#turning red: mother&daughter conflict

[unhonestlymirror]

Have watched Turning Red

It's hard for me not to cry at any mother&daughter conflict

[novaursa]

What about a Jace x sister

Where he fell in love with her and in the same time he is not ok with it. He might be the only Targaryen related who thinks that’s not okay to loved their related. But no matter how he can stopped loving her, she might have a look more “Targaryen” with white hair with some black in it (narcissia Malfoy style?)

He always do some weird shit to be closed to her without drow to much attention, And when they finally get really closed their mother call all the bastard to become dragon rider. And Ulf find them in the Pit and try to get something from them in exchange of his silence.

Jace wake up and choose violence 🫣 and just say no and fuxk her in front of him and say that if he say anything he make sure his dragon will eat him

Sins of the Blood

- Summary: Jacaerys always loved his sister, more than he should. It was wrong, he knew it, but the dragon in him claimed you as his long ago.

- Paring: sister!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Requests are closed!

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I've bonded the reader with Grey Ghost for the plot.

The sea breeze dances through the open halls of Dragonstone, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant roar of the waves. You stand with Baela and Rhaena on the sun-warmed terrace overlooking the cliffs, the three of you bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. Your laughter rings out, clear and melodic, mingling with the cries of the gulls that circle above.

Jacaerys Velaryon watches from a distance, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions. He knows he should not be here, should not be watching you so closely, but he cannot help himself. You, his sister, the only daughter of Rhaenyra, have been a constant presence in his life, a source of both comfort and confusion. His eyes trace the silver streaks in your hair, a reminder of your Targaryen blood, mingling with the deep brown inherited from your true father, though only you, he, and his mother know the truth.

He remembers when you were children, how you would chase each other through the halls of the Red Keep, your laughter infectious, your bond inseparable. He had always been protective of you, even when you didn’t need it. You were fierce, a dragon through and through, and yet, as you stand now with Baela and Rhaena, there is a softness to you, a grace that makes his breath catch in his throat.

"Do you remember the first time we flew together?" Baela’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. She grins at you, her violet eyes bright with the memory.

"Of course," you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. "I thought Jace would never let me ride my own dragon, he was so worried."

Jace feels a pang at your words, both pride and regret mingling in his chest. He had always been overly cautious with you, more so than with Luke or Joffrey. Perhaps he had always known, even then, that his feelings for you were not entirely brotherly.

Rhaena giggles, leaning in closer to you. "He’s always been that way, hasn’t he? Always the protector, always looking after you."

You shrug, though the warmth in your eyes betrays your affection. "He cares. That’s just how he is."

Jace clenches his fists at his sides, torn between the pride that swells in him at your words and the guilt that gnaws at him for the thoughts he cannot seem to banish. He knows it is wrong—this desire that burns in him like dragonfire—but it is also undeniably a part of him, a flame that refuses to be extinguished.

Take what is yours. The words echo in his mind, a voice that is both his own and something darker, something ancient. The blood of the dragon runs hot in his veins, urging him to act, to claim what he believes is his by right. You are his sister, yes, but you are also so much more. You are the embodiment of everything he has ever wanted, ever desired.

You turn then, as if sensing his gaze, and your eyes meet his. For a moment, the world seems to stop. The laughter of Baela and Rhaena fades into the background, the sound of the waves dulls, and all he can hear is the pounding of his own heart.

"Jace," you call out, your voice breaking the spell. "Come join us!"

There is no hesitation in your invitation, no hint that you are aware of the storm raging inside him. You are just his sister, inviting him to share in the simple joy of the evening, oblivious to the battle he fights within.

He forces a smile, masking the turmoil beneath, and steps forward. "I was just enjoying the view," he says, his voice betraying nothing.

Rhaena giggles again, nudging Baela. "See, I told you he’s always watching over her."

Baela laughs, a sound like the tinkling of bells. "It’s because he’s a good brother."

The words cut deeper than they should, a cruel reminder of the line he cannot cross. He wants to be a good brother, he truly does. But the blood of the dragon does not care for such boundaries. The blood of the dragon demands more.

As he approaches, you smile up at him, that same smile that has always had the power to calm him, to soothe the fire within. But today, it only stokes the flames higher.

"Are you alright?" you ask softly, your eyes searching his face for something he cannot give.

He nods, the lie slipping easily from his lips. "Of course. Just… thinking."

You raise an eyebrow, a knowing look passing over your face. "You think too much, Jace. You always have."

He laughs, though it is a strained sound. "Someone has to, with you lot always running headlong into trouble."

Baela snorts. "As if you don’t love it."

He shrugs, unable to deny it. "Perhaps."

You laugh then, a sound so pure and unburdened that it twists something deep in his chest. How can you be so carefree, so unaware of the darkness that haunts him?

The conversation drifts to other things—plans for the next dragonride, the latest antics of your younger brothers—but Jace finds it hard to focus. His eyes keep returning to you, to the way the setting sun catches in your hair, to the way your eyes sparkle when you laugh. Every moment is a battle, every word a reminder of what he can never have.

Take what is yours. The voice whispers again, insistent, relentless.

He pushes it down, burying it beneath layers of duty, of honor, of love for his family. But it is there, always there, a part of him that he can never truly silence.

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting the world in shades of orange and gold, you turn to him once more, your expression soft, almost tender.

"Thank you, Jace," you say quietly.

He frowns, unsure of what you mean. "For what?"

You smile, and it is a smile that breaks him, because it is so full of warmth, of trust, of love. "For always being there. For always watching over me."

He swallows hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. "Always," he promises, and it is both a vow and a curse.

You reach out, your hand brushing against his arm, and the simple touch sends a shock through him, setting his nerves alight. For a moment, he forgets himself, forgets everything but you.

But then Baela speaks up, her voice pulling him back to reality. "We should head inside. It’s getting late."

You nod, but your eyes linger on his for a moment longer, as if searching for something, something you cannot name.

Jace watches as you turn away, following Baela and Rhaena back into the castle, your laughter fading into the evening air. He stays behind, his heart a tumult of emotion, his mind a battlefield.

He knows what he feels is wrong. He knows that he should push these thoughts away, should bury them deep where they can never see the light of day. But he also knows that the blood of the dragon is not so easily denied.

As the stars begin to twinkle in the darkening sky, Jace makes a silent vow to himself. He will protect you, he will care for you, as a brother should. But he will also fight this desire, this hunger that threatens to consume him. He will not let it destroy him, or you.

But deep down, he knows that it will be difficult.

And as he watches the last light of day fade into night, he wonders if it ever truly will be.

Months have passed since that evening on the terrace, and yet the fire within Jacaerys Velaryon has not dimmed. If anything, it has only grown stronger, a persistent heat that simmers beneath the surface, threatening to consume him at every turn. He has thrown himself into his duties, into training and studies, hoping that the rigor will burn away these unwanted desires. But nothing works. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot escape the pull you have on him.

Today, he finds himself wandering through the halls of Dragonstone, his mind restless, his heart unsettled. The castle is quiet, the stillness only amplifying his thoughts. His feet carry him to the library, a place he knows you often retreat to when you seek solace or simply a moment of peace. He tells himself it is a coincidence, that he has come here to study, to distract himself with books and knowledge. But deep down, he knows the truth.

As he enters the library, the scent of aged parchment and ink greets him, a familiar comfort. He pauses in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room until they find you, seated near the window, the light of the midday sun casting a soft glow around you. You are engrossed in a book, your silver-streaked hair falling over your face, your expression serene. The sight of you, so peaceful and unguarded, sends a wave of warmth through him, and before he can stop himself, he is walking towards you.

You look up as he approaches, a smile tugging at your lips. "Jace," you greet him, your voice soft and welcoming. "What brings you here?"

He hesitates, his mind racing for an excuse. "I thought I might find you here," he admits, the words tumbling out before he can catch them. "I wanted to see if you needed any help with your studies."

You raise an eyebrow, a playful glint in your eyes. "Since when do you offer to help with my studies?"

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. "I just thought... we haven't spent much time together lately. I miss it."

Your expression softens at his words, and you close the book in your hands, setting it aside. "I’ve missed it too," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

He can feel the tension between you, a charged energy that crackles in the air. The pull is stronger now, a magnetic force that draws him closer, and before he knows it, he is sitting beside you, his body instinctively leaning towards yours.

"What are you reading?" he asks, his voice rougher than he intended.

You glance at the book, then back at him, a small smile playing on your lips. "A history of Old Valyria. I’ve always been fascinated by our ancestors, by the dragons and the blood magic they wielded."

"Of course," he murmurs, though he hardly registers the words. He is too focused on the way your hand rests so close to his, the way your eyes seem to shimmer in the light. "Our blood is strong, isn’t it? The blood of the dragon."

You nod, your gaze holding his. "It is. It’s what makes us who we are."

The words resonate deep within him, a reminder of the truth he has tried so hard to ignore. The blood of the dragon is what binds you together, but it is also what drives him to the brink of madness. The fire that burns in his veins is not just a curse, but a part of him, a part of you. And he is no longer sure if he can continue to fight it.

"I wanted to ask you something," you say suddenly, breaking the silence that has settled between you.

He blinks, trying to focus. "What is it?"

You hesitate for a moment, as if gathering your thoughts. "I was wondering if you could help me with my dragon training. Grey Ghost is so much more... spirited than he used to be, and I thought maybe you could help me understand him better."

Jace swallows hard, the thought of spending more time with you, alone and away from prying eyes, sending a thrill through him. But it is also dangerous, more dangerous than anything he has faced before. Still, he finds himself nodding. "Of course. I’d be glad to help."

You smile, a smile that warms him from the inside out, and he knows he is lost. He cannot deny you, cannot deny himself any longer. The pull is too strong, the fire too fierce. And as you rise to your feet, gesturing for him to follow, he feels that pull tighten, like a chain around his heart, binding him to you.

The two of you walk side by side through the corridors of Dragonstone, the silence between you comfortable, yet charged with an unspoken tension. Your presence is a balm to him, calming and yet igniting something deep within, something he can no longer ignore. Every brush of your arm against his, every glance in his direction, fans the flames higher, until he feels as though he might burst from the sheer force of it.

When you reach the courtyard where the dragons are kept, you turn to him, your eyes bright with excitement. "Let’s start with the basics," you say, your voice full of eagerness. "You’ve always been better at this than I am."

Jace shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. "It’s not about being better," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "It’s about understanding them, forming a bond with them."

You nod, your attention fully on him now, and he feels a surge of pride at the trust you place in him. "I know," you say softly. "And I trust you to help me."

The words strike him like a blow, the weight of your trust almost too much to bear. He wants to be worthy of it, to be the brother you believe him to be. But he also wants more, so much more, and it terrifies him.

As you step closer to him, your arm brushing against his, he feels that pull again, stronger than ever. He knows he should move away, put some distance between you, but he cannot bring himself to do it. Instead, he finds himself leaning in, his body drawn to yours like a moth to flame.

"You know," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, "I’ve always felt safest when I’m with you."

The confession catches him off guard, and he looks down at you, his heart pounding in his chest. "Why?"

You smile up at him, a gentle, almost shy smile. "Because you’ve always been there for me, Jace. No matter what."

His breath catches in his throat, the intensity of the moment almost too much to bear. The pull between you is undeniable now, a force of nature that neither of you can resist. And as you stand there, so close that he can feel the warmth of your breath on his skin, he knows that he is about to cross a line that he can never return from.

But before he can act, before he can make the decision that will change everything, you reach out and take his hand in yours, your fingers curling around his. The simple touch sends a jolt of electricity through him, and he is lost, completely and utterly lost.

"Jace," you whisper, your voice trembling with something unspoken.

He looks down at you, his heart in his throat, and he knows that this is it. This is the moment he has been dreading, the moment he has been craving. The pull between you is too strong, the fire too fierce, and he knows that there is no going back.

But then, as if sensing the turmoil within him, you give his hand a gentle squeeze, your eyes full of warmth and understanding. "Thank you," you say, your voice soft and sincere. "For always being there."

And just like that, the moment passes. The tension between you eases, and you step back, releasing his hand. The pull is still there, still strong, but it is no longer overwhelming. For now, it is enough to simply be with you, to feel your presence beside him, to know that you trust him.

As you turn your attention back to the dragons, Jace takes a deep breath, steadying himself. The battle within him is far from over, but for now, he has won a small victory. He has resisted the pull, resisted the fire. But he knows it is only a matter of time before the dragon within him demands more.

And when that time comes, he is not sure if he will be able to resist.

The winds howl around the jagged peaks of Dragonmont, the volcanic heart of Dragonstone. The sky above is dark, thick clouds swirling in ominous patterns, but here, beneath the shelter of the mountain, you and Jacaerys find solace in the company of your dragons. Vermax and Grey Ghost, their massive forms partially obscured by the mist that clings to the rocky terrain, rest quietly nearby, their watchful eyes ever alert.

The air between you and Jace is charged, as it has been for days now. Since the arrival of the Dragonseeds and the beginning of the Red Sowing, there has been an unspoken tension, a shared anxiety that neither of you has fully voiced. Today, it seems, that silence is about to be broken.

Jace paces before you, his brow furrowed, his steps uneven. "I can’t help but worry," he finally says, his voice low, almost a growl. "Mother’s decision to let these Dragonseeds try to claim the dragons… it could destroy everything. The only thing that sets us apart, that makes us legitimate in the eyes of the realm, is our bond with the dragons. What happens if anyone can do it? What happens if they succeed?"

You watch him, feeling the weight of his concern settle over you like a heavy cloak. You understand his fear; it echoes within you as well. "They are Targaryen bastards, Jace," you say softly, trying to find the right words. "The blood of the dragon runs in their veins, even if the world doesn’t see them as we are seen. But you are right to be cautious. We cannot control what might happen if they succeed. But we can control how we respond."

He stops pacing, turning to face you fully. His dark eyes are intense, filled with worry and something deeper, something you’ve seen growing there in recent days. "What if it shatters everything? What if the realm no longer sees us as the rightful heirs? If they can claim dragons, what does that mean for us?"

You rise from your seat on a smooth outcropping of rock, moving closer to him, your steps slow and deliberate. You can feel the warmth of the dragons nearby, the heat from the mountain beneath your feet, but most of all, you feel the heat radiating from Jace, a fire that matches your own.

"We are more than our dragons," you say, your voice steady. "We are the blood of the dragon, yes, but we are also our mother’s children, the heirs of House Targaryen. That will not change, no matter what happens with the Dragonseeds."

Jace’s gaze softens as he looks at you, the storm in his eyes momentarily easing. "You always know what to say," he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But I’m still afraid. Afraid of what this means for us, for our family."

You reach out, your hand finding his, and the contact sends a spark through you both. "Then we face it together," you say firmly, your fingers tightening around his. "Whatever comes, we face it together, as we always have."

For a moment, there is only silence between you, the kind of silence that speaks louder than words. The dragons are quiet too, their presence a comforting weight in the background. Jace’s thumb brushes over your knuckles, and the simple touch sends a shiver down your spine, the connection between you deepening with each passing second.

Without thinking, you step closer, and suddenly the space between you is gone. You can feel his breath on your skin, warm and unsteady, and the intensity in his eyes is almost too much to bear. The pull between you is stronger than ever, an undeniable force that you can no longer resist.

"Jace," you whisper, your voice trembling with something unspoken, something that has been building for so long.

He doesn’t reply, at least not with words. Instead, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that is both hesitant and eager, as if he is afraid you might pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you kiss him back, your hands moving to cup his face, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens, all the pent-up emotions of the past weeks, months, perhaps even years, pouring out in that single moment. It is as if the fire that has always burned between you has finally found release, and there is no stopping it now.Jace’s hands find their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the desperation in his touch, the need that mirrors your own. "I’ve wanted this for so long," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with desire.

"So have I," you admit, the words coming out in a breathless rush. "Jace, I—"

He silences you with another kiss, more urgent this time, and you can feel his hands moving to the fastenings of your attire. There is a moment of hesitation, a final chance to turn back, but neither of you takes it. Instead, you help him, your fingers trembling as they work to undo his clothing as well.

The air is cool against your skin as your garments fall away, but you hardly notice. All you can focus on is Jace, on the way his hands move over your body, on the way he looks at you as if you are the only thing that matters in the world. And perhaps, in this moment, you are.

He guides you down onto the warm rock, his movements careful, almost reverent. The heat from the mountain seeps into your skin, mixing with the heat of his touch, and you feel yourself trembling, not from fear, but from anticipation.When he finally joins with you, the pain is brief, a sharp sting that quickly fades, leaving only the overwhelming sensation of being completely and utterly connected to him. Jace pauses, his eyes searching yours, as if waiting for your permission to continue.

You nod, your voice caught in your throat, but the look in your eyes says everything. "Please," you whisper, and that is all it takes.

He begins to move, slow at first, almost tentative, but as the moments pass, the hesitation fades, replaced by a growing urgency, a passion that neither of you can control. You cling to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, urging him on, meeting his every movement with your own.

The world around you fades, the sounds of the dragons, the wind, the distant roar of the sea, all becoming nothing more than a distant echo. There is only Jace, only the fire that burns between you, the flames that consume you both, driving you higher and higher until you feel as though you might burst from the sheer intensity of it.

Just as you reach the peak of your union, lost in the sensation of him, you hear a sound, the soft crunch of footsteps on the volcanic rock. Your eyes snap open, and you see him—Ulf the White, one of the Dragonseeds, standing a short distance away, his expression one of surprise and amusement.

Jace’s movements slow as he becomes aware of the intruder, but he doesn’t stop, his body still pressed intimately against yours. His eyes narrow, and you can feel the tension in him, the protective instinct that flares up at the sight of another man watching you in such a vulnerable moment.

Ulf’s smirk widens as he recognizes both of you, his voice carrying an easy confidence as he speaks. "Well, well, what do we have here? Prince Jacaerys and his fair sister, indulging in some… private time, I see."

Jace doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze locked on Ulf, his body shielding yours from view. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, dangerous. "You will leave now, Ulf. And you will speak of this to no one."

Ulf’s amusement doesn’t fade. "And if I don’t? I imagine this little secret could be worth quite a bit."

Jace’s expression hardens, the dragon within him rising to the surface. "I have another proposition for you. Leave now and never speak of this, or tell someone… and Vermax will feast on your bones."

The threat hangs in the air, thick with the promise of violence. Ulf’s smile falters, the realization of Jace’s seriousness sinking in. He glances at the dragons, both Vermax and Grey Ghost now fully alert, their eyes locked on him, and he takes an involuntary step back.

"Fine," Ulf mutters, the bravado gone from his voice. "Your secret’s safe with me, Prince Jacaerys. I was never here." With that, he turns and hurries away, casting one last nervous glance at the dragons before disappearing into the mist.

Jace watches him go, his body still tense, but as the danger passes, his attention shifts back to you, his focus returning to the moment you had both been lost in. The fire that had momentarily cooled begins to burn again, his hands finding yours, his gaze intense.

"I will marry you," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "In the traditions of our ancestors, in the ways of Old Valyria. You are mine, and I am yours, for now and forever."

The words send a shiver through you, the weight of them, the promise in them, filling you with a sense of certainty, of belonging. You nod, your voice trembling as you respond. "Yes, Jace. Yes."

And as he moves within you once more, the world around you falls away, leaving only the two of you, bound together by the fire of your blood.

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Your Throne

benji blackwood x strong!fem!reader 

Summary: You’ve been married to Benji for the past decade and have been residing in Raventree Hall awaiting your ascension. You and your mother tire of the constant conflict between the Brackens and Blackwoods. These tensions cause unrest between you and Benji and he’s willing to do what he must to make peace in the Riverlands.

Warnings: 18+ swearing, mentions of fighting, political messiness, marital problems - but gets resolved, oral(f), p in v

Authors Note: request from @chainsawsangel, i’m SO sorry i made this super angsty in the beginning also that i didn’t make him super amazing and dreamy at first buut this man on his knees? folded 

Word Count: 3.4k

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Daughter-

I have been sent ravens upon ravens of the ever rising tensions between the Blackwoods and the Brackens. I’m sure the Red Keep could rival Raventree Hall if this keeps up. If the crown must intervene, if I must come to the Riverlands, you will not find it to be a pleasant visit. If you require my help all you have to do is ask. 

I love you. It would make me happy if the five of you visited — after you’ve settled this feud.

-Rhaenyra

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I push the note away from me and lean back in my chair. I don’t know how she expects me to settle this hatred that’s spread over generations. I don’t want her to have to come out here and I don’t want to put so much pressure on Benji. He hasn’t necessarily told his men to stop the fighting but he doesn’t outright condone it. I know it’s going to have to start with me sitting down and having a serious discussion with him. We’ve both avoided the topic of the ongoing feud that seems to have no end in sight but we can’t do that anymore.

“What does it say?” Benji holds the note between his fingers. “I wish she wouldn’t always write to you in High Valyrian.” he pouts. 

“It’s a language you could learn. A trait that befits a King Consort.” I purse my lips at him. “If this fell into the wrong hands..” I shake my head flaring my nostrils. 

“The wrong hands?” he chuckles. “We’re no longer at war. The realm is in peace.” I push my hands to the table at his words and rise. 

“You could’ve fooled me with all of the fighting that goes on with the Brackens.” I throw my hands into the air. “If we can’t even keep this house in line how can we be seen to keep a realm in line? My mother has threatened to come out and deal with it herself if we can not.” my temper keeps rising and along with my voice as I pace across the empty council chambers. 

“It is not my fault those Bracken beasts act the way they do.” his voice low as he glares at me. 

“What of the Blackwoods? They’re your men, are they not?” I turn to him exasperated. “Do you wish for me to order them around? Order you around? Must I do everything for you Benjicot? I suppose that’s how it’s always been.” I scoff looking him over before walking to the doors to leave the conversation.

“You know I fucking hate-“ the doors slam open effectively cutting him off. 

“Princess,” my guard pants. “There’s been an incident involving Maelor.” my heart races. 

“Where is he? Is he okay?” I sprint down the hall with my guard and he leads me to the maesters. Benji is a step behind me as we enter shutting the door. Our eldest son is having his cheek stitched up and while another maester cleans up his scratched knuckles. “What happened?” I look around the room waiting for an answer. 

“From what I gathered a fight with a Bracken boy.” I fume, turning my head to Maelor who winces. 

“How does the other kid look?” Benji kneels down with a smirk. 

“Benji-“ I’m cut off by his guard bursting it. Gods, what could it possibly be now? 

“My Lord,” he looks around for Benji, who rises from Maelors side. “Lord Bracken is at the front gates. He doesn’t seem very happy.” the guard looks at me and cowers under my glare. 

“I’m going to lose my fucking mind.” I mutter. “Maelor, stay here. We will discuss this later.” I then turn to Benji and roll my eyes at him. “Let’s go.” I grab his arm and pull him out of the room. 

“What are you suggesting we do? Since you are so engaged in politics.” Benji drawls as we start towards the main doors of the Keep. 

“And you are?” I hiss. “You infuriate me.” I huff and push out the doors and make my way across the yard. 

“Likewise, wife.” he grabs my hand and pulls me back to match his relaxed pace as we approach. “I don’t care if you’re angry with me. Don’t show it in front of him.” he says through clenched teeth as we approach the gates. I glare at him and look forward and soften my face. The gates start to open and we’re greeted with a red faced Lord Bracken. 

“Princess,” he gruff’s out, nodding his head. “Our sons have gotten into a fight leaving them both injured. What is to be done about this? My son is being stitched up by our maesters as we speak.” his voice rises and I can feel Benji's temper explode next to me. 

“As is my son. I was hoping we would be able to sit down and discuss what can be done to-“ Lord Bracken cuts me off. 

“What can be done?” Benji steps forward and I raise my hand stopping him. “My son has been scarred. You think a discussion will fix that?” he laughs. 

“Were you there to witness this fight?” I tilt my head. 

“No, my boy-“ 

“You stand before me, heir to the throne,” I squint my eyes at him. “And accuse my son, my heir,” I scoff, shaking my head. “Accuse the heir of hurting your son. Yet you did not witness the act?” I turn to look at Benji in disbelief and he looks at me as if I’m mad. “Is this correct, Lord Bracken? Shall I see if the crown can intervene and help us settle this dispute or shall we try and find common ground alone?” I hum studying him. 

“Princess, I-“ Lord Bracken scrunches his brows and looks at Benji lost. “Do you have nothing to say for your beast of a son?” Benji steps forward again and I halt him once more. 

“I would choose the discussion with her over the crown. My wife is more willing to listen.” Benji looks blankly at his rival. 

“I will not enter your hall alone.” he raises his chin defiantly. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” I hum and call my guard over. “Fetch us three chairs please.” he hurries back and sets out the chairs for us and leaves. I take a seat and they follow. 

“What’s done is done. Blood has been spilled on both sides. For generations. For decades. When will enough be enough? I’ve lived here for years now. Raised my children here. I call the Riverlands my home. What can we do to end this feud once and for all? Name your price.” I search his face as he takes in my words. 

“I wish for my second son to be knighted and on the Queen's Guard.” he continues to think. 

“He’s but eight.” Benji raises an eyebrow. 

“When she rules.” he nods his head at me. 

“I want my daughter to be your daughter's Lady in Waiting when you move to Kings Landing. Let her marry a nice, rich Lord, be content.” his wants shock me. I never would’ve thought that we would want for his children.  

“Consider those things done. We can confirm and settle boundary lines. Set up monthly meetings. Allow communication to actually flow between our two houses. I wish to see these lands content and settled.” I nod at Lord Bracken who looks between the both of us. We continue the meeting and push ideas back and forth. A time is settled for us to have our first meeting and everything finally seems to be falling into place. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

I groan in relief as our chamber doors shut behind us. The moon has been high in the sky for some hours now but we’ve been too busy arguing in the council chambers with his men over the upcoming meetings with the Brackens. I tug at the strings on my dress and breathe out deeply as the fabric loosens. Benji grips my arm and spins me around. 

“What?” I glare up at him. 

“You just gave that Bracken pig whatever he asked for.” he looks down at me with dark eyes. 

“He didn’t ask for much. You’re acting as if I gave him my hand.” I roll my eyes at him and try to push him out of my way. 

“And if he asked for your hand?” I can’t help the half laugh that tumbles from my lips. 

“Gods, I might’ve said yes. At least he came over here to try and settle something. Actually being a man-“ 

“Choose your next words carefully.” his eyes darken as his grip tightens. 

“This feud needs to end or this marriage does. I am to rule Benjicot.” I rip my arm out of his grip. “For the past decade you’ve allowed this fight to wage and now it’s weighing me down.” I shake my head at a loss. 

“This marriage is weighing you down?” he looks at me wounded, nodding his head. 

“No, this continuous battle with the Brackens. I’m tired of it. I’m done raising my kids in this environment. Our son is permanently scarred. Our daughter is scared to go out past the gates to pick flowers.” my emotions rise and I feel tears of anger prick at my eyes. “Fucking flowers, Benji. My sweet girl can’t even pick flowers. If this feud doesn’t end by the end of the month I’m taking the kids and moving back to Kings Landing. Alone.” I feel the tears slip down my cheeks and I storm into the bathing chambers slamming the door. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

The meetings over the past fortnight have been long and exhausting. We’ve been meeting almost everyday to discuss potential ways to keep the peace between the two houses. Listening to this table of men bark at each other has been driving me fucking mad. Benji has been tense and when he’s not yelling in the council chambers he’s beating his sword into a straw dummy in the training yard. 

Lord Bracken has been bringing his children along to the meetings and they have been able to get to know our children. They get along so handsomely it makes me sad they weren’t able to interact before this. Our daughters even take their guards out past the gates to go flower picking and it makes my heart melt when they show me flowers pouring out of their dress pockets. 

I’ve sent ravens to my mother and we’ve been in contact as much as possible. She thanked me profusely for getting tensions under control and told me to take my time but to please visit when we can. She still offers me her support and to come and show her strength if needed. I assure her it’s under control and things are truly beginning to settle. I send off one last raven to her and tell her we’re hosting our last meeting before our peace officially begins on the morrow. I sigh with a smile and begin to make my way back to our chambers. I push open the doors and stop in my tracks. I shut the door and look at Benji once more. 

“I don’t want you to leave me.” Benji is on his knees in the center of our chambers. “I’ll do anything, my Queen.” he keeps his focus on the floor as I come to stand in front of him. 

“Look at me, Benji.” I hum and his head snaps up to me. I cup his cheek and he leans into me. 

“Please don’t leave me.” he looks up to me and I’ve never seen him act this way. “We have our last meeting tomorrow. Everything’s done. We’ve made peace. Please stay with me.” he grabs my hand and places quick kisses on it. 

“I’ll never leave you.” I brush his hair back with my other hand. He pulls me closer and hugs my legs as I continue to brush back his hair. 

“I need to have you. It’s been so long.” he mumbles into my skirts and my body warms at his words. “Please,” he whines, pushing up my skirt. I gasp as his head disappears beneath my dress and I feel his lips on my thighs. 

“Benji,” I pant, not having anything to steady myself on. He pulls my small clothes down and taps my ankles when he wants me to step out of them. I cry out when his tongue slides through my center. His hands grip my waist as he practically sits me on his mouth and I moan loudly as he starts to lap against me. “Yes, Benji,” I gasp, gripping my skirts. My legs tremble and his hands move down to them to help steady me. I rock against his face and he moans, moving his tongue faster. He swirls around my bud that leaves me gasping above him. I cry as my pleasure slams through me and I almost topple over. 

“Come, my Queen.” he comes out from beneath my skirts and takes me to the bed. He strips off both of our clothes before he pulls me up the bed and gets me to place my legs on either side of his face. “Let me be your throne.” he looks up at me desperately pulling me down onto his mouth. 

“Fuck yes, Benji,” I whine grinding against his mouth. His tongue pushes into my core and I whimper above him. He wraps his hands around my hips as he starts to slam his tongue into me. “I’m- Benji,” my stomach tightens as his nose rubs against my bud. I grind harshly against his face and he groans into me as I fall apart against him. I go to move and his fingers dig into me. 

“Not done.” his hair tickles my thighs as he shakes his head. His lips encase my bud and I shutter above him. My fingers dig into his hair and grind his face up into my wetness. He moans into me and I almost come undone at the vibrations. As his tongue moves quicker my pleasure washes through me and I go taught above him. His tongue lashes against me and I shake in his arms before he starts to help me settle onto the bed. 

“I’m sorry.” he hovers above me and I pull him down into a kiss. I cling against him as he slowly grinds into me. He slides into me and I wrap my arms and legs around him. 

“I’m sorry I was mean and threatened to leave.” I bury my fingers in his hair.  

“I should’ve been better. I will be better.” he murmurs. into my neck. “Please don’t leave me.” his voice cracks. 

“I can’t leave you Benji. I love you too much.” his hips snap into mine at my words. Our lips find each other again and we press closer together. All it takes is a couple hushed words of love and adoration and we’re both coming undone and holding each other. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

Visiting Kings Landing 

As our carriage pulls in through the Keep gates I smile watching our kids press their faces against the windows. Benji smiles at me from across the small space and I look at him in relief as it finally comes to a stop. My mother and siblings are waiting for us as we start to make our way out. My children run up to my mother and she scoops the two youngest up while my eldest holds onto my brother. We start to shuffle into the Keep and my mother allows us to settle into our chambers before we have supper. 

Our children run off with their cousins while we start to unpack in my old chambers. I look around the freshly cleaned solar and it’s as if nothing has changed. Benji brings our bags to the couch and begins to help me hang up gowns and put the rest of the clothes away. I poke my head out and ask my guard to have some tea brought up for us. In moments a servant is walking through my doors and preparing us tea. She whisks another in to light the hearth and they turn to us and ask if we should need anything else. When they leave my mother enters and she ushers us over to the chairs. 

“I wanted to thank you both, profusely, for getting the feud under control. I know that it was generational but it has been time for it to end for some time now. When you rule I want for your son to inherit peace as well. You know as well as I what it’s like to take over and be at war.” she looks at both of us with a soft smile. 

“I know, mother. We’ve been meaning to deal with it. I’m sorry.” I fold my hands and look at her. 

“I know, I know. I just won’t live forever, sweet girl-“

“I hate when you speak like this. You’re still so young. You’ll rule for much longer.” I scrunch my brows and shake my head. 

“We never know what the Gods have planned for us.” she hums looking at us. “I will let you both relax.” she gets up and lets herself out of my chambers. I slump further back into the chair and let my eyes shut. Everything is finally settling down and falling into place. Not that it hasn’t throughout the years but ending this feud was the last thing I needed to do to really set us and our children up. I turn my head to the side and peek open an eye to look at Benji. 

“How are you, my beautiful wife?” he hums brushing my hair back. 

“Tired, happy, content, feelings along that line.” I offer him a smile and he leans over and places a soft kiss on my lips. 

“I love you so much. I’ll continue to do better for you. I’ll be the King Consort you need me to be.” he hums. 

“You’ve been amazing over the past moon. You’ve done so well in meetings. Your ideas and council are sound. You’ve really pulled yourself together.” I nod at him. 

“It was either that or you were leaving me.” he frowns. 

“I’m sorry for saying that.” my words hushed. 

“I’m not. You got me to finally pull my head out of my ass. To be the man you need me to be.” his words are laced with heavy promises and emotions. 

“I love you and I think-“ 

“Father, father,” our children burst into the chambers and I thank the Gods we were just talking. Benji stands up and kneels down to their level. 

“Yes, my little cherubs?” he coos scooping them all into a hug.

“We want you to take us to the gardens. Vaela wants to pick flowers,” Maelor pouts. “But I want to go to the training yard.” he whines. 

“And what of you?” I hum pulling my middle child, Aelon, into my arms and I kneel next to Benji. 

“I want to go to the library.” he mumbles and Maelor scoffs. 

“Of course you do.” he sticks his tongue out at him. 

“Hey hey, we will all get along.” I scrunch my brows. “We have more than enough to do everything and more.” I hum. 

“Your mother is right.” Benji hums looking over to me. “We can each have a turn doing what we would like.” We all rise from the floor and make our way through the Keep. We spend the next couple of hours in the gardens as Vaela picks flowers and hands them to me to make a small bouquet. Our boys run around picking flowers as well and I smile watching Maelor delicately pick flowers and offer them to Vaela before sprinting down the stone path to find more. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist 🔌 

i had zero intentions of making this messy and emo 😔

taglist ✍️

@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @1-fuzzy-squirrels @arya-brooke @ashovertheriver @zanygot7straykidsbonk @moonymoo1 @malfoycassimalfoy @april-notthemonth69 @anaviieiraaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @neocockthotology @thereaderwitch @hardkiddonut @faenyra @hiimava11 @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @fiction-fanfic-reader @povofjustme @multilover19 @alexxavicry @cedstars @fuckalrighty @mrsmunson-harrington @misspendragonsworld @nz2004

[r0ugesun]

The Great War

Beta read by @moonstruksandco 👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👩🏾

Chapter 1 (1/?)

Synopsis: On Dragonstone, tensions rise as war looms on the horizon and the Targaryen family braces for conflict. Jacaerys discovers y/n, his enigmatic stepsister, secretly training with their formidable father, Daemon Targaryen. Initially at odds and harboring deep seated resentment, Jacaerys and y/n’s relationship evolves from adversaries to reluctant allies. As they confront their shared secrets and familial expectations, they find themselves drawn to each other.

Warnings: slow burn infidelity(sorry baela)period accurate misogyny eventual smut

Jace Velaryon x Reader

Drāñe aōha nykeōragon! (Widen your stance!)

Adere! (Faster)

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting an amber glow across the gardens of the Red Keep. The air was rich with the fragrance of blooming roses, their petals kissed by the evening dew. Within the shadows of the castle walls, a solitary figure moved with grace and precision, the sound of clashing steel echoing through the corridors.

Y/n targaryen, the last daughter of Daemon and Laena, had grown accustomed to the isolation her father's overprotectiveness had imposed. As the youngest and final remnant of her mother's legacy, she bore the weight of her father's undying devotion and his refusal to let her be betrothed. Unlike her sisters, who had dragons and betrothals to occupy their thoughts, y/n had been denied these privileges no her rights, her father's fierce love turning to a cage of golden bars.

In the stillness of the training yard, she faced her father, their swords a blur of motion. Daemon, the Rogue Prince, had been her mentor for years, y/n held a sword in her hand before she even learned to walk, his rigorous training instilling in her a mastery of the blade that rivaled the finest knights of Westeros. Their practice sessions were a secret kept from prying eyes, a testament to Daemon's belief in her strength and his desire to keep her hidden from the suitors who sought her hand.

"You must be quicker, daughter" Daemon admonished, parrying her strike with ease. "Your opponent will not grant you the luxury of hesitation."

Y/n's eyes narrowed, her lips forming a determined line as she pressed her attack, their swords ringing out in the twilight. She was a vision of fierce beauty, her movements a dance of deadly elegance. It was in these moments, away from the court's scrutiny, that she felt truly alive.

She stepped back, adjusting her grip on the hilt, her muscles taut with effort and determination. Each clash of their blades sent vibrations through her arms, but she did not falter.

"Ao vāedis!" (You hesitate!) Daemon's voice cut through the air, sharp and unyielding. His eyes, a mirror of her own, bore into her with intensity.

"Ao rūs!" (You retreat!)

Y/n growled, a sound of frustration and resolve mingled, as she advanced once more. This time, she let her instincts take over, her body moving with the fluid grace of a dragon in flight. Her sword sliced through the air, a deadly arc aimed at Daemon's side. He barely had time to deflect it, his lips twitching in approval.

"Better" he murmured, their swords locked together in a struggle of strength.

With a swift movement, he disarmed her, sending her blade skittering across the stone floor. Y/n stumbled back, her chest heaving with exertion.

"Again," he commanded, not giving her a moment's respite.

Y/n retrieved her sword, her mind racing. She needed to find a way to break through his defenses. The moon had risen high, casting a silvery light over the training yard, illuminating their fierce battle.

As they resumed their sparring, Y/n could feel the burn of fatigue creeping into her limbs, but she pushed it aside. This was her chance to prove herself, to show her father that she was not just a daughter to be protected, but a warrior to be reckoned with.

Their movements became a blur of speed and precision, the clang of steel filling the night air. With a final burst of energy, Y/n feinted to the left and then swung her blade in a wide arc, catching Daemon off guard. The tip of her sword rested against his chest, a triumphant smile curling her lips.

Daemon looked down at the blade, then up at his daughter, a rare smile breaking through his stern demeanor. "Well done." He said “but-”

and Daemon’s smile was fleeting, quickly replaced by a serious expression. voice carrying both pride and challenge, "-not quite enough."

Before Y/n could react, Daemon moved with a sudden burst of speed. He sidestepped her blade, bringing his own sword up in a sweeping arc that left her no room to maneuver. With a flick of his wrist, he disarmed her once more, sending her sword spinning away.

Y/n fell to her knees, panting heavily, her body drenched in sweat. She looked up at Daemon, her face a mix of frustration and respect. "You *pant* beat me… again" she said, her voice trembling with fatigue. No matter how skilled a warrior she thought she was, six men or sixty, he is still Daemon Targaryen. Or so the saying goes.

Daemon extended a hand to her, his gaze softening ever so slightly. "I know what you’re capable of. You have the blood of the dragon, but you need to hone it into something more than mere fire. Strength alone won’t win battles."

Y/n took his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet. Despite her exhaustion, a flicker of determination sparked in her eyes. "I understand" she said, her voice firm. "And I will continue to fight, to become better, until I surpass even you."

Daemon’s gaze held hers, a mixture of challenge and pride evident. "Then keep fighting" he said.

—————————————

Jacaerys sat in the grand common room of Dragonstone, his attention flickering between Baela’s animated chatter and the expansive view of the island’s rugged landscape through the window. The day had turned gray, with clouds rolling in over the sea, casting a dim light over the stone walls. Baela’s voice, though pleasant, faded into a gentle murmur, its rhythm lost against the backdrop of his restless thoughts.

“...and then Ser Greyjoy said—” Baela’s words trailed off as she noticed Jacaerys’s distracted gaze. She studied him for a moment, a hint of concern in her eyes. “Jace, you seem miles away. Are you feeling unwell?”

Jacaerys shook himself from his reverie, offering a polite, if lackluster, smile. “Uh yes, Baela. Just….a bit weary. I think I’ll take a stroll before dinner.”

Baela’s brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded. “Very well. I’ll see you later.”

With a polite nod and a murmured farewell, Jacaerys rose from his seat and exited into the cool, dim-lit corridors of the castle. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of salt and stone as he meandered through the labyrinthine passages. His footsteps echoed softly against the ancient walls, a rhythmic counterpoint to his wandering thoughts.

Jacaerys continued his aimless wander through Dragonstone, seeking solace from his mounting boredom. His footsteps echoed softly against the ancient stone, the castle’s grandeur lost on him as he drifted through its labyrinthine corridors. The chill in the air hinted at the coming of a storm, and the gray light seeping through the narrow windows did little to lift his spirits.

As he rounded a particularly dim and winding corridor, he stumbled upon a concealed door, partially obscured by a heavy tapestry. Curiosity sparked, he pushed it open, revealing a hidden staircase descending into shadows. He stared at the weathered stone, its been abandoned for gods knows who how long, should he leave? Alert a guard maybe? Driven by a sudden intrigue, Jacaerys made his way down, his steps echoing softly underfoot.

At the bottom of the stairs, he found himself in a secluded training area, its walls lined with worn, wooden dummies and scattered practice weapons. The room was illuminated by a few flickering torches, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone floor. The sound of clashing swords filled the air, sharp and rhythmic, each strike echoing with the intensity of a serious duel.

Jacaerys edged closer, his heart quickening with anticipation. Through a narrow opening, he glimpsed the source of the commotion. Y/n and Daemon were engaged in a fierce training session, their swords moving with a fluidity and precision that left Jacaerys utterly breathless.

Y/n’s form was a revelation—her movements were both powerful and graceful, each strike and parry executed with a mastery that belied her royal status. Sweat glistened on her brow, and her violet eyes were alight with fierce determination. She wielded her sword with a natural ease, her skill evident in every fluid motion.

Daemon, for his part, matched her with his usual blend of skill and intensity, his focus unwavering as he guided her through the relentless practice. The dynamic between them was electric, a testament to both their expertise and the depth of their training.

Jacaerys watched from the shadows, utterly mesmerized. The sight of Y/n, a princess so adept in the art of combat, was both astonishing and captivating. She moved with a raw, unrestrained energy, each clash of swords sending a thrill through him. Her dedication and strength were palpable, breaking the mold of what he had expected from someone of her rank.

Unable to tear his eyes away, Jacaerys remained hidden, his fascination growing with every moment. The intensity of the training session unfolded before him, leaving him awestruck by Y/n’s sheer skill and determination.

the clashing of swords continued, Jacaerys remained concealed in the shadows, his eyes never leaving Y/n. The way she moved was almost hypnotic, she seemed to embody the very essence of a warrior of a dragon, each movement fluid and deliberate. The torchlight cast flickering patterns on her face, highlighting the fierce concentration in her eyes as she parried Daemon’s relentless attacks.

Daemon, despite his usual stoic demeanor, displayed a rare warmth in his gaze as he watched Y/n. It was clear that their training was more than just a lesson, it was a mutual respect, a shared passion for the art of combat. Jacaerys could see the bond between them, an unspoken understanding that transcended mere instruction.

Y/n’s breaths came in measured bursts, her face flushed with exertion but her spirit unbroken. Each time Daemon disarmed her, she would swiftly retrieve her sword, her resolve unshaken. It was as if she was fueled by an inner fire, a drive to prove herself beyond the constraints of her royal title.

Jacaerys could scarcely believe what he was witnessing. The sight of a princess so engaged in combat, with such raw and unfiltered skill, was both shocking and awe-inspiring. His admiration grew with each passing moment, the image of her unwavering focus and strength imprinted on his mind.

As the training session drew to a close, Y/n’s movements slowed, her fatigue evident. She took a moment to catch her breath, wiping the sweat from her brow. Daemon approached, his expression one of quiet pride, and extended a hand to her. Y/n grasped it, allowing him to help her to her feet with a tired but triumphant smile.

Jacaerys, still hidden, felt a pang of regret that he had not revealed himself. The moment was too intimate, too profound, to intrude upon. Yet he was overwhelmed by the urge to learn more about this remarkable new side to the princess who defied every expectation.

As Y/n and Daemon walked away, Jacaerys emerged from his hiding place, the hidden training ground now feeling like a precious secret he had stumbled upon. He retraced his steps, his mind racing with the revelation of Y/n’s skill and the realization that she was not just a mere princess but a formidable warrior.

________________________

As Jacaerys took his place beside Baela, the grand dining hall was alive with the clinking of silverware, the low murmur of conversation, and the rich aroma of the feast. Rhaenyra sat at the head of the table, her regal presence commanding respect, while Daemon loomed at the far end, his imposing figure a constant reminder of his authority.

But Jacaerys was anything but focused on the feast. His mind was a whirlwind, consumed by the revelation of Y/n’s true nature. Seated a few places away, she engaged animatedly with Daemon, her relaxed demeanor concealing a fierce intensity that left Jacaerys utterly stunned. He struggled to maintain his composure, his heart racing as he tried to anchor himself in the present, focusing on Baela beside him.

Baela, clearly noticing his distraction, leaned in with a hint of irritation. “You’re unusually distant today, Jace. What’s on your mind?”

Jacaerys forced a strained smile, his mind still reeling from the discovery. “Just a bit distracted, Baela. Nothing to worry about.”

Baela’s gaze followed his distracted line of sight to Y/n. “You seem particularly absorbed in Y/n. You’ve hardly interacted with her before.”

Jacaerys’s mind was in turmoil, grappling for a coherent explanation. “She… she seems different tonight. I’m not quite sure what to make of it.”

Baela’s expression grew sharper. “Y/n has always been somewhat aloof, and her attitude towards you has been especially cold. So what’s changed with her my prince?”

Jacaerys’s cheeks burned as he struggled to compose himself. “I didn’t realize… I suppose I’ve never had much reason to engage with her.”

As if on cue, Y/n glanced up from her conversation with Daemon and caught Jacaerys’s gaze. Her eyes narrowed, and a sneer formed on her lips. “If you’re going to stare, might I suggest you find a less conspicuous way of doing it?”

Jacaerys’s heart raced, and he quickly looked away, his face flushed crimson with embarrassment and panic. He cleared his throat, his voice shaky. “My apologies, Y/n. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Baela’s tone was clipped as she observed his reaction. “It’s clear she’s not fond of your attention. Maybe you should focus on our conversation.”

Jacaerys shifted in his seat, his mind still reeling. “Yes, of course.”

As the evening progressed, Jacaerys struggled to stay present. His thoughts kept spiraling back to the shocking realization, Y/n was not just the aloof youngest sister of his betrothed but a fierce warrior who could likely best the finest knights. The weight of this revelation was almost too much to bear. His heart pounded, his mind raced with questions, and he felt an overwhelming sense of urgency and confusion. Balancing his engagement to Baela with this newfound, intense fascination for Y/n was a struggle that left him grappling with a storm of emotions, trying desperately to appear calm while his internal world was anything but.

_______________

Jacaerys lay in his bed, the luxurious sheets offering little comfort as he stared up at the canopy, his mind a tumultuous storm. The room was dim, illuminated only by the flickering light of a solitary candle, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Despite the late hour, sleep eluded him. Every time he closed his eyes, visions of Y/n swam before him, a relentless tide of thoughts he couldn’t control.

He had seen Y/n countless times over the years, always regarding her as inconsequential, just another member of the extended family. But tonight had shattered that illusion. The memory of her fierce intensity, her casual yet commanding presence, played over and over in his mind. His heart still raced with the revelation that she was so much more than he had ever imagined.

“Seven hells,” Jacaerys muttered, turning over in bed for what felt like the hundredth time. The shock of seeing her sparring, her skill and strength evident, had turned his world upside down. How had he missed this? How had he been so blind?

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the thoughts, but they only grew stronger. Her fierce eyes, the way she had sneered at him, the effortless grace in her movements—these images were seared into his mind. He realized that her aloofness, her distance, had all been an act. The real Y/n was formidable, a force to be reckoned with.

The realization was both exhilarating and terrifying. His mind raced with questions. Had anyone else known? Had baela and rhaena? How long had she been hiding this side of herself? And why?

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being an intruder, someone who had stumbled upon a closely guarded secret. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that his perception of her had been completely wrong. She wasn’t just the youngest sister of his betrothed, she was a warrior, and he had to know more.

He had an insatiable desire to understand her, to learn more about the real Y/n. The very thought made his heart pound even harder.

———————-

Rolling out of bed, jace knew he couldn’t wait until morning. He had to confront her, to get answers. Pulling on his clothes with a sense of urgency, he left his chambers, navigating the dimly lit corridors with purpose.

He made his way to the same tapestry from earlier and pulled it back to reveal the hidden stairwell. It was eerily quiet, the moon casting a silvery glow through the cracks of the ceiling illuminating over the grounds. His heart raced as he approached, hoping to find her there.

Sure enough, there she was. Y/n stood alone, her sword in hand, practicing her forms with a precision that took his breath away. She moved with the fluidity of a dancer and the deadly intent of a warrior.

Jace ventured forth, his footsteps hesitant yet purposeful. His heart pounded in his chest, driven by an insatiable curiosity that would not be quelled. He watched her, mesmerized, as she wielded her sword with a grace that belied its lethal intent.

He stepped forward, the gravel beneath his feet betraying his presence. Her head snapped up, eyes widening in shock before narrowing into a glare of cold fury. "Jacaerys!? What in the Seven Hells are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice a mix of surprise and irritation.

"I-I couldn't sleep" he stammered, advancing tentatively. "I saw you slip away and... I followed you."

She blinked, the incredulity plain on her face. "Why? What possesses you to intrude upon my solitude?"

"I just... I had to know," he mumbled, his gaze faltering under her scrutiny. "Why you're training like this. Why in secret."

"It is none of your concern" she retorted, lowering her sword yet maintaining a stance of wary readiness. "Leave, jacaerys."

But he remained steadfast, words tumbling from his lips in a desperate attempt to explain. "No, I mean... I want to understand. This side of you... it’s different."

Her eyes flashed with a tempest of anger. "You ought not to be here. How did you even find me?"

He shrugged, still fumbling for coherence. "I just... I was talking with baela and then took a walk and the tapestry was there and you-, and... I don't know, I followed it down. And, um... I saw you training with Daemon the other day, you were incredible really" he added, an awkward laugh escaping him. "I didn't mean to spy, but—"

She cut him off, her voice seething with fury. "You spied on me with father? You have no right—"

"I know, I know" Jace interjected, hands raised in a gesture of placation. "But I was curious, I had no idea I would find you here. You are….exceptionally skilled, and I wanted to comprehend why you kept this hidden."

Her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword, knuckles white with anger. "You had no right to follow me or to spy on me. This is my business, not yours. Leave at once."

"…No," Jace said, though his voice quivered with uncertainty. He reached for a sword from the rack, clutching it tightly. "I… I want you to train with me."

A flicker of surprise crossed her face, quickly replaced by a scowl. "You think you can match me? Very well. But if I win, you leave me alone. Forever."

Jace nodded, determination flickering in his eyes despite the apprehension. He took his stance, readying himself. As they squared off, he was acutely aware of the disparity in their skills. He had been trained by Ser Harwin and his father, Ser Laenor, both formidable fighters. Yet, the difference in their skill became glaringly apparent as soon as the duel commenced.

She moved with a fluidity and precision that seemed almost effortless. Jace, while not unskilled, found himself struggling to keep up. Her blade was a blur of motion, each strike landing with an ease that belied her skill. Jace’s attempts to block and parry were clumsy in comparison, his sword heavy in his hand, his movements less coordinated.

With a deft sidestep, she evaded his clumsy counterattack, her blade flicking out to land a sharp, stinging blow against his side. Jace grunted, stumbling back as he tried to regain his footing. He tried to press the attack, his strikes intended to be forceful and precise, but she anticipated and dodged each one with practiced grace.

Her training under Daemon was evident in every movement. Her speed and control were extraordinary, a product of years of rigorous instruction. Jace, despite his own solid training, was outmatched by the sheer finesse of her techniques. His blade wavered as he fought to keep pace, his breath coming in short, labored gasps.

She continued her relentless assault, her strikes not only precise but delivered with a speed that left him barely able to react. He attempted to anticipate her moves, but she was always a step ahead, her sword flashing through the air with a deadly grace that rendered his defenses ineffective.

Finally, with a decisive strike, she disarmed him, sending his sword clattering to the ground. He fell to one knee, panting heavily, his face flushed with exhaustion. Her blade hovered above him, a clear indication of her superior skill.

"Stay away from me" she commanded coldly, her voice laced with a fierce finality.

Jace, still on the ground, looked up at her with a mix of admiration and frustration. He nodded, breathless and defeated. "I’ll let you be…. For now."

With a final, disdainful glance, she turned on her heel and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the stillness. Jace remained where he was, his resolve both tested and strengthened by the encounter. The duel had not only shown him the breadth of her training but also deepened his determination to understand the enigmatic warrior.

[bucknastysbabe]

Rating: Explicit

Tags: MONSTERBOINKING, pnv!sex, werewolves/lycanthropy, the cheesy calm the beast trope, step daddy Criston, vague Victorian/edwardian era but in Westeros, TW: dub-con, blood and guts, groomer behaviors, uh he got that dawg💄, YEAH ANYWAYS, virgin targtower!reader, prey predator tropes, summerhall! Help!, Criston’s conflicted anguish but can’t stop fucking syndrome, your honor she’s 22

Taglist: @aemondfairy @arcielee @elaratyrell @elfven-blog @ellemarianne555 @fairysluna @jacesvelaryons @jamespotterismydaddy @lovelykhaleesiii @sammmy7499 @starogeorgina @sugarpopss @towriteloveontheirarms @urmomsgirlfriend1 @zaldritzosrose

Divider by @racingairplanes W/C is 5k

A/N: Yeah so idk what came over me I slapped this out like the good ole days and hope for the best thanks Grammarly and horny colewives and the depths research take me to are places I would go with a grenade launcher but here we are. Happy Halloween fuckers boop boop

Your stepfather had returned from an expedition from beyond the Wall with fellow retired officers from the Westerosi army. He came back sick and delirious, an infected bite of lupine nature on his ribs. You worried by his sickbed beside your mother and Daeron.

Aemond had come home to help as the man of the house. It was a horrid time, you prayed and prayed as Criston moaned lowly, sweating and writhing in pain as the maesters whispered about Direwolf bites. How he was lucky he didn’t get mauled. How no one had seen one in centuries.

Centuries.

His fever broke. Quicker than expected he got better, up and walking within a fortnight. Your loving stepfather you adored was back. Yet dismay overcame your aching heart as Criston wasn’t quite the same. Summerhall was quiet and desolate as always. It was lively once— before all of your siblings moved away, to pursue a career, start a family, and be a wastrel in the Capitol living off the family wealth.

Your mother and Criston began to talk less and less. Your bedroom lay below them. They’d fight about Rhaenyra. Fight about whether Criston was too soft on you or Alicent with Daeron, why did your grandpa have to come by so often? After hissing and uttering horrible things they’d…carnally figure it out.

You hated how you willingly listened in, body in knots as you shamefully tuned your mother out, red-faced as you secretly relished in his grunts and sighs, deep throaty moans that had your hands gripping the bed in need.

Every morning after a night such, you would pray in the small Sept erected behind the manor, fervently apologizing and confessing your wickedness to the maiden for hours. You would continue until your fingers bled from the prayer beads.

It wasn’t a happy place. You had a reprieve in typing away on your new typewriter, riding horses with your younger brother, and Criston. Except Criston wasn’t Criston. As he got ‘better’, he became choleric and isolated.

Loud noises irritated him, he’d been on a witch hunt for every critter in the house, claiming he could hear them scuttling about. The carnal noises at night were feral and disturbing, enough to make you stop your secret listening and turn over, wide-eyed. He’d go hunting on full moons and return tired and ragged— no game in sight.

The horses disliked the normally genteel man, the woods grew quiet when he sat outside to smoke on the porch. You began to grow more and more concerned, but he was snappish and you were a meek little thing— the sheltered daughter who stuttered when she spoke to lords and caught chills easily. Overdue to not being married and with a child.

You’d peered out the grand windows of the manor, seeing the glow of Criston’s pipe. He was smoking his cherry tobacco, a habit of his on a nice night. You gathered your courage and gently peered out of the front door.

His sharp eyes flickered over, exhaling the fragrant smoke before rasping, “What are you doing up, bunny?” You blushed at the old nickname, something born of you being skittish yet soft, sweet, and easy to prey on. The way Criston’s dark eyes gazed upon you made you feel like a cornered bunny.

“I was reading and noticed you were still out sir, I wanted to check on you. We haven’t spoken much lately.”

You shifted, feeling awkward. Criston’s dark curls fell across his thick brows, puffing on his pipe again. It was dead silent as he exhaled, a hand running over his overgrown stubble. He rumbled, “You need to stop reading those dreadful pulp books. Come here.”

You made to sit next to him, a hand wrapping around your wrist, Criston’s voice a near growl as he pulled you gently onto his lap. He emptied his pipe, an arm coming around your waist. You swallowed, feeling your flesh heat, the feelings you prayed away coming back as he was so close.

“Who brings you those books, hm?”

You replied, “Aemond sends them to me, sir.”

He shook his head, one big hand rubbing your soft waist, then tucking your head against his chest. Your stepfather inhaled slowly, sighing out. He grumbled, “If it makes you happy. Like that damn typewriter, he got you too.”

Writing was a passion of yours— they’d begun to let women study at the University of King’s Landing. You’d ask. Sometime soon. Maybe.

Instead, you snuggled against his chest, desperately needing the comfort. Yet you remained wary of propriety at the moment. Your eyes helplessly cast to the front door. He laughed darkly, “She’s asleep girl, stop your fretting.”

You mumbled, “She’d be upset.”

“I don’t give a damn. You’re my girl, my most special girl.”

You flushed, chest warming at his words. He huffed a laugh again, looking at you, eyes almost flashing in the moonlight, squeezing your waist, lips stretching into a grin. Your heart thumped against your breast as he ever so softly murmured, “I’d keep you here forever if I could, the sweet little bunny doesn’t need all those wolves surrounding her at those balls.”

His canines were sharp in the low light. You wondered what he was if the lordlings were ‘wolves’.

Criston had been getting ready for his hunt, snappish and dismissive beforehand as always. He went without a horse, gun slung on his back, dagger on his waist. You’d tittered about the recent livestock attacks on some of the tenant's farms. Alicent stood up on the porch, arms crossed.

“There could be a puma down from the Red Mountains, do you want to be mauled for good with time?” She pointed out.

He snapped, “Someone’s got to deal with the tenant’s issues. Unless you plan on toting a rifle.”

You looked at Criston, pleading with your eyes. He tugged on one of your perfectly placed curls, a finger under your chin. His dark eyes turned up to your mother before moving to you. Criston murmured, “There’s much worse in the world than a big cat, stay indoors, tell Dare to be a good boy.”

You nodded, brows knitting.

Retreating to your mother’s side, Alicent pursed her lips. She shook her head, huffing, “He’s got a death wish, the fool.” You frowned, picking at the lace of your sleeves. Looking at her pursed lips, you nervously convinced yourself, “He’ll be fine. He’s got a gun. He’s always fine, right?”

She stared into the woods, dark eyes pensive as Criston’s form began to blend into the trees. She spat, “One day you’ll understand that no man will be tame. They do as they please and we pick up the pieces, do well to mind that.”

Her disapproving glare turned to you, hissing, “Even the ones you love so much.”

She turned on her heel, going inside with a slam of the doors.

You swallowed down a noise, hands gripping in your skirts. You worried. Perhaps if you just took a jaunt on your horse you could clear your head, run along your stepfather, and convince him to come back home where it was safe. Your boots were in the stables, there was a good amount of light left in the day.

You followed the trail down to the stone stable, the farrier already gone home. The staff had been making themselves scarce before sundown in light of the attacks. Entering the stable, you looked down toward Winter, Criston’s Barrowlands draft horse. The poor thing had not been ridden since Criston had returned.

Winter was cantankerous, but he handled her well. You’d overheard your stepfather complain to the farrier about the horse acting fearful. It was strange— he’d had her for ten years now. All the horses seemed to be displeased by his presence.

You took off your small-heeled shoes, changing into more comfortable riding boots. Approaching your horse, a Dornish Sand Steed named Ferris. You pet his ashen snout, cooing at the mild-mannered equine, feeding him one of the carrots always stashed in the stable.

Stepping into the stall, you brushed him off quickly before hauling on his saddle. You despised sidesaddle, your mother too, so you got to have a standard one. Ferris nickered as you pulled on his halter and attached the reins, patting his neck.

It was a swift hop until you were astride the steed, clicking your tongue to move forward, pushing one of the barn doors open to the path that divvied off into trails. Your eyes cast across the land, noticing the Red Mountains looked ablaze with the sun.

You’d better make this foolish jaunt quick. Praying you may see Criston and talk some sense into him dominated any sort of logic. You have always been such an emotional creature. Ushering Ferris into a canter, your pale hair flew in the wind as you rode.

Onwards you went, eyes wide as you looked through the brush and scrub. You’d passed some of the bloody leftovers of the sheep, stopping to gasp. Taking a moment to suck in a breath, wide eyes on a rotten half-gnawed skull and another strewn body, bloodied and maggot-covered wool about.

Ferris was edgy himself, the whites of his eyes on display. The imminent danger you’d ignored settled within your bones— cold and hard. You trembled, trying to ease your quickly panicking horse.

Snap.

Ferris reared with a whinny, you holding for dear life, cursing on the Seven as the breed known for its quickness was showing off. Yet this was a forest, not a desert. You dug your heels in, tried to pull on the reins hard, shouting ‘Woah!’

The sand steed skidded, taking a hard right— throwing you off. Your scream was cut short as your body hit a tree, breath was knocked out. You’d hit it so hard you bounced off, head struck hard against the ground as leaves and bark fell upon your unconscious frame.

You awoke to darkness. Cold. The smell of ozone and earth. With a soft grunt, you pulled yourself up, head splitting with pain. Your fingers felt a lump on your head, dried blood that had dripped down your face. You whined as you felt your bruised ribs.

Ferris threw you off.

You had no idea where you were, your horse was gone, it was dark. Not to mention a predator on the loose. Your stepfather was ‘hunting’. Probably not this far out. You remembered the gore of sheep remains, shivering.

Intense fear filled your chest, looking around the dark trees. You needed shelter, out of the open trees where the puma could stalk and hide. Taking a shallow, pained breath, you used the tree to help you upright. Exhaling sharply, you silently cursed yourself for your stupidity.

“Never tame a man— even the ones you love,” came your mother’s voice, nagging your mind.

Taking a shaky step forward, your eyes strained for any of the rocky feet of the Red Mountains. There were crags and sometimes old hideouts from the days of the Marcher Skirmishes. The Dornish were good at making hidden sanctums. You dragged yourself along, ears hyperactive.

The clouds must have shifted— the full moon’s light bathed the forest in an eerie glow. You whimpered, moving faster, frantic eyes spotting a hardness against the natural shapes of nature. It was a whittled-down stone, a sure sign of what you were looking for.

You pushed through the burning pain in your side, panting as you made your way to the stones. Now grateful for the moonlight, you saw it, a cut into the red rock, big enough for a man to get through, much less a woman like you. Your eyes almost caught the much bigger opening above.

You collapsed in a heap once inside, panting and whining in pain. You lay in the darkness, breathing shallow as some energy had to come back. Eventually, you got up again, looking around. There were old weapon racks and scimitars. Much neater if you weren't lost alone in the wild as a sheltered, idiotic noblewoman.

Eyes adjusting further, you noted there were two separate tunnels.

“I’m dead as is…” you murmured, taking the right, and limping into the darkness. As you went deeper, the smell of the damp cave turned into something more foul— iron and rot. Blood. You held a hand over your mouth, gagging. It was the damn thing’s lair? You walked a step further, boot splattering into a puddle.

You knew what it was.

The stench of rot thickened. This was the feeding grounds. You whimpered again, falling to your knees, sobbing in the darkness. A voice reminded you to be stronger than that. You didn't know whose it was in your brain. Probably everyone you cared for. You didn't want to die, let them grieve and miss you.

Criston would lose himself. He would blame himself, you know he would.

Taking another painful breath, you dipped your hand into the blood, slathering it on your dress and neck, wherever your scent may waft. More tears slid down your face as you wiped some of your messed up hair, the blonde tresses fell and frizzy.

You went to place your hand on the wall to steady yourself, finding nothing. You fell through a small gap, landing with a pained ‘oof’. Sitting up again with a grimace, a feeling of safety seemed to embrace you. This little nook of sorts was hidden away.

A plan began to formulate in your mind. You could wait here. Eventually, the beast will come back and feed or sleep. Your best shot was sneaking out and running for it when the animal was distracted. Sighing softly, you felt around the tiny room, finding a knife of sorts, thankfully sheathed.

More shifting around and your hands felt clothing, a shredded shirt, some pants? Your fingertips felt blind— picking up a jacket of fine quality, you could figure that much feeling the fabric. It wasn’t damaged like the other items. You felt at the inside of the collar, looking for embroidery or something sewn.

You kept smelling the air, wondering why something smelt other than rot. Something that made you feel. Cashmere? Silk? The leather of the knife perhaps. Fingertips grazed some thick threading, feeling out the letters.

L-t, C-o-l, C-C-o-l-e.

Your heart stopped. A cold sweat broke out upon your blood-covered skin and ruined dress. Why was Criston’s jacket here? You smelled it, figuring out the cause of the scent— it was that cherry tobacco. You gripped it tightly, confused. What if he had hidden here too? What if he was dead? You muffled your mouth with the cloth, too scared, too upset to do much but heave.

Silence fell once again.

Your mind was going wild in the dark. You ached, it was freezing, and your stepfather could be dead for all you knew. You leaned against the wall, holding his jacket against you. Held it even when you jolted from the sounds of heavy breath and dragging.

It grew closer, the dragging of two dead bodies accompanied by the sound of two feet, and heavy breathing. That wasn’t a damn puma, you realized. Puma didn’t walk on two feet. Your mind went even further into fear and madness.

A monster? Like the ones out of your stupid dime novels?

Full moon. Animal attacks. You shuddered, listening out, breath hushed by Criston’s coat. The recollection of a silly story about were beasts and half men-half direwolves preying on the frozen North struck you.

The crunch and sound of an animal eating voraciously alerted you from your mind going down the worst route…yet. Now was the time to run. You clutched the knife and coat— refusing to die without some comfort if this went wrong.

Slithering out of the space, you crawled and crawled, not turning back once. The pain in your ribs was searing— you grit your teeth. Larger teeth crunched against sinew and bone from behind as the more illuminated front of the abandoned hideout came into view.

You breathed out, feeling dizzy from your bruised ribs crying for mercy. You fell forward from your knees, panting as quietly as you could. The energy was sapping from your body quickly. Drawing up the last of your will— the need to see your family again, the need for another day came upon you.

You shrugged off your boots, quiet as a mouse, and limped toward the near-blinding entrance. You took one staggering step at a time, biting on the coat to shut up. Your hand reached the entrance before something fell behind you. You crumpled to the ground, seeking somewhere to hide, crawling under nets behind weathered supplies crates.

A roar echoed from the depths of the right tunnel. Your blood was ice. Your breathing grew frantic as the sounds of pounding footsteps and growling. Claws were tearing at wood, cleaving its way around.

Others take you. The boots. You left your damned boots right there. It knows.

You clutched the coat and unsheathed the knife with one, shaking and praying for a quick death if it all went wrong. It felt like hours as it sniffed around, growling and rumbling, growing frustrated. Your wide eyes saw one of your boots hit the carved-out ceiling.

The boxes in front of you splintered and crackled, the netting easily sliced. You screamed in horror, eyes now upon the beast as you frantically crawled backward— it roared, heaving and slowly stepping forward.

Your eyes studied it in a state of shock. The beast was huge, with black curly hair adorning its long arms and legs, and claws on its hands and feet. Blood dripped from the sharp canines, bared, snarling at you, the slightly elongated nose just as angry looking. You whimpered, unable to process what stooped in front of you, growing closer and closer.

No, wait, it was like the book. A werewolf. You screamed as it growled and stepped closer, holding the jacket up to your mouth. One of the werewolf’s big hands jerked you forward, a furrowed brow and dark eyes inspecting your face. It huffed and sniffed at you, bloody drool smacking you in the cheek as you cried.

It yanked Criston’s coat away from you— leaving you to reach and cry and screech for it. The knife was all but forgotten. A strange look crossed its once enraged features as you sobbed for the coat, begging for something that couldn’t possibly understand. One of those clawed hands encircled your throat, pulling you upward, clenching enough to stop your squalling.

Human-like eyes were closer now as it bent down, face to face with you. You stared, wheezing as it looked…confused…eyes turning from you to the coat and back. As if it was asking you ‘why?’

The pressure on your throat lifted.

“It’s my stepfather’s coat, I- I need it- I need it,” you pled, “If you kill me let me have it to hold, please- if someone is in there- please.”

The werewolf blinked, your shrieks muffled by his musky fur as its wet nose and mouth pressed against your neck and inhaled deeply, nuzzling you. You shivered at the strange feeling, whimpering once more.

“There’s much worse in the world than a big cat.”

The wolfman pulled back, brows furrowing. Your mind was reeling but the pieces all fit. You wept a little, crawling towards the beast and backing away. Back holding the coat you pled fervently, struck with emotions.

“Criston? Criston is that you? I won’t tell you, you don’t have to hurt me, is that you?”

The Lycan’s frightening visage softened, those big dark eyes you dreamed about facing you head-on. It held your gaze, a mournful noise deep from its big chest, peaks of his olive skin showing through.

You frowned, seeing the anguish. Criston was inside the beast, he was the beast. He was the horrid thing that ate the sheep and changed into something unnatural and dangerous. You watched him pace back and forth— claws hitting the stone made you jump, and clutch the coat harder.

“Please- I don’t want you to feel alone, I’ll keep this a secret, you shouldn’t suffer alone. Please, just look at me.”

He stopped and turned, advancing on you quickly, picking you up with one arm. You clutched the coarse hair of his shoulders, once again shaking. Criston— the beastly version— inhaled your neck again, softly smelling, a chest-deep rumble shaking your frame. You felt red in the face, squeaking when its long tongue lapped your neck, cleaning the blood off. You now notice his ears, pointed and bigger.

You were led down the other hallway and laid upon likely ancient furs. The lycan was smart enough to hand you a small candle and some flint stone. You had a feeling the beast was subdued, needs met and the human could come forth. Your shaky hands got the tiny fire lit, illuminating your messy state, and well…Criston was a giant man-wolf thing.

He grunted, eyes darkening at your state. You explained, “I smeared blood all over myself so my scent would be muted. I just couldn’t leave the coat. Your scent spooked my horse and I took a nasty fall.”

He looked annoyed, growling and grumbling as his over large frame paced around the chamber, picking you up once again and leading you further into the gloom. Your eyes widened as he somehow shifted through a hole, and you cradled against his chest. You had no doubt it was your stepfather now, the little gestures and micro-expressions too familiar.

You remained alive, staring at cave springs and glowing mushrooms. He dropped you back down, a claw flicking the button to your dress. You could almost hear it now.

“Get bathed, then come and let me see what you did this time.”

You blushed heavily, still not sure whether to run in terror or not. But you stripped to your shift, ready to step in. A growl stopped you. He pulled at your chemise then retreated into the poorly lit chambers.

You took off the buttoned drawers first, then the slip, shivering as you stepped into the shallow pool, sighing as it wasn’t cold, a lovey hidden hot spring. Briskly washing off the blood, guts, and wolf slobber, you braided your hair again, slipping the white linen back on, shivering at the coolness of the cave…shivering at Criston seeing you like this.

As a godsdamn werewolf.

He was hunched over now, looking at the coat, quickly turning as you reentered, the shift clinging to your wet curves, soft and rounded. You blushed and he let out a deep growl. You had decided to button the drawers underneath the slip, knowing he’d want to see your bruising.

You shyly sat down on the furs and carpets, letting the wolf lay you down, a claw lifting your slip, face turning into pure anger, a deep rumble from the sight of the mottling across usually soft and delicate skin. You nervously murmured, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I went looking for you like a fool. I didn’t think that…” you trailed off.

Silence filled the air.

Another shiver tore through you, heavy bust peaking through the thin fabric strained across your breasts. Purple eyes met obsidian. He covered you in an instant, paw-like hand gently rubbing the bruising, eyes almost pitying you. He rumbled again, nuzzling your neck and décolleté.

Another big hand was on the right side of you, a little rougher, feeling your softened flesh. You babbled under the ministrations, the warmth of his larger body a comfort and a distraction. You began to wonder if this was real.

“Criston- wolf- sir- why now?”

He lapped at your neck as to apologize, hands sliding up and down your sides, one ghosting up your slip, running back on your soft tummy, the claws barely touching. You whimpered, heart speeding up, waiting for something. Criston looked at you again, lips dropping to press a sweet kiss.

You gripped at the skin and human hair on his chest, finding yourself rather intoxicated with desire now. His touch roamed to your teats, huge hands able to get a nice handful, squeezing. You whined, babbling, “I’ve always wanted you- Gods save me.”

He rumbled, amused as he grew impatient, growling as he squeezed and flicked a claw against your nipple; lapping and lapping at the other through your thin slip. Your needy hands pulled at your drawers, shivering as you pushed them down, soaked cunt bare.

“Gods- oh gods,” you mewled.

Criston’s hands retreated from your skin quickly, his nose twitching now— growling, eyes moving to between your legs. You desperately mewled, “D-don’t tear me in half…I know the beast is coming back.”

The beast in him didn’t have all of its needs filled. Fight, flight, feed, and now fuck. You took off your slip, bared for his gaze.

You were promptly turned onto your belly, ass hiked up as feral grumbling and growls came from behind, his nose and tongue coming up your back, hands on your ass and thighs roughly as you whimpered, panting and shaking.

A blunt tip pushed at your virgin entrance, surprisingly slick. You whimpered again before he howled in excitement as the rest of his huge cock entered you, tearing your maidenhead and penetrating you deep. Your fingers clawed at the floor as he began to fuck in earnest.

You panted and whined in pain, getting on your elbows to ease the pressure on your ribs, dulled earlier by the hot springs. Now you were burning between your legs and there, focusing on the stretch of your inner walls, how thick and wet he felt.

The pain was still there, pinching some. Criston growled and growled, forcing the most obscene noises from your pussy. He licked and nibbled at the nape of your neck as you felt the primal rhythm of his fucking begin to heat up, growing hotter with every rub.

“Ngh, wet, oh! S’full.” came the nonsensical words between wet slaps. The beast seemed to like how he stretched you to your limits, rutting ceaselessly as he felt where his cock had you speared. You panted, hand slapping down to where a mess was being made, rubbing that place you’d read about, tightening down further.

Criston whined this time— claws digging into your full hips. His face nuzzled against yours, rumbling and whining like a puppy, his cock swelling as you tightened. It felt so good, surrounded by him, your virgin pussy being rubbed and rubbed from the inside and out with a frantic hand, noises wet and sloppy.

You didn’t realize how loud you were crying and carrying on as he fucked you deep and hard, Criston, the beast, both— began to grind upwards, easily manipulating your hips. You mewled when the soft, sensitive roof of your cunt was being massaged by his veiny prick. You gasped, at the end of your rope, “Sir, Cristoooon, oh, sir, sir, oh gods- I can’t do it- oh gods.”

That wasn’t an appropriate wolf-man answer. He simply angled you harder, the tip now gently kissing your cervix. Slow and intense, rub rub rub. You blinked, feeling a sob from the intensity building up. A furry arm wrapped up under you, holding you close to his warm body as you began to unravel, pleasure filling your lower body before spreading outwards like a heavy blanket. He lapped and held you through it, kissing a little, surprising you when the beast whined like it was in pain, a mournful howl before painting your twitching cunt with white-hot seed.

You knew you were done, for now, too fucked out and delirious. The wolf pulled your smaller body atop of him, you feeling like your beloved stepfather was back, albeit in a way you were sure it took being insane to see. You didn’t have time to think about it, resting against his broad frame, eyelids drooping as its big arms enveloped you.

You awoke with a gasp, yelping at a very naked Criston staring at a very naked you. He grabbed you gently, eyes fierce, pressing his forehead and nose to your own. His human-sized hands were holding your shoulders as he croaked, “My bunny, my baby, forgive me, you need to you need to end this.”

You pulled back, frowning before taking his stubbled cheeks in hand, eyes taking in the anguish across his features. You swore, “No. I- I wanted it. I still want it. If we need to come to a means like that, we’ll walk to the ends of the earth first.”

He stared at you, quivering in agony. He looked so tired. He looked scared. You hugged him, uncaring of anything but the man who kept you afloat— beast or not. You spoke firmly against his ear, “I’m not leaving you behind. I won’t have you do this alone. Just, just know I love you, more than anything I’ve ever shown.”

A tear slipped from his eye, his pretty lips quirking up, his fingers gripping your chin gently. Criston rasped, “I love you bunny. Never had anything keep me so…in tune with it. You- you shook me out of that animalistic fugue.”

“I’ll do it every night if need be,” you promised, kissing his cheek, hands seeking his.

Criston looked to the side, jaw and brows working as they did when he was nervous or stressed. Finally, he looked up at you, eyes firm again.

“Why don’t we stay lost a bit longer, I’ll smell out Ferris and you take your ass home. I should’ve eaten him for leaving you like this, a feast for a beast.” He picked you up, heading back towards the hot springs.

End.

[ja3hwa]

♡ 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐈𝐭 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐀 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐏𝐭.𝟓 | 𝐊.𝐇𝐉 ♡

【Synopsis】 : Fear was clouding both you and Hongjoong's judgement, leading you to question whether Hongjoong actually likes you the way you do him or not. Would a confession fix everything? Or would it cause a rift between the two of you?

『Word count』 :  1.21k

-> Genre: Smut. Angsty but Fluffy. Romance. DBF.

Pairing: Dilf!Hongjoong x Park!Reader 

[Warnings] : Making out. Mentions of sex. Hongjoong can keep his hands to himself. Crying, heartbreak. Fear and insecurities. Lots of sappy cheesy romance novel stuff. Slight miscommunication trope. What can i say, i live to cause chaos. Hehe. Also, I love to point out that i love Seonghwa very much, and any i say about him doesn't mean anything.

Note: I know, I know. You were probably hoping for the first time, hehe. But no, Daddy Joong and Angel needed to have a heart to heart first. Haha. And I wanted the smut to be in one part, and it's gonna be a long one, hehe. Enjoy this for now, my beautiful babies. ♡♡♡

Masterlist | Navigation | Part Four | Buy Me A Ko-Fi

The dinner felt like something out of a romance novel or movie. Everything was perfect, down to the last bite of your dessert. The way the chocolate melted on your tongue and the whipped cream spilled down your throat, dripping down your chin. Hongjoong had to bite back a groan at the way your eyes rolled back in pleasure. You found out that Hongjoong owns the restaurant, which caught you by complete surprise, given he didn’t know the first thing about cooking. He had spoken about how he was originally going to be a bar, but his mother mentioned she would have loved to own a restaurant with opened windows, grand red couches, and welcoming smiles. His dream quickly became something to resemble his mother. He wanted her to know how much he loved her, even when he was being his cold stand-off self. She helped a lot in his life, and he missed her every day.

He parked outside your apartment, and the silence continued. Only the soft pitter-patter of rain hitting the windshield. You didn’t want to get out of the car. You didn’t want the night to end, and as he turned to look at you in the eyes, you knew he didn’t want it to end either. “Why don’t you come up…. Coffee maybe…”

Your heart was racing, feeling all your nerves shaking at you. You needed to push yourself, push him. Show him you could be assertive… mature. He sighed, biting his bottom lip while looking back to the dark wet street in front of the car. He had conflicting feelings like his mind was splitting into two. You felt your heart breaking with each breath, with each silent second. “I don’t think that is a good idea…”

“Why?!” You said that way too quickly than you’d like, knuckles turning white as you clench the fabric of your dress in between your fingers. He just sighed again, making your heart shatter slowly. He raked his hand through his hair, searching for the right words to say without causing a miscommunication or pain.

“If I go up there, then I won't come back down.” His words made you hold a breath. Did he mean that? Was he worried about having sex with you? Be with you? You quickly responded with a simple ‘so’ which probably made you sound like an upset, desperate teenager, but you didn’t care, needing to hear him out. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Not yet. Your father is uhh…”

There it was. The cruel reminder of who you were to him. His best friend's daughter. Just some silly little girl that he was fooling around with. You sagged completely into your chair, trying to balance the weight forming on your chest. You felt like you couldn’t breathe like you were suffocating in the small vehicle. No matter how hard you fight or how much he tries to forget, your relationship will be constantly based on what your father thinks. Your father's feelings. Not yours.

 “I see…” You finally spoke. “Well, I’ll see you later than Hongjoong. Tonight was lovely…really lovely.” You got out before he could say another word. But you knew he was calling your name, trying to get you to hear his reasoning. Why he say what he said. The rain that was lightly spitting when you were in the restaurant was now bucketing down. You tried to get to the door of your building as quickly as possible, but a firm grip of your wrist stopped you. You turned to see a soaking Hongjoong, looking desperate and…regretful.

“I want to be with you. Don’t you ever think otherwise.” He yelled over the rain, your eyes growing wide as he put his left hand on your cheek, stroking your wet skin with his thumb. “I suck at voicing my thoughts. Please…please don’t think I don’t want you angel. You are the only thing in my life that makes me want to live again.”

You could feel your throat closing and your heart racing. Tears were falling along with the rain, ruining your make-up. He inched close, letting you feel his breath on your skin. Then you closed the gap, letting him lock his lips against yours. He kissed you more passionately, unlike the lust-filled kisses you’ve shared with him. He kissed you like you were the only person left in the world. He kisses you like he needs it to breathe. He needed you more than he could ever explain. But fuck, if he wasn’t going to try to show you exactly how he feels, with every kiss, every soft touch and every whisper of sweet nothings in your ear. He wasn’t afraid of your father. He wasn’t afraid of what his other friends might think. He was going to shout from the rooftop how much he has fallen in love with you, and he was going to make sure you knew he meant every word.

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you.” You whispered, your tears turning into a sob. Your fingers were tangled in his wet shirt, fearing he’d disappear if you let go. And then he smiled, he laughed. His nose rubbing against yours, he whispered back…

“I’m definitely in love with you, angel. I’ve been in love with you the moment you step out of your car in that fucking perfect little dress.” He groaned kissing you again. He swallowed your giggles as you both felt a euphoric feeling like no other. It was like a switch went off. The last puzzle piece fell into place and nothing else outside your little bubble mattered. His plans to make your first time was about to go out the fucking window….

“If you don’t get back in my car right now, I’ll drag you into it.” His words were dark, tainting on your lips. It was like a drug you’d never get enough of. Quickly, without slipping, you got back into his expensive car, your hand never leaving his thigh as he drove and your lips suckling on his neck. Hongjoong was glad it was almost two in the morning, and no one was on the road. Otherwise, he would've most likely hit someone with how fast he was going. He made it back to his apartment in no time, and without another moment to spear, he dragged you towards the elevator by your hand. Fingers entangled with yours.. he pinned you against the wall in a feverish kiss, holding the back of your neck, guiding your mouth with his. This was not what he wanted your first time to be like. But god, did he need every second of it.

The way his hand crept up your dress, crawling at your hips. Feeling your frilly panties along his fingertips. His tongue raked down your hot skin, suckling a bright red mark on your neck. He was going to litter you with his marks, every part of your beautiful untouched body. Taint it like you were made for him. He was going to fuck you like it was the last thing he was ever going to do. Because you deserved every treatment he gave you.

No matter what your father was going to think. He’d deal with the prick afterwards.

-♡

[x-z-x]

SAND AND METAL

→ Seth x Goddess!OC [Habibah]

✦ Synopsis: Hathor gives birth to her first descendant, and Seth is the last to find out.

✦ Word Count: 5.3k

✦ Warnings: Incest / Smut + Erotic Asphyxiation.

✦ Spanish Version: Arena y Metal

“What’s happening with Hathor?”

The gods turned at the new voice, and some faces showed displeasure at seeing the latest addition to the room. Seth raised an eyebrow at their reactions, while Sekhmet smiled widely, ready to provide answers.

“Apparently, her daughter is causing trouble,” she said with malicious laughter.

“Since when does she have descendants? Who among you was it?” he asked, slightly aggressive due to the confusion.

“None,” Maat sighed, crossing her arms. “She had an affair some time ago and...”

Seth made a sound indicating his opinion on how foolish it was for her to end up pregnant, then watched them with suspicion, wondering if this had been a secret kept just from him.

“What did she do to make Hathor run through the halls in tears?”

“She was born with her mother’s beauty. She enjoys dancing and travels with a troupe to different cities for performances, but her appearance is drawing quite a lot of attention,” Bastet explained.

“Seriously, the problem is that she has too many suitors?” he scoffed.

“It’s more than that; some are deities who are starting to fight and cause chaos,” Maat said, emphasizing the gravity of the situation. “We asked Hathor to impose order and demand that her daughter act according to her divine title, but...”

“Divine? Did her daughter ascend?” he asked, less sympathetically.

“She is the Goddess of Precious Stones and Metals. Everything we use was crafted by her,” Thoth said, pointing to the impressive necklace he wore.

Isis smiled with mockery, but Seth dismissed the situation as a waste of time and left the place, heading to his temple. Upon arrival, contrary to what he had said, he ordered his most loyal servants to find the young woman who captivated everyone. However, the information didn’t arrive until several months later, and by then, any interest had faded.

Still, Hathor didn’t hesitate to confront him when she learned he knew her precious daughter was coming to the city. Nervous and agitated, it only encouraged the man to dismiss her concerns even more.

“Don’t mess with my baby! I’ll deal with the suitors, erase every trace of affection, and nothing will happen!” she growled, frowning.

“Now you choose to act? Battles and conflicts have arisen because of her, and that’s my territory.”

“She’s the victim, don’t blame her! If you do anything...”

“What?” Seth raised an eyebrow, a challenging smile on his face. “Do you think you can stand up to me?”

Hathor turned crimson, her violet eyes' pupils becoming vertical slits, her aura extremely threatening.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to destroy you if you interfere with her. I don’t care if I have to alter the feelings of every living being to have them protect her and turn against you,” she declared, sparks flying from the tips of her fingers. Then she turned and left the hall.

“Since when does she dare to speak to me like that?” he muttered angrily, tapping his nails against the throne he occupied.

Choosing to go regardless of the circumstances, he instructed them to prepare less conspicuous clothing and to cover his red hair well to remain unnoticed. Wrapped in linen, he set out at dusk for the designated area, frowning at the large number of people already occupying the front rows.

“Sir, please come this way,” a young woman with fine jewelry and a broad smile announced.

“Don’t touch me,” he growled as she grasped his arm.

“Please, I have instructions from the lead interpreter to take you to the front row,” she explained, maintaining her charm.

Seth squinted and moved forward, noticing that several mortals dressed like her were organizing the spectators. Both women and men watched him pass by, curious about who he was as they were led to more favorable spots. When he stopped, they led him to a cushioned area just a few meters from the makeshift stage.

As the sun set, torches were lit, and the musicians settled into their places, quietly chatting among themselves. It took some time before the performance began, and after a while, a man finally welcomed the audience and announced the start of the show. The first to perform were a mixed group dancing in pairs or small ensembles before breaking formation to interact with the audience. Seth admired the performance, wondering where they had found so many beautiful and talented people, while the crowd laughed and applauded at the artists’ infectious enthusiasm.

Minutes passed in a different activity for him, the final act arriving as a curtain was lifted to reveal several female silhouettes that captured everyone’s attention. A different rhythm began to play, and the fabric was released by the men holding it on ladders. Nine women showed their backs, with one standing out at the tip of the V formation. Gradually, they turned, and finally, the face of the girl Seth had come to see appeared, his mouth slightly open in awe.

With a confident and seductive smile, and lips as red as rubies, the goddess lifted her eyelids to reveal dark purple irises, with long lashes inherited from her mother. She walked slowly as the other women scattered across the stage. In perfect synchronization, they began their choreography with incredible flair. Crystals and golden beads intertwined and flew through the air as they twirled, the decorations sparkling as brightly as she did, leaving the audience breathless.

Seth’s red eyes followed every movement, admiring the curves that swayed with mischievous grace. Ignored until she decided to get closer to the prime spot, she crouched with a predatory air and crept to the edge of the platform, supporting herself on her hands and knees. The crowd cheered excitedly as she maintained eye contact, rising at one point and slowly swaying her hips. She traced her legs, thighs, waist, and neck in an extremely sensual display before turning and calling one of the men dancing nearby.

Euphoria erupted at the potential of what might happen, with Seth grinding his teeth and watching almost without blinking as she placed both hands on the man’s shoulders and began to caress him. He held her and spun her around, recognizing her intentions, and stroked her exposed abdomen while maintaining a challenging gaze toward the god. At this point, due to the heat from the large torches and the dance, she glistened with a light sheen of sweat and had cheeks flushed like beautiful garnets.

"I’ll wait for you," she said, her voice fading into the music and the noise.

Seth read her lips and watched as she threw a bracelet at his feet. Some people tried to reach for it, but he covered it with his hand, glaring at them so intensely that they backed off.

Once the event ended, he decided to wait for a signal. Suddenly, the bracelet began to heat up, pulling him with an unseen force in a specific direction. He let it guide him through a couple of crowded streets before turning into an alley, where the woman awaited, leaning against a wall and inspecting her nails.

"I learned of your existence only recently, unlike the rest," he remarked with a hint of reproach.

"It’s understandable. From what I’ve been told, your temper is rather volatile and aggressive," she said, shrugging as if it didn’t matter much. "What brings you here?" she asked, tilting her head and closing the distance between them, but soon found herself trapped as sand coiled around her legs.

"As the God of War and the Desert, I’ve come to deal with the trouble you’re causing with your suitors."

She averted her gaze and rolled her eyes silently, prompting Seth to issue a warning sound that forced her to speak.

"Do you have somewhere more private?"

Seth narrowed his eyes, considering the question before grabbing her by the arm and vanishing in a whirlwind.

"This is…" she hesitated, looking around.

"My temple," he finished, shedding the unnecessary linen, letting his red hair fall freely over his shoulders.

"Wow," she murmured, gently touching a strand. "I could make so many things to enhance this color. It’s so beautiful..."

Seth grabbed her wrist high in warning, allowing her to smile and lick his hand without breaking eye contact.

"Careful, or I’ll cut out your tongue."

She snorted, pulling free and turning her back to him, elegantly walking toward the massive stairs leading to the main building. The jewels and gemstone threads hanging from her chimed harmoniously with each step, glowing brighter as she neared the torches.

"It’s huge. I wouldn’t mind spending a few weeks here," she teased, brushing a wall with her fingers.

Seth followed at a measured distance, his eyes tracking her every move, taking in everything she was. Since he first saw her, an unfamiliar, overwhelming need had been growing inside him, frustratingly hard to ignore.

"Did I offer for you to stay?"

"Don’t you want me to? I’m good company," she turned, walking backward. "Why do you think those who know me fight over having me?" she winked.

"Sex."

"If that’s all, why don’t they forget me when I leave? What makes them cling so tightly?" she slowed her pace, drawing closer. "You saw it tonight—the crowd gets excited just watching me... Even you."

Seth clenched his teeth in frustration, and she stuck her tongue out teasingly.

“Do you have your mother’s permission to be mingling with gods?”

“I haven’t needed her approval in centuries,” she laughed. “I told her today I’d try to avoid causing chaos. Who knows, maybe getting close to the God of War is the solution.”

“You’ll be more trouble than pleasure.”

Her laugh rang out at that, before she pretended to ponder deeply.

“Do you have musicians? Maybe a private dance would change your mind.”

“We have matters to settle first,” he replied indifferently, though she knew a little push would make him fall. “What’s your name?”

"I'll tell you depending on what you decide after my dance."

He clenched his jaw, hating the carefree tone in her voice and the mischievous glint in her eyes. The constant smile was unnerving, making it seem like she was the one in control.

"Why do you live like a nomad, performing shows?"

"Mortal or immortal, every being is born with a family they can cherish—or not. My mother is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, and she'll always have a place in my heart. But the rest doesn’t really matter much. I met people who share my interests, people I enjoy spending my days with. They trust me, and I trust them, so I chose them," she explained, a new air surrounding her. "I won't leave that caravan, not when everyone I care about has an expiration date."

"You have feelings unbefitting of a deity."

"What is a god without humanity? If you don’t understand the people you’re meant to protect, represent, and serve, how can you be an empathetic and respectable ruler?" she asked, her eyes filled with pure seriousness. "I know I’ll never rule Egypt, but that doesn’t make me indifferent to those who pray to me."

"By the way you speak, I have no doubt you’re close to Osiris and Isis."

"Well thought out, both had a big hand in raising me," she responded, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one hip.

"Whatever," he mimicked her stance, looking her up and down. "Are you incapable of ordering your lovers to stop fighting over you?"

"Most haven’t even managed to lay a finger on me; they fight purely for the desire to do so. I’ve intervened, but the one who really should be stepping up here is Nephthys and encouraging peace."

"I don't question that. They should’ve turned to her from the start."

"She’s your sister. If she doesn’t act, you could ask her."

"Who do you think I am, a messenger?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Wow," she sighed, tilting her head. "So what now, we sleep together and let the rumor spread to scare the gods?"

"You’re really persistent. Do you want me that badly?" He clicked his tongue, grinning smugly.

The question drew a dry laugh from her as she stepped closer.

"I won’t deny you’re incredibly attractive, but even before you showed up at the performance, I knew I was in the mood for some fun tonight. If you don’t join me, I’ll find someone else to satisfy me."

Seth exhaled and held her gaze, his heart racing as he fought the urge to look away, feeling as if she were pulling him closer to the edge of a cliff.

"I believe you promised to dance and change my mind, didn’t you?"

"Finally, we’re getting to the important part," she said, pleased, taking a step back. "Lead me to your musicians."

Without delay, he took the lead and left her waiting outside as he entered a room. From the corridor, she could hear the hurried greetings of men and women as they scrambled to follow his commands, a few accidental notes sounding in the shuffle. A considerable line of people soon filed out, their eyes widening as they caught sight of her. She smiled, reveling in the way some let their jaws drop in astonishment.Seth exhaled and held her gaze, his heart racing as he fought the urge to look away, feeling as if she were pulling him closer to the edge of a cliff.

"I believe you promised to dance and change my mind, didn’t you?"

"Finally, we’re getting to the important part," she said, pleased, taking a step back. "Lead me to your musicians."

Without delay, he took the lead and left her waiting outside as he entered a room. From the corridor, she could hear the hurried greetings of men and women as they scrambled to follow his commands, a few accidental notes sounding in the shuffle. A considerable line of people soon filed out, their eyes widening as they caught sight of her. She smiled, reveling in the way some let their jaws drop in astonishment.

“What’s keeping you all busy?” Seth asked from the back, his voice causing everyone to snap out of their stupor and hasten their movements.

"If you decide not to have sex with me, I’m glad to know I won’t have to look far for another partner."

He shot her a sidelong glance, gritted his teeth, and then tossed his hair back.

"Let’s go."

They walked calmly, with Seth entering first into a vast room where a massive mattress lay nearly at floor level. Posts with large curtains were arranged to shield the bed from view, while four attendants lit incense and prepared alcohol.

"Release the side curtains."

Another small group hurried to comply, loosening the ties and leaving only one section uncovered.

"Interesting," the goddess remarked, taking a few steps around the room.

The musicians arranged their instruments and took positions concealed by heavy drapes, their role clearly to observe the guest.

"Prepare as you wish," Seth said with an indifferent gesture before heading to the bed and reclining against a large mound of pillows.

Two women approached with golden goblets filled with wine, which both accepted before the temple owner instructed them to leave.

As she drank calmly, she approached the musicians to discuss her preferences. They exchanged opinions and reached an agreement on how to proceed. Satisfied with the outcome, she moved several meters from the bed and took her place directly in front of the open section.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Are you?” he replied, raising an eyebrow as the incense began to fill the room.

Winking, she emptied his glass in one gulp and raised it in the air. At this signal, the musicians began to play as she turned her back to him, keeping her arm extended above her head.

As she swayed her hips slowly, the gold she wore started to melt and reshape. It dripped down her arm, first forming a small head and then an elongated body. The newly formed snake coiled and descended to rest around her neck. With both hands on the sensitive area, she turned slowly and smiled with her eyes closed, letting herself be carried away by the music. She caressed her collarbones and shoulders before extending her arms, while the serpentine creation moved across her chest and encircled her. Suddenly, a piece of fabric fell away, revealing a breast.

As if nothing had happened, she continued her dance, the metal caressing and embracing every part of her body as it descended. Her adorned wrists and fingers skimmed her skin and created perfect movements in the air, captivating the onlookers who held their breath as the serpent approached the garment covering her most intimate area.

Unperturbed, she turned and placed both hands on the back of her legs, carefully lifting a bit of the fabric. The serpent coiled one of its segments around her thigh to keep her hand in place, taking advantage of the opportunity to slither beneath her skirt.

A murmur rose from the left side, and the woman glanced over her shoulder to see Seth’s unblinking gaze, though one of his eyebrows twitched involuntarily at a comment she couldn't quite decipher. With a smile, she arched her back and bent her body backward, her free fingers caressing from her abdomen up to the exposed breast, squeezing it with delight.

The serpent gradually released her, and she turned to show how it emerged from the front, starting to rise and drag the fabric up to the edge of revealing her inner thigh. However, she made sure not to expose too much, guiding it to change direction slightly. She pivoted on one foot, preparing for the imminent drumbeat, and at that moment, she fell to her knees with her hands extended and her hair cascading forward.

She slowly straightened up, and the musicians adjusted their rhythm to match her movements. Seated in a W shape with her legs apart, she locked eyes with Seth and felt the intense heat from his red gaze, which made her smile. She then turned her attention to one of the women who had earlier caught her eye. Attractive and alluring, the woman was a tempting prospect if Seth chose to let her go. In an instant, the protagonist contemplated how to seduce her, but the god’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

Everyone snapped out of their trance and ceased their actions, the musicians hurriedly gathering their instruments and leaving the room. Within minutes, they were alone, and she approached the foot of the bed, tilting her head with curiosity.

“Didn’t you like the performance?”

Seth took a deep breath, finished his wine, and threw the glass off the bed with a loud clink. He adjusted himself and gestured with his index finger, signaling her to come closer. She smiled and took a few steps onto the bed, getting on all fours and crawling towards him until she was on top. The serpent, curious, slithered over the red-haired man’s body as they locked eyes.

“It was disrespectful of you to look at someone else when you should have been trying to convince me.”

“Is that why you cut off the dance? I was just assessing the best option in case you decided to pass on such an incredible opportunity,” she defended herself, moving closer until their faces were only a few centimeters apart. “So, what’s your answer?”

After a moment of silence, he placed his right hand on her head to close the distance. Their lips met and quickly intertwined, his feeling incredibly soft mixed with the aroma of the wine they had drunk.

"When you decided to meet me, had you planned this?" she asked as he pulled away, his hand caressing the small of her back.

"You’re the first descendant of Hathor, and she had hidden you from me jealously. It was just curiosity," she replied. "And you? Why did you give me the bracelet?"

"Isn’t it obvious? You captivated me the moment I saw you. I definitely wanted us to share a bed."

Seth flashed a small sidelong smile and brushed her hair back, the intertwined lines of gems shining in his hand as he gathered it.

“What’s your name?” he asked, even more dazzled by her incredible appearance up close.

She smiled and tilted her head towards one of the curtains, as if deciding whether to reveal the information. Finally, she turned back and kissed the palm resting on her cheek.

“Habibah, which means ‘the one who is loved,’” she confessed, with a look of complicity.

“Your mother really knew what she was doing, because that’s how everyone seems to feel when they meet you.”

“Even the God of War and the Desert?”

“I’m not like the others. Do you think you can make me feel the same way?” he said with a touch of challenge, but sounding more like an invitation to continue what they had started.

Accepting the challenge and everything it implied, she kissed him deeply, her tongue exploring his. Seth caressed her warm skin and then pressed down, aligning their bodies so that she could feel his erection. Without hesitation, she began to move her hips, and he let out a pleased sigh, his hands finding their way to her waist.

Habibah ran a hand through his red hair and descended slowly, tracing her way down his chest until she focused on one of his nipples. Seth gritted his teeth, undid the clasp of the upper fabric, and started to caress what was within reach, instructing her to lie down.

Without hesitation, she moved a few pillows and settled against the soft mattress, watching as the serpent coiled around the man’s arm like a perfect and beautiful accessory. He barely noticed the gold, focusing instead on returning her affections. Habibah closed her eyes and took a deep breath as his lips arrived at her breasts. She caressed his shoulders and back, lightly scratching as she felt him burning like the desert under the sun.

The incense began to take effect, lightening their minds and giving way to an intense desire that drove them to hold each other with urgency. Their hips searched for each other frantically, moaning against one another in broken kisses, their legs and arms entwined in a connection with no clear beginning or end.

Habibah slipped a hand between them, urgently seeking his erection, which she attended to with skillful movements until she lifted the fabric that covered his intimacy. Seth created some distance and propped himself on his knees, removing the minimal clothing and setting it aside before focusing on her. Completely naked and adorned only with jewelry, she settled herself as he took her legs and dragged her over his thighs. The movement elicited a small surprised sound from Habibah, and he watched her expectantly while caressing the outer side of her legs.

“Do it,” she encouraged, brushing his stomach with a hand.

Seth tightened his grip, leaving momentary marks before releasing her and taking his erection. With a single movement, he inserted the tip and then thrust in a steady rhythm until he reached the deepest point. Both moaned, and the woman arched her back with a wide smile while pulling the sheets.

“You’re incredibly wet,” he growled, his cheeks flushed with satisfaction.

“You say that as if it’s something strange. Don’t women get excited with you?”

She shivered with excitement and pleasure as a sharp, red gaze emerged among the fiery hair. The intense tickling sensation made her laugh with delight until she nearly screamed as he began to thrust forcefully. Breathless, she tried to steady herself amidst the sounds of raw impact, the heat and pleasure spreading like waves from the center of her body to every corner.

"You shouldn’t be competing with the God of War," he said with a proud expression.

"I don’t mind losing," she replied honestly, though she knew it would only fuel the fire further.

Seth narrowed his eyes but soon regained his composure, placing his hands on the mattress with a feigned calm as she wrapped her legs around his body. She swayed her hips, feeling his member pressing down, and he resumed the movement with great force after a hiss. Habibah pulled him towards her by the nape to kiss him, shivering as his tongue entered and took control. The thrusts were relentless, with a stamina reminiscent of someone who had fought countless battles to defend Egypt.

With tearful eyes, she admired the man moving above her, pushing aside her strands of hair to see him better, noticing the earrings that moved violently in sync with their owner.

"I’ll make you some prettier ones," she said, brushing against the fine, rectangular gold plate.

"How can you think of that in the middle of sex?"

"Maybe you should try harder," she pressed, noticing how the atmosphere shifted in the blink of an eye.

The room fell silent, and Habibah's skin tingled as she realized she had made a mistake.

"Turn around," he commanded as he withdrew from her, not waiting for her to move and grabbing her by the arm to start repositioning her.

Any doubt vanished when she lost her breath again, feeling Seth penetrate her abruptly and hold her by the neck with considerable force. She was left gasping for air and tried to grab his wrist, but the sand made her hands stick to the bed.

"Such behavior with someone who was born long before you is very inappropriate," he growled, his abs tensing as he gradually adjusted the angle to graze the spot that would drive her wild. "Talking less and learning would do you a lot of good."

Involuntarily, Habibah’s eyes rolled back as he found her most sensitive area, her legs wanting to give out but unable to do so due to the force with which he held her.

“Se… th…” she called, her muscles trembling in a way she had never experienced before.

“Hmm?” he asked, loosening his grip.

A bit of awareness returned to her as she tried to ask for a breath amidst the perfect administrations. However, Seth increased his effort, making it impossible for her to speak.

Cursing inwardly, she let her head drop as moisture dripped down her thighs, slightly staining the sheets. Seth held her by the hips for added stability and wrapped sand around her neck, the itching heightening the effects of pleasure and strangulation. Any cries and moans were muffled or cut off, with only a few gasps escaping as he breathed heavily and occasionally growled in deep satisfaction.

Struggling to swallow and relishing the challenge, Habibah briefly focused and set the serpent in motion. The god's hips lost their rhythm, and she glanced over her shoulder to see the golden creature firmly wrapped around the redhead's throat.

“T-Two…” she tried to say, and he deliberately loosened his grip. “Two can play… this game,” she smiled proudly, though she soon rolled her eyes and propped herself up on her elbows.

He breathed heavily, the metal not yielding in the slightest and intensifying his own sensations.

“I knew you’d be a pain if I brought you to the temple,” he growled, his brow furrowed.

Habibah tried to laugh, but a strange sound escaped as she felt the onset of her orgasm.

“But I… I also give you pleasure,” she defended, feeling her lungs burn and forcing the gold to make him suffer the same way she did.

A desperate, frustrated groan escaped from the man, who felt the constriction sending electric waves to his erection. He clenched his jaw and threw his head back, pushing into her with renewed urgency to provoke the impending climax.

Both seemed to have lost control of their consciousness and bodies as they moved, overwhelmed by the need to escape the pleasure consuming them. They were on the brink of fainting, allowing brief moments of calm before their necks were swiftly constricted again.

Habibah's spasms intensified, reaching a climax that opened a new world of pleasure. Her legs trembled uncontrollably, making lascivious sounds as the moisture increased significantly with the release. The pressure of her walls became too much for Seth to bear, and the stimulation pushed him to his limit, culminating inside her. He trembled and groaned loudly, delivering the final thrusts with some difficulty until the stimulation became overwhelming and he stopped.

Both the metal and the sand loosened, and they both breathed heavily, their eyelids drooping as they collapsed onto the mattress, savoring the comfort. Habibah, lying face down, slowly turned to look at the man, who had one arm draped over his forehead as he steadied himself. He looked just as beautiful, if not more so, with an enviable profile and eye and hair color that she would love to highlight with various creations.

“That was good,” the young woman sighed, stretching her arms.

Seth watched her, unknowingly mimicking her movements, silently admiring the beauty that had captivated him at a single glance. They chatted a bit and decided that this would be the only round, though their mouths didn't escape some additional entanglements until they surrendered to sleep.

When the sun was high, the god cracked open his eyes and, groggy, took a few minutes to become aware of his surroundings. Floral scents filled the air, none of which were familiar, so he looked around and noticed Habibah’s absence. Frowning, he sat up, ready to get up and find out if she had left, but then he heard a noise in the room and, cautiously, drew back the curtains.

Facing away from the window, the goddess examined herself in the mirror as she applied a type of oil to her face. Her hair was wet and slicked back, the sunlight streaming in and drying it quickly. She was visibly focused and didn't realize that Seth had awakened until his bare feet made a soft noise on the floor.

“Good morning,” Habibah smiled as she applied perfume.

“I see you found the bathrooms.”

“Yes, after the show and our entanglement, I needed to freshen up.”

“I still have the bracelet you threw at me.”

“It’s yours,” she said, looking at the object. “With it, if you ever get bored and miss me, you can find me wherever I am and relive last night,” she winked playfully.

Seth clicked his tongue and looked at the accessory, feeling his stomach churn. The stones sparkled as much as she did in the sun.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Still, you should be prepared for when my mother sees you wearing something of mine,” she warned, stretching her neck to examine the marks he had left.

“Not much she can do,” he brushed off, placing a hand on his hip. “Are you heading to the caravan?”

“Yes, I need to let them know I’m okay and ready for tonight’s performance.”

“How long will you stay in the city?”

“Until the next full moon.”

They fell silent for a moment, and Seth crossed his arms, looking out the window at the clear sky.

“Stay here.”

“Excuse me?” Habibah raised both eyebrows, admiring his chiseled face.

“During the night, don’t sleep in the caravan. Come here.”

“Every night?” she asked, surprised.

Seth nodded, and she blinked, perplexed, but then gave a quick affirmative gesture.

“I would love to, thank you.”

“I’ll go take a bath. Do as you wish in the temple.”

“Are problems included?” she asked mischievously, and he tilted his head.

“No.”

“But…”

“If so, I’ll punish you.”

“Somehow, that sounds very promising. Maybe you should give me a lesson,” she laughed, playful and seductive.

“I’ve just gotten up,” he said with a yawn, still feeling the remnants of the previous night. “We’ll catch up later.”

“Of course, I’ll make sure to say goodbye before I leave.”

As she watched his back, Habibah dropped any pretense and smiled slyly, knowing that the man was falling for her. He wasn’t different from any other human or deity, but Seth was undoubtedly the one she truly desired, and she would give him everything if he surrendered at her feet.

[storm-angel989]

Outside the Office Part Ten

Hi All! Trigger warning for Angel Dust. Enjoy!

We walked out of his office hand in hand, eliciting strange looks from the demons. Valentino snarled at one and he scampered away. 

“Hey, Val. Can you help with the lighting? I can’t get this quite right.” One of the demons across the stage called to us. 

“Then what the fuck do I pay you for?” Valentino growled. “Fucking amateurs!” 

I watched as he strode across the studio, pushing the demon aside as he fiddled with the light. 

“So, are you Val’s new conquest or what?” I heard a voice from behind me. 

I turned around and came face to face with the spider demon, the one on stage when I first stumbled into the studio. Tall and lanky, with two sets of arms and one black eye, one white, the demon flashed me a friendly grin. 

“The name is Angel Dust. And yours?”

I did my best to maintain composure. “Did you not hear Valentino? My name is Reader Morningstar. Princess of Hell.” 

His eyes went wide. “Definitely didn’t hear the last part. My apologies, your highness. I didn’t realize Lucifer had a daughter.”

I felt my face flush. I mean, he did have a point. If Lucifer was the king of hell, why was I considered a princess if my mother was only his sister? 

He didn’t seem to notice my conflict and instead reached out and gently ran a finger over a small spot on my face. “Ah. I see. Did he beat you too? Must be bad if you find Val to be a better choice. But I mean, we’ve all been there.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I just wanted to introduce myself. My dressing room is down the hall, second door on the left if you need a breather. This job is tough.” He paused. “Looks like Val is ready. Good luck, kid.” 

And with that he sashayed across the room, letting his pink, feather trimmed robe fall to the ground as he took his place on set. I made my way back to my chair, sitting down next to Valentino. Valentino glanced over to me and reached over, taking his hand in mine. 

I did as he asked, studying every aspect of the scene, searching for the pleasure he spoke so highly of. After a few moments of watching Angel Dust moan, I saw it. The glint in his eye wasn’t something that even the best actor could fake. Valentino was right- at least, in part. His actors did want to be here. I watched Valentino growl at his assistant and I wondered if it was possible, even a little, for him to be a bit nicer to his employees. The thought quickly left my mind. No, Valentino had made it clear about the terms of his contract. But what if, what if I treated them kindly? Would that have any effect on Valentino’s contract at all? I couldn’t imagine he would put in any sort of language on how others treated his employees and the bearing it would have on their agreement. Valentino was too smart to put in something that is so clearly outside of his control. 

On set, Angel screamed as his body released, spurting white hot liquid all over the face of his alleged captor. Next to me, Valentino’s grin shone across the studio. I could feel his power radiate as he stood up, making his way across the room. He inhaled his cigarette and leaned down, blowing hot red smoke into Angel’s face. 

Angel closed his eyes. “Thank you, Papi.” 

Valentino grinned and leaned forward, pressing his lips against Angels. I felt my stomach drop as anger and betrayal shot through me. I thought I was the only one he kissed? 

Around me, energy began to swirl. Blacks, reds, blues and purples radiated in a cloud as my emotions physically manifested. A burning desire, a rage I didn’t even know I had burned through me. It took every ounce of my self control to hold back from walking across the room and smacking Valentino across the face. How dare he? 

Valentino pulled away after a moment, leaving a bright red trail of saliva hanging from Angel’s mouth. He turned back to me and used his coat to wipe his mouth before returning to his seat. He reached for my hand and I jerked away. He turned to me and his expression changed to one of alarm.

“Clear the scene. I have something I need to handle in my office. I expect the next set to be up by the time I come back out,” he growled at his employees. 

The energy clouded around me, followed me as I followed him into the office, the door slamming behind me. 

“What was that? You just said you didn’t want anyone else in our private lives.” I snarled. Around me, the energy cracked like a lightening storm. 

I could see him trying to keep calm, to piece it together. “What are you talking about mi amor? Why are you so…angry?” 

I glared at him, keeping my distance. The part of me that wanted to hurt him, to make this feeling go away wasn’t nearly as strong as the need to make sure he wasn’t. “You kissed Angel. In front of me. In front of everyone here.” I spat. I could feel my body shaking, both from the emotional turmoil and the pain that was starting to creep back through my body. “I thought you loved me.” 

Valentino frowned and stepped forward as if to reach for me. I stepped back away from him, both out of fear of keeping control and my lack of desire to touch someone who would so blatantly behave so cruelly, and then have the nerve to act confused. Someone who told me he loved me and then threw it back in my face the next second. He stopped his advancement as he gave me my space. 

“Princessa. You misunderstand.” 

“Misunderstand what, Val? What don’t I understand? You. Kissed. Him.” The energy around me was black now, swirling and threatening to destroy everything around me. Inside I felt control start to slip, my desire to destroy everything around me growing with each passing second.

“Drugs, princessa. Drugs. I’m what Angel is addicted to. It’s part of his payment, his contract.” Valentino said shakily. “Please, let me explain.” 

The fear in his voice seemed to snap back my control. Valentino never showed fear.I felt the energy around me recede.  

“Explain, Val.” I demanded. 

“My saliva acts as a drug, and when I kiss someone and transfer it from my body to theirs, it produces a powerful high. I can control it, and Princessa I have never used it on you. I would never. Angel, one of the first souls I ever owned, is the only one who still has that payment requirement in his contract. A contract that, might I add, is one of the ones I tread most carefully around.” He exhaled. “Please. I love you. I’m sorry, I didn’t…I don’t think about it anymore. It’s been a routine, a given for so long.” 

He sounded sincere, the fear and concern flooded his features and his tone as he explained the situation. I felt the energy continue to recede alongside the feeling of anger. The more it vanished, the less foggy my brain became and I could focus on his words. 

“Does it have to be a kiss? Why not bottle it and give it to him? Or bottle it and sell it? That seems to align right with everything else you do.” I said, trying to ignore the pain that now tingled through my body. 

“I can’t, Princessa. I’ve tried. Once my salvia leaves my body for more than a few seconds, it changes from something that gives a high to a powerful aphrodisiac.” He took a step towards me. “Please, Princessa. I’m so sorry I made you feel this way.” 

At his words, the energy around me vanished completely. I fell into his arms and broke down in tears that I had struggled to keep inside for so long. The pain of my injuries, the anger, confusion and release of energy I didn’t know the origin of combined to create an internal storm. Valentino held me tightly as I bawled into his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt dampening. He didn’t offer soothing words, or soft assurances that it was okay. He simply held me, allowing me to cry in his hold. 

It wasn’t until I choked on my tears that he said something. 

“Let it out, babydoll. Don’t try to hold it in anymore. It’s okay. You’re safe.” He muttered gently, rubbing my back. “I’ve got you. Try to remember to breathe.”

“I’m sorry, I…”

“Shush. Cry. Let it out. I haven’t seen you break down once since this whole ordeal began. And you deserve that release, mi amor. There is no shame in tears.” His lips pressed to my cheek and he stroked my hair. 

When I had no more tears left, I lifted my head. He cupped my chin and looked into my eyes. “Do you feel better?”

I nodded. and he guided me back towards the desk, carefully lifting me up and setting me on top so my legs dangled over the side. He sat in the chair and opened the bottom drawer, pulling out a box of tissues and a package of baby wipes. 

“May I, Princessa? Your makeup is all smeared.” He said gently. “Will you let me take it off?”

I nodded and et out an anxious laugh that came out more like a cough. He raised an eyebrow. 

“Vel is going to be so pissed. She did such a nice job and I wrecked it. My father was right, tears are useless and destructive.”

The displeased expression on Valentino’s face told me exactly what he thought of my words. Without comment, he opened the package and gently ran it over my face. I closed my eyes and tried to exhale but it came out as a gurgle, and then a hiccup. And then another. And another. 

Valentino paused and tossed the wipe that held what was left of my makeup into the garbage. The rest of it, I realized, covered his shoulder, now stained with both tears and foundation. 

 I hiccuped again, holding my breath to try to make them stop. My father was right- crying was embarrassing, and the appearance of the hiccups only served to solidify his words so deeply ingrained in me. 

Wordlessly, Valentino again opened the drawer and came up with a black mug, standing up and going over to the fridge, taking out a bottle of water and pouring it into the mug, tossing the empty bottle. He put the mug into the microwave and fifteen seconds later, pulled it out and carried it over to me. He offered his hand and I slid down off the desk, standing next to him.

“It feels silly, but this cures hiccups every time. Bend at the waist, tilt your head up and drink this entire mug of warm water without stopping. When it’s completely empty you can straighten up, but not until then. It won’t work if you only drink half, or breathe between gulps. Got it?” 

I hiccuped in response. With his guidance, I followed his directions, bending over and swallowing down the water as quickly as I could without taking a breath. Once the mug was empty, I slowly stood back up straight and waited a few seconds. No hiccups. 

“Works every time.” Val said, kissing me on the head. “It’s a good trick to know when you spend your days dealing with emotions.” He guided my head to his chest and I laid against him, listening to his heart thunder under my ear. He stroked my hair. “Mi amor. You had every right to be angry, and I’m sorry I made you so upset. I should have warned you. It’s been so long that what I give Angel, I no longer think about. And I should have.” 

I felt his chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. 

“Princessa, emotions are a normal part of life. Demons, by nature, are passionate. We feel things on a deeper level and it’s vital to express those feelings. Whatever your father taught you about holding your feelings inside needs to be tossed aside. You will break, mi amor, if you try to fight what is so natural to you. They will consume you.” 

He paused and allowed me to think. I focused on the pounding of his heart under me, the feeling of his hands against my back as I tried to make sense of his words. 

“I felt like I lost control. What happened to me, Val? Do you know?”

He kissed the top of my head. “Lucifer is the better one to ask, he knows far more than I do. But what I do know is that you are powerful by nature, Princessa. Your power will only grow as you acquire souls. But with that power, comes the necessary need for self control. That does not come from suppressing your emotions, not when you’re full or even half demon. That awareness, that ability to control yourself is born out of acknowledgment and honoring your emotions.” He paused. “Your explosion today took no one by surprise. Lucifer watched your reaction after you were so violently injured, he saw the sense of normalcy you felt towards it, how well you taught yourself to hide your true feelings, to hide the pain. He warned that that control you have spent so many years developing would eventually slip with just the right trigger.” He gave a small smile. “I suppose I should feel honored that your trigger was my lips against someone else.” He bent down and kissed me. 

I pressed into his kiss, the feeling of warmth spreading from my fingers to my toes. After a few moments, he pulled back and took a deep breath. 

“Princessa. I need you to know that until my contact with Angel is terminated, he will require that payment, among others. It’s a non- negotiable.” His expression turned unsure, fearful. “Unfortunately, his contract is different from all the others. It was my first, and the only way his contract ends is his ultimate destruction by means of an unrelated other.” 

“So, unless Angel dies in a way that is in no way shape or form related to you, you’re bound to him and he is bound to you?” I asked. 

He nodded. “Correct. There are other parts within his contract, parts I have stripped as I gained more power and experience.” He swallowed, a pained expression passing his features. “If you

want to walk away from this, from us, I understand. This job, this business, doesn’t collide well with the loving relationship you deserve.” 

I buried myself into him, taking a moment to collect my thoughts. “You said it’s just a job, your business, your requirement to survive and thrive down here. But what you do with Angel- is it more than that? Is there pleasure and love from you that I’d have share with him?” 

He sighed. “There is physical pleasure, derived solely from the releases that are required. But emotionally speaking? No. I don’t love Angel. That is reserved for you, and you alone.” 

“Then no. I’m not walking away. If I need to physically share you, fine.” I lowered my voice. “I just don’t want to share your love with anyone else.” 

I felt his grip tighten around me and he tilted my head up, pressing his lips to mine. “You will never. I promise. I love you, reader. My heart, my entire heart, belongs to you and you alone. ” 

“I love you too, Valentino.”

[asongofmarvelanddc]

Ties That Bind

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen X Reader

WORD COUNT: 6707

WARNINGS: canon typical cousin-cest

SUMMARY: After spending most of your childhood in the Red Keep, it’s hard to let go of the bonds you’ve formed even with war on the horizon.

A/N: It's been over a month since HOTD and I'm really rusty with writing so if you see bad writing, pretend you don't xx Please reblog, like, or leave a comment! I love hearing from you guys 💛

You were only two years of age when your mother, Laena Velaryon, and father, Daemon Targaryen, left you in King’s Landing while they went to deal with some business in Driftmark. Looking back, it’s unlikely that they intended for your stay to last longer than a few moons.

The weeks stretched into years, and as you began to serve as your Aunt Alicent’s ward, your parents had more daughters – your sisters, Baela and Rhaena. They visited once, after your cousin Rhaenyra had her son Luke. Your mother had hugged you so tight and for so long that you feared she would never let go. And your father…he couldn’t stop looking at you.

Only a few years after that visit, a raven came to the Red Keep from Pentos. Laena Velaryon was dead. Your Uncle Viserys was gentle enough while delivering the news. He sat by your side, ready to console you if you cried. When you didn’t, he felt safe dismissing you from his chambers.

“She’s in shock.” you heard Alicent whisper as you left the room. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps it would not hit you until you were at the burial.

That was not the case.

Long after Lord Vaemond’s eulogy and everyone returned to the castle, you stood on those cliffs staring out into the sea where your mother’s body now lay. It was a strange feeling knowing that she was gone. You felt the loss in your heart, but there was no grief, no pain…you were not even certain that you would miss her.

A part of you was ashamed to feel that way, which is perhaps the reason why you felt the need to hug your father tightly when you were reunited for the first time in years. You wanted him to believe you mourned her as your sisters did. And you hoped being with your family would help you feel that pain. It was a misguided hope.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of gravel crunching under approaching feet. It was Aemond.

He walked over and stood beside you, searching the horizon with his eyes to spot whatever it was you were gazing so intently at. With you being a few years older than him, you stood a head taller, but he was growing fast.

Eventually, he realised that you were not looking at any specific thing and turned his gaze to you. He looked at you through squinted eyes due to the gusts of wind blowing his long silver hair into his eyes.

He examined your face for sometime before asking, “Are you sad?”

A simple question it was not. You thought of how you’d feel if your cousins, or Uncle Viserys and Aunt Alicent died and knew that you’d be inconsolable. You would not feel this…numb.

“I don’t know,” you chose to answer as you turned to face him, “She was my mother and I’m sad she’s gone, but…I never knew her really.”

Any grief you felt was over never getting the chance to know your mother.

These were not thoughts you’d share with anyone, but Aemond wasn’t just anyone. With no dragons to claim, you chose each other. He was your closest friend and ally, and you were certain that there was not a single person in the seven kingdoms that knew your heart better.

Aemond slipped his hand into yours and gave it a gentle squeeze. He knew how conflicted you were without the thought being expressed, and he wanted to be your comfort.

You looked down at him and smiled softly, “Thank you. For coming to make sure I was alright.”

“Mother sent me,” he said quickly, sounding flustered. He never liked admitting how much he cared.

“Of course she did,” you chuckled just as a blush coloured his cheeks, “Come, let’s return inside.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were not sure how late it was. All you knew was that you’d been put to bed a few hours earlier but had chosen to read while your sisters snuck out of the room. That reading was interrupted by chatter and yelling coming from down the hall. You would not describe yourself as a particularly nosy child, but the amount of voices made you curious as to why so many people were awake at this hour.

Following the voices, you approached a room where the noise was loudest and pushed the door open. Your father, Daemon, was standing by it and as you looked around the room, you realised that everyone was here; your sisters, Rhaenyra, her children, Aegon and Aemond, your Aunts Rhaenys and Alicent, Uncle Viserys – there were even members of the Kinsguard present.

Aemond was sitting on a chair facing away from you, his mother standing in front of him. As your father pulled you closer to him, you meekly asked, “What happened?”

“Aemond stole Vhagar!” Baela spat harshly as she glared and pointed at him

You shifted your gaze to Aemond who had slightly turned around at the sound of your voice. As soon as your eyes landed on him, your blood ran cold and the air seemed to leave your lungs. There was a jagged scar running down the left side of his face, and his eye was swollen and stitched shut.

Without thinking, you slipped out of your father’s hold and brushed past your sisters, Rhaenyra and her children to reach Aemond, ignoring the looks from everyone in the room.

Aemond looked hesitant as you raised a hand to his face, your fingers brushing his cheek, but even that was too sensitive and he winced in pain.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and blinked back tears asking, “Vhagar did this?”

He shook his head and looked at his mother. You turned to face her and saw her burning gaze focused directly at Rhaenyra who was bleeding from one arm and shielding Luke with the other.

Realisation dawned on you in that moment. “Luke?” you gasped as the boy cowered behind his mother. You couldn’t believe it. What reason could he possibly have had to hurt Aemond?

“There is no need to start this quarrel up again,” Rhaenys said, “We should get the children cleaned up and put them to bed.”

Everyone nodded, mumbling words of agreement as they started to clear out the room.

“Come, Y/N,” Daemon reached out a hand as he summoned you from across the room.

You stared at him for a moment then looked at Aemond whose eye was still on you.

“Uncle Viserys?” he turned to look at you, an eyebrow raised, “Please may I go with Aemond?”

Viserys looked over your head, no doubt to your father, before letting out a sigh. “Of course, you may,” he cracked a smile, “But don’t stay awake too late.”

You smiled thankfully and returned to Aemond who was being helped out of his chair by Alicent. Almost everyone had left the room now, but Daemon remained by the door, watching you. You took Aemond’s hand in yours as you walked out of the room with Alicent and the Maester trailing behind you.

Alicent allowed you stay with Aemond for the night. She knew that both you and her son needed each other that night. He was laid on his back facing the ceiling, two pillows cradling his head to minimise movement. You climbed into bed beside him when he’d finished his tea and held his hand gently under the blankets.

“Does it hurt terribly?” you whispered after staring at him for a while.

“It did,” he said, “But the Maester’s tea is helping.”

You could see him trying to turn his head to face you completely, but wincing every time he moved it. It broke your heart to see him in so much pain. You didn’t realise when you started to cry.

“I’m so sorry this happened,” you spoke through tears as you squeezed his hand.

Aemond was quiet at first, but then you saw a tear roll out of his eye and disappear into his silver locks. “I thought you would be angry with me.”

“Angry?” you asked, wiping your eyes, “Why would I be angry with you?”

“I thought– Baela and Rhaena said–” he started through sniffles, “I should’ve given you a chance to claim Vhagar before I did.”

He thought he had stolen your chance at having a dragon, and that you would resent him for it.

“Vhagar chose you,” you reassured him, “She wasn’t mine to claim.”

Aemond seemed to blow out a breath of relief as more tears rolled down the side of his face and into his hair.

You decided to change the subject to make him a big happier, "Once I find a dragon, you could teach me how to claim it."

"And then you and I can go flying together," he said, his tone sounding lighter, eager, "We could race each other around King's Landing!"

"We could fly anywhere we want," you said, intertwining your fingers with his, "Just us."

Aemond did his best to look at you properly as a soft smile formed on his lips, "Just us."

You moved up in the bed and hugged him close. He didn't say anything even when your tears surely soaked through his shirt, and so you didn't let go even after he'd fallen asleep. Not even as you drifted off as well.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was dawn when you suddenly woke up. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon. You glanced over at Aemond who was finally sleeping soundly. He'd woken up twice during the night crying in pain. Only milk of the poppy could ease his plight and allow him to return to his slumber.

The Maester said it would remain like that for next few nights. Alicent seemed even more terrified for Aemond, but you didn't care. You were going to stay by his side and help him through it. When he woke during the night, you whispered that promise to him over and over again, and his body seemed to calm.

Carefully, you slipped your hand out of Aemond's and climbed out of the bed. You gave him one last glance to make sure he was still sleeping before tiptoeing out of the room and returning to your own chambers.

As soon as you entered, you came face to face with your handmaiden, May.

"My Lady," she curtseyed, "Your father is expecting you in Princess Rhaneyra's chambers."

It was an odd request, but you went anyway. You noticed that your sisters were not in their beds and assumed they would be with your father as well.

When you finally arrived at Rhaenyra's chambers, Daemon was visibly annoyed. He turned to you, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Where were you?" he asked, though it sounded more like an accusation.

You nervously glanced at Rhaenyra who was standing beside him before explaining yourself, "Uncle Viserys said I could go with Aemond."

"Yes, to escort him to his chambers, not spend the night," he snapped, eyes burning deep into you.

His anger was unexpected. You and Aemond had practically shared a bedchamber since you were small. He would often climb into your bed late into the night and you into his. After some time, Alicent no longer cared to send you off to separate rooms, knowing come the morning, you would be found curled up next to each other sleeping soundly.

Of course, your father wouldn't know that. He was never there.

"I'm sorry, father," you bowed your head, mostly to avoid his eyes.

"It does not matter," he grunted, "I called you here to tell you that we will be returning to Dragonstone today."

The news was unsurprising considering what happened to Aemond. It was good they would be gone while he recovered.

"I need you to go and pack your things," he continued, "We will be leaving soon."

You froze. He could not be suggesting what you thought.

"Why?"

"Because you are coming with us," Rhaenyra answered. Coming from her lips, it sounded more like a declaration.

You began to panic as you looked between the two. "But…I don't want to," you said as you took a step back, "I wish to return to King's Landing."

They both seemed taken aback by that. Rhaenyra shared a glance with Daemon before stepping closer and taking your hand.

"Y/N, your father is going to Dragonstone. Your sisters too," she smiled encouragingly as she crouched down slightly, "Don't you want to be with them?"

"I want to go home," you snatched your hand away, suddenly terrified of how this situation may unfold. You couldn’t leave. Not now.

Not once did Daemon shift his stance. He just stood there, weight resting on one foot as he stated, "We're your family."

It was true. But your sisters had never needed you, and you questioned whether your father ever did either. What had changed? Why did he want you with him now that your mother was gone and Aemond needed you the most?

"Aemond is family too," you whispered, your gaze never leaving your father's.

Daemon rarely lost composure, but in that moment you saw anger awakened in him. He titled his head and narrowed his eyes before moving closer to you.

"That little cunt stole your mother's dragon," he hissed, "Your dragon."

That set you off. Your fists clenched at your sides and your skin felt like it was burning.

"You cannot steal a dragon," Daemon reacted to that like you had spit in his face, "And I don't want to go to Dragonstone, I don’t want to leave Aemond. I want to return to King’s Landing with Uncle Viserys.”

Daemon was silent as he watched you. He meant to intimidate you, but you were too angry to be affected. Rhaenyra’s eyes were trained on him, seemingly concerned about what he might do.

"I am your father,” he said after a moment’s silence, “You will do as I say."

He brushed past you as he walked out of the room and that was that. Tears began to well in your eyes as you looked down at the ground. You promised Aemond that you would be there for him. You promised…and then you didn’t see him for six years.

***

In some ways, being on Dragonstone had not been the worst thing imaginable. You cherished the opportunity to form relationships with your sisters, and your cousins Jace, Luke and Joffrey. But even as you grew closer to them, they could not replace the people you had lost.

For a time, the relationship with your father was improved. It was only in recent years when his many attempts to have you betrothed had been rejected by you that your relationship soured. You could not provide him with a reason for your rejections despite the suitability of many of the matches, and so he washed his hands off of you.

Your father loved you. You knew he did. But he loved other things – and people – more. It was a reality you came to accept in the years living with him.

When Rhaenyra announced that the family would be travelling to King's Landing on short notice, you could barely contain your excitement. You did not care that it was to go and defend Luke's claim to the Driftwood throne, all that mattered was that you were going to see your family again.

Arriving in King’s Landing on dragon back for the first time was surreal. You did not wait to see the Senryr taken into the dragon pit by the keepers, nor did you wait for your sisters or cousins when you landed. The only thing on your mind was finding Aemond and...well, you did not know what you would do or say yet. But you knew you needed to see him.

Starting at Aemond's old chambers, you were surprised to find Alicent coming out of the room.

"Aunt Alicent," you breathed as she wrapped you in a hug.

She was beaming when she pulled away, even stepping back to take in your appearance. "Y/N," she gasped and cupped your face in her hands, "How you've grown!"

You smiled and looked to your feet as heat rose to your cheeks. "How is Uncle?" you asked, offering a sympathetic smile.

Her face immediately dropped, eyes glazing over as her lip twitched. She didn't have to say it. It was as everyone feared – he did not have long left in him.

"I'm sorry."

She nodded, accepting your condolences before plastering another smile on her face, "Were you looking for Aemond? He'll be on his way to the throne room. For the hearing."

"I'll go there now," you pecked her cheek and hurried down the hall.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sheer amount of people filtering into the throne room was clear indication to the importance of this particular hearing. Rhaenyra was standing with your father at the very front of the room on the right side of the aisle. You bowed your head and briskly walked towards them to stand with your cousins.

On the opposite side of the aisle, you spotted white hair very similar to yours on three heads. One of them was sweet Helaena, and Aegon was more than likely the man standing next to her looking bored. Towering over the both of them was Aemond. His hands were clasped behind his back, long hair cascading over his shoulders. The eye patch gave him away instantly.

You sucked in a sharp breath when you saw him, and as if he’d heard you, he snapped his head in your direction. Even from this distance, you saw the way his eye widened ever so slightly upon making eye contact. Every inch of you wanted to dart across the room and throw yourself into him, but you knew what the consequences of such a public display would be.

Where you were anxious and jittery, Aemond froze at the sight of you. He'd gathered that you were in the Red Keep when he encountered his nephews in the courtyard, and yet he was still so unprepared to see you again. Instantly his walls began to crumble and he found himself scrambling to keep them standing.

You smiled at him and he melted, but he could not let you see that. Instead of returning it, he turned away from you and faced the Iron throne. It was an unexpected action, but it didn't hurt yet. Perhaps he had not actually seen you.

You kept your eyes on him for the rest of the hearing, hoping to gain his attention – to no avail. When the entire farce of a hearing was ended, you tried to call out to Aemond, but he disappeared amongst the crowd of people.

He spent the rest of the day avoiding you, much to your frustration. It is why you were glad to hear that Viserys had requested to have his entire family join him for dinner. Before Aemond could protest or find another place at the table, you occupied the seat next to him, hoping it would force him into acknowledging you.

It did not work.

Despite being sat right beside him, Aemond made no move to speak to you or even look in your direction. He was actively ignoring your presence, and it would be a lie to say it did not cut you deeply.

It remained that way for most of the night. At one point, he actually turned his chair away from you to watch Jace and Helaena dance. It wasn’t until after his toast to your cousins and the scuffle which followed that he acknowledged your existence.

Everyone but you was on their feet, a few guards held Jace and Luke back as Aemond stared your father down. For a brief second he glanced in your direction, a second that felt like a lifetime, then he turned, hummed to himself in annoyance, and strutted out of the room. Without thinking about it, you rose to your feet and followed him out, ignoring the stares of confusion from your father and Rhaenyra.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Outside Aemond's room, you raised a hand, intending to knock, but decided against it and pushed the door open. The two of you never knocked in the past, why should it be any different now?

Aemond was sitting in a leather chair by the fireplace, one hand resting on the arm while he cracked the knuckles of his other hand. He paused when you entered and tilted his head slightly to see you with his right eye. Once he confirmed it was you, he turned back to the fireplace, not acknowledging you at all.

You scoffed and looked around the room, spotting a gold chalice and some wine sitting on a high table on the opposite side of the room. You walked over to it and filled the chalice before approaching Aemond. He finally lifted his head to look at you when you held out the cup for him.

“What are you doing here?” the smoothest Valyrian danced off his tongue as he accepted the wine from you.

You smirked and raised a brow. “He speaks,” you said, “I was beginning to fear that you had taken a sacred vow of silence. One that only applies to me, of course.”

He scoffed and took a sip of the wine, ignoring your comment. Despite his attempts to pretend you didn’t exist, you did not miss the way his body tensed as you sat down on the arm of the chair.

“Your Valyrian has improved.” Improved was an understatement. His accent was perfect.

Aemond shook his head and downed the drink before rising to his feet. “‘Tis impolite to enter one’s chambers without first knocking,” he said, his back to you.

The hostility was less amusing now and increasingly annoying. “You’ve grown bitter,” you narrowed your eyes at him from where you were seated.

He turned to face you and cocked his head to the side, “I’d like to think I’ve grown honest.”

“It was unnecessary,” you said, referring to his toast.

He smirked when he caught on to what you were talking about. “It was fun.”

You cracked a smile at that and Aemond’s lip twitched, his eye gleaming. Slowly, you pushed yourself off the chair and walked closer to him. He didn’t even flinch when you came so close that he could feel the warmth radiating off of you.

“You don’t talk as much you used to,” you whispered, your tone sad “You don’t smile either.”

He seemed so…guarded. He was looking at you like you were some kind of predator that he had to protect himself from. You wanted to reach out and touch him, but feared how he might react.

“Much has changed,” he said with the tiniest shrug, “It has been six years.”

Six years of yearning, you wanted to say.

Time had passed, it was true, but that did not explain why he felt so far from you. Or why he’d been ignoring you since you arrived. Bonds like the one you shared are not so easily damaged, nor broken.

“You have changed,” you said, eyeing him in the least discreet way possible.

He too drank you in unashamedly, taking his time from the bottom of your embroidered silk dress, to the top of your silvery-white, curly hair, before finally meeting your gaze. He looked seconds away from saying something, or doing something, but then he caught himself and shook his head.

“As have you,” he chose to say instead. The words came out steady, but when you glanced down, his fists were clenched tight. You reached out to take his hand and he moved back.

"Why are you being like this?" you snapped, though you never raised your voice, "What have I done to upset you?"

He was taken aback by your straightforward question. His plan had been to maintain a wary distance from you until you left again. He did not want to dig into memories of the past...but he couldn't deny you answers when you looked at him with such desperate and confused eyes.

He licked his lips and confessed two words, "You left."

You stepped back in surprise. That was it? Of all the things you may have done to earn such a cold reception from him, leaving him all those years ago never once crossed your mind.

"What?" you practically spluttered.

“You abandoned me,” he reiterated.

“Aemond, you can’t possibly be angry with me over that,” you smiled nervously though you were confused, “You must know I had no intention of leaving you.”

His voice was measured, unemotional. “And yet, you did.”

“I was a child. I could not have prevented them from taking me anymore than you could have.”

He was unconvinced and looked away from you.

“Aemond.”

He didn't respond.

“Aemond, would you look at me.” You grabbed his chin to force him into facing you. With reluctance, he met your gaze.

“My mother had just died. And seeing you hurt that night, pained me more than standing at her funeral,” you whispered it like a dark secret, “That is how deeply I care for you.”

Aemond was stubborn – more so than you – but his features softened at your admission.

The day he woke to find that you had left was the worst pain he had ever felt. He'd been inconsolable for weeks, even attempting to fly Vhagar to Dragonstone and bring you home. But when the tears dried and the irrational thoughts quieted, Aemond came to understand what he had to do to move on. He chose to forget the things he had lost. He chose to forget you.

Despite what you’ve admitted, you do not look away from him shyly, or run away in embarrassment. You keep your gaze steady so that he knows your heart is true.

Your voice trembles slightly as you lower your hand from his chin and ask, “Do you understand?”

He hesitates before nodding slowly. Not once since the day you left had he allowed himself to imagine that you might say anything like that. He spent years hating that you were his weakness. Resenting the fact that years later, he still felt the ache of missing you when he lay in bed at night and you were not there beside him.

And even though he successfully hid his true feelings from everyone else, he could never fool himself.

“I’ve often thought about that night,” he muttered so quietly that it was as if he was speaking to himself, “When I do, this,” he points to his eye patch, “is not the loss I mourn. It is you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath.

“You cared for me?”

“I breathed for you,” he said, then dropped his gaze to the floor in embarrassment, “I fear I still do.”

You let out an exasperated laugh, "Aemond, why would that be something to fear?"

He looked up from the ground and met your eyes with an intensity that made your smile falter. Your heart began to race as he took a step closer, and almost instinctively you moved to him.

He raised a hand to the side of your face and tucked your hair behind your ear. Then he let his hand fall to your cheek where he stroked it gently and lightly brushed your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. You sighed and leaned into his touch, raising a hand to his and holding it just where he cradled your face.

"I fear it," he started as he looked over your face, committing every detail of it to his memory, "because you will not stay. And you are not mine."

"Now is not then," you whispered, "If you want me, Aemond...then I am yours."

With that, he leaned down, his lips hovering over yours as he paused to take in your scent – sweet and earthy – before capturing them in a kiss. He knew that after this there was no returning to what once was. There would be no 'forgetting' this time. He knew this, and he eagerly accepted it.

His hands gripped your waist. You pulled him closer, wanting – no, needing to disappear into him. His scent, his touch, his kiss. It was dizzying, euphoric, and you fell into him happily.

"We must stop," you breathed between kisses, "Anyone could find us."

Aemond didn't respond as he chased your lips fervently.

"We must stop," you repeated, this time gently pushing away from him. You stopped to gather your thoughts, one hand pressed against his heaving chest. You could not look at him, no. If you did, you feared you would not leave this room again.

"We ought to return to the table," you said as you began walking to the door, "You and I have been gone for too long, they will begin to search for us."

You waited by the door until you heard Aemond's footsteps follow behind you. He stopped beside you, one hand on the door handle.

"You'll stay this time," the familiar lilt at the end of a question being asked was missing, but the hesitance in his voice and the pleading look in his eye showed he was asking.

You slipped your hand into his, just as you had done so many times as children, and with conviction answered, "I promise."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time you returned to the dinner table, most of the food had already been cleared away. Luke, Jace and your sisters were dressed in their cloaks and being escorted outside by the guards while your father and Rhaenyra spoke to Alicent and Otto.

You shared a confused glance with Aemond before approaching the four.

“What is happening?”

Your father's head snapped up at the sound of your voice. “Come,” he motioned you over, “Your things are already in the carriage outside.”

“In the carriage?” you frowned, “What for? Where are we going?”

Rhaenyra sighed heavily, "Back to Dragonstone."

“But we've only just arrived,” you chuckled, "Why the hurry to leave?"

An answer was not given, but Rhaenyra's quick glance over your shoulder to Aemond said it all.

“We never intended to stay long,” she offered instead.

Your father motioned you over once again, “Say your farewells then go and get Senryr.”

The request came out like a man ordering his pup to fetch his shoe. He had no sympathy for the position he was forcing you into yet again, and did not care to pretend to show compassion to you. His daughter. It did nit make you sad, it made you angry.

“No.”

Daemon reacted as though you had just slapped him across the cheek.

“What?”

You stepped back to stand by Aemond's side. “I said no,” you repeated, jutting out your chin, “You cannot make me leave, Father. Not again.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “I am not asking, Y/N,” he spoke slowly, “You will do as I say.”

It used to terrify you when he spoke in that intimidating tone, even though you knew your father would never harm you.

Perhaps that knowledge is what gave you the courage to say, “I am not leaving.”

Daemon was not often challenged, especially not by his children. He'd known from a young age that of all his children, you had inherited the worst of his temper. Your defiance was not only aggravating, it was insulting.

He stepped towards you, but before he could take another, Aemond moved in front of you protectively. The bold action stunned everyone in the room — including yourself.

Aemond was a good few decades younger than Daemon and therefore little challenge to your father. His wordless threat only indicated one of three things: stupidity, arrogance, or...

You ignored the suspicious looks thrown between you and Aemond as you placed a hand on his arm and squeezed it gently. He broke his stare down with your father and looked down at you. Upon seeing the pleading look in your eyes, he stepped back to your side but remained close enough that your arm was still brushing against his.

Daemon was seething. He could see what was happening right before his eyes. Many years back when you'd refused to return to Dragonstone, it was because of Aemond. All those proposals you had turned down were because of Aemond. Even your excitement to return to King's Landing – it was because of Aemond.

He'd known all along, but he'd never spoken it aloud, thinking it beneath him to even entertain the idea that his eldest daughter cared for a Hightower – be him Targaryen or not. But how could he ignore it when it was being thrown in his face like this?

"He," he nodded his head to Aemond, "is the reason you want to remain here?"

Rhaenyra quickly stepped in to diffuse the situation. "There is no need for this," she looked directly at you as she spoke before turning to Alicent, "I will see the children back to Dragonstone, then I shall return on dragon back."

That barely seemed to satisfy Daemon. And if Rhaenyra was suggesting that she could return and convince you to leave, she would be in for a surprise. Alicent was the only one who seemed happy with this solution. She embraced Rhaenyra with a regretful smile as Daemon walked towards you.

Your body stiffened as he approached. He glared at Aemond before looking down to address you, "You may not have to choose today, but you will soon."

He gave you a long look before placing his hand on the hilt of Dark Sister and turning to leave the room. Deep down, you knew he was right. Your Uncle was fading fast, and once he was gone, lines would be drawn and sides would have to be chosen. You only hoped that you had some time before then.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was difficult to part with your sisters after growing so close over the years. You would miss not having them around, but you knew they would never stay. They still hated Aemond for what happened that fateful night years ago, and neither could understand why or how you were able to forgive him. You didn't know how to tell them that to you, there had been nothing to forgive.

You remained by Aemond's side as Alicent showed you to your chambers, each of you like the other's shadow. Alicent was walking ahead of you and when she noticed you trailing behind, she stopped and turned to look at you both.

She raised a brow as she looked between you. "Aemond, I believe your room is down the other way," she pointed to the hallway leading in the opposite direction to where you were heading.

Aemond glanced at the hallway, then to you, and back to his mother. He seemed lost.

She ushered him away, "You may have spent your younger years sleeping in each others' beds, but there will be no more of that."

He nodded once and gave you a final look before walking off to his own chambers. You followed Alicent to the end of the hall where you parted ways at your room.

She was barely gone two minutes when you heard a knock at the door. You knew who it was before you even opened it. Aemond stood there under your door frame, his shoulders hunched slightly, no doubt feeling guilty for defying his mother.

You didn't say a word, you simply stepped aside to let him in. He kicked the door closed with his foot and moved closer, his knuckles brushing against the back of your hand.

"I want to sleep here with you. If you'll have me."

You turned and walked to a table at the other end of the room. You removed your bracelets, earrings and necklace and placed them on the table. Brushing your hair to the side, you looked over your shoulder at Aemond.

"Can you help me with these laces?"

He looked unsure at first before following you. His fingers trailed along your hip before finding the two laces and undoing them for you. There was a pause as he debated what to do next, then he stepped away and sat down on your bed just by your pillow.

You chuckled to yourself at his level of restraint and removed the sleeves of your dress, letting it fall to your feet. Stepping out of the dress, you could feel Aemond’s eyes on you as you removed the pins and ties in your hair and placed them on the table by your jewellery. There was no seduction in your actions. You were simply undressing, and he was simply watching you do it.

When you turned to look at Aemond, he had already kicked off his shoes and was now leaning against your headboard. He sat up when he saw you approaching, his gaze never wavering. There was so much love in his eyes, but it didn't make you shy, it made your heart race. You stopped when you were standing between his legs, resting your arms on his shoulders.

“How come you let your hair grow so long?” you asked as you ran your hand through his long, white locks. He didn’t answer, however. His eye was focused on something else.

His hand slid the hem of your slip higher up your thigh as his brow furrowed in concern. “What caused this?” he asked as he traced his fingers over two jagged scars on your knee and up your thigh.

“Senryr,” you sighed at the feeling of his touch, “She clawed me when I went to claim her. Tore my favourite dress to shreds.”

“Why did you go alone?” he asked, tracing higher to the very tip of the scar on your hip, “She could have killed you.”

You smiled as you looked down at him. “You claimed Vhagar alone,” he looked up at you as you gently stroked his jaw with your finger, “Perhaps if you’d been there to teach me, she never would have hurt me.”

He laughed then. A low, quiet one, but a laugh nonetheless. It lit up his entire face and made his eye sparkle. You felt your heart swell at seeing him so happy, so content.

You climbed over him and into the bed, slipping underneath the blanket, "Are you going to undress?"

He shook his head and climbed in after you, "I'm comfortable like this."

He lay facing you, his arm resting on your waist as he drew circles on the small of your back over your satin slip. You raised a hand to his cheek and touched the bottom of his scar.

"It wounded me when you ignored me today," you said to distract yourself from the question you wanted to ask.

Aemond chuckled, "That was the intention when I did it."

You rolled your eyes and giggled, but your gaze returned to his eyepatch. What did it look like under there? Aemond noticed your furrowed brows and understood what was playing on your mind.

Your hand hovered over the eyepatch, "May I?"

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded quickly, and removed it before he could change his mind.

A deep blue gem in the place where his left eye used to be. A sapphire, glimmering in the candlelight.

"Beautiful," you whispered absentmindedly as you stroked his cheek just below the sapphire eye.

He softened and pulled you closer to him, placing a light kiss on your lips. You curled into him and tucked your head under his chin, releasing a deep sigh.

Aemond's hand found yours under the blankets, and he smiled when you threaded your fingers together. There wasn't much he wanted to say. He just needed to be here with you, listening to your quiet breathing and feeling your heartbeat against his chest.

[oshinohoshi]

Oshi no Ko Chapter 162 thoughts

Putting aside my issues with the story and characterization, I like this chapter. It makes me feel things which is a strong suit of Oshi no Ko.

Sorrow, horror, and sweetness... it has a little of everything.

As an avid Ai stan, the parts with Ai hit me right where it hurts

Ai's smile below is everything. She loved those kids so much

I'm reminded of the bottom right art. Ai never did get to see their red backpacks but at least the little Hoshino family made happy memories together

Aqua looking after his sister is so sweet. It would hit harder if we had more of the twins interacting past vol 1 but it's still nice

I'm not sure how I feel about Aqua deciding he was reincarnated to protect Ruby. I can't quite put my finger on what's bothering me. Perhaps it's that he's once again making his life's worth revolve around someone else

Or that this disregards one of my favorite lines in the manga: "[God] brought two people who never had a mother in a real sense and a mother who gave birth to soulless children together"

There is a crucial element missing to Aqua's apparent life's purpose and her name is Ai

@aihoshiino's post explains this better than I ever could (thanks @insertusername99 for pointing this out to me)

LMAO I just read Claire's thoughts on the chapter after typing this and she brought this up too. Bc it's so true!

The art is so good. Mengo is amazing

HIKARU

He gets his own damn section because he's just so... AUGH

I'm baffled as to how killing Ruby would bring him closer to Ai

How does "the weight of his sin" help him manifest Ai's presence? Maybe his guilt over his involvement in Ai's death brings her into sharp relief through suffering and embracing his dark side amplifies that? I'm grasping at straws here

I still think his reaction to the DVD was genuine but if so, it feels like he should have had a change of heart

After learning Ai wanted to love him, why would he turn around and try to off their daughter?

Of course his logic is twisted, but it should work with what we know about him!

If you have thoughts, please share

Anyway, I want to compare Aqua's memory of Ai (left) to Hikaru's vision of her (right)

She looks ethereal in both. A fragile being. Ai looks over her shoulder smiling gently in Aqua's mind. She might turn away at any second but she's not gone yet. However, she has her back to Hikaru, beyond his grasp

In both panels Ai is not dressed as an idol. Those who love her remember her as she was when she wasn't on stage (or uhh that's what I want to say but I don't know what to make of Hikaru's view of her anymore)

Moving on...

Shadow Gorou. Until now he's been a manifestation of Aqua's guilt and self-hatred yet now he's dragging Hikaru to the bottom of the sea. Sure, I guess?

I'm probably wildly off the mark here, but it almost shows how harmful Aqua's attempt to kill Hikaru is. Shadow Gorou is scary

And despite Aqua's white stars, he looks horrified and in pain choking his dad. It doesn't look like a triumphant finishing blow

Given the giant moon behind Crow Girl, I guess we should stop calling her that as it seems that Tsukuyomi is not a stage name. But she'll always be Crow Girl to me

Next chapter (3 week break!!): Miyako is not having any of this dying to save Ruby bullshit. She will roll up on a motorcycle and pluck Aqua out of the sea using Ichigo's fishing pole. I have been predicting the fishing pole being a major player in the Hikaru/Aqua conflict for dozens of chapters and I know I cannot be wrong.

[novaursa]

Hii can I request Aegon ii x Reader ( Rhaenyra daughter) in which they have a good relationship, even with all the family feud they find comfort in one another …. They had an agreement that every time one felt overwhelmed they would sneak into an old secluded library in the Red Keep (no one knew that place existed) and lay by the fireplace simply talking and comforting each others in a makeshift bed …. and on the night Aemond lost his eye they were together and shared their first kiss but in that very moment Ser Criston Cole walked in searching for them and dragged them to the driftwood throne room while Aegon begged Criston Cole not to tell his mother because he didn’t want to lose the only person who actually saw him for who he was (cuz he thought that was the reason for them being dragged so harshly) ….. but after that rumours spread that they where been intimate …. they tried to send letters to each other during those years apart after the incident but they were never answered …. and on the day of Luke’s petition they tried to talk to each other but every time they were near someone always interrupted but they eventually find each other in front of the fireplace in that old library reaching for each other letting only their bodies talk (Aegon is not married he refuses to marry and Alicent is going insane)

I’ve read all your stories they are just so good and so well written truly amazing they make my day ❤️❤️ and sorry for any mistakes english isn’t my first language 🫰

The Kiss

- Summary: After years of being forbidden to each other, you and Aegon finally find the moment to be together.  

- Paring: niece!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+

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

- A/N: 💕

The air was heavy on Driftmark, the scent of salt and sea thick in your lungs. The somber weight of Laena’s funeral clung to the air, casting a long shadow over the island. The soft rush of the waves was the only sound, save for your own breathing and the gentle hum of Aegon’s presence beside you. You sat together on the rocky shore, far from the others. The dim moonlight bathed the coastline in a silver glow, turning the ocean into a shimmering, endless expanse.

Aegon’s hand rested lightly against yours, his thumb brushing against your knuckles with a gentleness that contradicted the image most had of him. Here, away from the politics and pressures of the court, you saw him for what he truly was—vulnerable, weighed down by the expectations of his mother and the crown he didn't want.

“I hate it here,” Aegon murmured, breaking the silence. His voice was soft, almost lost beneath the sound of the tide. “All the eyes… watching, judging. Waiting for me to fail.”

You turned to look at him, your heart aching at the sadness in his voice. “You’re not failing. You’re surviving.”

Aegon’s lips twisted into a bitter smile, his eyes still fixed on the dark horizon. “Surviving… barely. And what am I even surviving for? A crown I never asked for? A throne I don’t even want?” He sighed, his frustration palpable. “Mother says I should be married by now. To strengthen our claim, to make alliances, but—” His voice cracked slightly, and his gaze shifted to meet yours. “I can’t. I won’t.”

His confession hung in the air between you, laden with meaning. You both knew why. A silent understanding had always existed between the two of you—one that transcended the conflict tearing your families apart. Despite the bitterness between your mother and his, you had always found solace in each other. An unspoken agreement that this—whatever this was—would stay between you. No crowns, no alliances, no duty. Just the two of you.

“Why don’t you leave?” you asked quietly. It was a question you’d never dared to ask before, but here, with the moonlight and the solitude, it felt right. “Why stay and fight for something you don’t want?”

Aegon hesitated, his eyes flickering down to your hands intertwined in the sand. “Because of you,” he whispered. “If I left, I’d lose you too.” He finally met your gaze, and in the moonlight, you could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the raw honesty that he rarely let anyone see. “You’re the only one who actually sees me.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The weight of his words pressed down on you, and before you could think, you leaned closer, your heart racing in your chest. Aegon’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head, his breath mingling with yours as the space between you shrank.

And then, just as the tips of your noses brushed together, you kissed. It was soft, tentative at first, as if both of you were testing the waters. But then, Aegon’s hand cupped the side of your face, and the kiss deepened, slow and warm, filled with the unspoken words you’d both been holding back for so long. The world around you seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of you, the waves crashing softly in the distance.

But the moment shattered abruptly.

“Prince Aegon!” A sharp voice cut through the quiet, and you both pulled apart, breathless, your hearts pounding in unison. Ser Criston Cole stood a few feet away, his expression stern, his eyes narrowing as they flicked between the two of you. “The Queen demands your presence.”

Aegon’s face drained of color, his hand still resting on your cheek, as if he could shield you from what was about to come. “Ser Criston,” he began, his voice tight with panic, “please, don’t tell her. Don’t tell my mother.”

Ser Criston didn’t reply, but his grip tightened on Aegon’s arm as he hauled him to his feet. He reached for you next, and though you tried to resist, his hold was firm as he dragged both of you toward the Driftwood Throne room. Aegon stumbled alongside you, his breath ragged. “She can’t know. Please—” His voice was nearly a plea now, desperate.

“You don’t understand, do you?” Ser Criston’s voice was low, harsh. “This isn’t about you two. This is about something far worse.”

Your mind spun with confusion, heart still racing from the kiss, and now from the fear of what awaited you inside the throne room. When Ser Criston shoved the doors open, the scene inside made your blood run cold.

Aemond stood at the center of the room, blood streaming from the place where his left eye had once been. He was trembling, furious, with his hand pressed to the wound. Your brothers, Jace and Luke, stood opposite him, bloodied and bruised, while Baela and Rhaena glared from the side, their faces streaked with tears. Queen Alicent was pacing, enraged, her eyes blazing with fury. Your mother stood beside her, her expression dark and thunderous.

“What in the name of the gods happened?” Aegon whispered, his earlier fear forgotten in the wake of the scene before him.

Alicent whirled around at the sound of his voice, her eyes narrowing at the sight of him—and you. “Where were you?” she demanded, her voice sharp as a blade. “While your brother was mutilated?”

You could see the hurt flash across Aegon’s face, but he said nothing, his gaze flicking to Aemond, who met his eyes with a steady, defiant stare despite the pain.

“Tell me,” Alicent growled, advancing on Jace and Luke, “who did this? Who is responsible?”

It was then that Aegon’s hand found yours again, a silent anchor in the storm that raged around you. Whatever had happened, whatever horror had transpired, you knew in that moment that you would face it together.

But you both also knew—this was just the beginning.

The air in the Red Keep had always felt oppressive to Aegon, but now it was stifling. Ever since that night on Driftmark—the night Aemond lost his eye—rumors had spread like wildfire. No matter how hard he tried to avoid them, the whispers were everywhere: Aegon and his niece had been seen together, alone by the shore, and far too close for mere comfort. The gossip only grew worse, fueled by the tension between their two families. It seemed like every shadowy corner of the Keep hummed with talk of betrayal, of impropriety, of scandal.

Now, standing in the dimly lit confines of his chambers, Aegon felt the weight of those rumors press down on him like a suffocating blanket. He stared out the window, the evening sky over King’s Landing streaked with deep purples and reds. His mind wandered to her—to the last glimpse he had of you on Driftmark, before the chaos had erupted, before everything fell apart. The memory of your kiss lingered on his lips, bittersweet and aching, a reminder of what he could never have.

The door behind him opened with a sharp click, and he knew, without turning around, who it was.

“Aegon.”

His mother’s voice, cold and edged with fury, echoed through the room. He didn’t respond immediately, his grip tightening on the windowsill. He had been waiting for this—this confrontation, this inevitable reckoning. He had avoided her for as long as he could, but it was only a matter of time before Alicent cornered him.

“Aegon, turn around and face me.”

With a resigned sigh, he did as she commanded, leaning back against the windowsill, his arms crossed. His mother stood in the center of the room, her posture rigid, her expression a storm of emotions—anger, disappointment, fear. Behind her, Ser Criston Cole hovered near the door, his eyes sharp, ready to intervene if necessary.

“I have heard the whispers,” Alicent said, her voice low and controlled, though her hands trembled slightly as they clasped in front of her. “The rumors. About you and…” Her voice faltered for a moment, as though saying your name aloud would give the scandal even more weight. “…her.”

Aegon’s chest tightened, but he said nothing. He knew his mother well enough to understand that she wasn’t looking for a confession—she was looking for a denial, for him to tell her that the rumors were nothing more than slanderous lies. But he couldn’t bring himself to give her that satisfaction.

“Aegon,” Alicent stepped closer, her voice taking on a pleading edge, “tell me the truth. Did anything happen between you and Rhaenyra’s daughter? Did you… were you intimate with her?”

Aegon’s jaw clenched. His mother’s eyes bore into him, searching for any sign of the answer she wanted, but he remained silent, his gaze flicking to the floor. He didn’t want to lie to her. But he couldn’t admit the truth, either—not when admitting it meant acknowledging feelings he didn’t fully understand himself.

“Answer me!” Alicent’s voice rose, frustration lacing her words. She reached for him, gripping his arm with surprising force. “Do you know what they’re saying about you? About our family? This could ruin everything. Your claim—our position at court—it all hangs by a thread, and you—” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “You cannot be reckless. Not now. Not when we are so close.”

Aegon’s gaze finally met hers, his eyes dark, stormy with emotion. “What difference does it make?” he said, his voice hollow. “Whether I deny it or admit it, they’ve already made up their minds. They’ll believe what they want to believe.”

Alicent’s grip on his arm tightened. “It makes all the difference in the world, Aegon. If you deny it, if you make them believe it’s all lies, we can salvage this. But if you—”

“I won’t deny it.” His words were quiet but firm, cutting her off mid-sentence.

Alicent recoiled as if struck, her eyes widening in shock. “What?”

“I won’t deny it,” Aegon repeated, his voice growing stronger. “And I won’t admit it, either. What happened—what didn’t happen—it doesn’t matter.” He pulled his arm free from her grasp, stepping away from her. “They can think what they want. They always do.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, and Aegon could see the war raging in his mother’s eyes—part of her wanted to scream, to lash out, but the other part, the part that had spent years playing the intricate game of court politics, knew that she couldn’t afford to lose control. She needed him to bend, to obey, but Aegon had long since grown tired of bending to the wills of others.

Alicent turned her back on him, her hands trembling as she composed herself. “You are playing a dangerous game, Aegon,” she said, her voice quieter now, but no less filled with warning. “You could lose everything.”

“I never wanted it to begin with,” he muttered under his breath, but he wasn’t sure if she heard him.

After a long pause, she spoke again. “Do you understand what this means? If the rumors continue, if people think—” She stopped herself, turning to face him once more, her expression hard. “We cannot afford a scandal like this. Rhaenyra will use it against us, against you. She already hates you—this will only give her more power.”

Aegon’s eyes darkened at the mention of his sister. “Rhaenyra doesn’t care about me,” he said bitterly. “None of them do. And if she knew—” His voice faltered, his heart aching at the thought of you. “If she knew how I feel, she would never let me see her again.”

Alicent’s expression softened for just a moment, but it was fleeting, replaced quickly by the mask of duty she had worn for so long. “You cannot let your feelings cloud your judgment, Aegon,” she said softly. “Not now. You have a duty to your family.”

He laughed, though there was no humor in it. “Duty. That’s all any of this is, isn’t it? Duty. And what about me, Mother? What about what I want? Or does that not matter?”

“Of course it matters,” Alicent said, but her voice lacked conviction. “But you are a prince. You cannot live like the rest of us. Your desires must come second to the needs of the realm.”

Aegon shook his head, turning away from her. “I’m tired of it. I’m tired of being the perfect son, the perfect prince, doing everything for everyone else while I get nothing in return.”

Alicent took a step toward him, her voice softening. “You are not alone in this, Aegon.”

But Aegon didn’t feel comforted by her words. He hadn’t felt anything close to comfort since the night on Driftmark—since he last saw you. He had tried to write, sending letter after letter to Dragonstone, each one filled with words he didn’t know how to say aloud. But you never wrote back. The silence was deafening, and he had no idea if you had ever even received them. If you still thought of him at all.

He was alone. Even in a castle filled with people, even with the weight of a crown hanging over him, he felt more alone than ever.

“Leave me,” he said quietly, turning back to the window.

“Aegon—” Alicent’s voice faltered, and she hesitated for a moment, before finally nodding. “As you wish.”

She turned and left the room without another word, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

And Aegon was alone once more. Alone with his thoughts, with the aching emptiness where your letters should have been, with the memory of your kiss still burning on his lips.

The sky over King's Landing was a muted gray as the sea breeze carried the scent of saltwater and the sharp tang of rain. You could see the Red Keep looming in the distance, its walls and towers rising like the teeth of a great beast, waiting to swallow you whole. As the ship glided into the harbor, you could feel the tension in the air, an invisible thread pulling tighter and tighter the closer you came to the capital.

It had been years since you had set foot in the Red Keep. Years since that night on Driftmark, when everything had changed, when the world had been thrown into chaos, and the distance between you and Aegon had grown wider and more unbearable with each passing day.

The letters he had sent had gone unanswered, not because you didn't want to respond, but because your mother had kept them from you. It wasn’t until much later that you’d discovered their existence—tucked away, unopened, hidden from you as a way to sever whatever connection remained between you and your uncle. Your heart ached with the weight of those lost words, of the time you could never reclaim.

Now, you were here again, standing in the belly of the very place that had always tried to pull you apart.

As your family made their way through the gates of the Red Keep, the familiar sight of the stone walls and winding halls brought a rush of memories. Every corner seemed to hold a fragment of the past, of whispered conversations, stolen glances, and unspoken promises. You wondered if Aegon had felt it too—the pull, the inevitability of what lay between you, even after all these years.

The formalities were stifling. As your family greeted the court and took their places, you could feel eyes on you—on all of you. Whispers buzzed through the crowd like flies, circling around the petition for Driftmark and the question of who would sit upon the Driftwood Throne. But your mind was elsewhere. It was on him.

You caught a glimpse of Aegon across the room, standing beside his mother and Aemond. His gaze found yours, and for a fleeting moment, the years between you seemed to vanish. His eyes softened, just as they had the night on the shore of Driftmark, filled with that same longing, that same vulnerability. He shifted as though to move toward you, but then the crowd surged, and Otto Hightower stepped between you, pulling him into conversation before you could even take a step.

It continued like this for hours—every time you tried to get closer to him, someone would intervene, pulling either of you away for some matter of court, some interruption that seemed designed by fate itself to keep you apart. You exchanged glances across the room, but nothing more.

By the time the evening feast began, the tension between you was unbearable. You could feel it, buzzing in the air like electricity, pulling you toward him even though the distance between you seemed insurmountable. The noise of the hall—the clatter of plates and the murmur of voices—faded into the background, and all you could think of was finding him.

And then, by some miracle, you slipped away unnoticed.

The old library had been your secret place, hidden deep within the Keep, forgotten by everyone else. The path to it was worn into your memory, and your feet carried you there almost of their own accord, guided by instinct and a desperate need to see him, to speak with him, to touch him.

When you reached the door, you hesitated for only a moment, your heart pounding in your chest. And then you pushed it open.

The room was just as you remembered it—dusty, forgotten, the fire already burning low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the shelves of ancient books. And there, standing in front of the fireplace, waiting for you, was Aegon.

The moment he saw you, his expression softened, and a wave of relief washed over his features. Without a word, you crossed the room to him, your body moving as though drawn by a force beyond your control. When you stopped in front of him, there were no formalities, no pleasantries, no words. There was only the silence of two souls who had been apart for too long.

Aegon reached out first, his fingers brushing against your cheek, and that was all it took. In the next heartbeat, your arms were around each other, your bodies pressed together as if trying to make up for all the time that had been lost. His lips found yours, urgent and desperate, and you kissed him back with equal fervor, pouring all the unspoken words, all the unanswered letters, all the longing into that one moment.

His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer, as if he were afraid you might slip away again. Your fingers tangled in his hair, the firelight casting an orange glow over the two of you, your breaths mingling in the heated air. There was no hesitation now, no awkwardness, only need—pure and raw.

Aegon’s lips left yours, trailing down your neck, soft and searing, and you let out a quiet gasp as your fingers fumbled with the clasps of his tunic, your body trembling under the weight of his touch. He made quick work of your own garments, his hands rough but gentle, his breath coming in shallow pants as he undressed you with the same urgency that burned in your veins.

Before you knew it, you were on the floor, the soft furs beneath you a makeshift bed, just as it had been all those years ago. The warmth of the fire was nothing compared to the heat between your bodies as Aegon hovered above you, his eyes searching yours, filled with a tenderness you hadn’t seen in anyone else.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Tell me you still want this.”

Your answer came not in words, but in the way you pulled him down to you, in the way your hands grasped his shoulders, the way your lips sought his with the same hunger that had lived inside you for so long.

And then, finally, there was no more distance between you. His body moved with yours, slow at first, testing, finding a rhythm that spoke of years of waiting, of needing. His lips were everywhere—on your neck, your shoulders, your chest—and each touch sent a shiver through you, a reminder that this was real, that after all this time, you were together.

It was a dance, your bodies entwined, moving as one, the rest of the world fading away until there was nothing left but the two of you, the crackling fire, and the sound of your breath mingling in the stillness of the old library. You clung to him, every kiss, every touch, a promise that neither of you would ever let go again.

And when the world finally stopped spinning, when the storm of passion subsided, you lay together by the fire, your bodies still pressed close, your hands still entwined. Aegon rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin, and in that quiet moment, you knew that whatever happened next, whatever chaos or politics awaited you in the daylight, you had this. You had him.

No one could take that away from you. Not anymore.

[ell-arts]

Here's a little something I've wanted to do for a while! This was made mostly out of curiosity, as a way to speculate on what colour genetics could've influenced the look of characters we've heard of but were never shown (Elli's dad, Bet and Stratos's sister, why Spheria is not yellow like Sunny, etc)

Some of these look pretty empty, so I will revisit this in the future to add more members to each family tree. These trees are also sprinkled with some oc's and my own headcanons.

Here are a few notes/reasonings/headcanons I have for each family:

Spheros:

My headcanon for the Spheros siblings' father is that his name is Exo Spheros, and his colours were quite dark. Both Exo and Rotunda came from families that were very mixed, and as a result, their children came in a variety of colours. Exo's side tends to have darker colours, while Rotunda's side has lighter colours.

Exo has bright red eyes, while Rotunda has green eyes. The clash of these colours caused a range of muted browns and reds in their children's eyes.

Rotunda's hair was white in the show, most likely from old age, therefore I made it so that her natural hair colour is the same as her daughter's hair colour, in order for it to make a bit more sense as to how her granddaughter (Elliptica) ended up with pink hair.

Partial Albinism is a dormant and recessive gene that runs in Rotunda's side of the family. It's a mutation where only the skin of the individual is affected: their skin lacks pigment and turns out white, while their hair and eye colour retain pigment and inherit a mix of their parents' colours. This mutation has been dormant throughout Rotunda's family line, until it showed its face in Betrayus' colours. Since Rotunda's side of the family has lighter colours, the overall lack of pigmentation has a link with this gene.

My headcanon name for Stratos and Betrayus' sister is Radia Spheros. Along with Betrayus, she has very little resemblance to either parent, precisely because of their mixed heritage. There is a little bit of dark red on Exo's side of the family, and this combined with Rotunda's lighter colours made Radia come out as a muted pink. Radia is the oldest, followed by Stratos and then Betrayus.

Unironically, all the Spheros' siblings have hair that is styled in a similar way to their father's.

Headcanon name for Elli's father is Ellipton (Ellip for short). Unlike Radia's side of the family, Ellip's family had a long line of consistent purples and blues, so these genes are stronger. Therefore, Elli looks a lot more like her father than her mother, and this is also why Elli was named after him.

Pac:

Headcanon that the reason why Spheria is not yellow like Sunny is because Spheria and Sunny are only half-sisters.

Sunny's father had an affair with a red woman before he married Sunny's mother, thus Spheria was born a little bit before Sunny. The affair was a point of conflict between Sunny's parents for a while, but eventually things settled down when Sunny was born.

Unfortunately, at some point Spheria's mother passed away and she was placed in her father's care, effectively making Spheria part of Sunny's side of the family. This is also why Spheria still has an accent; she grew up in a different state far away before she moved in with her father and his family.

Despite not having the same mother, Sunny and Spheria still grew up together and came to see each other as full sisters instead of half.

Zac's side of the family are pure yellows, while Sunny's side of the family have a tiny bit of mixing in their earlier ancestry, but the yellow genes are still strong enough for Sunny to have all of the powers and qualities that comes with being a Yellow One.

Cylindria:

The pink highlights in Cyli's hair are 100% natural and not dyed. This is thanks to a common gene that runs in her family, in which streaks of colours are present in their hair. It mostly comes from Starchild's side of the family, as seen in Granny's case. Elliptica has this gene too, inherited from her father's side of the family.

We never saw Moondog's real eye colours because he wears shades/custom glasses, so I gave him light purple eyes.

Moondog's side of the family is also a little bit more mixed, compared to Starchild's family who has been more consistently pink. Therefore Cyli inherited her black hair from her father and her pink skin, eyes, and hair streak gene from her mother.

Headcanon that Granny's real name is Windsong, and "Granny" is just a nickname that she's more fond of.

Additional headcanon that Granny became the first person in the family to think that their naming traditions have gotten a little silly, and so she strongly advocated for giving her granddaughter a "normal" name as opposed to a hippie name, which is how they ended up with Cylindria (her parents wanted to name her Moonchild instead. Cyli was eternally grateful that Granny stepped in to suggest a different name lol).

Spiral:

We literally know nothing about what Spiral's family looks like, other than a vague hint in one of the Chrsitmas episodes. So for now both his parents are red.

Though I am playing with the idea of giving Spiral a step-father, so that might be added in the future.

General Pacworlder colour genetics:

The more a certain colour is present in a family line, the stronger that colour gene is. For example, if the father's line is pure red, and he has offspring with a blue mother with a mixed lineage, then their children have a 75% higher chance of being red rather than blue or mixed.

Overall, mixed families usually produce offspring with stronger genes because of their diverse genetics. The only downside to this is that their mono-colour genes are weakened. The more a particular colour is present in a family-line, the more likely that offspring may get weaker genes in other areas outside of colour because of the lack of diverse breeding. This is seen in old medieval times when royal families married their cousins in order to keep the bloodline "pure" but it resulted in poor health among the descendants. Aside from this example, it is still entirely possible to have a healthy, pure colour bloodline without inbreeding, because Pacworlders with all kinds of colours are broadly populated across the planet.

More to be added in the future :)

[tiredtogepi]

A Lady & Her Hounds

Chapter 1

The Hound x Fem!Reader (Jon Arryn's daughter; Sabrina)

This chapter contains: Fluff | Brat

Word count: 1146

*this is my first GOT fan fiction. There are many chapters with mostly fluff, some angst, and mature content ;) I hope that someone will read it and enjoy it*

Dogs have always fascinated you. The way they create bonds, love their humans, their loyalty, and friendliness. Being Jon Arryns daughter was not bad but, you felt left out most of the time since he married Lysa and their son was born. That's when the dogs came into your life. Some Lord from the north had offered puppies from his newest litter as a gift for your name day. Your father wasn't so happy about it, but he let you keep it so you could finally have some company. Initially, you had 3 dogs, but a few years later after contacting more breeders, you found yourself with a pack of 15 dogs.

You took your time to train them for protection during the conflict between the Mad King and Robert Baratheon. They obeyed you well, they looked out for you, but most of all they loved you, their loyalty was not questionable and they would give their life to save you. When the war was over your father was named hand of the king and you all moved to the Red Keep. You had begged your father to take at least some of your dogs but he wouldn't allow it. Luckily you were close enough to the working staff in The Eyrie to make sure they were well taken care of.

When you arrived at King’s Landing, King Robert made sure to have a feast in honor of the new hand and his family. He was a big man that had fought many battles and almost kept his intimidating factor intact, if it weren’t for the extra pounds he gained. What surprised you is that there were still knights protecting him.

During the feast the conversation around you was like some faded-out noise, but someone caught your attention. A tall man with a half-burned face and intense brown eyes. It was interesting to look at him, especially because of some slight facial expressions he made out of distaste for the conversations around, just like you.

"Ha! Lady Sabrina, I know about your interests in dogs but I didn't realize this one would interest you too!" Robert pointed at the man he was able to catch you staring at.

You blushed as that man at glanced at you.

"Pardon, your grace, I was lost in my thoughts." You gave a quick answer trying to avoid more embarrassment.

"No need for apologies. Sandor Clegane is a tough-looking man, our Hound!" The drunk king was getting more excited by the second. "Tell me Lady Sabrina, if we put your hounds and my hound in the arena against each other, which one would take the win?" He laughed and started choking on his own wine.

"I don't think any hound deserves to be put in that situation. I find it very distasteful, your grace." You stood up and bowed to the king while he laughed at your audacity.

"Are you leaving us already?" Robert inquired

"Yes, your grace. I am unwell, maybe I had too much wine." You were already slowly stepping away.

"Would you like to see the master?" your father asked, he always worried about your health, since your mother passed away from a terrible and silent disease, so any little symptom you had he would take it very seriously.

"No, thank you father, I will go get some books at the maester's library. If I need assistance I will call for it." You bowed lightly and as you turned your back the king spoke

"Clegane, accompany the lady to her chambers. She had a little much to drink and might need some help"

You rolled your eyes as you walked out and heard footsteps coming towards you. This is what you hated about this place. Too many people telling you what to do, keeping an eye on you, and always so many rules on what you can and can't do.

As you went to turn into the next hallway to the library Clegane stepped in front of you. You tried to go around him but he kept blocking your way.

"The king said to take you to your chambers." His tone was serious.

"Maybe you misheard it, but I need to get some books first." You tried to move away from him. He ignored you and kept blocking your way.

You tried to keep yourself composed since you had much anger and frustration stored inside you since coming to the king's landing. You took a big breath trying for the last time to be polite.

"Ser.."

"I'm no Ser."

"Seven hells! Let me go get my fucking books!" Maybe it was the alcohol that gave you the courage to raise your voice and push him out of the way, even though he didn't move an inch.

Apparently, that was amusing enough for him to let you go while he subtly smirked. You finally reached the maesters' library. The Hound stood by the entrance. You took a book, then another, then as you went to get the third book you had an idea.

"Ahem!" You cleared your throat to get his attention. He looked at you as you repeatedly looked down at the heavy books on your arms and up at him.

He scoffed and took your books.

''Wait, there's more!" You said it innocently as he turned around and you decided to find 2 of the heaviest books on forestry and wildlife and put it on top of the pile he was already carrying. He grunted.

"We can go now!" You said innocently, knowing you were being a brat. Honestly alcohol didn’t give you the best ideas.

As you found yourself by your chamber door, Clegane leaned down to hand you the books. You stepped away, opening the door to your room.

"Could you place them inside on that little table?" This time you weren't trying to be inconvenient, but there was no way you could carry all that weight.

Clegane tried to hide his annoyance. He thought you were just another spoiled highborn like Joffrey or Cersei. He placed the books on the table aggressively. You tried to walk around the table to accompany him to the door, but you tripped on one of your book piles on the floor and fell with your face on the big man's chest. He didn't move, you put your hands on his chest to get back on your feet.

"Pardon me...I think I've had too much to drink." You mumbled. He looked down to stare at you making sure you didn't get hurt on his armor. You blushed and looked away as he started to leave.

"Why do they call you The Hound?" You asked as he was almost by the door. He stopped and didn't turn around.

"Why do you care?" He grunted.

"What should I call you then?"

"Don't call me." He replied as he walked away.

[hopestrope]

Poll of the Dragon #19

We see Alicent and Gwayne discussing her 3 sons on 2x6 of HotD. Alicent believes that the cruel and brutal characters of Aegon and Aemond are her fault, whereas Gwayne says that the "Red Keep", has had an effect on who they turned out to be. They talk about Daeron, who grew up away from the Red Keep and turned out to be a better person than his brother. I think both the environment of the Red Keep, full of schemes and lies, and the people there, divided into blacks and greens, and their mother Alicent have had an effect on who Aegon and Aemond turned out to be. The question is, who, in your opinion, was more effective in making them who they are?

'Even after Ser Otto had returned to Oldtown, a “queen’s party” still existed at court; a group of powerful lords friendly to Queen Alicent and supportive of the rights of her sons. Against them was pitted the “party of the princess.” King Viserys loved both his wife and daughter, and hated conflict and contention. He strove all his days to keep the peace between his women, and to please both with gifts and gold and honors. So long as he lived and ruled and kept the balance, the feasts and tourneys continued as before, and peace prevailed throughout the realm...though there were some, sharp-eyed, who observed the dragons of one party snapping and spitting flame at the dragons of the other party whenever they chanced to pass near each other.'

'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.'

-Fire and Blood, George R.R. Martin

[randomfoggytiger]

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part XIX): Eyes Averted, and Final Decisions

Thus far we've discussed the effect Scully's diagnosis has had on herself, her mother, and her brother. Yet, it's not until this scene in Redux II that we hear the Scully family bouncing off of each other in a crisis: what behavior they expect from one another, and what boundaries they do and don't push. It's an interesting portrait of resurfaced dynamics and shared familial traits.

More importantly, it sets up blink-and-you'll-miss-it explorations of their differing perspectives on Scully's odds of survival.

THE FIGHT

The scene opens on Bill’s building anger (“This is crazy, just crazy”) and Mulder’s somber, challenging response (“Well, crazy in what sense-- in that it might save your sister’s life?”) 

The camera quickly cuts to Scully’s expression during their exchange. She closes her eyes in a controlled shudder at Mulder’s blatant acknowledgement of her illness, opening them only when she has regained mastery over her rocked emotions. 

Bill is flabbergasted but contains his fury.

His control is very telling. In Gethsemane, he pushed and prodded his sister's motives-- why didn't you tell me? do you know what our mother's been through? "loyal to who, to this guy Mulder?"-- but never yelled. When he first met his sister's partner, he shook his hand and glowered but didn't tear him up (as he will later this episode.) And here, he's listened to Mulder's farfetched explanation of farfetched chips and cures but still refrains. Bill seems to have put himself under an injunction (be it his own resolve or Maggie's warning) not to provoke or punish; but that resolve requires restraint. As we see here, Mulder pushes his buttons and effortlessly dissolves that restraint in under two minutes.

“You’re not a doctor. You have no place even suggesting this… science fiction.” 

Maggie and Scully bend their heads, their body language stiff and conflict-avoidant but not shocked or surprised. To them, a Navy man laying down the law is not a new phenomenon. 

“It’s not science fiction,” Mulder insists, immovably calm. 

This interaction is solidifying what Bill perceives to be Mulder’s character: insistent, thoughtless action followed by blatant denial of reality. For the first time, we hear Bill Scully holler.

“He’s never heard of it!”

Scully writhes in discomfort-- not wanting to be caught in the middle of her brother’s anger and Mulder’s last, pleading attempt-- and her mother catches it. Shaking off her role of quiet military wife immediately, she softly latches onto her son's arm and orders, "Bill."

Her son immediately complies, respectfully sighing out the bite in his voice. Turning to the doctor, he questions, “Have you?” 

“No, I haven’t.”

Maggie takes the lead here, stepping in before Mulder or Bill can steer the conversation back to confrontation. “I think there’s an obvious… difference of opinion here,” she puts delicately, carefully laying down her unspoken expectations of both men. 

Mulder nods, easily acquiescing; then turns to Scully when she quickly speaks up.

SCULLY'S DECISION IS HER OWN

Even on her deathbed, Dana Scully commands the respect to speak and to be heard. “I think… that everybody here has their heart in the right place.” 

She spares a split-second smile towards her mother, affection and love pouring from her worn, red eyes. 

Maggie's expression is not soft or warm: it's one of steely distrust. She is letting Dana advocate for herself but knows, already knows, she will disagree with the final decision. 

It’s not a stretch to come to this conclusion, either: her daughter left medicine for the FBI, creating a rift in the family; her daughter signed a living will privately, leaving Maggie to grapple with the task of following it through without notice; her daughter was somewhere else in the wild when Melissa was shot and died in her place; and her daughter didn’t want to tell her about the cancer diagnosis at first, then swore her to secrecy after. She may respect that Dana has the right to make decisions for her own life, but she doesn’t trust her-- each choice Scully has made unintentionally wounded Maggie. 

And since her husband’s death, Maggie seems less and less willing to “shove off” without question.

Bill, meanwhile, waits patiently for his sister to continue. However, when Scully insists, with strength in her voice, “But I need it to be my decision”, he shakes his head, attempting to break in with a gentle, “Dana--”  

Here we see a Scully family tic. He looks down and away when something personally affects him. Here, when his sister considers putting "pseudoscience" in her neck; later, when he cracks himself open to weigh Mulder's motives in the hallway. 

“I know you’re only looking out for me, Bill,” Scully begins, watching her brother's face fall, "but I don’t think you have all the facts.”

Her unbeatable spirit shines through-- faith in her facts and a little pride in herself. Assured, and believing she will pull through. 

Mulder looks from her to Bill; and Bill, knowing he can’t budge his sister, looks down before laying the blame fully at Mulder’s feet. 

It’s an important moment for his character: Memento Mori Bill would have blamed Scully for their father’s dashed pride and Melissa’s death. Instead, this Bill blames only Mulder for his family’s destruction. And even then, as much as he despises her partner, this Bill will still give him a opportunity to explain himself. 

Seizing one last chance to countermand his sister's inclination, Bill looks to his mother, hoping she will talk her daughter out of it. Mulder catches this and swings his attention to Maggie's face, too. 

“Don’t you think you should listen to your doctor?” she asks, diplomatically; tense, strained, and hoping Dana won't pursue the wrong path at the last hour. 

“Yes,” Scully insists, taking a gulp of air for her weak voice, “I am.”

Mulder immediately reads between the lines, brokering her concerns to her doctor. “Will she have to stop her conventional treatment?”

An important incident occurs: Scully panics, terrified at the thought she will have to stop her treatment plan. Because, deep down, Scully doesn’t believe she will die: her treatment-- her science-- will save her; and if it fails, then Mulder’s magic tricks will cure her. 

We know this to be the case because of her reaction to Bill’s incredulous, “You think you can cure yourself” in Gethsemane (post here); we know this because of her fright now that she will, perhaps, be disconnected from the medical safety net; we know this because she hasn’t, yet, accepted that death is imminent (and won't until Mulder’s chip “fails” and she falls apart in front of her mother.) 

Scully desperately locks onto her doctor as he soberly explains, “To be honest, at this point, the only approach I have left with her particular cancer is… quite unconventional.” 

Scully’s science has failed her; and she is crestfallen. 

However-- as in everything that is too terrible to face immediately-- Scully brushes her desperation aside, shoring up courage by closing her eyes and clutching the chip tighter.  

“I’d like to try this,” she determines, resolved. 

The camera shoots back to Maggie, caught between shades of disappointment, frustration, and resignation; and she turns to the wall to hide her turbulent emotions from her daughter. 

Maggie, like Dana, does not believe her daughter is marked for death-- she still wants her to fight, to take treatment, to turn to God and pray with Father McCue and trust to miracles. It’s a faith not unlike Mulder’s: they both believe, though she prefers to pray down the miracles and he to catch them in his hands. 

Resigned, Bill resentfully snaps up his head to glare meaningfully at Mulder. Mulder, spotting the searing animosity from across the room, keeps his head turned, uncomfortably avoiding eye contact. 

Bill, unlike his sister and mother, does not believe Scully will be cured-- the cancer is in her bloodstream, and all the family can hope for is a peaceful death. Hence, he buries the hurt and frustration her reticence caused, tries to steer the work away from her room, and intends to lay off of Mulder for Dana's sake. He is showing his love by guarding her last days-- not unlike Melissa’s bedside manner (posts here and here): both prepared themselves for their sister's death by looking out for her best interest (and by confronting Mulder mercilessly.) The difference between he and his first sister is that Melissa believed in the impossible, and Bill only in the probable. 

And that's the reason he and Scully and Mulder butt heads: he's looking out for his little sister, but he doesn't have all the facts.

Scully, emotionally overwhelmed, takes a page from her mother and brother’s book by avoiding everyone’s eyes.

CONCLUSION

Maggie bears the scars of her daughter's decisions, calling in Bill to lean on his strength (while also keeping him wisely in-check.)

Bill has revealed that he prefers the status quo. Trusting that her doctor has done his best, he views Mulder's last-minute, untested, shaky-at-best cure to be a reprehensibly irresponsible suggestion. Without saying it out loud, he has resigned Scully to her fate-- and Mulder, brilliant man that he is, has noticed and resents it, picking at Bill's disbelief in small pokes or digs. 

Mulder has doubled down on the untested and (seemingly) unscientific chip he picked up from the DOD as the cure-all for brain cancer. He’s already argued-- and won-- for it to be tried, handing out hope to the sick and dying. Bill, stubborn and distrustful, sees this trial as a moral failure; and hates his guts for it. 

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[the-desilittle-bird]

Author's Note- I am back after a while! And this turned out more like Daemon x Daughter!Reader but I love the short interaction between Aemond and (Y/N).

Thank you and Enjoy your reading!

Rage of a Mother

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary- (Y/N) was Daemon's eldest daughter, married to Aemond Targaryen to ease the conflicts going on between the Blacks and the Greens. But only did the start of Civil War broke her more and more...

Tag List- @eliseline, @little-moonbeam-666, @blackhoodlea, @omgsuperstarg, @shopping, @lizlovecraft, @dayane, @bbgmonsay, @michelle-26, @all-things-fandomstuck, @hc-geralt-23, @chevelledahuman, @morganastrucker, @shrexy, @helloitsshitzulover, @daringboba, @minaxcarter, @b-tchymoon

GIF Credits to @laenasvelaryon

The rain was heavy, even in King's Landing. The restless winds could be heard in the thick walls of Red Keep. The shadows of the curtains moved with the hard winds.

(Y/N) leaned back in the rocking chair, hugging herself while waiting for her husband to return from Storm's End. She felt nausea while waiting for Aemond to return.

Her family is going on a civil war. Her father and stepmother and step-siblings were in Dragonstone, while she sat here, surrounded by her good family and her husband and her daughter.

Only Visenya was the light of happiness in the present darkness of (Y/N)'s life. A child of 6 moons, she loved to be by her mother's side, giggling and brightening up (Y/N)'s days.

(Y/N) could hear the heavy steps and the opening of their chambers' double door. Knowing who it was, (Y/N) decided not to move from her place near the fireplace, instead caressing her daughter's silver hair.

Aemond moved silently, placing his dark coat on the chair near his study table, he moved to sit beside (Y/N). He placed a careful hand on Visenya's back, while rubbing soothing circles on (Y/N)'s forearm.

"What happened in Storm's End?" She voiced her thoughts, a fraction of them at least. She saw Aemond take a deep breath, the gears of his mind churning. "Aemond, what happened?" She asked strictly.

"Vhagar did it," Aemond said, absent-mindedly. (Y/N) blinked blankly, frowning slightly. "Vhagar did what?" (Y/N)'s anxiousness was reaching the skies as Aemond's silence prolonged. "Aemond, are you going to answer me?" (Y/N) whisper-yelled.

"I killed Lucerys."

The ground beneath (Y/N)'s feet slipped away. Her lilac widened as she stared at her husband with shock. Tears brimmed in her eyes, her grip on her daughter tightening protectively.

"Rhaenyra will not let us live in peace anymore," she whispered silently. Her eyes scanned the entire room, trying to tame the storm in her body. She stood up and walked to Visenya's crib, carefully placing her in the crib.

"You don't know what you have done, Aemond," (Y/N) said, panic taking over her. "They will not harm you, my love. Neither will they hurt Visenya. I will make sure of it," Aemond said, walking to embrace (Y/N).

"Rhaenyra would stop at nothing, now," (Y/N) whispered into Aemond's tunic. "I will protect you and Vis at any cost."

Only that Aemond didn't know what was yet to come for him and his wife.

The castle was in chaos, knights running around, trying to find the assassins of the young princess. Guards were positioned to guard Prince Aemond's chamber where all the royals sat in a complete silence.

(Y/N) sat beside the wooden coffin which held the dead body of her daughter. A single, crystal tear had slipped down her eyes, staining her pale skin. Her hands curled up in fist, sitting on her lap as she looked far away at Visenya's crib. Only physically there, while her mind wandered somewhere else.

Aemond sat beside her, a hand on the hilt of his sword while the other rested on the wood. His keen eye was fixed on the coffin, rage swirled in him. Rage directed towards the Blacks and more towards himself.

Helaena sat on a chair nearby the pair, cradling his youngest born while a solemn look was engraved on her face. Aegon, for a first time in a while, looked a bit sober as he sat four chairs away from Helaena.

Alicent sat behind Aemond, a hand on his back in a way to provide him some sort of comfort in this moment of sorrow.

"It is time for her to go, my children," Alicent spoke up after a while, her voice lowered than usual. Aemond nodded, his jaw tightening as his eye watered.

"(Y/N)," Aemond called softly, his voice cracking slightly as he took in his wife's appearance. Empty eyes, pale skin, deadpan face. (Y/N) blinked once, for the first time moving her gaze from the crib to something else; or someone else.

"You go," (Y/N) said, her voice rough after not speaking anything for a whole day. Before Aemond could argue, (Y/N) stood up, dusting off her black dress. "I have another important thing to attend to," She said blankly.

More important than your own daughter's funeral?

Both Aemond and Alicent wanted to ask this but both were aware of the consequences of asking it. Aemond wasn't sure how (Y/N) was feeling on the inside. Meanwhile, Alicent was silent because in a way, she knew what important thing (Y/N) had; and truthfully, if anything like this would have happened to her she would have done that as well.

(Y/N) leaned down to place a kiss on the coffin, a final goodbye to her 6½ moons old daughter. Caressing the wood, she whispered her goodbye and a promise.

(Y/N) watched as Aemond and Ser Criston carried the coffin on their shoulders, walking down to the shore to burn her body with dragon fire. Alicent and Helaena hugged (Y/N) before leaving to follow the coffin.

Once everyone were gone, (Y/N) changed into her riding pants and tunic. Strapping the small sword her father had given, (Y/N) walked to the Dragon pit. She could hear Daehna's growls as she closed towards her den.

In the darkness, Daehna's gold toned scales shone dauntingly in the torch's fire. The black slit of her eyes, surrounded by the brightest of fire, narrowed in rage.

She let out an angry growl, clearly in agony of her rider's pain. She lowered herself to let (Y/N) step up on her, sitting down on her.

Daehna spread her wings, walking out in the clear sky. "Sōvegon nyke naejot Zaldrīzesdōron," (Fly me to Dragonstone) it was a simple command, followed immediately as Daehna rose up in the air, already flying towards her rider's desired destination.

Daemon stood on the shore of Dragonstone, the coast clean with only him in attendance. The news had traveled to Dragonstone from King's Landing and Daemon was left in agony, for his daughter.

He had commanded the death of the King's son but instead, those assassins mistook his own granddaughter for the King's offspring.

Daemon heard a familiar growl of dragon, Daehna. He had expected (Y/N) to show up, either in rage or in pain, and he was about to find out which side of his daughter had come back.

He turned around to find his daughter walking towards him, her hand clutching on the hilt of the small sword he had given her when she turned ten and six namedays old.

"(Y/N)," he called, only to be met by a glare. "Why?" She asked instead, stopping a few meters away from her father. "I apologize for your daughter's death," Daemon said softly, taking a few steps toward her.

"Murdered. You ordered her death. You murdered my daughter," (Y/N) hissed, eyes watering as she thought of her daughter's bloodied body, throat split opened mercilessly. "It wasn't supposed to be Visenya, daughter. It was supposed to be one of Aegon's," Daemon said, instantly regretting it as he saw (Y/N)'s hand clinched in fist.

"Out of anyone in our family, I had least expected you. I feel disgusted to call you my father now." Each word which left (Y/N)'s throat was a stab to Daemon's heart.

"Lucerys was killed by your husband, (Y/N). Rhaenyra grieved her son," Daemon said softly, trying to place his hand on her elbow but she stepped back, repulsed. "And I grieved him. But I see no grief in your eyes for your granddaughter; for your blood," (Y/N) growled, turning around on her heels.

Daemon saw Daehna move, lowering down her head to align it parallel to the ground. She opened her mouth, making Daemon close his eyes. If it was supposed to be his death than he won't fight it, not after what he had done, but he felt no fire only a threatening roar.

"Now, there will be a war, Daemon," Daemon flinched at his name, while (Y/N) continued. "And I will make sure your wife will regret every bit of it; even if it means my death."

Daemon watched as (Y/N) and Daehna disappear in the skies, leaving him behind with tears and pain. His favorite child had announced a war against him and his family, clearly announcing her fidelity.

Daemon kneeled down, letting the waves wash away some of his sorrows as he cried, grieving both the death of his granddaughter and the death of (Y/N)'s innocence.

Gone was his daughter and gone was their bond.