpers and needy little moans spilt from his lips as he lost himself in the task of pleasing you, his heart racing and cock throbbing with anticipation. He lived for this moment, for the chance to worship his big sister's body as she deserved.

Biting your plump bottom lip, you couldn't help but let out a shuddery moan as Lucerys's soft lips trailed along your inner thighs. Your core clenched around nothing, aching and empty as your arousal drooled freely from your dripping cunt. "Mmmh, that feels good," you breathed out, eyelids fluttering shut as jolts of pleasure raced through you.

You gazed down at your adorable stepbrother through hooded eyes, watching as he worshipped your soft skin with clumsy yet devoted kisses. He was just too goddamn cute, his innocence and eagerness to please you making your heart race.

Lucerys continued his reverent kisses, his lips now inches from your glistening folds. Your arousal coated your pussy lips, making them glisten invitingly. The scent of your desire filled the air between you, making Lucerys dizzy with lust.

He hesitated for a moment, looking up at you questioningly. "B-big sister?" he stammered softly, his voice shaky with nerves and anticipation. "Can… can I taste you now? Please?"

Lucerys's tongue darted out to lick his lips, already tingling with the desire to taste your essence. His green eyes gazed at you pleadingly, silently begging for permission to bury his face between your thighs and feast on your dripping cunt.

Soft, almost inaudible whimpers escaped from between his trembling lips as he waited for your response. The bulge in his boxers was more prominent than ever, the outline of his hard cock straining against the fabric. It ached and throbbed, begging to be freed and buried deep inside you.

"Mmm, go on then baby boy…" you purred, hiking your skirt up around your waist and spreading your thighs wider in a clear invitation, the folds of your aching, empty cunt right in front of his face. "Don't be shy now… I want to feel that tongue of yours exploring every inch of my little hole. Bury your face in your sister's cunt and drink down every drop of my juices like a good boy."

Lucerys licked his lips hungrily at your words, feeling a surge of desperate arousal at your filthy words. He looked up at you with hooded, lust-filled eyes before leaning in, his face hovering inches from your dripping sex.

With a shameless moan, Lucerys closed the distance and dragged the flat of his tongue along your glistening slit, tasting your essence for the first time. The flavour of your arousal exploded on his tastebuds, and he couldn't get enough.

He moaned wantonly into your pussy, gripping your thighs tighter as he began to eat you out with clumsy but enthusiastic licks. His tongue pushed between your folds, lapping up your juices and savouring your honeyed taste.

Lucerys's tongue swirled around your clit, flicking the sensitive bud sharply as he felt you shudder against his mouth. He licked and sucked greedily at your dripping hole, determined to drink down every drop of your nectar.

"Mmm… you taste so fucking good," he mumbled against your cunt, his voice muffled. The vibrations of his words sent delicious jolts of pleasure racing through your body.

You felt a thrill of hunger as she watched Lucerys stumble through his first clumsy attempts to please you. His inexperienced tongue made messy swipes against your dripping folds, occasionally grazing a sensitive spot that had you gasping.

"Mmm, baby boy…" you gasped, tangling your fingers in his hair and subtly rolling your hips against his mouth. "Use more pressure, sweetheart. I need you to work harder than that…"

Soft pants escaped your lips as Lucerys finally honed in on your throbbing clit, flicking and circling the sensitive bud. Sparks of pleasure shot up your spine with each touch of his tongue, building the heat low in your belly.

"Ah! Just like that… oh fuck!" you cried out, feeling a surge of pleasure. Growing impatient with his clumsy attempts, you grabbed both sides of his head with a desperate moan. You started grinding your dripping cunt in rough circles against his eager but inexperienced mouth, chasing the pleasure you craved.

"There's a good boy," you praised breathlessly as you used his face for your satisfaction. "Worship your big sister's pussy just like this, sweetheart. Show me how badly you want to make me cum all over this cute face of yours."

Lucerys whimpered desperately against your cunt, gripping your thighs tighter as he struggled to keep up with your frenzied grinding. Your fingers tightened in his hair, yanking roughly as you rutted against his face, using his mouth for your pleasure.

He could feel your juices dripping down his chin and onto his neck, as he worshipped your pussy with clumsy but eager licks and sucks. Lucerys's cock throbbed almost painfully in his pants, leaking pre-cum at the feeling of your wet heat against his lips.

"Mmph, I'm trying… I'm trying so hard to please you," he gasped out between sloppy licks, his words vibrating against your sensitive flesh. He could feel your pleasure building, your moans and cries spurring him on to suckle your clit harder and fuck your entrance with his tongue.

Lucerys gazed up at you with hazy, lust-filled eyes, silently begging for your release. He wanted to feel your juices flood his mouth, to drink down every drop as he pushed you over the edge. His hips jerked instinctively, seeking some form of relief from the aching hardness between his legs.

Nails digging into Lucerys's scalp, you writhed against his hungry mouth, painting his lips and chin with your slick arousal. "Yes, fuck, just like that!" you cried out, undulating your hips to grind your aching clit against the boy's nose. "Fuck me with your tongue~…"

A shock of raw pleasure ignited through your core as his tongue plundered your entrance, plunging in and out in a desperate rhythm. "Unngh, shit…" you whimpered, back arching as your thighs clenched around his head.

You could feel your climax building fast, your inner walls beginning to flutter and tighten around the slick, wriggling muscle. "Don't stop, please don't fucking stop…" you panted, gripping fists full of hair as you rode his face hard, chasing your rapidly approaching orgasm.

Lucerys doubled his efforts, tongue plunging in and out of your clenching hole with desperate abandon. He felt your walls starting to flutter and tighten around his invading muscle, your juices gushing out to coat his chin and drip down onto his neck. The taste of your arousal was intoxicating, and he couldn't get enough.

"Mmm, yes! Fuck, I'm gonna… I'm gonna…" you cried out, your body tensing and shaking as your orgasm rapidly approached. Lucerys just moaned wantonly in response, sucking your clit harder and fucking your cunt with deep strokes of his tongue, determined to push you over the edge.

With a sharp cry of your stepbrother's name, your body went rigid, your back arching as pure ecstasy exploded through every nerve ending. Your pussy clenched and spasmed wildly around Lucerys's tongue, gushing out a flood of your honey as your climax hit you like a tidal wave.

Lucerys made no move to pull away, greedily drinking down every drop of your release. He held your bucking hips tightly as he licked and suckled your quivering sex, riding out your intense orgasm with you and prolonging your pleasure for as long as possible.

With a sharp gasp, you grabbed Lucerys's head and pulled his face in tight as you rutted yourself against him, muffling his cries of pleasure with your dripping sex. "Oh… ohhh fuck, yes," you panted out, your thighs clamping down around his ears as you rode the intense waves of your climax.

Your gummy walls spasmed and clenched rhythmically around his busy tongue, creaming hard into your younger brother's eager mouth. You didn't care if he could breathe or not, too lost in the throes of your release to think of anything but chasing every last spark of pleasure.

"Mmmfff… ahhh… that's it…" you moaned breathlessly, slowly grinding your hips to draw out the fading aftershocks. Little jolts of electricity still zapped through your nerves.

Finally spent, you released your grip on Lucerys's hair and leaned back slightly, letting him catch a breath. Your chest heaved as you tried to regulate your breathing, a satisfied smirk playing on your swollen, slick lips.

Lucerys gasped desperately for air as you finally released your grip on his hair and allowed him to pull back slightly. He gulped down the mouthfuls of your juices he had collected, the taste of your release on his tongue. His face was glazed with your slick arousal, chin to forehead, and a string of your juices connected his bottom lip to your thigh. He licked his lips with a dazed, lust-drunk expression.

"I… I did well?" he asked softly, hope and a touch of disbelief colouring his tone. He couldn't believe he had made you cum. The feeling of your hot, slick juices coating his face was still overwhelming to the boy.

Despite the hard, aching bulge still straining against his pants, there was a look of pure adoration and devotion on Lucerys's face as he gazed up at you. He knew he would do anything to feel your pleasure again, to worship your body and have you use him for your satisfaction.

"I hope… hope you'll let me do that again," he stammered shyly, his cheeks flushed with a mix of satisfaction and lingering arousal. "Anytime you want, sister. Anytime."

"Oh baby, you were amazing," you cooed softly, gently helping Lucerys up and guiding him to lie down next to you on the bed. You brushed his messy hair back from his flushed face and gazed at him adoringly. As he lay back on the bed next to you, he couldn't take his eyes off your beautiful face, his heart racing at the intimate murmurs and praise.

His heart swelled with pride and affection at your words. He felt himself melting under the adoring gaze and tender touch, knowing he would do anything to make you happy and satisfied.

"Such a good, obedient boy," you praised him warmly, your fingers tenderly wiping the evidence of his hard work from his chin and cheeks. You brought your coated fingers to your mouth and made a show of licking them clean. But his cheeks and chin were still messy with your creamy release, going to lick up his face clean like a kitten.

Lucerys shuddered and bit his lip as he watched you lick your fingers clean, feeling another surge of arousal at the erotic sight. His cock throbbed almost painfully in his pants, the fabric of his underwear damp with pre-cum.

"Th-thank you," he breathed out, his voice rough with desire. He couldn't believe he had the power to make you feel that good, to bring you to such an intense, toe-curling climax.

Lucerys tilted his head up to give you better access as you began to clean the sticky essence from his face with your tongue. He let out a shaky moan when you licked along his jaw, his eyes fluttering shut at the intimate, sensual act.

"I love the taste of your cum," he admitted hoarsely, reaching up to cup your face in his trembling hands.

The damp patch in his underwear had grown, his cock leaking steadily as he imagined fucking you senseless daily, pumping load after load of his hot seed deep inside your greedy cunt.

"Can I… can I kiss you again?" he asked shyly, his green eyes filled with longing as they met yours. "I want to taste your pretty lips…"

"Mmm, of course you can," you giggled, a teasing smirk playing on your lips. "You've been so good for your big sister. You deserve a reward~"

You leaned down, capturing his mouth in a messy, passionate kiss. Your lips moved sloppily against each other, mixing the lingering taste of your arousal with his saliva. Occasionally, you would nip at his bottom lip, tugging on it gently before soothing the sting with your tongue.

You could feel his whimpers vibrating against your lips, spurring you on as you deepened the kiss. Your tongue pushed past his lips, swirling around his own and greedily taking in the combined flavours of your lust.

Lucerys let out a choked moan into the messy kiss, his hands coming up to grip your waist tightly. He kissed you back with clumsy passion, his tongue tangling shyly with yours as he tried to learn the rhythm. The taste of your arousal mingling with his saliva made his head spin with lust.

Pulling back, you gazed down at him with lidded eyes, taking in the sight of his flushed face and kiss-swollen lips glistening with your essence. "Made me feel so good," you praised huskily, reaching down to squeeze the rock-hard bulge still straining against his pants. "I think it's time for you to feel the touch of a girl's hand, sweetheart. Are you ready for that?"

The feeling of your fingers squeezing his aching bulge had Lucerys bucking his hips up desperately, seeking more of that sweet friction. When you finally pulled away, he had to take a moment to steady his breathing, his chest heaving as he gazed up at you with hooded, lust-filled eyes.

"I… yes," he managed to stammer out, his voice pitchy and strained with arousal. "I'm ready for anything you want to give me… please…"

Lucerys's cock throbbed and leaked against the confines of his underwear as if in agreement. He couldn't remember a time when he had ever been this hard, his balls aching with the desperate need for release.

Rolling his hips upwards in a needy motion, he looked at you with guileless, pleading eyes.

Biting your lip, you watched with amusement as your little stepbrother writhed beneath you, utterly consumed by his teenage lust. You couldn't resist teasing him a bit. "Mmm, it looks like someone's excited," you giggled, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his white Calvin's. "I'm gonna take a peek, okay?"

Without waiting for his response, you snapped the elastic band against his sensitive skin. Lucerys let out a choked moan, hips jerking upwards with the sudden stimulation. "Ohhh, sensitive!"

Ignoring his needy sounds, you slowly peeled down his boxers inch by excruciating inch until his painfully hard cock sprang free. You licked your lips at the sight, taking in every detail.

"What do we have here… impressive, Luke." you purred, wrapping your fingers around his thick shaft and giving it a slow, teasing stroke. At your touch, a bead of pre-cum drooled out of the swollen, flushed head. "Mmmm, so hard already… looks like baby bro is alllll grown up now."

He watched, eyes wide and hazy with lust, as you slowly stroked his throbbing length. His cock pulsed urgently against your palm, the skin hot and silky soft, rock hard beneath.

"I… I can't help it," he whimpered, cheeks burning with humiliation and arousal at the praise.

His hips jerked as you stroked him, his member twitching and leaking steadily. The swollen head was a deep, angry red, weeping with the intensity of his need.

"Please, I need…" Lucerys began desperately, before trailing off, unable to voice his pleas. He was too shy, too aroused, too overwhelmed by the new sensations coursing through his young body.

His hands gripped the sheets beneath him, knuckles white as he fought the urge to grab your wrist and demand that you stroke him harder, faster. He wanted to feel your touch all over his aching cock, wanted you to make him cum until he sobbed.

You tilted your head with a playful pout, giving Lucerys a look of mock disappointment. "I'll touch you with just my hand today… I don't know if you could handle my mouth yet," you teased, smirking at his inexperienced reactions.

You had to admit, you were a bit surprised the handsome 19-year-old hadn't lost his virginity already. At over 180cm tall and with his boyish charm, you would've thought plenty of girls would be throwing themselves at him. Then again, the poor thing was so shy and quiet, especially when he wasn't with his beloved older brother Jacaerys. He probably had no idea how desirable he was.

You shook your head and chuckled softly as you wrapped your fingers more firmly around his throbbing cock, giving him a few slow pumps. "But don't worry, sweetheart," you purred, voice low and conspiratorial. "I'll make sure to take gooood care of you…" You flashed him a wicked grin, eager to give your adorable stepbrother his very first handjob.

Lucerys's breath hitched, and his spine arched as your fingers tightened around his shaft, giving him the firm stroke he desperately needed. His toes curled and his thighs clenched, muscles flexing as pleasure sparked through his nerves.

"I… I don't… ah!" he gasped out, eyes wide and cheeks burning at your teasing words. He knew he should protest, should tell you that of course he could handle your mouth, but the words died on his tongue as you pumped his throbbing cock.

Your touch felt so good, so much better than his own clumsy fumbles. He could feel every ridge and vein of his shaft, every twitch and throb as you worked him closer to his peak.

"Please…" Lucerys whimpered, hips rolling up to meet your strokes. He didn't even know what he was begging for anymore, too lost in the new sensations to think clearly. All he knew was that he needed more, needed you to keep touching him until he exploded.

Your wicked grin sent a bolt of lust straight to his aching balls, making them draw up tight against his body. He could feel the pressure building inside him, his orgasm approaching swiftly, as you worked his cock with practised efficiency.

"I'm… I'm not…" he gasped, feeling the telltale tightness in his gut as his climax fast approached. "I'm gonna… gonna…"

You snatched your hand away abruptly, brow arched in disbelief. "Already?" you teased, smirking. "And here I thought I'd have more time to play with this cute cock of yours." You let your gaze drift pointedly over his straining erection, noting how it throbbed urgently in the cool air, the swollen head an angry, desperate shade of red. "Guess you're just too pent up, hmmm? Can't blame my horny stepbrother for being eager though."

Lucerys whimpered desperately as you Suddenly pulled your hand away, leaving his aching cock throbbing and leaking in the cool air. He looked up at you with hazy, pleading eyes, face flushed with embarrassment and unfulfilled lust.

"S-sorry," he stammered, biting his lip as he tried to hold back his impending orgasm through sheer force of will. "I just… I've never… aahh…"

Lucerys squirmed on the bed, the sheets twisting beneath his hips as he fought the urge to grab his own cock and finish himself off. He was so close, teetering right on the edge of his very first climax at the hands of another.

"Please…" he begged softly, voice cracking with desperation. "I need… I need you to touch me again. I can't… I can't hold back much longer…" He gazed at you with wide, vulnerable eyes.

You gaze at Lucerys with a mix of amusement and tenderness, your heart fluttering at his helpless, desperate pleas. Unable to resist his boyish charm and the way his body responded so eagerly to your touch, you lean in close.

"Oh, you poor, pent-up boy," you coo softly, your breath warm against his ear. You let out a sympathetic little sigh. "Alright then, you've more than earned this."

Sitting up, you spat lightly onto his throbbing, flushed cock, watching with a smirk as the saliva trickles down his shaft, glistening obscenely. Making Lucerys let out a choked moan, your spit providing a slick new source of friction as your hand began to pump his cock in earnest.

You wrapped your fingers around him, relishing the feeling of his soft skin, hot and pulsing with need.

Your hands started to move, twisting and pumping his thick length in a steady, purposeful rhythm. You worked him with focused intensity, your grip alternating between firm and teasing as you stroked him closer to his release.

"That's it, sweetheart," you encourage him in a low sultry murmur. "Let yourself go. I want to watch you cum for me…"

"Ohhh god…" he gasped, fingers scrabbling at the sheets as his hips rocked upwards to meet your strokes.

He could feel his release fast approaching as you touched him with purposeful intensity. His stomach clenched, and his balls tightened, the pressure building to an unbearable peak.

"Haahh, yes… yes…" he panted out, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure consumed him. Your words urged him on, spurring him towards his inevitable climax.

Lucerys's breathing grew ragged, chest heaving as he teetered on the razor's edge. His cock throbbed almost violently in your grip.

He couldn't hold back any longer. With a strangled cry of your name, Lucerys came undone. His cock jerked and spasmed as it erupted, painting thick ropes of hot cum all over your pumping fist.

"NNAAHH! Aahhh…" he wailed as spurt after spurt of his release shot out, his young body shaking and convulsing with the force of it. It was his very first time experiencing such intense pleasure, and it overwhelmed his senses completely.

Thick globs of pearly white seed dripped onto his stomach and chest, and some landed on your fingers. Lucerys trembled and moaned throughout the aftershocks, eyes rolling back and toes curling as he rode out the waves of his climax.

As Lucerys came hard, his length jerked and spasmed in your grip, painting your hand and his shirt with thick ropes of hot, sticky seed. The obscene sounds of his release filled the room as you continued pumping his throbbing cock, working him through the intense waves of pleasure that wracked his young body.

"Oh wow, so much cum for such a pretty boy," you purred, watching in amusement as Lucerys's face contorted in pleasure, his eyes rolling back and toes curling. "You really needed that, didn't you sweetie?"

You couldn't help but feel a rush of pride knowing you had brought your adorable stepbrother to such a mind-blowing climax. His spent member gave a weak twitch as the last drops of cum dripped out, and you had to chuckle at how utterly depraved he looked - shirt splattered with his own release, hair mussed, and cheeks glowing a deep shade of red.

Lucerys could only whimper and nod weakly, still dazed and trembling in the afterglow. "Y-yes, thank you…" he managed to stammer out, gazing up at you with hazy, adoring eyes. You couldn't wait to corrupt him further and make this a regular occurrence between you…

Just as Lucerys was coming down from his high, the bedroom door suddenly burst open. Jacaerys stood there, his handsome face flushed and eyes dark with poorly concealed lust as he took in the perverse scene before him - his younger brother's spent cock glistening with cum, your hand coated in the same, and the general air of sexual tension permeating the room.

"Well, well, well..." Jacaerys drawled, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned against the doorframe casually. "Looks like someone's having all the fun without me. Thought we were going to share, little brother?"

He stalked closer to the bed, eyes roving hungrily over your curves and lingering on where your fingers were still wrapped around Lucerys's sensitive cock. "It's not fair, leaving your big brother out of the action," he complained, petulance clear in his tone. "I've been wanting a taste of her for ages now..."

Reaching the edge of the bed, he leaned down, gripping your chin and forcing you to meet his heated gaze. "It's my turn next, little sis," he murmured, voice low and full of dark promise. "So you'd better not tire yourself out too much on dear Lucerys here." He said darkly before releasing you and turning to his flushed younger brother with a grin. "Better rest up, Luke. Because I certainly can't wait much longer to bury my cock in our step-sister's tight little holes..."

[solkara]

❛ 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒 , when princess rhaenyra's younger twin was born. many did not think you would survive. as when you came into the world you was as quiet as a mouse. while your older sister roared. though you were a fit and healthy babe. it was clear to everyone that you were the calm and rhaenyra was the storm. and as the two grew older they were deemed inseparable. often making mischief in the red keep. though everyone knew it was rhaenyra's schemes. ❜

❛ 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒 , and that you just went along with it. the two of you were also very close with alicent hightower. and the trio were rarely seen apart from each other. that was until their mother died. everything seemed to change in the blink of an eye. alicent married their father. causing rhaenyra to resent her. and while you were angry with alicent. you didn't hate her and still to be kind to her and her children. which she appreciated. but as you would come to realise. you unknowingly placed yourself in the middle of a war of dragons. with both sides unwilling to give you up. ❜

house of the dragon masterlist

[l-uminescent]

˚⁀➷｡˚ KINSLAYER ━━━ AEMOND TARGARYEN X FEM! READER

part two.

synopsis: rhaenyra’s daughter seeks revenge for the death of her beloved younger brother lucerys velaryon. and what better way to gain it, than from the man she was once betrothed to.

notes: did i steal daemon’s plot? yes. did the reader do it better? also yes. fuck aemond targaryen (who is 22 here) for killing lucerys fr, and fuck tumblr for making me repost this bc they shadowbanned me :(

warnings: reader is rhaenyra’s daughter, angst, violence, mention of blood, future hotd spoiler (battle above the gods eye)

word count: 3.9k

ONCE UPON A TIME YOU HAD THOUGHT YOU HAD KNOWN WHAT LOVE HAD FELT LIKE. being betrothed to none over than aemond targaryen in an attempt to ensure peace between the divided targaryen house, had gave you a sense of hope. the childish crush you had on the one-eyed prince had long exceeded into your adulthood (unbeknownst to you for a long while). and the news that you were to be married to the man you had felt so deeply for, had you thanking the gods that you were to be so lucky. 

for much of your adulthood, you denied the feelings you had for aemond. brushing the giddiness you felt when you were younger off as a fleeting childhood crush. now, the crimson paint that adorned your cheeks you put down to a sense of duty; you had to act the blushing bride in order to do your part for the realm. your mother's constant reminders that it was you who could maintain the peace between dragons, made you believe it was a sense of duty to your house; to prevent the bloodshed and the path to destruction that would follow if blood was spilt. as time went on, you begrudgingly admitted to yourself that maybe, just maybe, the small minuscule crush you had on the prince, in fact never left. you often reflected on the times where you had lived in king's landing with your family, often choosing to spend time with the second son of the king. you two were inseparable, where aemond went you were sure to not be too far behind. often, challenging each other on who would learn the most high valyrian words in a day, and who would learn the history of their ancestors first. it was a match the gods intended.

however, this sue for peace had crumbled completely. only a mere memory in your mind of what could have been if the targayren house was not so ignorant to the fact that women had much of a right to ascend the throne (you had king jaehaerys to uphold much of the blame for this decision). and now, the house was at war with one another. the dance of the dragons was surely to follow, leaving nothing but war across the realm and your poor broken heart.

the death of your brother lucerys did not seem to help with the feeling of heartbreak that effected life upon dragonstone. you spent many days and nights cooped up in your chambers. there was no one to turn too. yes, you sought comfort with your mother but she too was a shell of her former self. with jacaerys many miles north in winterfell, and your husband the murderer of such an innocent boy, you were left with nothing but your own reckless thoughts. as the sun rose in the east and set in the west day after day, your pain and suffering festered into a new, dark feeling within you. the sadness within was replaced with a craving of utter revenge. the lovesick girl, eyes wide with care and awe was shattered, replaced by a woman no, a dragon, who would go to any means to avenge the cruel death of her sweet younger brother. the love you had felt for the man you once were engaged to disappeared the moment you had learnt what he done; marring any chances at evading the war that was surely to follow. you swore to seek revenge with fire and blood. in whatever means the gods meant it to happen. 

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the small council met as the sun lays lazily high in the sky, providing the normally dark and gloomy room with a sliver of light that is often uncommon on the island of dragonstone home to dreary weather most of the time. you welcome the sun in all its glory, soaking it in as you stand next to your brother jacaerys as you listen to the squabbles between the men as they discuss the course of action to take next. small crescents dawned under your eyes, reflecting the many sleepless nights you have come to known. the tiredness you feel currently now and all throughout the days since luke's passing has become an old friend to you, one that is begrudging to leave. you tune out, the effects of another sleepless night and your lack of interest in the bickering that is beginning to fester amongst the lords and your mother is boring you. instead, your eyes are captured by the ball of fire that lay millions of miles away. you weren't all that religious, if it came down to it you preferred the valyrian or old gods in favour of the seven. but there was no doubt the glistening embers that rained upon the room was a good omen. you were sure lucerys was looking down upon you, he adored the few sunny days on dragonstone, and this brought a small smile to your face. 

you hadn't realised just how deep in thought you were until your brothers voice broke you out of whatever hazy trance you were. despite tuning out, you had gathered the basics of the discussion - ser criston cole had set his eyes on rooks rest, and a dragon was needed to defend the castle. jacaerys' proposition to fly vermax was quickly shut down by your mother, deeming the boy as too inexperienced in battle and the dragon too young. 

"i will go." 

the words escaped your lips before you even had a chance to think them through properly. the feeling of revenge running through your veins was more than enough to spark this confident outburst. it had to be you who would go to rooks rest. you did not understand why this feeling was so apparent, whether it be the good omen in the sky, or the smile that had graced your lips for the first time in many moons at the thought of your brother being the one who sent it. but the need to take seat upon your dragon silverwing and fly to rooks rest settled in your soul as a desire you needed to fulfil. you knew immediately your mother would never agree to this, already refusing jacaerys to go meant there was absolutely no possibility she would let you go. 

"no. you too lack the experience that is needed in battle. i will not lose another child to this war." rhaenyra's voice trembled slightly with the mentioning of lucerys but she held strong with her decision to not let either of her elder children fly to battle. the mentioning of luke only feeding the fire in your blood, the need to seek revenge for his passing. 

looking up at your mother, you knew she had understood this as it was plainly evident on your face. alas, rhaenyra could not deny you had your mother's stubbornness and your father's strength. "mother, the entire council knows it is far too dangerous to risk the lives of both you and jace. queen and heir. send me, your grace. silverwing is used to battle and if war and bloodshed is sure to follow with the greens still bot bending the knee to you, then we must become acquainted with it." 

her eyes softened as she gazed upon yours, you reminded her so much of herself in her youth. the fire that burned within you mirrored that of hers. the want to prove yourself as more as weak was apparent, when many men had deemed you fragile due to the gender you were born as, you felt the urge to prove them wrong, just as your mother had felt, still feels with the many lords at the council who still see her as the weaker sex. she knew you were going to fly to battle whether she permitted you leave or not. and with a slight of her head you knew her answer. her lilac eyes gazing into yours with such intensity you knew the message conveyed. be safe, sweet girl.

another voice a the council spoke up, one you weren't expecting to hear. your grandmother, rhaenys. "you must send me as well, your grace. meleys is no stranger to battle, like silverwing. two dragons will be better than one, if the greens decide to also send a dragon to battle."

you were shocked that your grandmother was to fight so willingly for your mother's claim to the throne but yet, the more you pondered the less surprised you were. she too was a woman who should have ascended the throne, the queen who never was, yet king jaehaerys passed over her claim as a count of being weak as she was a woman. gods you hated the man sometimes. 

you were no stranger to the care of your grandmother. she knew straight away that her son was not actually your father, you were born a bastard, fathered to ser harwin strong yet she loved you nevertheless. just as coryls velaryon had favoured young luke, rhaenys, favoured you. your dark her reminded her much of her mother jocelyn baratheon and the way in which you clung to her as a child reminded her so much of leanor. she had grown to love you as you her, and refused to see you alone on the battlefield. 

"come granddaughter, we have much to prepare." rhaenys spoke softly as your mother dismissed the council, guiding you with her hand on the small of your back. giving one last nod to your mother, you notice the look of such fierce love in her. the promise of suffering she would bring if you were hurt. yet, the only thing rhaeynra could do now is pray to the gods above that her only girl would return to her safely. and by the gods she did.

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silverwing was just as mesmerising as the day you claimed her at the tender age of  ten and three. her silvery scales often reminded you of the stars that hung from the sky. glistening intently as you often sat at your window deep in thought. such a docile creature, you could not help but fall in love with her kind nature; a dragon who was most friendly to strangers. as you approached her now a small smile once again graced your lips. the she dragon bent down to greet you, pressing her snout to your hand in a sign of understanding. the intelligence of the dragon was also something that had drawn you to her, she was able to sense every emotion you felt. she had known you were grieving and did not hold it against you that you had neglected to visit her. instead, she blew smoke from her nostrils, and you could have sworn she wore a toothy grin. silverwing was glad you had returned to her. 

flying your dragon had somewhat eased the dull ache that seemed to have made a permanent home in your heart. the ocean beneath you and the wind in your hair brought a sense of relief. this was home. you had miss flying your dragon across the realm, watching as the landscape beneath you changed from countryside, to villages, to oceans and to cities. it was freeing. as fast as she was, silverwing was no match for the speed in which meleys, your grandmother's dragon, flew. as she soared effortlessly through the sky, your dragon tried her hardest to keep up. 

"don't push yourself silverwing. meleys is a fast dragon. " you uttered calmingly to your dragon in high valyrian, stroking her scales softly in a show of comfort. oh how you missed speaking the language too. "calm my sweet girl, it will be okay."

as you finally caught up to rhaenys, the two dragons held pace with one another as you surveyed the fields below. ser criston cole's army had been spotted approaching rooks rest. the elder women held your eyes. a message passing through the two of you to get this done as quickly as possible. and with a cry, meleys delved to the army, silverwing not far behind her

a mix of anxiety and adrenaline coursed through your veins. you were petrified at failing the mission and returning to your mother's disappointed face with the castle in the hands of the greens. yet the pure adrenaline of gaining your revenge from those who supported the man who usurped your mother's throne and took your brother urged you to keep going "attack silverwing." you called out causing the dragon to plummet to the ground to attack those below.

the field that was once riddled with soldiers was now nothing but flame and smoke. red heat from the lips of your dragon had engulfed almost the entirety of the battlefield. the flames below you were nothing of the flickering of the candles in dragonstone that brought you comfort. no, the flames you caused mirrored the emotion inside, the intensity of the anger you felt, the betrayal from the man you once loved to cause this amount of pain. 

a sound you had not heard in a long time broke you out of your rage induced comatose. you froze, the greens had come for you. looking up, you recognised the gleaming golden dragon belonging to the usurper king aegon. sunfyre. your anger had only intensified at the man willing himself to fight against you and your grandmother. doubling around the castle, silverwing dipped her sharpened claws into the ocean's water, ensuring a clean cut against sunfyre before rising above the cliffs face, ready for battle. he was no match for that of silverwing and meleys.

despite the adrenaline within, you could not help but worry for your grandmother, as you watched the flames engulf both her and aegon as the dance begun. the women held a dear place in your heart and the image of her being hurt was enough to push you to attack the sun kissed dragon. flying to meet your grandmother, silverwing allowed herself to flip and glide between the flames aimed at you both. the bellows of aegon left a satisfying smirk upon your lips as meleys claws took hold within the belly of the enemy dragon, as you willed silverwing to attack the dragon's wings from above. clawing and scratching at sunfyre, silverwing and meleys both have seemed to have done immense damage to the golden beauty. chunks of the dragons wings had been ripped out and cuts adorned her body, red blood oozing out of her scales. the final blow had been dealt by your grandmother, yet war was far from over as a sickening roar had been heard beyond the trees.

aemond taragaryen had come out to play.

your breath hitched, letting you only to take only shallow breathes as vhagar descended from the trees. you tried to be brave, tried to hold back the tears that were evident in your glassy eyes yet you couldn't. tear drops sprung like rivers cascading down your terror-stricken face as you saw the shining silver hair of the man who had once been the love of your life, and subsequently the reasoning behind all your pain. wrapping the leather reigns that kept you in control of your dragon, you urged her to continue flying around rooks rest. the wind blew harshly as you circled the ashy landscape, drying your tears and making whatever was left stick to your reddened face. as vhagar descended upon the battle in the sky,  hought's swam through your head as you shouted at your dragon to attack, you wished away all feelings of dread. 

in that sliver of calm, you could not help but feel drawn to the sun as it had once again graced you with its appearance. and with lucerys velaryon looking down on you, you knew the gods wanted you to have your revenge in that moment. they had brought aemond to the battle for a reason after all.

flying up to sit side by side with rhaenys, you allowed the hatred in your heart to take over. the fire in your blood burned at the audacity for aemond to dare show his face after all that he had done. 

"it has to be me grandmother." you shouted over the howling winds in high valyrian. the distaste within had spoken clearly, it had to be you who destroyed the man in front of you. you knew rhaneys understood that, but you also knew she carried the same stubborn nature that all targaryen's had come to possess. plowing into vhagar first, it was obvious she was no match for the queen of dragons. sending waves of fire to the boy riding her, melyes took the moment of distraction to tear at the beast's stomach. 

unbeknownst to you, sunfyre had risen again at the sound of vhagar's approach. seeing the flame grown in the dragon's mouth, rhaneys abandoned the attack on the larger dragon, instead focusing on the dragon mere inches from you. ambushing her from the side, meleys' jaws clamp around the neck of the usurper's dragon. in a state of shock, you forced silverwing to the side, gratefulness gracing your features at your saviour. 

nonetheless, it was plain to see that both meleys and silverwing did not hold enough power to over through the two dragon's that had come to fight. with rhaenys preoccupied with the second coming of sunfyre and aegon, it had left you with the battled against  vhagar. having lived centuries you knew that you were no match for her. she had helped with aegon the conqueror's conquest and that alone had gained her much more experience in battle than your dragon would ever come to know.

reality kicked in like a knife to your stomach. understanding what you had to do sent shivers down your spine, but there was no other way.  to kill the dragon you must kill the rider. 

your mind flickered back to the many moments you had spent with aemond over the years. sneaking into one another's chambers at night to tell stories you have read in history books. the days spent in the garden giggling at the idiocy of your family. and as the two of you got older, you recounted the longing gazes in one another's directions, the stammering and blush that rose to your cheeks anytime he was near. the brushing of limbs at the feast as your grandsire had announced the betrothal. 

none of that mattered now. he had made his choice when he decided to slay his kin and you had made yours. 

gazing upon silverwing properly for the last time you spoke quietly "forgive me, comfort my mother when i am gone. i beg of you." the silver beauty squeaked in return, a note of sadness in her tone. she would miss you just as much as she missed queen alyssane, but she would honour your choice gallantly. "fly back to dragonstone when i am gone. i do not wish you to suffer the same fate, my love."

with your mind made up, you willed your dragon to fly to meet aemond and vhagar taking in a shaky breathe as you did. as silverwing glided through the air, her claw's tore through vhagar. nevertheless, the silver beauty had barely left any damage. vhagar's thick skin was almost impenetrable, only small surface wound were left behind from the attacks you inflicted on her. the only thing that kept you alive was your dragon's ability to stray so close to vhagar yet slip effortlessly beyond her reach whenever her jaws made an attempt to kill you both. 

allowing silverwing to deal with vhagar, meant that you were left to deal with her rider; your glassy eyes never leaving  the man who had caused you such suffering. he had grown you noted, his cheeks now hollowed out as if he has been struggling to eat, a dark crescent clear under his one good eye. the hate in your heart weakened, you had almost felt an ounce of sympathy at his obviously heartbroken state. you wondered if he had regretted his actions; had regretted pushing you away. you wondered if he blamed himself for what had happened that night, if he had really meant to kill luke on purpose. but you also knew you would wonder these things for the rest of your life if you let him live. no matter how much remorse he truly felt within you could never forget his actions, the way in which he took pride in what he did, bragging about being the first to spill blood in this horrific war. and that was enough for you to keep fighting.

pulling away from vhagar for a final time, you flew back around the castle unstrapping the saddle you had on silverwing, tossing it to the wind. unstrapping the sword, daemon had given you from your twentieth name day, you held it in your palm with such force that your knuckles began to whiten. as silverwing set her sights on vhagar once more, a final sound of pain came from your dragon as she knew what you had planned to do. knowing there was no way in changing your mind she flew above the dragon and its rider, positioning you perfectly in what you aimed to do. 

holding onto one of the many talons in her back, you allowed yourself to stand upon your dragon's back, the sword still tight in your hand. your eyes had never left that of the icy lilac that sat below you. the mix of fear and understanding stood in his, as he knew what you were about to do a second too late. the shock of realisation came as he tried to unfasten the straps that kept him tied to vhagar. she was too big of a dragon to move in time for what you were about to bestow upon the targaryen prince, and it was too high of a jump for him to survive.  

jumping from your dragon's back you let your mind to once again reflect all the love you had for aemond taragaryen. allowing yourself to find comfort in the fact that you had known love in your lifetime.

and as you drew the sword through him, you felt no remorse. a debt had been payed. revenge had been served. for luke.

but, there was no escaping the torment your heart inflicted upon you in the moment your sword pierced his only good eye. you had thought aemond would hold loathing at what you had done in his final moments, but all he felt was abhorrence for himself. driving you to the point of sorrow and grief where you had felt like you could do nothing more than seek revenge for what he had done. whispering a soft "i love you'' before you had pierced him, gave you the closure you had needed. those three words had answered all the questions that had played over and over in your mind, running rampant through your darkest hours.

the history books recalled that you had died peacefully with no call of a dragon to save you. you had plummeted to the ground with the man you had loved, knowing you had avenged your sweet innocent brother lucerys and had come to learn aemond had regretted his actions dearly. this was truly enough for you to die happily. and that you did.

[madame-fear]

Imagine lucerys being betrothed to sunshine!reader😭💕 her parents meet with Rhaenyra when she becomes queen to arrange a marriage between lucerys and their youngest daughter, she’s just curious about everything because her parents never let her experience what her older sisters did because they sheltered her at a young girl age but she loves talking and making new friends. She’s so bubbly when greeting everyone like the Targaryens, and she’s not even scared of them because she believes that every one has kindness. And she’s so fascinated by dragons, she immediately comes to look at them and Arrax and Syrax actually like her and Rhaenyra just loves her because she’s kinda like the daughter she’s never had!!

AHHSHHSHD NONNIE thank you for feeding my mind with this !! i literally CAN’T get over this !! 😭

okay but literally imagine, I think everyone would be delighted by how bubbly & endearing you are. First thought I had beforefinishing to read the message, is that Rhaenyra would absolutely ADORE you the very second you greet her in a most respectful manner, with a wide toothy grin growing on your lips— it would take Nyra no time for her to treat you as her own daughter,, she would basically have you under her wing from that very moment.

Knowing that Luke is a little bit shy, I can picture him helplessly smiling at how lovely you simply are. Initially, he would be overwhelmed... But in a good way, of course! Much like his mother — and basically the rest of his family —, Luke would immediatly be swooped off his feet at the sight of, simply, how much of a kind young girl you are, and incredibly respectful as well to each one of his family members, and to him.

I can definitely see Lucerys offering you his arm to walk you around King’s Landing, or the Red Keep, for you to know your way around as you both gleefully chat. In a way, your personality wouod match perfectly with Luke’s— being the one to take him out of his shell, and swiftly improving his mood at the sight of your presence in the same room as he is in.

And since you have a great curiousity for dragons, and they have grown fond of you, perhaps even booping their snouts against your face playfully, Lucerys would take you to the dragonpit to greet them rather often. The way your eyes are simply impressed by the sight of these huge beasts is a loving sight to behold— and he’s most definitely the type to take you on dragonrides on whichever opportunity he has to do so; adoring the way your warm body eagerly holds him as the air delicately hits on your face whilst riding Arrax.

You are just perfect to be the Lady of the Tides, and I’m certain he would be thanking the Seven for gifting him such a wonderful little sunshine as his betrothed.

NONNIE THIS IS NOT ENOUGH,, I LITERALLY NEED TO WRITE A ONE-SHOT ABOUT THIS, WITH YOUR PERMISSION. 🙇‍♀️

[venusbyline]

Newborn — Lucerys Velaryon.

— summary: Lucerys never filled his cousin-wife’s cunt with his cum, and you always drank moon tea after having sex with your brother-husband. Lucerys had kept his promise to never get Rhaena pregnant, and you also had kept your promise to never let Jacaerys get you pregnant.

— pairing: Lucerys Velaryon x older sister!reader

— type: fluff

— word count: 728

— tags/warnings: female!reader, aged-up!Lucerys Velaryon, Targcest (younger brother/older sister), secret relationship, forbidden love, infidelity, post-childbirth, implied breeding kink, past underage sex (Lucerys was 16 when he lost his virginity and reader was 20, but now Lucerys is 21 and reader is 25), dry humping mentioned, oral sex mentioned, handjob mentioned, fingering mentioned, loss of virginity mentioned, forced marriage, minor Jacaerys Velaryon/reader, minor Lucerys Velaryon/Rhaena Targaryen, mention of cousin incest, open ending, canon divergence (No Dance of the Dragons/War for Succession). no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

— author's notes: This one-shot is based on an anon ask that I received and it's inspired by one of my horny thoughts too. ❤️❤️

— high valyrian words used: Mandia (older sister), Ñuha jorrāeliarzy (my beloved).

❥ Lucerys masterlist • HOTD masterlist • Horny Thoughts

— crossposting: AO3

❥ about me • main masterlist

Lucerys waited near the garden, sitting on a wooden bench and admiring the flowers that had been decorating the lawn due to the arrival of spring. The young prince took a deep breath, counting to one hundred over and over again since he got there.

The garden reminded him of his older sister, always lying down with him under a tree to study High Valyrian, always saying that the fresh air would make the two of you concentrate much more than the cold and dull walls of the library.

Most of the time, you always ended up fucking on the floor, devouring each other's lips as if you were still two young people with hormones raging.

It had been during one of these typical nights of studying that you had taken Lucerys' virginity, two moons after you became Jacaerys' wife. Rhaenyra had explained that the moment a woman marries, she should not spend too much time alone with any man other than her husband, much less without the supervision of guards or servants. Even if you were a princess and her heir, even if that other man in question was just your little brother.

Obviously, you did not care about your mother's lectures or about Lucerys' initial hesitation, all it took was a few purred words and naughty touches for the innocent boy to surrender a little more to your charms.

That night, you, at twenty, claimed your sixteen-year-old brother just as you claimed Silverwing seven years before. You claimed a dragon that would soon belong to someone else.

To your cousin, Rhaena.

Her engagement to Lucerys had been revealed a week after your wedding ceremony with your brother Jacaerys. Rhaena had not wanted that, and neither had Lucerys.

The Velaryon prince had sworn off his destiny as Corlys Velaryon’s heir and left the titles to Joffrey. He did not want to succeed his grandfather as the next Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark… He wanted to stay in King’s Landing forever, following your every move, never leaving his dear older sister.

Then Lucerys allowed you to take his virginity before Rhaena had the chance to do that.

You had not gotten pregnant with Jacaerys in the first moons since you were married. Your womb was empty when you felt Lucerys' cock inside you for the first time, so fucking better than the times you spent hidden away, just rubbing against each other's body or just using your mouths and hands to give and receive pleasure.

Your womb was empty until Lucerys' seed took hold.

However, five years passed and Luke needed to stay away from the doors for a while, once again waiting for his older brother to emerge from your chambers after one more successful childbirth.

"He is so perfect..." Lucerys smiled softly, caressing the newborn's little face white you lay in bed, trying to recover yourself from the stress endured during the childbirth, from those hours that seemed to never pass and from that pain that increased with each contraction. "I am so proud of you, Mandia. You did a good job."

"You mean both of us, Ñuha jorrāeliarzy." Your words made Luke's heart clench and melt at the same time.

He knew very well what you meant.

The newborn was still too young for Lucerys be able to distinguish the features properly, but deep down he knew that the little boy was his son. Just like all your other children.

The twins girls who were the firstborns, the boy who was born a few days after his sisters' second name day... And now the new baby boy too.

All of them looked too much like Lucerys, enough so that the Court whispered about the kids being his children and not of your brother-husband Jacaerys. Enough so that your mother, the Queen, felt disappointed every time Rhaena told her that Lucerys always refused to spill his seed inside her since the consummation of their marriage. Enough so that Jacaerys refused to ask the truth, because deep down he already knew it, choosing to live without the harsh reality.

Lucerys never filled his cousin-wife’s cunt with his cum, and you always drank moon tea after having sex with your brother-husband.

Lucerys had kept his promise to never get Rhaena pregnant, and you also had kept your promise to never let Jacaerys get you pregnant.

[illyrianbrat]

Prisoner (Part 1)

Set: Middle of season 1 to beginning of season 2

Pairing: (kind of) Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon female!reader, (platonic) overprotective!Jacaerys Velaryon x Velaryon female!reader

Warnings: typical westori violence, curse words/spoilers for both seasons but especially season 2, everyone being absolutely stupid, conversations about characters that were 💀, major character death, talks of arranged marriage, being made prisoner, bruises, scrapes, minor talk about weight and not eating

Plot: One of Viserys Targaryen’s final wishes was to see them married. To please him, Rhaenyra allowed her daughter to stay in the Red Keep alone, not knowing it would be a terrible mistake.

"Luke, what's wrong?" You asked, a sense of dread washing over your body.

Your brother sat there, looking panicked, twiddling his fingers. "Vaemond Velaryon has questioned my legitimacy… Mother said we're going to King’s Landing."

"It’ll be alright," you assured him, lightly squeezing his hands. "This matter will be settled in front of the court and nothing will come of it."

Lucerys did not believe your words. All his insecurities about his parentage resurfaced. He had tried to suppress them because his siblings never treated it like an issue; on the contrary, you seemed proud.

"What are you two doing?" Jace walked into the sitting area and plopped down beside his sister.

You scoffed, playfully pushing him away. "There are other places to sit, Jace."

"It all seems occupied to me," he laughed, but it quickly died down when he sensed the tension in the room. "What is it?"

Luke stared at the ground, not wanting to repeat it. You glanced at Jace with a frown and gave a short nod, making him sigh.

Sniffles could be heard across the room.

Rhaenyra stood in the middle of her chambers, holding a piece of parchment that had arrived by raven. Her eyes, reddened and swollen, stared at the floor, tears slowly falling down her cheeks.

You and Jace wept silently, while Luke sat on the floor, trying to process the news.

Harwin Strong had died. Their father was gone.

Rhaenyra had revealed the truth after Harwin and Lionel left for Harrenhal. You and your siblings had suspicions but were never brave enough to ask her directly. Jacaerys was the one who finally did it after they left the Red Keep.

In hindsight, it all made sense: the way Harwin visited them as often as he could, all the gifts and flowers, the affection he showered on them, even the training sessions. Even joining them to get a dragon egg for Joffrey…

… It was also clear to them that Laenor knew and agreed with the situation.

The three of them understood how dangerous this secret was. If others found out that Laenor was not their father, they would be branded as bastards, and their mother's claim to the Iron Throne would vanish.

After Laena’s funeral and Laenor’s death, you and Jace had a conversation about everything.

Viserys had protected them that night. He could have easily told everyone the truth, but he did not. Instead, he chose to threaten anyone who would dare question their parentage, including his wife and his sons.

You vowed to protect each other and your family. You knew that someday, someone would challenge their claim to Driftmark. Corlys always wanted Luke to be Lord of the Tides, but Luke did not want it. He declined the offer multiple times, content to remain a prince if it meant his family was still alive.

---

The Red Keep felt strange, unfamiliar.

Seven-pointed stars hung on the walls, while the House Targaryen symbols and tapestries had disappeared. You could tell that Daemon and your mother were not happy about these changes.

As Daemon and Rhaenyra went to see the King, you and Luke followed Jace to the courtyard. He was reminiscing about childhood antics.

"Everything will go in our favor," you promised Luke, noticing his worried expression. "Mother will not let Vaemond get away with this."

"No one would question me being heir to Driftmark if I looked more like Ser Laenor Velaryon than Ser Harwin Strong."

"Lucerys!" You softly reprimanded him.

"It doesn't matter what they think," Jace added.

You were about to speak when gasps and applause erupted nearby. As you walked together towards the commotion, Jace held your hand, prepared for anything.

It was Ser Criston Cole and their uncle Aemond. They had not seen them in six years, since the incident at Driftmark. Lucerys tensed, noticing Aemond's eyepatch.

"Nephews, niece… have you come to train?" Aemond asked.

"I have," you announced, stepping forward. Jace's eyes widened as he watched you pick up a sword.

Aemond, his face a mask of confidence, addressed you with a slight smirk. "Ready to learn, niece?"

You replied defiantly, "Let's see what you can teach me, uncle."

Their swords clashed, the sound ringing out across the courtyard. Aemond's initial strikes were powerful and precise, but you met them with equal force and skill.

Jace, tense and protective, clenched his fists. "She shouldn't be doing this," he muttered, stepping forward as if to intervene. Luke quickly grabbed his wrist, holding him back.

"She can handle herself," Luke insisted, though his eyes never left the duel, also scared for his sister.

You and Aemond moved with speed and precision. The intensity of the fight increased, and the crowd's murmurs grew louder. It was no longer a mere training session, Aemond wanted you to suffer.

His smirk faded, replaced by a look of concentration and annoyance. Your determination was shining through, every move demonstrating your skill and strength. As you continued, it became clear that neither had the advantage.

Finally, Criston Cole had enough and carefully stepped in the middle to stop it. You both stepped back, breathing heavily. The courtyard fell silent.

Aemond nodded, lowering his sword. "Well fought, niece."

You, equally breathless, feeling proud of yourself and the outcome. "Thank you, uncle."

Jace, still held back by Luke, relaxed and let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"See? She's alright," Luke whispered.

Jace scoffed, growing angrier by the second. You were grinning as you received praise from the crowd, but your smile faded when you turned to see your brothers. Jace held your gaze, silently letting you know of his displeasure.

As everyone left the courtyard to head towards the Throne Room, you approached them. "What did you think?" you wondered shyly, even though you knew what the answer would be.

"It was brilliant," Luke admitted. "I knew Daemon was overseeing your training, but I didn't expect this."

"And you?" You asked Jace directly. He clenched his jaw.

"I thought it was foolish, exposing yourself that way and with him, of all people." You lowered her head, while Luke sighed. "Let's go. Mother is probably waiting for us."

---

You stood between Daemon and Jace in the Throne Room. Jace had briefly told Daemon what had happened outside. Although proud that you could hold her own against Aemond, Daemon did not want to let you out of his sight for fear you would do something like that again.

"You may run your house as you see fit, but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides," Vaemond Velaryon ranted. "And gods be damned, I will not see it ended on the account of this..."

"Say it," Daemon dared.

Vaemond smirked. "Her children are bastards! And she and her daughter are whores."

"I… will have your tongue for that," King Viserys said, standing up from the Iron Throne.

Jacaerys quickly wrapped his arms around you, holding your face against his chest so you wouldn't witness what was about to happen.

In the blink of an eye, Daemon stood behind him and sliced his head in half. The court gasped at the sight. "He can keep his tongue."

"Disarm him!" Otto Hightower ordered.

"No need," Daemon said, returning to his family's side. You were shaking. Even though you hadn't seen it, the noise alone would haunt your dreams. On the other side of the room, Aemond’s attention was on you. On how your bastard brother held you close, to protect you from the bloody sight.

Part 2

[hisfavegirl]

HOTD Characters when you posted something that angered them on instagram.

a/n : with their revenge.

Aegon :

Aegon wasn’t just jealous—he was seething.

He hadn’t been paying much attention to his phone, probably nursing a drink or sprawled out on his bed in boredom, when his notifications started going off. Dozens of messages, tags, and mentions, all leading back to one thing.

Your post.

The second he saw it, his entire body tensed. His fingers gripped the phone so tightly he nearly cracked the screen.

You were practically naked. The lighting was teasing, the pose deliberate—bare skin, just barely covered, revealing far too much. His mouth went dry, his jaw locked, and his pulse spiked with something dark and possessive.

And then, the comments.

“I think I just died and went to heaven.”

“No way you’re single posting this.”

“You’re actually cruel for this.”

“Let me take you out, I’ll treat you better than he ever could.”

Aegon snapped.

His tongue pressed hard against his cheek, his breathing slow and measured—forced control. Every part of him burned. The thought of other men looking at you like this, imagining things they had no right to—it made his vision blur with rage.

Did you want this? Were you trying to make him lose it? Because if so, congratulations. It worked.

His hands were shaking as he opened your messages.

Aegon: What the fuck is wrong with you?

Aegon: Take it down. NOW.

Seconds passed. No response.

His jaw ticked, his heart pounding. He could already see you smirking at your phone, enjoying this.

Aegon: Do you think this is funny? You think I’ll just sit back while you let every desperate asshole on the internet drool over you?

Another moment of silence.

And then—

Aegon: Fine. You don’t want to listen? Then I’m coming to you.

He didn’t care where you were, who you were with. This wasn’t going to be solved over text. If you thought you could push him, make him jealous, tease him like this—

You were about to find out exactly what jealous Aegon Targaryen really looked like.

Aegon Revenge :

THE INTERNET WAS NOT READY.

People had barely survived your last stunt.

And then—

He ended them.

A video.

Dim lighting. A massive, ornate mirror reflecting everything.

You—completely bare, wrapped in Aegon’s arms, your back pressed flush against his chest. His grip on your thighs, fingers digging in as he held you up, your body rocking against him.

And then—

Him.

Silver hair messy, sweat dripping down his bare chest. His lips bruised, parted, his eyes half-lidded—but focused. Locked on the mirror. On you. On himself.

He didn’t even turn off the sound.

Your whimpers. His low groans. The sound of skin against skin.

And then—his voice. Rough. Arrogant. Possessive.

“Let them watch. Let them know exactly who you belong to.”

And the caption?

“You’ll never be me. You’ll never have her.”

THE INTERNET? DESTROYED.

The guys:

“What the actual fuck?”

“No way. NO WAY. I refuse.”

“Delete this right now, Aegon, I’m not joking.”

“BLOCKED. REPORTED. SOBBING.”

“She was supposed to be ours. OURS, YOU BASTARD.”

“First, she posts that picture, now THIS? Haven’t we suffered enough?”

“Aegon. BRO. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.”

“This wasn’t just a flex. This was a declaration of war.”

“Bro didn’t even try to be subtle. Just straight-up ruined us.”

“I WAS LIVING A PEACEFUL LIFE, AEGON.”

“I can’t even be mad. He won. He fucking won.”

The Girls:

“This is the most disrespectful thing I have ever seen, and I need more.”

“The mirror. The hand placement. The fucking arrogance. I’m unwell.”

“HOW DO I SIGN UP FOR THIS LIFE.”

“He knows he’s that guy, and he’s making sure we do too.”

“Aegon is actually dangerous because why is this so hot??”

“This should be illegal. In every country. And yet I can’t look away.”

Meanwhile, Aegon?

He was smirking, watching the absolute chaos in the comments, lazily scrolling, completely unbothered.

And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Cope. She’s screaming my name, not yours.”

With that—

The internet was officially incinerated.

Aemond :

Aemond rarely paid attention to social media. It was a distraction, a meaningless void filled with people desperate for attention. But when his phone buzzed relentlessly—notifications flooding in, people tagging him, sending him something over and over—he knew something was wrong.

Then he saw it.

Your post.

His entire body went rigid. His grip on the phone tightened, fingers twitching against the screen as his eye locked onto the image.

You were practically naked.

The dim lighting barely concealed you, your pose deliberate, teasing, calculated. It left just enough to the imagination while making it painfully obvious what you wanted people to see.

And judging by the comments, it was working.

“You’re actually a goddess.”

“This is illegal. It has to be.”

“I need a minute. Maybe an hour. Maybe my whole life.”

“If he doesn’t wife you after this, I will.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached. His chest burned with something vicious, a white-hot fury that spread through his veins like wildfire.

Who the fuck did these men think they were? Speaking like this—like they even had the right to look at you, let alone imagine more.

His breathing was slow, controlled, forced—because if he let himself fully feel this, he’d break something.

He opened your messages, his fingers moving before he could even think.

Aemond: Take it down.

No response.

His teeth ground together, his patience already paper-thin. He could feel you smirking at your phone, waiting, pushing him.

Aemond: Now.

Still nothing.

A dangerous heat flickered behind his eye. His grip on the phone was dangerous now, his mind already racing with possibilities.

Aemond: You think this is a game? You think I’ll just sit back while you let every desperate bastard in the world stare at what’s mine?

His lips curled into a sneer as he refreshed your post, seeing the numbers climb—more likes, more comments, more eyes on you.

Fine. If you wanted attention, he was about to give it to you.

Aemond: You’re going to regret this.

And before he even gave you a chance to answer, he sent one last message.

Aemond: I’m coming to you. Right now.

You wanted to test him? To push him to the edge? You were about to see exactly what happened when Aemond Targaryen is jealous.

Aemond revenge :

The Internet Was Not Just Broken—It Was Destroyed.

Aemond had been quiet lately. Too quiet.

People should have known he was plotting.

And then—

He dropped the video.

Dark sheets. Low lighting. Your body sprawled against his bed, wrists tied above your head, satin bindings digging into your skin.

And then—

His hand.

Slow. Intentional. Inside your cunt.

Aemond wasn’t even looking at the camera—his gaze was locked on you. Sharp. Unrelenting. His lips curled into something dangerous as he watched you struggle beneath him.

And then—his voice. Low. Rough. Possessive.

“They can watch. But they’ll never touch.”

And the caption?

“Don’t bother fantasizing. She’s already ruined for anyone else.”

The Internet? Utterly Incinerated.

The Guys:

“I can’t keep doing this, bro.”

“AEMOND. THIS WAS NOT NECESSARY.”

“This wasn’t even a flex. This was pure domination.”

“I was a happy man. Now I’m in hell.”

“He could have just hinted at it. But no. He had to prove it.”

“What the actual fuck is this??”

“I just dropped to my knees in Walmart.”

“I need time to process. Maybe a lifetime.”

“WHO ALLOWED THIS???”

“No way. NO WAY. I refuse to accept this reality.”

“This is actually a hate crime"

The Girls:

“The hand placement. The bindings. I actually feel pain.”

“Aemond Targaryen is actually disrespectful for this.”

“I don’t know whether to cry, scream, or book a one-way flight to his bed.”

“The way he’s just watching her struggle—I am NOT OKAY.”

“WHO GAVE HIM THE RIGHT??”

“I hate her. I love her. I want to be her.”

“The fact that he tied her up and still made sure to show off?? I need a moment.”

Meanwhile, Aemond?

Unbothered. Probably sipping wine, watching men suffer, knowing no one could ever take you from him.

And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Cry harder. She’s not leaving my bed.”

With that—

The internet was officially annihilated.

Jace :

Jace wasn’t the type to obsess over social media. He didn’t scroll mindlessly or waste time checking comments. But when his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when his notifications were flooded with messages, tags, and people sending him something over and over—he knew something was up.

Then he saw it.

And everything else faded.

You. Practically naked. The lighting was soft, shadows barely concealing you. The way you posed, the way your skin was on full display—every inch of the picture was deliberate.

And the comments?

“Holy fucking shit.”

“No way in hell Jace is letting this slide.”

“You’re actually unreal.”

“If you ever need someone to treat you better… just say the word, baby.”

Jace’s jaw locked. His grip on the phone tightened so hard his knuckles went white.

His chest burned—jealousy, rage, something dark and possessive twisting deep in his gut. Did you want this attention? Were you enjoying the way these men spoke to you, the way they looked at you? Did you forget who you belonged to?

His vision blurred as he opened your messages, his fingers moving before he could think.

Jace: Take it down. Now.

Nothing.

His knee bounced, jaw ticking as he refreshed your page, watching the numbers climb. More likes. More comments. More eyes on you.

Jace: Don’t make me repeat myself.

Still nothing.

His tongue pressed hard against the inside of his cheek, his blood boiling. He knew you were doing this on purpose. Testing him. Pushing him.

Jace: You think this is funny? Letting every desperate asshole in the world think they have a chance?

He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair before sending one last message.

Jace: Fine. You don’t want to listen? I’m coming to you.

Because if you thought you could make him jealous, make him furious, and just get away with it?

You were about to learn exactly what happened when Jace Velaryon snapped.

Jace Revenge :

The Internet Was NOT Okay.

People were still recovering from the last time you posted something that had them spiraling—

And then he ruined lives all over again.

A video.

Low, moody lighting. The golden glow of a bedside lamp casting soft shadows over your bare back, your skin flushed, the smooth curve of your spine on full display.

And then—

His hand.

Fingers twisting in your hair, pulling just enough to tilt your head back, exposing the slope of your neck, the sharp inhale that followed.

His other hand—out of frame, but you could feel it.

The video was silent, except for the sound of breathing—his and yours, deep, uneven, filled with undeniable tension.

And the caption?

“Mine.”

The Internet? SHATTERED.

The Guys:

“Jace, bro. What the fuck.”

“This is personal. I feel personally attacked.”

“Nah. This is war.”

"BLOCKED. REPORTED. UNFOLLOWED.”

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m logging out forever.”

“This is actually illegal. I’m calling the police.”

“Jace, be honest… was this necessary? Was it??”

“I just threw my phone across the room. I can’t look at this.”

“Bro really said ‘you thought you had a chance?’ and ended us all.”

“At least let me heal from the last post first, damn.”

The Girls:

“That hand placement? That possessiveness? Yeah, I’m in pain.”

“Jace Velaryon is the standard. I’m sorry.”

“The hand in the hair. The bare back. The silence. Yeah, I’m not okay.”

“HOW DO I APPLY TO BE HER?”

“The way he’s handling her like that… this is too much.”

“I will never get over this. Ever.”

“Who gave him the right to post something like this?”

Meanwhile, Jace?

Completely unbothered. Probably smirking, watching the chaos unfold, scrolling through the absolute meltdown happening in his comments.

And just to ruin them further, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Don’t be jealous. She’s right where she belongs.”

With that—

The internet was officially in ruins.

Daemon :

Daemon wasn’t a man who checked social media often. He didn’t care for it. But when his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when people kept sending him something, tagging him, warning him—he knew something was wrong.

Then he saw it.

And the world around him went silent.

It was you. Practically naked.

Soft lighting, shadows teasing just enough to make the image dangerous. The way you posed—deliberate, taunting, meant to provoke.

And the comments?

“I need a moment. Or a lifetime.”

“She’s actually unreal.”

“Daemon’s done for. There’s no way he’s letting this slide.”

“If he won’t treat you right, just know my DMs are open, .”

His fingers curled around his phone, grip tightening until the device creaked.

His jaw clenched, his breathing slow and controlled—because if he let himself fully feel this, if he let the jealousy and rage take hold, he would break something.

Or someone.

You were his. And yet, here you were, putting yourself on display for every desperate, pathetic fool to see. Did you enjoy this? The attention? The way they drooled over you?

A muscle in his jaw ticked as he opened your messages.

Daemon: Delete it. Now.

Nothing.

His nostrils flared, his lips pressing into a thin line. He refreshed the page—saw the likes climbing, the comments piling up. More eyes on you. More men thinking they had a chance.

Daemon: I won’t ask again.

Still, no response.

His vision blurred at the edges, his pulse pounding hard in his ears. He didn’t need to guess what you were doing—smirking at your phone, waiting, pushing him.

Fine. You wanted to play this game?

He sent one last message.

Daemon: I hope you had your fun. Because I’m coming to you. And when I get there, you’re going to regret making me jealous.

If you thought you could tease him, taunt him, make him seethe like this and get away with it—

You were about to learn exactly what happened when Daemon Targaryen snapped.

Daemon Revenge :

The Internet Was Not Ready.

People were barely breathing after the last time you pulled a stunt—

And then, he ended them.

A video.

Steam curled in the dimly lit bathroom, water cascading down your bare skin. Your body, glistening under the soft glow, was pressed firmly against the fogged-up glass.

And then—

Daemon.

His hand, wrapped around your wrists, pinning them behind your back. His body, completely covering yours, silver hair damp, clinging to his skin.

He wasn’t looking at the camera—he was looking at you.

His lips ghosted along your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin as his voice—low, smug, downright sinful—rumbled against your ear:

“Go on, love. Tell them how badly you want me.”

And the caption?

"Try harder. She’s not going anywhere."

The Internet? Decimated.

The Guys:

“THIS IS A CRIME AGAINST HUMANITY.”

“I am NOT okay. This is NOT okay.”

“You didn’t just flex. You obliterated us.”

“Daemon, bro, was this NECESSARY???”

“The way he claimed her, I—no, I can’t do this anymore.”

“Just say you hate us and go.”

“I actually felt physical pain watching this.”

“Daemon, bro. This was unnecessary.”

“HE’S NOT EVEN FLEXING—HE’S JUST OWNING US.”

“This man has no mercy. ZERO.”

“I would literally sell my soul to trade places with him.”

The Girls:

“I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY.”

“The way he’s just holding her there like that… I need to go outside.”

“Hands behind her back??? IN THE SHOWER??? I am ACTUALLY in pain.”

“That hand placement… I’m unwell.”

“You’re telling me she gets to live this life for FREE?”

“Daemon is disrespectful for this and I love it.”

“The way he’s handling her… yeah, I’m done.”

“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen and I will never recover.”

Meanwhile, Daemon?

He was grinning, scrolling through the utter destruction he left in his wake, watching the internet collectively lose its mind.

And just to make it worse, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Tell me again how you had a chance?”

With that—

The internet was officially in ruins.

Luke :

Luke was never the jealous type. He was sweet, easygoing—never the one to start fights, never the one to lose his temper.

But when he saw your post?

That soft, kindhearted boy? Gone.

His breath caught in his throat as his grip tightened around his phone, fingers pressing into the edges so hard the plastic nearly cracked. His jaw clenched, his heartbeat hammering in his chest.

You.

Barely covered, skin on full display, your gaze sultry, teasing—like you knew exactly what you were doing.

And the comments.

“This is my Roman Empire.”

“Imagine waking up next to her every morning.”

“Luke is too soft for this, he ain’t doing what needs to be done.”

“If Luke won’t handle her, I will.”

“She doesn’t belong to just one man. She’s for us.”

His vision blurred with rage. Us? The fuck do they mean, us? Did they really think they had a chance? That they could talk about you like this?

He immediately opened your messages, his breathing sharp, his fingers moving fast.

Luke: Take it down. Now.

Nothing.

His nostrils flared. He refreshed the post—saw the likes climbing, the comments piling up.

Luke: I’m serious.

Still nothing.

His patience? Gone. His normally warm, easygoing demeanor? Shattered.

You thought this was funny, didn’t you? You were pushing him, testing him.

Fine.

His next message was short.

Luke: Keep playing, love. But when I see you, don’t bother acting innocent. You wanted my attention? You’ve got it.

And Luke Velaryon?

He never let things slide.

Luke Revenge :

The internet collapsed.

People were barely breathing after your last post, still clawing their way back to sanity—

And then Luke decided to ruin lives.

A video.

Dim lighting, tangled sheets, the heavy sound of breathing filling the air. The camera was shaky, intimate—Luke wasn’t filming for them, he was filming for himself.

And then—

Your voice.

A broken, breathless moan of his name, soft, needy, wrecked.

And in the background?

Luke.

Smirking.

The angle barely caught him—just a glimpse of his sweat-slicked skin, the possessive grip of his hands on your waist. His voice, low, teasing, barely above a whisper:

“Louder, love. Let them know exactly who you belong to.”

And the caption?

"I don’t hear them laughing now."

The Internet Was NOT Okay.

The Guys:

“Nah. This ain’t right.”

“Luke, bro, please, have some mercy.”

“I can’t breathe. I actually can’t breathe.”

“I was having a good day.”

“I need everyone to stop what they’re doing and just process this.”

“He knew what he was doing. And I hate him for it.”

The Girls:

“I am actually going to scream.”

“Luke Velaryon is disrespectful.”

“She is so lucky and I hate it here.”

“I need what she has. IMMEDIATELY.”

“He really had to flex like this? On today of all days?”

Meanwhile, Luke?

He was grinning, scrolling through the absolute carnage in his comments, watching men and women completely unravel.

And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Jealous? You should be.”

With that—

The internet was officially deceased.

Margor :

Maegor didn’t do social media. He barely tolerated its existence. But when his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when people kept sending him something with messages that ranged from “Bro, you need to handle this” to “LMAO, she’s testing you”—he finally checked.

And his blood boiled.

It was you.

Practically naked.

Soft lighting, shadows teasing every dangerous curve, your expression taunting—as if you knew exactly what you were doing. As if you wanted to drive men insane.

And the comments.

“This is a religious experience.”

“If Maegor won’t handle you, I will.”

“She’s too stunning to be owned by just one man.”

“She belongs to the people now.”

“Maegor is somewhere flipping tables right now.”

His grip tightened around his phone, fingers curling so hard the device nearly cracked. His chest heaved as he breathed through his nose, his jaw locked so tight it ached.

You were his. And yet, here you were, putting yourself on display for every desperate, pathetic fool to see. Did you enjoy this? The attention? The way they lusted after you?

He opened your messages, his anger controlled—for now.

Maegor : The fuck you thinking?

Maegor: Delete it. Now.

Nothing.

His nostrils flared, his patience already threadbare. He refreshed the page—saw the likes climbing, the comments piling up. More eyes on you. More men thinking they had a chance.

Maegor: I won’t ask again.

Still, no response.

His vision darkened at the edges, his rage sinking deep into his bones. He could already see you smirking at your phone, waiting, pushing him.

Fine. You wanted to play this game?

His next message was short.

Maegor: I hope you enjoyed your little show. Because when I get to you, you’re going to learn exactly what happens when you make me jealous.

And when Maegor Targaryen snapped—

There was no escaping him.

Maegor Revenge :

The Internet Was Not Just Broken—It Was Obliterated.

No one was prepared. No one even had time to brace themselves.

Because Maegor Targaryen?

He didn’t just post—he declared war.

A video.

Dim lighting. A massive, gilded mirror reflecting the carnage behind it. Your body—wrecked, ruined, utterly claimed—pressed against the cold glass, your bare skin glistening with sweat.

And then—

Him.

Towering over you, still inside you, his broad hands gripping your hips so tightly there would be bruises—his bruises.

He didn’t even bother hiding his face.

Silver hair wild, lips parted, gaze locked on the mirror, watching himself own you in every way imaginable.

And then—his voice. Low, dark, dangerous.

“Let them watch.”

And the caption?

"You’ll never be me."

The Internet? Dead on Arrival.

The Guys:

“I have never been more jealous of a man in my entire life.”

“Maegor, please, have some HUMAN DECENCY.”

“This wasn’t a flex. This was a public execution.”

“I was happy. I was living my life. And now? I have to deal with this.”

“He’s not even trying to be humble. He’s just taunting us.”

“You know what? I’m logging off. I can’t do this today.”

The Girls:

“I’m actually feral right now.”

“HOW DO I APPLY TO BE HER.”

“The way he’s just holding her there like she’s nothing—I need a moment.”

“THIS COULD HAVE BEEN AN EMAIL, MAEGOR.”

“I can’t even hate. She’s living my dream.”

“This is the hottest thing I have ever seen. And I hate that I will never recover from it.”

Meanwhile, Maegor?

He wasn’t even looking at his phone. He had better things to do.

But when he finally did check?

He smirked. Slowly. Lazily. Completely unapologetic.

And just to make it worse, he dropped a single comment under his own post:

“Stay jealous. She’s not leaving my bed anytime soon.”

With that—

The internet was officially incinerated.

Aegon I :

Aegon wasn’t the jealous type—at least, that’s what he liked to tell himself. He was easygoing, laid-back, the type to laugh things off.

But then he saw your post.

And something inside him snapped.

His phone nearly slipped from his fingers as he stared at the screen. His chest rose and fell, breathing suddenly too shallow as his jaw tightened—so tight it ached.

You.

Barely covered, skin on full display, lips slightly parted like you knew exactly what you were doing. Like you wanted people to look.

And the comments—

“This is actually life-changing.”

“No way Aegon lets her get away with this LMAO.”

“She’s unreal. Divine. Untouchable.”

“If Aegon won’t claim her, I will.”

“Bro, she’s for the people now.”

His grip on his phone tightened so hard his knuckles turned white. The people? The fucking people? Did they think this was a game? That they could just—talk about you like that?

He opened your messages, fingers moving with an urgency that wasn’t entirely controlled.

Aegon: Take it down.

No response.

His jaw clenched harder. He refreshed the post. More likes. More thirsty comments from pathetic little nobodies who clearly didn’t understand their place.

Aegon: I’m not asking.

Still nothing.

His tongue swiped over his teeth as a low growl built in his throat. Oh, you thought this was funny, didn’t you? You were playing with him. Pushing him.

Fine.

His next message was short.

Aegon: I hope you got all the attention you wanted, baby. Because when I see you, the only thing you’ll be worrying about is how long I plan to keep you in my bed.

And Aegon Targaryen?

He never made empty threats.

Aegon I Revenge :

The Internet Was Not Ready.

People were barely recovering from the last time you decided to ruin their lives—

And then, he destroyed them.

A video.

Low lighting. The soft rustling of silk sheets. Your body glowing, tangled in his bed, looking like sin incarnate—your breath uneven, lips parted, skin flushed.

And then—

His hand.

Large, firm, resting possessively on your breast, fingers slightly digging in, making it painfully clear that you were his.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was him.

Aegon, half-lidded cocky smirk, his other hand holding the camera, his cock still inside you, his grip lazy, casual—like he had all the time in the world.

And then, his voice—low, smug, devastating:

“Yeah… go ahead. Say something now.”

And the caption?

"Don’t act like you wouldn’t trade places."

The Internet? Absolutely Unhinged.

The Guys:

“Aegon, bro. Please. Have some compassion.”

“This is actually cruel.”

“I hate him so much but I respect it.”

“HE’S NOT EVEN TRYING TO BE HUMBLE ABOUT IT.”

“I was having a good day. Now I have to rethink my whole life.”

“This wasn’t necessary. He just wanted to hurt us.”

The Girls:

“She’s so lucky and I hate her.”

"Not even gonna lie, this ruined my entire day.”

“The way he’s just sitting there like a smug little bastard—yeah, I’m sick.”

“Aegon is the biggest menace to ever exist.”

“I have never known true jealousy until this moment.”

“She’s living the dream. I can’t even be mad.”

“HE KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT HE’S DOING AND IT’S DISRESPECTFUL.”

Meanwhile, Aegon?

He was laughing, scrolling through the absolute devastation in his comments, watching men spiral into despair and women descend into chaos.

And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Keep crying. She’s still moaning my name.”

And with that—

The internet was officially in shambles.

Rhaenyra :

Rhaenyra wasn’t one to obsess over social media, but when her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when people kept tagging her, sending her messages, practically warning her—she knew something was up.

And then she saw it.

Her stomach dropped. Her grip on the phone tightened.

It was you.

Draped in soft lighting, skin bare and glowing, your pose deliberate—calculated to tease, to tempt, to drive people insane. It left just enough to the imagination, while making it clear you knew exactly what you were doing.

And the comments?

“I can’t believe we’re witnessing perfection in real time.”

“This is actually dangerous.”

“If Rhaenyra doesn’t kill someone over this, I’ll be shocked.”

“No way she’s letting this slide.”

“If she won’t claim you, I will.”

Rhaenyra’s nails dug into her palm as she gritted her teeth. A sharp flare of jealousy surged through her—hot and possessive, a burning anger she rarely felt this intensely.

Because who were they to talk about you like this? To look at you like you weren’t hers?

Did you want this attention? Did you enjoy knowing people were drooling over you, imagining things they had no right to even think about?

She exhaled sharply through her nose, forcing herself to breathe before she opened your messages.

Rhaenyra: Take it down. Now.

No response.

Her fingers tightened around her phone as she refreshed your post. More likes. More comments. More pathetic fools thinking they had a chance.

Rhaenyra: I will not ask again.

Still nothing.

She could see you smirking at your phone, relishing in this, testing her.

Fine.

Her next message was short, sharp, final.

Rhaenyra: I’m coming to you.

If you thought she would just sit back, let you taunt her, let you make her jealous like this—

You were gravely mistaken.

Rhaenyra Revenge :

The internet collapsed.

People were barely recovering from your last post—scrolling, coping, trying to move on—when Rhaenyra ended them all with one photo.

A single image that sent the entire world into ruins.

It was you.

In her bed.

Soft lighting, silk sheets tangled around your body. Your head tilted back into the pillow, lips slightly parted, the glow of your skin dangerous in the dim light. And then—her hand. Resting on your thigh, fingers glistening with your release sprawled in a way that left no room for misinterpretation. She wasn’t just touching you. She was claiming you.

And the caption?

“Mine.”

The internet lost its mind.

Guys and girls alike descended into madness:

The Guys:

“I am actually about to throw up.”

“Rhaenyra, PLEASE, LET’S TALK ABOUT THIS.”

“Bro, how am I supposed to recover from this??”

“This isn’t fair. This is violence.”

“We lost. We fucking lost.”

The Girls:

“I’m happy for her but also devastated for me.”

“THIS COULD HAVE BEEN ME IN ANOTHER LIFE.”

“Do I congratulate them or do I cry? Or both?”

“Rhaenyra, what was the reason? WHAT WAS THE REASON??”

“I’m choosing to live in denial.”

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra? She was smirking at her phone, watching the despair unfold. She knew exactly what she was doing—dropping the photo, sitting back, and enjoying the chaos.

And just to truly bury everyone, she left a single comment under her own post:

“You can stop dreaming now.”

And with that—

The internet was officially in shambles.

Alicent :

Alicent never cared much for social media. She found it shallow, a place for desperate attention-seekers, a distraction from real matters. But when her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when messages kept coming in, some filled with concern, others with amusement—she knew something was wrong.

And then she saw it.

Her breath hitched. Her fingers tightened around her phone.

It was you.

Practically naked.

The lighting was soft, intimate—dangerous. The way you posed, the way your bare skin was on display, your confidence radiating off the screen… It was deliberate. It was a taunt.

And the comments—the flood of people thirsting over you, speaking as if they had a right to look at you like this, as if they could ever touch you—

“Mother of the gods, I need a moment.”

“Alicent is somewhere seething right now.”

“You’re actually unreal. Perfection.”

“If she won’t claim you, I will.”

“How does it feel to be the most desired person alive???”

Alicent’s grip on her phone was so tight, her knuckles turned white. A slow, hot wave of jealousy coiled in her chest—sharp, possessive, furious.

Did you enjoy this? The way people devoured you with their eyes? Did you want them to look at you, to desire you?

Her jaw locked as she opened your messages, her fingers moving with icy precision.

Alicent: Take it down. Now.

No response.

She refreshed the page. More likes. More disgusting, pathetic fools thinking they had a chance.

Alicent: I will not repeat myself.

Still nothing.

Her nails dug into her palm, her patience snapping thread by thread. She knew you were doing this on purpose. Testing her. Pushing her.

Fine.

Her next message was short. Final.

Alicent: If you think this little stunt is going to go unpunished, you are gravely mistaken.

If you thought she would sit back and allow you to tease her, to make her jealous, to tempt her patience—

You were about to deeply regret it.

Alicent Revenge :

The internet broke.

People were just recovering from your last post—scrolling, coping, trying to move on—when Alicent ended them all in one swift, merciless stroke.

A single photo.

Dim lighting, silk sheets slightly messy, shadows stretching across warm skin. You—in her bed. Head tilted back, lips slightly parted, hair yanked firmly in Alicent’s grip. The way her fingers curled into your strands—possessive, unrelenting, a silent but undeniable claim.

And the caption?

“Mine. And I don’t share.”

The internet descended into absolute chaos.

The Guys:

“I need a support group. This is actually painful.”

“Bro, I can’t compete with this.”

“Alicent did not have to flex this hard.”

“I swear I was fine five seconds ago.”

“The grip she has—on the hair, on the situation, on my emotions—I can’t take this.”

The Girls:

“Happy for them but also screaming inside.”

“This could have been me in another timeline.”

“Alicent said know your place, and I guess I will.”

“Do I cry? Do I throw my phone? Do I respect it? All of the above?”

“I was coping until she posted this. Now I’m just suffering.”

Meanwhile, Alicent? She was satisfied. Watching the world crumble, notifications exploding with people’s rage, jealousy, and despair.

And to truly finish them off, she left a single comment under her own post:

“Go ahead and cry. It changes nothing.”

And with that—

The internet was officially six feet under.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons

[thatrandomblogsays]

Petition for the velaryon boys and Targaryen boys to stop fighting each other and instead form a support group so they can have someone to complain too about their moms homoerotic situationship stymieing their ability to run a war.

[daemontargaryenwhore]

it looked like that punch took all his strength how is his mother not embarrassed Harwin is rolling in the dust

[nogoodsheepstealing-greatgrandma]

The enmity between Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra was passed on to their sons, and the queen’s three boys, the Princes Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron, grew to be bitter rivals of their Velaryon nephews, resentful of them for having stolen what they regarded as their birthright: the Iron Throne itself. Though all six boys attended the same feasts, balls, and revels, and sometimes trained together in the yard under the same master-at-arms and studied under the same maesters, this enforced closeness only served to feed their mutual mislike, rather than binding them together as brothers.

'bitter rivals' and 'mutual mislike' is so funny to me because yeah Jace and Daeron were the same age but Aemond and Aegon how are you rivals with little kids half your age?

Like this is pre-Driftmark (120 ac). This is before the royal family split. At Driftmark their ages are 13 (Aegon), 10 (Aemond), 6 (Daeron & Jace), 5 (Luke), 3 (Joffrey).

Like when Aegon was, say, 11, was he bitter rivals with a 4 year old Jace? That is a wider age gap than Joffrey Baratheon and Tommen. That's not rivalry that's a big kid bullying a little kid.

"poor Aemond it was 3 against 1!" - the 3 in question being an actual toddler and two little kids half his age.

[pizzapottah]

legitimacy

summary: “Vaemond Velaryon’s petition holds no sense,” it is said that the Wandering Princess reiterated once she heard of her uncle’s accusations. “My late father always recognised my brothers as his trueborn sons. Whether they look like him or the Baratheon and Arryn side of the family does not matter: they are legitimate.”

pairings: cregan stark x velaryon!reader (no use of y/n), platonic (familial) relationship between the targs/velaryon and reader

word count: 4.5k

warnings: mentions of killing off someone🥰, reader is pro-blackwood, reader has some kind of anger issues, oscar is my babygirl and my babygirl only, language as always

author's note: an update of the heir and the wolf? in this economy? also pls don't comment about tagging, click here and join the taglist so that it's easier for me to tag everyone

previous | next | series masterlist

You’re sure you are going to kill every man and woman in the Riverlands till only their fantastic wine — without which you wouldn’t have made it this far — and vineyards remain, so that you can drink in peace without dealing with… the consequences. 

Lord Bracken has been sprouting nothing but insults and curses towards the Blackwood family for what feels like the last three hours. He surely hasn’t talked without being interjected, as Alysanne Blackwood has been responding to all his insults with doubled hate. 

You stare over at Oscar, sitting beside you, with an unamused expression. “Once we get out of here, I’ll make sure to break your legs in half as punishment for having me subjected to this torture,” you hiss, hand clenching around your goblet. He shrugs. “Didn’t you say to ask you if I ever needed anything? I needed help just this once, or else I would’ve cut my ears two hours ago.”

Of course Lord Tully had to fall ill when there were matters to resolve, leaving his eldest grandson in charge. You wish Kermit was born first, so that you wouldn't have to sit here and hear all of these people complain.

You huff. “Better your ears than my sanity.”

The thing that worries you the most is the fact that they seem to have no intention of stopping yet — and they’ve been going on for ages, accusing each other of heinous crimes committed by their ancestors or something. You’re not quite sure about that, as you’ve stopped listening to their rants about ten minutes in.

You glance at the servant standing by the door of the council chamber, who’s about to turn the hourglass for the fifth time now. When he does, it’ll officially be two hours and a half into them talking about their centuries-long feud. You have to do something, or else you’ll go mad. 

You cough loudly, and the two sides of the discussion shut up, looking at you. The table is rectangular and long, wide enough so that nobody can smack the person in front of them with ease. You sit at the end of it, a map of the Riverlands in front of you, Oscar sat to your right. “So,” you start, “have you all got it out of your systems? Can we start now?”

Both sides look at you puzzled, and for a moment you fear they might go back to screaming, but they don’t. “Lord Samwell, Lord Amos, could you both raise your hands for me? I forgot your faces when you started screaming because I thought I was back in Dragonstone with my younger brothers having a tantrum about a toy — they are six and three, by the way.”

Red-faced, both lords raise their hands; Lord Amos is a bit older than Lord Samwell, his face sickly and hair grey, a high contrast to the Blackwood's dark brown hair and plump face.  “Good. Now I would like you two to choose a spokesperson that will talk in your places.” 

Lord Samwell raises an eyebrow, “Pardon me?” he says, as Lord Amos raises from his seat. “This is an outrage! Why should we choose someone else to talk in our place? We can definitely settle this matter once for all alone!”

You raise an eyebrow at his antics, motioning over a guard to make him stand back down. “Well, if you could settle this matter alone I wouldn’t be there, would I?” you ask him with a short laugh. “Besides– don’t you still have the scar Lord Samwell kindly gifted you back in the days where my mother was looking for a husband? I don’t want the two of you to settle your matters alone if it means someone being stabbed again.”

“We would be perfectly capable of doing it now–”

“Choose a spokesperson or don’t speak, Lord Amos, as you have already talked enough for my likings. The choice is all yours.” 

The guard now stands behind him, hand on the pommel of his sword, and the lord begrudgingly sits back down. “I shall name my uncle, Ser Lothar,” Ser Lothar is an old man with white hair and no beard, who looks like he’s seen the rise and fall of all the Gods in the world and death herself. 

You don’t say anything, even if you’d like someone who doesn’t look like he’s a night away from dying. “Lord Samwell?” 

“My sister, Lady Alysanne,” is his resolute response. Ah, the lady who was screaming at Lord Amos earlier. She's young and thin — no doubt close to your age — with black hair to match a raven's feathers.

“Rubbish!” is Ser Lothar's not-so-smart response. You notice now that he’s missing three teeth and speaks horrendously — as if their accent already isn’t helping. “How old is she? Seven and ten? She should be in the birthing bed, not in this council chamber!”

Everyone stares at him, bewildered — even his own kind. Maybe if you weren’t there, the comment would’ve been overlooked, but seeing as the council was being literally held by a six and ten year old girl, it wasn’t the smartest comment he could’ve made. You can feel from your seat the murderous intent that comes from the Blackwoods — thankfully you made everyone leave their weaponry outside. You just hope nobody has a hidden knife somewhere in their breeches.

“For your information, Ser Lothar,” you speak up before things can escalate, “I am six and ten and perfectly able to run a council on my own. I’m sure Lady Alysanne will manage just fine.”

He squints his eyes at you, like he’s just noticed your presence. “I will be listening to no cunt!” 

You blink at Lord Amos, who’s red in the face, as calm as ever. “Would you like to change your mind, Lord Bracken? I’m afraid Ser Lothar will be too preoccupied with being my dragon’s breakfast to be here with us as we discuss this serious matter.” 

Lothar screams obscenities as the guards take him away to the courtyard, where Nādrēsy is staying for the time being, and Lord Samwell has a smug look on his face — no wonder happy that his sister has had justice. “Lyle!” Lord Amos roars, making a boy no older than twenty jump from his seat. “Y– yes, my lord!”

You intertwine your fingers in front of you. “Good. Now that the table has been cleaned we can actually start.” you ask them to take the seat of their lords, so that they’re near you and you three can talk more clearly. “I want to make sure that it is clear that I don’t expect your houses to be friends after this council. My only purpose is to end the brotherly blood shedding that in the last centuries has exasperated the Riverlands to the point that Ser Oscar Tully here had to ask for the Crown’s help to put an end to it. I just want your houses to stand each other.” 

You sigh, pointing to the map with their territories traced out in front of you; you push it towards them so that they have some reference. “This was the outline of the territories that King Jaheaerys’s ambassador drew the last time there was a council like this. Peace lasted only for about two years — my goal is to make it last at least twenty, so that when the Lords die their heirs are of age.” you darkly jest. Lord Samwell sends a glare to Lord Amos: he was six when his father was killed in a Bracken ambush. 

“Obviously, it is not. My goal is to make it last. So, I would like you two to outline the territories that are most important to your houses that as of now are owned by the other. Then we’ll see what we can do about it — see if we can make it a fair exchange to avoid spilling more blood.”

The two nod and immediately get to work. You are surprised to see that they do not speak to each other — not even a little nag or tease. They seem to be more mature than their elders, a thing that strangely you do not find weird at all. 

You didn’t expect for it to be an easy negotiation, but Seven Hells if you had underestimated it. They would be competing for the entire Riverlands if there weren’t any other houses, you’re sure about that. And before you know it, it’s been a sennight and you’re still staying in Riverrun, hoping that some god takes pity on you and strikes you down. Sure, you had them choose their spokesperson, but that doesn’t mean the others don’t protest when you say something they don’t like. 

“I’m thinking about arranging a marriage,” you say to Oscar one evening. 

You’re in the guest chambers, the ones you’re staying in. The chess match in front of you is basically forgotten, replaced by a discussion about peace treaties and ways to stop feuds. Your friend snorts, taking another sip of his wine. “My ancestors have tried before. It always ends up in a massacre before the bride can even receive the groom's cloak.” 

You shake your head. “I’m thinking about Olyver Bracken and Alysanne Blackwood.”

He raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “A drunkard and a hunter? Weird choice. Don’t know if I feel like ruining a lady’s promising future.” 

“Think about it.” you lean over, elbows on your knees. You take two pawns, placing them on the table. “He is Lord Amos’ heir, and he is useless. Meanwhile, she would be able to run Stone Hedge like it was the fucking Night Watch. We could make them marry, then maybe right after she already gave birth to a boy, an heir… a terrible accident could happen.” you knock down one of the pawns, “A tragic fall from the horse, a bad fever… you name it. And suddenly Lady Bracken is free from her preposterous husband and can raise his heir however she wants.”

You take two other pawns and place them near the others. “Then we marry small Benjicot Blackwood off to Cressida Bracken. They are still young, younger than Olyver and Alysanne; if Cressida is sent to live with the Blackwoods as soon as the engagement is announced, she may not feel the same hate towards him as any other Bracken would.”

You sigh, rubbing your hands together. “Give it twenty years, and the heirs to the Blackwood and the Bracken territories will all be cousins. What kind of cousins would ever start a war against each other?”

Oscar blinks at you. You blink back. “I mean what kind of cousins that aren’t in my family, Oscar.”

“Oooh. Oh, yes, that makes sense now.” he tilts his head to the side, looking at the pawns. “You plan on killing the Bracken guy?”

You shrug. “Only if Alysanne finds him annoying. I would never force the poor girl to stand him, knowing I wouldn’t even be able to wait to have an heir before I got tired of him, so if she manages to do it, I will gift her a new set of arrows and a bow. Closing an eye on his mysterious disappearance would be the least I could do, if the rumours about him are true.”

Hearsays say that he’s insufferable and that he spends more time in brothels than in his own bed, but ultimately he’s pretty defenseless and has gotten his ass beaten in pubs more times than his father is able to count. Oscar snorts, “Let’s see if there’s no carnage during the wedding, then we can actually talk about it.”

The next day comes, and you dread the moment you’ll be sat at that fucking council table again, and will have to announce not only one but two betrothals. It’s for the best, at least, or that’s what you tell yourself when Alysanne Blackwood looks at you like you just sentenced her to death. The whole table protests against your decision, but you’re unremovable, and you’re telling them beforehand just because you feel nice today. Your mother would’ve probably arranged the marriage without telling anyone anything until the day of the wedding. 

“You can’t just do that!” Samwell laments, red from anger. It seems he doesn’t like the thought of his sister being married off — quite thankfully, honestly. You’re happy that you’re not the only sister who has brothers who care about her. 

“The thing is, Lord Blackwood,” you reply, “that I can and I will. As ambassador to the King my word is his, and I’m sure he would agree with me in this decision. You lot have killed enough men, women and children in this feud of yours; the whole RIverlands are tired, as honestly am I, of hearing of your endless feud and your constant blood spilling. I say we put an end to it.” 

They don’t seem to care; they yell at you, then at each other, spitting venom and curses, talking over each other so loudly that you don’t understand anything. You clench your hands, rage rising inside you; you wish you could just make Nādrēsy burn their beloved castles down to the ground and call it a day, so that there aren’t any more territories to fight about, but unfortunately it isn't exactly diplomatic. Is this how your grandsire feels when he holds court? 

You stare at the map in front of you; the distribution of the lands has changed, even if the number of acres both families own has basically remained the same. You have either split the territories in question or gave one to the Brackens and another to the Blackwoods, trying to be as fair and equal as you could be — but of course none of them would be happy; they both wanted the other’s whole territory. 

You feel like you’re looking after all your little brothers who can’t agree for the life of them. Aegon will say that a toy is his and Viserys will reply that it’s actually his, even though they both have no idea where that toy came from in the first place nor that it was actually yours a decade ago. 

“Children!” you shout over the voices of the lords, shutting them up real quick. “You are behaving like children — except you are grown men! And I am disgusted by you all! Your families have been in these lands for centuries, and not only have you never managed to overthrow one another, but you also have to make it everyone’s problem! Aren’t you ashamed? Don’t you have just a bit of remorse for all the suffering your hatred is causing? How many men, women and children have to die before you–”

The door bursts open, a servant barging in, “Princess–!”

“What?” you yell, enraged, turning to look at him. He cowers, trying to make himself as small as he can, knees trembling under your furious gaze. “I… I–”

“Talk before I cut your tongue out and let her talk for you,” you spit. You would never do that, of course, it’s just that you have found in the last few years that a threat here and a threat there get the job done far more quicker and easier. 

The servant gulps. “A raven from King’s Landing,” he squeaks, “It’s from Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.” He hands you the letter and opts to run as fast as he can, away from you, shutting the doors of the chamber behind him. 

You look at the letter, confused, only to rip it open and read it. The men at the table watch you intently, hoping that it’s some kind of good news so that your mood lightens up — maybe the princess is pregnant again? Maybe Prince Joffrey has managed to mount his dragon for the first time? 

All their hopes are crushed when they see you get redder and redder in the face from anger as you read; if your dragon happened to be in the same room, they are sure that the paper would be burned down to ashes. Oscar leans to your side, peeking at the letter and reading what he can, frowning once he understands what your mother has written. “Wha–”

“A petition!” you roar, outraged. “And they didn’t cut his tongue when he started talking about it!” 

“Madness,” Oscar sighs, “pure madness.” 

You tear the paper into pieces, making the lords flinch. “The council is dismissed,” you declare. “The terms of the negotiations remain the same; Lord Tully will make sure that you all agree and the deal will be sealed tomorrow. Or else,” you lean down, placing your hands on the table, “I’ll come back once my matters are settled in King’s Landing and make sure that you all agree, in one way or another.” The threat is subtle, but they all understand that if they refuse to bend to the treaty, you’ll visit them in their beloved lands — with your very hungry dragon, surely. 

As the lords start to leave the room, you look over at Oscar, “You’re coming to King’s Landing with me.”

He blinks, “I am?” 

You snort, unamused. “You are. Vaemond Velaryon’s petition holds no sense, as my late father always recognised my brothers as his trueborn sons. Whether they look like him or the Baratheon and Arryn side of the family does not matter: they are legitimate. I’ll need you to keep me sane during the whole ordeal, Oscar. My ears did not bleed without a price during the last sennight.”

“But I’ve had no time to prepare– gods, let me fetch the servants, they need to start preparing my bags–”

“Tell them to bring your finest dresses and gowns,” you grunt, “wouldn’t want you to make a bad impression to the whole court, my dear Lady Oscar. Where else will you go to search for a husband otherwise?” 

You shake your head right after, not in the mood to jest, “Be fucking serious, Oscar; bring a change or two and let it be done. We’re not going to King’s Landing to have fun, it’s a trial.” your expression is dark, stare truce. “And a death sentence, if we’re lucky.” 

Your mother will never make it out of the trial unscathed is the green wench sits or her father sit on the throne; she needs you. She made that very clear in the letter, and you have no intention in turning your back on her.

Oscar departs immediately, calling for the servants and his brother Kermit, and you follow right after, not surprised to find Lady Alysanne Blackwood out of the room, waiting for you. Even if she was half as smart and hard headed as you thought her to be, she’d probably still be waiting out the council room to talk to you about the half-wit she would marry per your orders. Poor girl. 

“If you wish to talk, we can do so as we head to my rooms,” you say before she can open her mouth, “I have matters in the King's Landing to tend to, and I can’t afford to waste time.”

She grimaces, “Didn’t you come here to attend this council? Weren’t you here to help our families?”

“First of all, I was ambushed by Ser Oscar,” you clarify, “Second, yes, I was. And I did.”

She looks downright haunted. “You are a woman,” she murmurs. “You are a woman and you have sold me as no man had ever dared to do before.”

“You were bound to be sold off, Lady Alysanne,” you reply, tone calm. You can imagine her rage right now, but she must know that with her place in her family, she could have never possibly found the freedom she surely wants. You understand that by not living in the Crownlands, she had more hope for her future, with the freedom she was clearly given growing up; but you have grown in the Crownlands, and you have seen younger girls being married off to worser men without being able to escape. “I just did the honors.”

“I will slash my neck open before that brute can even think of touching me,” she boldly says.

It makes you stop to take a better look at her. She’s tall, taller than you, and a tad bit older. It’s kind of sad to see her with tears in her eyes. “I know what an unhappy marriage is,” you inform her. ��In the Keep we’re full of them. My own mother was in one with my father.”

You lower your voice, leaning your head, “But you have me on your side. And I wouldn’t be against… a little violence.” at her confusion, you explain yourself. “I wouldn’t refuse to turn a blind eye to a hunting accident, let’s say.” At her joyous face, you relent, “Not on the night of the wedding, Alysanne! At least we need one heir, or the feud will never end. Lord Bracken is old and sick, and it’ll be a year or two before he dies, hopefully — I'll see if I can help the process go faster. Then his son might accidentally die, too, oh, he was so young, leaving his pain struck wife and son behind,” 

She snorts, “A tragedy, wouldn’t it be?” 

You laugh grimly. “Ohh, you get it.”

“What’s this smell?” Oscar yells over your shoulder, trying to make himself heard over the sound of the wind and the flapping wings of your dragon. 

“That’s the capital for you!” you reply, already missing the fresh air of the RIverlands. “The weather doesn’t help Flea Bottom’s odour. It’s been like this since forever.”

He gags, “Don’t understand how you manage. Smells like piss.” 

You shrug, “You get used to it. Trust me, there’s lords in court who smell far worse than Flea Bottom does,” 

Nādrēsy roars unhappily: a full day of travel and it’s only to get back into the dirty streets of King’s Landing. You lightly slap his side, yelling over his laments, “Ilagon, valītsos!” Down, boy! 

Oscar, behind you, shakes like a leaf as your dragon replies by roaring with vigor — no doubt, that equals to at least ten curses in dragon’s language. “How can you talk to him like that? He’s going to eat you alive one of these days and you won’t be able to do anything about it.”

You snort. “I’d like to see him try.”

The Dragon Pit is more animated than usual: some Keepers are holding back Vermax, who screeches and spits fire, while others bring Syrax back in her cave, her belly swollen, her step slow and cautious. Caraxes follows right behind, shaking his wings to throw the dirt off of them. 

The Keepers greet you and your dragon, sending a weird glance towards Oscar. One of them — Kilya is her name, you believe — comes near, shouting so that you can hear her. “Īlin umbagon syt ao, dārilaros.” she says, “Aōha muña gīmēdegon īlva hen aōha māzigon.” We were waiting for you, Princess. Your mother warned us of your arrival. 

You nod; you had no time to reply to her raven, but she must’ve guessed that there was no way you wouldn’t have come. “Se eman māstan.” And I have arrived, “Gūrogon Nādrēsy naejot zȳhon ripo, eman gaomon naejot imāzigon.” Bring Nādrēsy to his cave, I have matters to attend. 

You help Oscar get off; he yelps as the chains around his ankles are unfastened and yells as you help him down, where the Keepers promptly catch him before he falls on his backside. You jump off your dragon’s back, landing perfectly fine, and opt to pat roughly Nādrēsy’s back, just as he likes it. “Sȳz sōvegon, valītsos.” Good fly, boy. He roars back happily.

“I’ll never understand that language,” Oscar mutters, standing back up straight, a frown upon his face. “It’s like you don’t want your secrets to be known. Why won’t you teach me High Valyrian?”

“Iksis ziry doru-borto?” the Keeper asks. Is he stupid? You shake your head, then think about it and snort, relenting. “Mērī mirrī.” Only a little. 

Your friend pouts, sticking out his tongue at you. “Is that what I get for being your bestest companion?”

You laugh, walking off the Pit and to the entrance, where a carriage is promptly and not surprisingly waiting for you. “My bestest companion? Didn’t know you had wings and were named Nādrēsy.”

He gasps, dramatically grasping his chest, “You wound me!” 

You both get in the carriage, and you look at him seriously. “Before we enter the Red Keep, there are some rules you must abide by.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Rules? I was raised well, you know, I shouldn’t need those. I hope the King knows that.”

You shake your head, “No, those are my rules for you. Let’s say that it’s what you’ll need if you want to go back home unscathed from the Keep’s snakes.”

Oscar gulps, “Go on.”

“First, don’t talk to the Queen. Then don’t talk to her sons unless I’m in the room. Avoid Larys Strong — he’s the guy with the crippled leg and the corpse face, you’ll know it’s him instantly — and avoid the councilmen.”

“What, you want to keep me a secret?” he asks, bewildered. “Is there someone I’ll be able to talk to? Is there a reason why I have to avoid all these people?” he gasps, “Am I your whore? Is that why you want to keep my mouth shut?”

“If you were my whore, I’m pretty sure I would want your mouth wide open and working,” you mutter, “but no, that is not why. Truth is I would rather make sure that you stay out of their claws; it’s better to keep away from their schemes.”

The actual truth is that you don’t want them to speculate something about history repeating — your mother was already rumored to have a lover from the Riverlands; the last thing this family needs is another princess said to have an affair with yet another lover from the Riverlands. They would wonder if it actually was some kind of preference that was passed down from mother to daughter, and even if the only thought of being attracted to Oscar makes you laugh, you’re sure the councilmen definitely wouldn’t be amused by it. 

“Besides, you can talk to Mushroom,” you add. 

“Who’s Mushroom?”

“The court’s jester. He’s insufferable, small and will try to steal your gold, but you can talk to him.”

Your friend grimaces, “Why do you keep him in the castle if he steals the lords’ gold?”

You shrug, “He makes me laugh.”

Slowly, the carriage rattles to a halt, a page opening the door for you. “Ready to see the Red Keep for the first time?” 

He nods, “Ready to face your evil step-grandmother?”

[aeralux]

What are your personal headcanons for the positions each hotd boy likes? You like doggy becausw thats your preference but what do you think each boy likes based on his personality?

These are my personal headcanons on how Cregan, Jacaerys and Lucerys would want to take you

𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤

This northern man would pull you to the edge of the bed and throw your legs right over his strong shoulders. (as pictured here)

"A Northman takes his woman face to face, eye to eye, so she can see the lust and hunger in his gaze as he claims her."

Cregan hooked his hands under your knees and pulled you flush against him, the thick length of his cock pressing insistently against your thigh. His hips nestled between your legs, his heavy balls brushing your buttocks as he ground his thickness along your slick folds, teasing your entrance without yet entering.

He leaned down and captured your lips in a fierce, demanding kiss, his tongue delving deep to taste you. One hand slid down your body to grip your hip possessively, holding you in place as he rolled his hips, the fat head of his manhood parting your lower lips and nudging against your entrance.

Then, with a powerful flex of his hips, he drove forward, sheathing his thick cock deep inside your welcoming heat. Filling you utterly, stretching you around his throbbing shaft as he hilted inside you.

Cregan's hands gripped your hips tightly, fingers digging into the supple flesh as he began to move. He set a relentless pace, hips slapping against yours as he drove into you again and again, the force of his thrusts rocking your entire body.

Each drive of his thick cock dragged against your sensitive walls, making your slick drip around him. The wet sounds of your coupling filled the room, mingling with his low grunts and growls of pleasure. His breath grew ragged, chest heaving as he lost himself in the feel of you.

One hand slid up your body to cup your breast, kneading the soft mound before pinching and rolling the stiff peak between his fingers.

He lowered his head to your neck, almost bending you in half. His breath hot against your skin as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive flesh. Marking you. Claiming you. One hand would slide down to grip your ass, squeezing the firm globe as he used the leverage to drive into you harder, faster. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with his low groans of pleasure.

His hips moved with a relentless, primal rhythm, each powerful thrust striking deep against that spot inside you that made you see stars.

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧

Our sweet prince would make you lie on your back with one leg straight and the other bent. He, beside you, supports his head with one arm while positioning his leg under yours. He leans close to your breast, able to caress you with his free hand and mouth to enhance your pleasure. (as pictured here)

"Shall I show you how it feels, my love? Shall I worship your body the way it deserves to be worshipped?" 

He shifted your position, rolling onto his side beside you. Jacaerys draped a muscular forearm beneath his head, using it as a pillow. His other hand came to rest gently on your bare thigh, giving it a soft squeeze. He allowed his leg to drape over yours, his knee lightly pressing against the thigh that lay straight.

He leaned in closer, his chiselled facial features taking up more of your field of view. Jacaerys' warm breath ghosted over the soft swell of your breast, making you shiver. His calloused fingers traced lightly over your collarbone, downwards to the curve of your breast.

Jacaerys leaned down, his lips brushing feather-light kisses along the path his fingers had taken. He started at the base of your throat, his mouth open and hot against your racing pulse. His lips trailed upwards, worshipping each inch of revealed skin until he reached the swell of your breast.

He paused there, his breath washing over your nipple, watching it pebble and tighten from his proximity. Then, ever so slowly, he extended his tongue and flicked it out to taste you. A low groan rumbled in his chest as your sweet flavour burst upon his tongue.

Jacaerys laved at your nipple with long, slow licks, circling the hardened bud. All the while, his hand continued its sensual exploration of your body, mapping out every dip and curve.

His hips pressed forward, meshing his hardening length against your inner thigh. He couldn't help the small, needy buck of his hips as he rutted against you, seeking more of that friction.

With a quiet praise, he sheathed himself into your welcoming heat. He paused for just a moment, savouring the exquisite sensation of your silken walls fluttering around his sensitive length. His brows furrowed in concentration, determined to be gentle and take things slow.

Jacaerys could feel every tiny contraction of your pussy muscles and could sense your body instinctively trying to draw him deeper. He gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his brow as he fought the urge to start pounding into you.

With a deep, guttural groan, he ducked his head down and captured one of your nipples between his lips, suckling greedily. His tongue swirled around the sensitive bud, flicking and teasing it mercilessly.

As he suckled you, Jacaerys began to move his hips more purposefully, his thick length starting to plunge deeper and harder into your welcoming heat. The wet squelch of your coupling grew louder, more obscene, as he increased his pace.

Jacaerys' hand slid down your stomach, his fingers seeking out the little bundle of nerves. He rubbed at your clit in tight circles, feeling it swell beneath his touch.

𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧

The sweet Lord of the Tides, too shy to even look at you in your eyes sometimes. But he still needs to feel you close, needs to touch you everywhere. He would want to hold you from behind as he slowly and deeply claims you. (as pictured here)

"Shh, I've got you, my sweet girl. I'm going to give you exactly what you need."

As he pressed against your back, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you gently against him. Your body fit perfectly against his own, soft curves moulding to the hard planes of his chest and stomach. Lucerys leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he inhaled deeply, breathing in the sweet scent of your skin.

With a softly murmured praise, his hand slid up to cup the soft swell of your breast. His thumb brushed over your nipple, feeling it tighten and harden beneath his touch.

Lucerys let his hand drift lower, trailing teasingly along the soft skin of your belly before coming to rest on the apex of your thighs. He felt the heat emanating from your core, the dampness that spoke of your arousal.

Slowly, carefully, he slipped a finger between your folds, feeling the slickness there. He stroked along your slit, teasing your entrance before circling your sensitive pearl. He felt you squirm against him, pressing back against his hardness as you let out a soft whimper.

His hips rocked against your rear, seeking relief for his already leaking manhood. 

As you plead for him to enter you, Lucerys would quickly comply. He was already leaking, the swollen head an angry purple and dripping with need. Grasping himself in hand, he positioned the tip at your entrance.

Lucerys took a deep breath, fighting the urge to simply slam forward and bury himself to the hilt in your welcoming heat. Instead, he gripped your hip with one hand, holding you steady, while the other guided him as he slowly sank into you.

Once fully sheathed, he paused, reveling in your wet, silken heat engulfing him like a velvet glove. He could feel every twitch and flutter of your inner muscles, your body slowly adjusting to the intrusion.

He began to move then, withdrawing until just the head remained before pushing back in, setting a steady, deep rhythm. Each thrust grunted a low sound of pleasure from Lucerys's throat as he made love to you with slow, sensual rolls of his hips.

Lucerys leaned down to press his chest against your back, one hand coming up to cup your breast, kneading the soft mound. He rolled and plucked at your nipple, feeling it stiffen even further against his palm.

[solkara]

❛ 𝐕𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 , rhaenyra targaryen ❜

⌗ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 , you since you were young you would be a sailor just like your father you loved the water but the only thing that you loved more than the sea was your family

⌗ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 , rhaenyra targaryen x fem! velaryon! sailor! reader

⌗ 𝐬𝐨𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 , so this is gonna be a two part thing for sure cuz I just had so many idea's to write down lol also reader is 3-4 year's older than laenor and laena in this fic also in the next part there might be a bit of rhaenyra's pov heheh

house of the dragon masterlist , next part

⌗ you were the eldest daughter of the sea snake. you had every reason to be as prideful as you were. you were the blood of old valyria and the daughter of the richest house in the seven realms. what wasn't there to be confident of?

⌗ growing up you were given the best of everything. the finest clothes jewellery and food. and while you had always been more on the masculine side. preferring sword fighting and play fighting with your father over more lady like actives. they never punished you for it though. if anything they encouraged it. well your father mostly did.

⌗ and your mother was supportive as long as you kept good manners when attending events and court. which was easy for you as long as you stayed far away from any form of lannister. as they had a natural talent for being able to bore you senseless. but something that never failed to excite you no matter how many times you were told it. were your father's stories of his adventures across the seas.

⌗ you had heard all of the stories more times than you could count. but you didn't care. as each time you heard them you seemed to become more and more fascinated. you begged your father to take you on one. but to your dismay you were always greeted with a firm no. before being told "wait until your older and you will be able to go on a voyage by yourself".

⌗ and so began the patient waiting game. as the years ticked by you were constantly bettering yourself for the day you could finally venture off alone and you became an older sister to laena and laenor. who quickly became your whole world. you adored being an older sister.

⌗ though you wouldn't admit it out loud you were closer with leanor. as laena was always off with the friends she had made in court. while the two of you preferred to spend your days sparring, going for dragon rides together on seasmoke and riptide, and talking about the things you had in common. one of them being. that you preferred goose. and he preferred duck.

⌗ the two of you guarded this secret with your lives and often covered for each other. as the other ventured off to meet with a lover. and when your parents found out about what the two of you had been doing. you defended each other when they said that. "this was just a faze". the two of you would die to protect each other so that made you going away all the more difficult.

⌗ it was your eighteenth name day. and your father had gifted you what you had always dreamed of. your very own ship which you had proudly named tides. in honor of your dragon. with a crew of loyal men to accompany you on your first-ever voyage. the twins did not leave your side all day begging you not to go. it broke your heart. the fact you couldn't take them with you. but you promised him that you would return with gifts for both of them. which calmed the two slightly though they were still upset.

⌗ as you hugged your mother, and kissed your siblings goodbye, you looked to your father who stood their watch. eyes shining with pride as well as unshead tears. pulling him into a hug you felt him burry his face into your hair before inhale your sent. as if he was trying to mentally memories you. as the two of you broke away you couldn't but smile at him.

⌗ and smiled even wider at him when he gifted you two new swords engavred with your name and house velaryon's sigil. and compass which had been attached to a gold chain to make a necklace which was also engraved. thanking your father for the gifts and saying your final goodbyes before departing. on your ship as riptide followed from above as wherever you went he went.

⌗ the moon's you spent at sea where truly some of the best days of your life. you and your crew had become somewhat of a family. spending your days and nights drinking singing songs telling stories and gathering treasure. while exploring the vast seas from essos all the way to yiti.

⌗ during which you indulging in your fair share of women of all shapes sized creeds and colours from common to high borns you had a taste of it all. though you never slept with them more than once. as you were not someone who was easily tied down. seeing yourself like the water free and forever changing.

⌗ you wrote your family often exhanging letters with your father and laenor the most. sharing tales of your adventures and other things that you had done while away. and you did return home to driftmark on rare occasions. once for laenor's wedding. which you didn't really care for as he was clearly miserable and it ended in disaster.

⌗ and the other time was to visit. with both times your parents suggesting you remain home for a while. but you politely declined as now that you had a taste for adventure you were unwilling to part with it. but that would quickly change after a turn of tragic events.

anon , hi !! so i saw that you're currently taking requests, so i have something in my mind, hehe. so, this would be a Rhaenyra x Velaryon fem!reader, and the reader is Laenor's older sister, who is a sailor who just came back from her long voyage on sea after finding out that his brother was murdered. the reader knows that Laenor prefers men more than women as Laenor is also aware that the reader prefers women. the moment the reader has set sail, she immediately heard some rumors how Rhaenyra ordered someone to kill her brother, and this sparked some hatred towards Rhaenyra. but, on the other hand, Rhaenyra is quite taken by the aura and confidence that the reader is giving. Rhaenyra made it her mission to try and properly explain the situation to the reader without the prying eyes and ears. Rhaenyra's only problem is that the reader doesn't trust her enough to be in a secluded room with her alone, whereas the reader is always glaring and avoiding to be near at Rhaenyra anytime the reader spots her in her point of view. you can choose the ending hehe >_<