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siriustreasure · 2 years

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We need a part 2 for corpse husband if you were his daughter 😌🫣

being corpse husband’s daughter would include (part 2):

a/n: {find part 1 here} ty for asking, hope you like these follow up ones :’)! it just occurred to me that some people have followed me for stuff for specific people so if you’d like to be tagged in all fics/headcanons for corpse (or anybody else) just let me know! <3 once again, these assume y/n’s mother isn’t involved because single papa corpse owns my heart :’)

warnings: swearing, references to insomia, chronic illnesses, food, very tiny tangent about squid game (no spoilers/violence, just used like one sentence gi-hun’s ex-wife said as an example for something), possibly (probably) rambling

corpse would 1000000% get a tattoo that relates to you in some way. wait imagine if he got a small tattoo of your favourite stuffed animal/toy as a kid which still holds a special place in your gear as an adult. like do you still drag it everywhere you go? probably not, but are they the only stuffie that still has bed privileges? yes. do you still hug them after a bad day? yes. and corpse has to immortalise that because 1) it’s precious and 2) he’d miss his bub. and if you wanted to he’s totally be down to get matching tattoos.

if you haven’t been blessed with this mental image, allow me: corpse husband aka ultimate e-boy aka mr choke me like you hate me, in a beautiful pink tutu, maybe some fairy wings and a tiara, sat a table way too small for him, surrounded by a dozen stuffies.

he’d probably give you a very basic, general rundown/explanation of chronic illnesses - like y’know when disney tries to teach kids something serious and they use metaphors/fairly simple terms? (i’m imagining reader is like a toddler) he’d do something like that so if he had a flare up or something, you wouldn’t get scared or panicked and if he said he couldn’t play with you one day, you’d be far less likely to throw a tantrum.

midnight feasts, midnight movie marathons, midnight everything if you wake up from a nightmare/just aren’t tired? yes. just yes. he has difficulty sleeping most of the time so it wouldn’t be like your fault - like y’know typically if you woke someone up (they might not say it but) they’d probably be like “i just want to sleep, please :’(”. especially if we’re taking about an energetic lil demon bean, which we are. anyways, what i’m trying to say is, ‘cos corpse struggles with sleeping anyway, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal :).

the fridge would be covered and i mean COVERED with your drawings/paintings/etc. there would probably be a couple that were a joint effort - maybe there’d be a finger painting with both of your prints. or one with your tiny handprint next next to his??? stopppp. this actually isn’t fair.

he’d probably have a lil picture of you or maybe a lil gift from you (like maybe you found a stone you thought was pretty at the park or something and gave it to him 🥺) incorporated in his gaming setup.

imagine the hand pics with the stone. omg proud, grateful papa. you know they’d have the cheesiest captions ever too, because he’d be a dad and there’s a brand to follow. duh. imagine corpse’s dad jokes-

you’d probably have a ‘just in case’ bag prepared in case he had to be hospitalised. you’d have packed it together so anything and everything you thought was important, even a bunch of sticker sheets, was put in. i’d riot if there wasn’t a plushie that’d been sprayed w/ his cologne to help w/ missing him. and it’d be a fuckin’ amogus plushie. bye.

he’d probably move into a bigger place w/ a garden and you best believe he’d go all out and spend way too much money turning the garden into a mini park to compensate for the lack of park trips. private park is better anyway, no need to share :).

y’know when kids find out their parents actually have names that aren’t just “mummy” - ssh i’m british/“daddy”/etc? imagine thinking his name was actually corpse husband for a while, like at least a couple of months for funsies. ok so i know i said you’d be homeschooled and i still stand by that but just imagine this ok; idk about y’all but when i was little, like 7ish maybe, our teachers made us write the envelope for our school reports so just imagine you addressing it to corpse husband and the teacher is like “huh?????” (i feel like it’d be funnier if they had no clue who corpse was). they’d definitely talk about that in the staff room at lunch. and you get really defensive about it so they don’t change it and you take it home and corpse is like a mix of 🤨 and 🥹 “thank you, sweetheart”. wheezes for like an hour straight. low-key starts stressing out about that revealing his identity - wait noOoOoOOO. totally shows rae, karl, tina and sykkuno. posts a picture of it on twitter w/ the address covered obviously.

swearing would be allowed once he considered you ‘old enough’ so like mid-late teens.

some qualities (positive + negative because corpse is human even though he’d still be the perfect papa) i think you could exhibit due to his parenting w/ brief reasons: independence + self sufficiency - any symptom flare ups (as discussed earlier), massive empathy - corpse seems to have a massive empathy as is + unsurprisingly children of individuals w/ chronic illnesses tend to be more empathetic, self awareness - sort of the same thing, i imagine corpse is pretty self aware. i don’t think you’d be the best conversationalist but you also wouldn’t be the worst - socialising mostly with corpse and the amigops due to homeschooling/etc.

if there were to ever be a successful real-life example of the ‘spoilt sweet’ trope, it’d be you.

another image for your head: corpse crouching by your bed, chin on the mattress, (y’know that pose?? i don’t really know how to describe it welp) as he gently shakes you awake. ft. a mandatory boop on the nose, of course.

y’know some parents are like “ew, no, they’ll make a habit out of it” cough cough ga-yeong’s mother in squid game - side note, i’m sorry but that pissed me off so much. she was sleeping, he was going to carry her one time. a habit isn’t going to form because of one time >:(. aNyWaYs corpse couldn’t care less about that, you could totally make a habit out of (mostly) anything. if you feel safer sleeping in his bed, fine. if you want a hug, fine. if you want to be carried, fine.

you’d always be (mostly) in charge of the day’s itinerary like obviously if there was an appointment or corpse had some errands, those wouldn’t be cancelled but for the most part it’d be up to you. even with homeschooling stuff, he’d let you pick what order to do things in etc.

i saw this tiktok about how these parents dealt w/ their kids tantrums and they’d basically made the kid his own little space with some activities (i think, at least partially, based on morals? i don’t remember exactly) and a lot of sensory based items like colourful lights etc and the idea was that when the kid was upset, they could go there to like reflect and calm down instead of just sitting angrily on the stairs, staring at a blank wall. i feel like corpse’s parenting would give off those vibes (like just very wholesome and mindful of the kid) but i don’t think it’d come naturally, he’d literally like see a tiktok and be like “yes”.

i think there was another one that was about letting kids decide to give people hugs too like y’know grandparents/family friends/whatever usually just hug the kid or the kid will be pressured into hugging them even if they don’t want to and it seems like such a small thing but like once you’ve thought about it, it’s like why can’t a kid decide not to hug someone, y’know?

the amigops et al (and others) replace your grandparents.

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arabellasleopardcoat · 4 months

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Bestiary (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Your husband and you do not speak the same language. During your wedding night, you find out that High Valyrian and the Common Tongue pale when compared to the way your bodies allow you to communicate.

Warnings: Heavy smut, not much dialogue. P in V sex. First time.

A/N: Who would have thought the most enthusiastic consent I have ever written with Daemon would be in a fic with nearly no dialogue?

Being coached through your wedding vows is not a good omen for your marriage. At least, that is what your husband must think, by the thunderous look on his face. You fight the urge to scream at him that you have practiced for this moment and that you do not need to be coached through the vows. It would be no use. The two of you do not understand each other.

Everything is strange to you in Westeros, from the language to the wedding ceremony. They make you cut your lips and hand, in a procedure you do not enjoy. Your husband does the same. Your blood flows into a goblet, from which you will have to drink later on.

It's barbaric. You suppose it must symbolize the joining of bloodlines in the crudest way.

At least Daemon kisses you at the end, a cold brush of his lips against yours that tells you he is still mad. He had probably felt betrayed, being forced into this arrangement you entered willingly.

If you had known he was that petty, you would have not shown your hand so fast. Your father had wanted dragons, which meant becoming part of House Targaryen. Daemon was the only one available for you to ensnare in your web.

As any good hunter, you had watched your prey first, taking notes of his behavior. Only an afternoon was needed to understand you started the race with a disadvantage. His eyes followed Princess Rhaenyra, Princess Rhaenys and her little daughter, but never lingered on other women.

While you might have lacked the silver hair, you did not lack the wits and charms necessary to be taken in consideration.

You had needed a few days to ready your song, but you had approached him not even a week later. He had been sitting in the library, so you had knocked on the table twice to draw his attention.

Daemon had lifted his eyes from the scroll he was reading, annoyed. He had a handsome face, decorated with age lines that only served to make him look more regal. He looked more the part of the King than his brother, a decaying corpse that you had heard had also acquired his own nubile bride.

Such was the fate of the daughters of powerful men. Sold to other powerful men, old enough to be their fathers, birthing them their own litter of sons and daughters. Sons that would grow up to become powerful men in their own right, daughters that would become pawns to establish dynasties. On and on it went.

Daemon had spoken then. His words were much harsher than those of the language you were used to, lacking the airy song of the languages similar to the one from the Rhoynar. You had not understood. You did not speak a lick of the Common Tongue.

No silver hair, no words, but plenty of resources. You had placed the book you had brought with you on the table, and looked at him.

His eyes had lit up with curiosity. He recognized the title. He spoke again, intrigued.

Despite his tone sounding much more auspicious, you had no other option than to shake your head and speak, with a tremulous voice.

“Bodmagho.” It's the only word you know, one that you have prepared especially for this. But just in case your pronunciation is not perfect, you open the book and mimic the gesture of passing the pages.

Daemon looks stunned. He says something else, still in the Common Tongue. You were able to tell from the intonation he was asking a question, but you didn't know what it was about.

“Bodmagho.” You repeated, stubbornly. You placed your book down and pointed to it.

Daemon sighed. He pointed to the chair. You sat, happy as a clam.

“Prince Daemon.” He pointed at himself. Then, to you. “Lady…?”

You told him your name. He nodded.

“Daor.” He shook his head. “No.”

You stared. He shook his head again. You understood that no, daor and shaking head meant the same.

“Daor. No.” You shook your head. Daemon squeezed your shoulder, a proud smile on his face.

Your father told you that afternoon that you were to be married to him. Just as you had made efforts to catch Daemon, your father had been setting his trap.

Daemon did not oppose, nor encourage the match, but he was angry at you. Angry that you knew before him and tried to charm him into doing your bidding.

Men like him, you learn, like to be the ones pulling the strings. They hate being treated like hounds, even if that is what they are.

You get no further lessons.

This is how you manage to get to your wedding feast only knowing two words. Teach and no. It makes you the most riveting company, and so, it's no wonder you are soon ushered into a chamber with your new husband.

You had not noticed before, but it is the first time you are alone with him since the morning at the library. To you, it had been a matter of no consequence. You had to marry a powerful man, one day. Your father decided it should be him because he wanted dragons. It was as simple as that.

As a rich man, your father had known rich men only get richer at times of unrest. And unrest was coming for the Seven Kingdoms. He could smell it in the air, hear it in the whispers of the common folk. Princess Rhaenyra wasn’t going to inherit without issue.

Your family moved here for that reason. An opportunity to get richer could not be dismissed. Your father had taken one look at the dragons and decided that they were the key to turning his legacy into an empire.

Giant war machines that could level castles in one afternoon. Raze a city to the ground in mere hours. Fire so hot it could melt stone. They could not be bought, you had to be a Targaryen to have them. It was only natural to turn into one, then.

Your children would get dragons. You would provide funds and as many children as you could, and House Targaryen the magic in their veins. Simple business transaction. But apparently, Daemon disagreed.

His face is thunderous. You can tell he is about to berate you. He starts talking, brows pinched together and an accusing finger pointed towards you.

Has he forgotten you do not speak his language? You step closer and poke his arm, hard.

It was the wrong choice. Daemon's face turns even more murderous. His lips twist into a snarl, teeth bared. His posture turns aggressive. He puffs up his chest, he advances on you. The Prince tries to intimidate you through his body language alone.

You are not a small woman. But you are young, and you do not train as much as he does. His looming over you feels menacing, and it reminds you once again of the fate his late wife was rumored to have suffered.

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Daemon is forcing you to walk backwards, pushing your forehead and nose with his. You either move, or get a broken nose and a concussion.

Daemon is terrifying. You will not cross him again, you think to yourself. Only a fool goes around poking dragons with a stick. You feel your palms starting to sweat, a knot forming in your throat. You fight the urge to cry.

The back of your knees hits the mattress, and you fall into the furs with a small noise of surprise. Your husband does not lose any time. He gets right into your face, trying to intimidate you even more.

But if you hope to survive this marriage, to make it work as your father has requested, you can't bend. Daemon will never respect you if you do. He will see you as no more than a frightened girl, who will not disagree with him and serve for little beyond warming his bed. You are not that. You will build an empire, a dynasty out of his dragons and your wealth. The only thing you can do is persevere or break trying.

Daemon scowls at you. He notices the change in your eyes, the fight coming back to you.

“Daor.” You say, staring him down with all your might. It doesn't matter if you are lying down, and he is hovering over you, pinning you under him. You will triumph.

Daemon doesn't heed the warning. He starts tugging at the buttons of your bodice, tiny pearls sent flying all over the room. The gesture is as brutal as it is calculated. It is meant to remind you of your place, always under him from now on. Daemon has a right to your body, and he intends to exercise it as he sees fit. You are no more than an object, and if you cry or scream, it is not relevant.

Despite knowing why he is doing it, you can't avoid grimacing. He looks more beast than a man, snarling over you, ripping your clothes. It's a sight that would scare any woman, no matter how cold.

You look up at him. You give him your own little snarl. Daemon pauses. It's not the reaction he was expecting. He wanted you to cry. You would never give him the satisfaction.

It's a balancing act. You will have to bring him to heel, but soothe his pride in the next act, less he turns on you. Push away a man too much, and he will think you are disrespecting him. He will call you names, thinking you are the problem. Daemon feels entitled to you. You need to show him he is not, but that you are giving yourself to him. He needs to value you. The treasure to his dragon.

“Daor!” You say, firmly. You push him away. Whatever he anticipated, you giving him a fight wasn't something he was prepared for. It shows in the way he folds, stunned by your behavior. You give him hard little slaps to the chest, until you manage to get him off you.

Daemon's scowl turns more confused than angry. He looks at you as if you are a particularly challenging riddle to crack. He rightens his clothes and starts to retreat.

“Daor.” You repeat, grabbing at his shirt to keep him in place. You do not want him to leave.

Daemon wretches free from your grip on his arm. He mutters something, angered.

“Daor.” You use his trick against him, stepping right into his path and forcing him to back off. You use your body to make him advance backwards, toward the bed.

He sits on the edge of it, still scowling. You giggle, making Daemon madder still. You look at him with what you hope is a seductive expression and pull your bodice down.

“Bodmagho?” You ask him, as your dress pools around your feet, leaving you in a sheer shift. Daemon's eyes darken. His expression changes into an amused smile, and he gestures for you to come to him.

You do. You step closer and get on his lap. His hands envelop your waist, warm and calloused.

Then, the unexpected. Daemon grabs your hair and pulls, forcing your head back. You moan, pain and arousal mixing into an unknown emotion that makes the place between your legs slick.

You can feel his breath against your neck, making you shiver. His face comes closer, and closer. Daemon stares into your eyes, lips slightly parted. You mirror his expression, feeling as if you are being consumed by your lust.

He arches an eyebrow. Never been one to shy away from a challenge, you brush his lower lip with his thumb. Daemon parts his lips and sucks it in his mouth.

The shock must have shown on your face because he laughs, giving your thumb a playful bite. You squirm, instinct overpowering modesty, and roll your hips against his.

The two of you stare at each other. Closer, and closer, until his features blur, until two purple eyes turn into one. A dragon turned cyclops by the mere force of lust. There is hunger and want, and confusion. Both of you are so close that you are sharing the same air, the same breath. And Daemon pulls, and you are kissing, and you shake in his arms, feeling like how you think the gods must have felt when the cyclopes formed the lighting.

His hands go to greedily knead at your thighs, slipping under your shift. His palms feel rough against your skin, impatient. The shift rides up, up, up. You mewl against his mouth, desperately reaching for something unknown to you but that you know Daemon will help you reach.

You are restless as he pets you, biting at your mouth, hands sinking in his hair. You tug him towards your neck, knowing his kisses, scorching hot, would burn even sweeter along your nape and ears.

Daemon, though, has other plans. He pulls away and pecks you on the lips. “Vūjigon ” He says. He touches his mouth. “Vūjigon”

You kiss him, softly. “Vūjigon”

He pets your hair.

“Vūjigon.” And he points to his collarbones. You frown in confusion, thinking perhaps the word doesn't mean what you think it does. He sighs and leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the space between your collarbones.

“Vūjigon.” You perk up, and start kissing his shoulders. Your hands pull his shirt more open, letting you bite and lick more of his flesh. The urge to consume and be consumed is overpowering, making you desperate to touch him.

Daemon laughs. He pulls you upwards. Can't he see you are starving?

“Daor.” He says, when you try to go back to it. You give him your fiercest pout. Daemon tuts at you.

He squeezes one of your breasts, making you moan, before cruelly twisting the bud. You gasp, your nails digging on his naked shoulders.

“Shhh.” Daemon soothes you, his hand going to squeeze your breast tenderly once more. “Daor?”

You don't know how to tell him what you want, so you grab his hand and make him pinch the tender bud again. Daemon smiles. He kisses you, muttering something fervently on your lips.

He lays you down on the bed, despite your attempts to sit up. Daemon pins you down with a growl, hand on your chest.

You can't help it. No matter the warning, you squirm as if you were in pain. It certainly feels like it. There is some sort of hunger in your belly, making you want to rub your core against him. You can feel your shift starting to become wet right above your tailbone. Daemon has you so bothered you are dripping into the shift and the bed.

Daemon gives you another growl and leans down to bite your breast over the fabric of your shift. It's meant to be punishment, but you arch into it, gasping.

He laughs. He takes as much of it as it can fit in his mouth, sucking greedily. The noises are obscene. The sight must be, too. Your mouth, open, moaning yourself into a frenzy. Daemon, nipping, biting, sucking, like a man starved. Your shift with two giant wet spots, one at the chest and the other by your arse.

You moan, surprised at the feeling. You had never thought bodies could be used in such a way before. Nor had you hoped for him to please you so eagerly.

His lips close around your bud. His tongue twirls around it, lavishing it with attention. You grab at his hair, his nape, desperately trying to hold onto something. Daemon just sucks harder on your breast. You moan, and moan, and moan some more. Desperate little sounds, gathering in the air around a desperate girl.

He switches to your other breast. Your shift feels sticky on your skin, so you start trying to take it off. The task distracts you enough for his hand to find its way to your core, and you squeak at the first sensation of his fingers against it.

Daemon smiles against your skin. He presses a finger inside you, and you squeal some more. He lets go of your breast to better gaze into your overwhelmed face, seemingly getting an enjoyment out of it.

Another finger joins the first. You cry out. It stings a bit. Daemon shushes you, kissing your cheek. He rubs at something above your opening that makes you squirm in delight.

His other hand comes into your sight. Daemon makes a gesture, two fingers together, separating. You stare. He nuzzles you, his cheek against yours, before repeating it.

You nod with a pout.

He starts prying you open slowly, this time. Despite enjoying causing pain, it appears your cooperation has granted you privileges with Daemon. He understood the distress on your face, and read you correctly enough to know it was not going to go well if he kept going as he was.

Daemon rubs at your shoulders, soothingly. You understand you need to relax, and force your body to do so. He kisses you in reward, slow and sweet, coaxing you to him.

You nod again. Daemon moves back, settling himself by your side. He takes your shift away, pressing soft little kisses to each new inch of skin revealed.

The sudden removal of your last layer makes you shiver a little. Your skin is wet from his previous ministrations and rapidly cooling. You plaster yourself to him, seeking warmth.

He chuckles, grabbing your arse to move you slightly out of the way. You scowl, not sure why Daemon is doing so, until you realize he is taking off his breeches.

“Daemon.” You whisper, softly. There is a part of you that is already cringing at the promise of pain the loss of your maidenhead will bring.

“Daor?” He asks you, one of his hands petting your cunt. It makes you shiver.

“Bodmagho.” You grasp at his shoulders, steadying yourself. Daemon lines the two of you. You feel his member at your entrance, holding you open and threatening to spear you apart. It feels scorching against your skin.

He helps you impale yourself on his member. It's not pleasant at first. Property dictates that you should not let him see your discomfort. You should just bear it like a good wife and allow him to chase his pleasure unbothered.

But you know Daemon enjoys causing pain. He thrives on it. So you let your eyes fill with tears, and your face goes slack and overwhelmed.

He smiles. He licks your tears away, and mumbles something. You squeal, and it only excites him more.

“Bodamagho.” Daemon pinches the flesh on your hip, clearly calling you to focus. His hands move your pelvis back and forth, back and forth, until you are hissing in pleasure, your hands on his chest, doing the movement yourself.

“Vūjigon.” You demand, moving your hips just like he taught you. Daemon is too focused on aiding you bounce by thrusting upwards to pay attention to you. When he doesn't obey, you give a tug to his hair.

He snarls at you. You snarl back. So he grabs your wrists and pushes sideways, and suddenly, you are under him and Daemon is still thrusting into you.

You are desperate for closeness. You scrunch up your face and wrap your legs around his back. Daemon looks down at you, and bites your shoulder. He is not pleased with your perceived attempt to take control.

Realizing your mistake, you shake your head.

“Daor.” You rub at his back with your foot, gently. You hold him close, and nuzzle his neck, delighting in his scent. Never you had thought before you would enjoy the smell of sweat and some sort of aromatic oil, yet here you are. “Vūjigon.”

Daemon's expressions softens. He leans in and gives you a kiss. You make pleased, chirping noises, trying to show him that was precisely what you wanted.

He complies, releasing your hands. You enthusiastically hug him. It helps you anchor yourself against the unrelenting waves of pleasure.

His hands, now freed from yours, are everywhere. Twisting your buds, rubbing at your pearl, squeezing your waist. Daemon whispers nonsense in your ears, takes the lobe between his teeth. He aids you, tilting your hips with his hands, reaching deeper.

You heard a story once, about Westeros. A white hart was said to come to the greatest Kings alive. A magnificent beast, tall as a man, with skin made of the purest snow and antlers as long and imposing as the branches of an ancient tree. If a King encountered it, it was a good omen for his rule. It would be just and prosperous, blessed by the Gods.

What did they do with the hart? Keep it in Kingswood, perhaps? You had made the mistake of asking, once. You had been told that they used the best spear they had. That men held the hart down, and they gutted it from head to belly.

The perfect, regal beast, fur as pale as snow. The pristine white sheets under you. Blood tainting the white. What a way to go.

You understood then why they called it a small death. You were sweating, squealing like a beast being gutted, thighs trembling under Daemon's hands. It was too much and too little, and you felt yourself reaching it, yearning for it.

You did not care if you burned, moth to a flame, maiden to a dragon. Daemon seemed to realize it because his hand went to rub at your pearl, and he leaned in.

“….” He was talking, but it was in that strange language of his, and your ears were ringing, you felt about to explode. Your body responded to his tone, though. Gentle, loving, coaxing you over the edge with a scream so fierce you might as well have been one of those weeping women that appeared far north.

Daemon grinned at you. A fierce, proud expression, eyes crinkling in the corners. You pulled him into a kiss, and raked your nails down his back, feeling the skin yield like butter under your fingers. It spurred him on, and with a gasp and a bite to your shoulder, Daemon was shattering inside you.

He collapsed on top of you with a laugh. You smiled. Daemon pulled you to rest, back flush against his chest, and you understood each other better than those who spoke the same, common tongue, did.

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axelsagewrites · 7 months

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Hey there just m back again with a request where it’s cerisi and roberts daughter who’s married to Robb. Can it be it’s after the red wedding she survived and she spent her time hinting those who participated in the red wedding but she gets brutally killed and somehow like whoever did it brings her corpse to Cersi and her reaction and maybe Tyrion reacting to the news too as he was quite close to her

Robb Stark*Don't Die For Me

Pairing: Robb x Baratheon!F!Reader

Word count: 3638

Warnings: the red wedding, robb dying, cat dying, reader dying, description of war/injuries, pregnancy, angst

Masterlist Here

The gown was made from thick snow-white wool, trimmed with a soft grey wolf fur with streaks of black. Stag horns were embroidered along the cuffs, yellow gold fastenings holding it together. Lannister red hearts were hand stitched by Myrcella around the hem of the dress. It was warm and thick and span out like a dancer’s dress whenever you twirled.

People gasped when they saw you enter the gods wood, arms linked with your father as you approached your husband. Robb wore simpler clothes with a heavy fur cloak over his shoulders that he would soon drape over your frame.

Sansa watched the wedding doe eyed and Catelyn felt her eyes grow wet at the sight of her son, smiling down at his betrothed as they made their union promise. The king tried to look stoic, clearing his throat umpteen times to keep his tears back. Tyrion stood front row, much to your mother’s dismay and wearing the beaming smile you would have expected from a mother.

Your mother stood stoned face as she watched, smiling when looked at by anyone but you. she gave you a knowing look. “He will be your husband. Nothing more. He will share your bed, but you will have separate chambers. he will tell you how to act. You must listen when he is there. You must choose your battles and the most important ones will be what comes out between your legs,” her lessons rang in your ears when you had met Robb for the first time.

You knew she wanted to protect you the way she thought she needed to. To her Robb was a stranger, a threat, the captor of her daughter, the thief in the north, the unknown. What she did not know was the way Robb softly stroked his fingers over your cheeks when he held you or how he rubbed his hands over yours to warm them.

She didn’t notice how he would let you walk in front and was happy to follow behind. She didn’t notice how grey wind went to protect you when someone stepped out of line. She didn’t notice the lingering glances or the way his hands held yours a moment too long once the dance had stopped. She didn’t notice. She didn’t want to hope.

You however had noticed his affection for you. you noticed how his cheeks tinged pink when he helped you on your horse or how he laughed loudly at jokes he barely understood. You noticed he would reach for his sword when a stranger approached or how he smiled when you walked in the room. The same dopey smile he wore when he swore to protect you.

The ceremony had been beautiful, done in front of the heart tree as you pledged to the old gods and new. When you arrived at the feast it was already filled with excitement as the south and north began to mix. You danced first with Robb then each of his sisters then his brothers, including Jon who had been nervous to take the floor with you, but you had insisted.

You danced with your father who choked out a teary piece of advice. “Never forget you are my daughter. When you need me, you’ll have me,” he told you privately on the dance floor. While he trusted ned with all his heart you knew he would miss you.

You danced with your siblings, even convincing Joffrey to join you. Your mother stayed sat in her chair all night, but you made sure to talk to her even if you could see the nerves behind her eyes. Your uncle Jamie gave you a tight-lipped smile but not much more while your uncle Tyrion was only two drinks down and already very excited.

“My little niece has gotten married,” He proclaimed loudly as you approached his table and laughed at his state, “Oh how my heart breaks. Stolen away by some northern heathens,”

“Now, now uncle,” you said as you sat down at the table, stealing a glass of wine, “You can’t get rid of me that easy. You shall visit me,”

“Shall I?” he fakes pondered as he poured himself a fresh drink, “The north is too cold for me sweet niece,”

You hummed a laugh as you clinked your glasses, “I’m sure I will find you a warm enough room. After all I am your favourite,” you grinned making him laugh as you continued the festivities. You however had no idea the next time you saw your uncle it would be on such a sour note.

It was only the week after your wedding that Bran had fallen from the window however you knew he hadn’t fallen from the look on your mother’s face alone. As soon as the Queen had left you told Robb your suspicions, but they fell on deaf ears. You tried to ignore the growing pit in your stomach the day your father had left, Ned joining him in the south, but you just knew. You just knew.

The war came quick, and it came hard. The only reason Winterfell had so quickly rebuilt their supplies was at your instruction. Robbs men had suggested you stay behind to guard Winterfell, war was no place for a wife, but when you told Robb you wanted to come, he agreed with no hesitation. He’d seen the way you could shoot a bow and was even frightened when he saw how you swung a sword.

You had been trained by the hound after all amongst many other swords masters. Barristan Selmy had even given you a few tips. Your father had arranged the lessons, insisting no daughter of his would go down without a fight. Your mother had taught you other lessons. Poisons and daggers and knives disguised in rings. You knew how to survive. You knew how to fight.

Maybe you should have stayed behind. It was a thought that plagued your mind the moment you left and cursed you when you released what Theon had done. Robb assured you it was not your fault. Catelyn had said no one man could hold a castle by themselves. But what if you could have?

Walder Frey was your next big problem. He tried to convince Catelyn your marriage was just an inconvenience to a new alliance, but a Stark keeps their oath. Soon you had to break the bad news to Edmure Tully of his pending nuptials to a Frey girl.

Despite everything you had hope. Not once had you lost a battle. Not one. You charged in on horseback, Robb leading the front and you fighting with those at the back. Grey wind charged into battle first, but it did not take long for you to spot him on the battlefield. However, Robb had insisted on one thing.

Each time you joined him on battle you were dressed as a man with a helmet covering your face. He couldn’t risk Tywin knowing you were on the field. After all, if your siblings were bastards that made you the rightful queen of the seven, now six, kingdoms.

“I just have a bad feeling about this,” you told Robb as he helped lace you into your dress before Edmures wedding.

Robb sighed as he finished up the ties before turning you to face him, “You know I would never let anything happen to you,” he said, his fingers stroking over your cheek.

You kissed the palm of his hand, enjoying his touch for just a moment, “I know but I worry,”

“We can worry tomorrow,” Robb said, kissing your forehead as he held your face softly in his hands, “but for now we can take pause. Even a Frey would not defile guest rights,”

When grey wind refused to enter the Twins, you almost dragged Robb away right then and there. However, Cat and Robb insisted everything would be alright. You believed them. Well, you wanted to. You tried to believe them.

“My king has married, and I owe my new queen a wedding gift,” Walder began to say as you stood from your chair, a practised smile on your face as you moved to stand beside Robb. Before you could reach him, chairs scrapped against stone floors as Cateleyn slapped Roose Bolton.

“Robb,” she cried as Roose climbed from his chair. You tried to grab Robbs hand, to grab him and run, your hand already reaching for the dagger you had hidden. However, before you could grab its handle you felt a hand wrap about your wrist, yanking you back harshly.

Your fingers were just brushing Robbs hand when you were pulled back into the chest of Roose Bolton, his arm trapping you to his chest. Your nails sunk into his wrist, desperately trying to pull yourself out of his grip as Roose picked you up and began to drag you away to the side.

“Robb,” you cried out. You felt your heart racing, your eyes searching for where Robb was stood as arrows got set loose on the Stark men, your men. You tried to pry yourself free as your men were slaughtered by crossbows and daggers.

When the first arrow hit Robb you screamed, a guttural scream that pierced even your own ears as you felt your stomach lurch. You twisted in Rooses grip, turning your head to sink your teeth down onto his nose making him cry out in pain. he let you go out of instinct, and you quickly ran to where Robb lay as an arrow hit cat in the shoulder, knocking her to the ground.

“Run,” Robb said, his voice low almost a whisper as he tried to pull himself to his feet, “Don’t stop for me,” he said through gritted teeth, but your hand reached for his. “Go!” he almost yelled but you could see the pain in his eyes, “its too late for me,” he grunted, and your eyes fell to where he was looking.

You felt yourself grow sick at the sight of an arrow tip sticking out his stomach. It had gone through between his ribs, and you could see the thick blood dripping off its end onto the stone floor. “I can’t leave you,” you whispered as you stood, pulling him with you.

Your eyes scanned the room. There was no where to go. No bargain to offer no clear way to run. Your eyes fell to Catelyn who had crawled under a table nearby. You could see the fear in her eyes. Your own eyes turned to Robb who tried his best to stand. “Go,” he begged, “Don’t die for me,” he whispered, a tear rolling down his face as he pushed your hand away, but you clung on tighter, “I love you too much to see you die,”

“I love you too,” you tried to say but it came out as broken whimpers, “Theres no way for me to run,”

“Lord Walder!” Cats voice was the only thing to drag your eyes from your husband as you watched his mother hold a knife to a girl of no more than twelves throat, “Let it end, please. he is my son,” she begged.

You could see Robbs skin start to sweat, the colour draining from his face. You felt a tear fall down your cheek when you realised, he was dying. Robb had realised it too as his clammy hands moved to softly hold your cheeks as you kneeled together on the ground. Your hands reached for his face, stroking your thumb over his cheek.

“Take me for a hostage,” Catelyn cried, “Take her. she is the princess. Think of how much you could get!” she cried as Robb shuffled closer to you, his head moving to lean against yours. you ignored Catelyn’s pleas, ignored the way she tried to trade you for her son. You would have offered yourself too for Robb if not for the blood you could see at the corner of his mouth.

“Get up and walk out,” Catelyn begged Robb but he ignored her. you weren’t sure if he could even hear her. his face shuffled forwards, his lips softly brushing against yours. you tried to ignore the metallic taste as his blood tainted your final kiss. Tried to ignore Catelyn’s cries. Tried to ignore the feeling of Robbs skin growing cold beneath your fingertips.

You screamed when he was ripped from your arms. When your eyes looked up through the tears you saw Roose Bolton holding Robb, blood dripping still from where your teeth had sunk in. Robb looked to Cat, “Mother,” he mumbled making her let out a sob. His eyes turned to yours, looking down at your filled with regret, “Wife,” was the last word that left his lips before a gasp when Roose Boltons dagger sunk into his chest.

“The Lannister’s send their regards,” you heard him whisper and you lunged for him only to be pulled back by yet another one of the Frey men.

“Take her to the kennels for the night. Her mother wants to see her,” Walder Frey called out as one of his sons dragged you out the room.

You let your body go limp as you listened to Catelyn’s scream echo the once happy hall. You let yourself be dragged, acting as if you could not walk. Tears streamed down your cheeks, but you didn’t have to pretend to let them flow.

However as soon as you were the only ones in the corridor your fingers felt for the hilt of your dagger, your fingers wrapping around the black leather. Your eyes glanced up to the distracted Frey man. You glanced forward, making sure the corridor was empty before slamming your head back into his mouth making him cry out and drop you.

This time you were ready though as you spun around, your dagger sinking through the side of his throat. When you pulled it back, he collapsed to his knees, blood squirting out his neck as his body fell lifelessly to the ground. You didn’t have time to watch the light leave his eyes as it had Robbs.

Your hands reached for his belt, undoing it quickly before tightening it around your own waist. Next was his cloak. It was too long but would work for now you thought as you put up the hood before taking off down the corridor. Your hands squeezed the pouch on his belt as you ran, and you sighed of relief when you could feel coins through it. his sword was heavier than you’d like but you knew you could handle it. before anyone knew what had happened you were already at the forest edge on the back of a Frey horse.

The next couple of weeks were possibly the worst of your life. You wanted to mourn, to curl up in a ball and sob. You wanted to die. However, you couldn’t. you had to live. Robb wanted you to live. As you walked the forest you often felt your hand hover over your stomach.

Baby Robb you thought. Or Catelyn for a girl. Your bloods hadn’t arrived for little over three months. At first you thought it was the stress of war but as you stood on the forest edge, listening to the faint sounds of your men being slaughtered as you escaped you knew. You knew you were pregnant, and you wondered if Robb would’ve run if he had known.

If you had not come across the brother hood without banners you wondered if you would have survived much longer with such a large bounty on your head. Soon though your mission became less about surviving and more about getting revenge.

When you sunk an arrow into the chest of the first Frey you came upon you remembered your anger and soon it almost became like a sport. It wasn’t hard to find a Frey to kill and they rarely put up a fight. It was the Lannister’s that were harder. Though many knew you and thought they could convince you to return to your family’s side.

You made sure to stab they ones twice. You never stabbed to kill, however. You enjoyed watching them crawl away, desperate to find help, but knowing they’d bleed out before finding any. But revenge is not a survival tool you soon learned.

You had been washing your face down at the stream near where you and the brotherhood had chosen to set up camp. It was almost peaceful here. The birds were chirping, deer walked around with no care in the world. Feeling the sweat wash off your face as your splashed yourself with the cool water was the best feeling you had had since the wedding.

For a moment, a single moment, you tried to forget it all. You let yourself enjoy the stream, your fingers hovering in the water, enjoying how the water flowed around them. You looked up across the stream, smiling at the stag that stood across the water from you. Dad. The idea pained your chest. Everything was so much simpler before.

When the stag began to kick you squinted, moving to stand to help the creature when you felt a hand grab a chunk of your hair. You tried to scream, to reach for his hand, but the ice-cold water entering your mouth made it hard to even move. You tried to thrash but you did little but make the water splash. You could hear muffle voices from atop the water but with no clue who they belonged to.

Your eyes stung as you tried to look up. You managed to turn your head just enough to see the stag out the corner of your eye. You wondered if the wolf that had pawed its way up to stand by the stag was real. It almost looked as if it was smiling down at you. your hands slipped away from your attacker’s grip as your body grew stiller. Your eyes stayed on the stag and wolf. When you need me, you’ll have me. Your fathers’ words echoed in the water. I love you too much you could hear Robbs voice whisper before everything faded to black.

“Where is she?” Cerci demanded as her apparent cousins she’d never heard of stood before her throne. “You said you had my daughter,”

“Yes, my queen,” the man bowed before turning to signal for a crate to be brought forward, “We have her right here,”

“Are there air holes in that box?” Tyrion asked, walking down the stairs from the throne to the crate the mountain had sat down with less than grace.

“Why would we need airholes my lord?” the man’s words even made cerci stand from her throne as Tyrion began to pry the crate open with his dagger, “Your grace we were told she had committed treason. She murdered my father your grace, your cousin. She was dangerous I’m telling you my grace you have to believe me,” the man pleaded but it fell on deaf ears as Cersei approached the crate.

Tyrion slowly pried it open, his eyes peeking inside before gasping, slamming its lid shut as he backed away, “What is it brother?”

“Don’t look in there” Tyrion begged as cerci approached the crate, “Don’t look in there! Any of you,” he screeched.

Cercis eyes were cold as stone as she looked from the crate to the mountain then to her cousin. The mans eyes widened in terror as the mountain carried him out wordlessly, “Please your grace. I thought this is what you wanted,” he screamed.

“Get out,” Cersi muttered, “All of you out!” she screamed making everyone, but Tyrion flee out the room. Her eyes were locked on the crate, “Is she-?” she tried to ask as Tyrion stood from where he had keeled over on the floor.

His feet scraped the ground as he walked over to stand by his sister, “She’s dead,” he said, his voice cold but tears streaked down his cheeks, “They killed her,” Cersei’s hand reached to open to crate, but Tyrion shuddered as he turned around, “Do not make me look at her,” he begged.

“I have to know,” she murmured as she took the lid off the crate, her eyes wound shut till she heard the lid clatter to the ground. Cerci opened her eyes, expecting to see her daughter asleep in a box but she gasped when she saw the reality. “No,” she gasped, her hand clutching her heart as she stepped towards the crate.

“Look what you’ve done,” Tyrion said through gritted teeth, “Look at the girl you had killed!”

“I never- I didn’t mean- I didn’t want her to die,” cerci said as she reached out to stroke her daughter’s hair but when Tyrion saw out the corner of his eye, he slapped her hand away. “I- “

“You do not touch her!” he screeched, “She is dead because of you! all of this is because of you,” he yelled at his sister before noticing a new horror reach her eyes. Tyrion choked back his tears, trying to hold his stomach steady as he peered back into the box, “Oh my gods,” he whispered as he backed away from the box.

“I didn’t know,” Cersi whispered, her eyes unable to move.

“You killed your own grandchild,” Tyrion whispered, venom dripping off his tongue as he backed away from his sister, “Your own daughter! Your flesh and your blood!” he began to yell once more.

“I didn’t mean to- “Cersei tried to beg, tears falling from her eyes as she backed away from the crate.

“That doesn’t matter,” Tyrion said coldly as he glared up at his older sister, “She is dead because of you. and I hope that haunts you till your last breath,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @nyotamalfoy

#robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark imagine #robb stark angst #robb stark x you #robb stark x y/n #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones angst #baratheon daughter #robert baratheron x daughter reader #got #got x reader #got imagine #got angst #asoiaf #asoiaf x reader

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thebadboyfanclub · 1 year

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My Little Sea Snake (Aemond x Reader)

Requested by @duhitzdae. Your requests are getting more and more difficult so I hope I wrote this the way you wished!

(Y/n) Velaryon was the first born child of Rhaenyra and Laenor Velaryon, a true born heir created during the few times that her parents laid together, Rhaenyra was relieved when she was born, she had successfully done her part and completed her duty, it is rather grim to look at one’s birth as a simple duty but that was the truth of it.

(Y/n) inherited her fathers skin tone and long white mane yet her eyes were ice blue, to look at her was to love her, she was a beauty in her own way. As a babe she would cause a ruckus until she was safely tucked in her fathers eyes, “my little sea snake” he would teasingly call her as he rocked her back and forth and sang lullabies to her, every night before Laenor snuck out of the castle he would only do so after he rocked his baby girl to sleep, all the wet nurses were at awe at the devoted father. Laenor loved all his… children however would someone blame him for having a soft spot for (y/n)? She was his heir, his blood ran through her veins.

Her home was the ocean and the little girl would squeal with joy when her father brought her to sea for the first time, the water splashing on her brought her an immense amount of bliss while her father held her tightly, Laenor would often reminisce of that morrow, his pride and joy was the reason he upheld his marriage even in the slightest.

Rhaenyra loved her daughter yet when he looked at she represented everything she hated, a forced marriage out of convenience, she did not despise her husband nor her child but her heart resided somewhere else.

When her brother Jacaerys was born (y/n) tried to take a peek at the small babe, it was love at first sight for her although as he grew she heard whispers of how different they looked.

Time seemed to fly by and now her mother had given birth to another son, “another child to love while she ignores me” she thought, she put on the best show for everyone as she congratulated her mother who only half smiled and looked away from (y/n).

She had grown to turn a blind eye to her mothers cold manner, on the other hand it still hurt for a daughter to be brushed away from her own mother, she would have to stand by while her mother coddled her brothers, petting them and kissing them all the time, her father would pick up on his daughters sadness and run to her to smother her.

She had just landed from her dragon when she heard a loud cry from inside the castle at driftmark, the ceremony of her dear aunt leanas funeral had been heavy on her, especially when she saw her father grieving while he stood in the ocean with the water up to his waist.

Instinctively she ran as fast as her legs could carry her. The sight she met was brutal, her grandmother crying on top of a half burned corpse as her grandfather yelled at some soldier

“Father?”

She mumbled as her eyes filled with tears, she did not feel the impact of her knees crashing on the floor, she crawled next to the body still trying to process what was happening, her grandmothers crying made her want to rip off her ears from her head.

“It cannot be, Grandmother… it’s not my father is it?”

The last thing she remembers was her grandmothers blue eyes looking back at her, collapsing at the floor unconscious while her grandfather took her in his arms.

“Oh my dear, my dear (y/n)”

She watched from afar the wedding ceremony take place, her mother marrying Prince Daemon while her father had just lost his life hours ago. How ruthless can one be? She had enough when she saw them kiss, commanding her dragon to fly and land right in front of them. Everyone stepped back except the couple, Vermithor was one of the biggest dragons to ever grace the earth, an intimidating beast that (y/n) managed to claim stood before them while the girl looked down of them, tears streaming down her eyes.

“Congratulations to the happy couple. You two deserve each other, do not worry Rhaenyra I won’t spoil your marriage but just remember, I owe you a death”

(Y/n) flew and found safety to Pentos, she was greeted and treated like royalty as the Prince of Pentos gifted her a small castle and the land that surrounded it, (y/n) had changed from a girl to a cold hearted person in one nightfall. She trained until her feet bled, she had suffered so many injuries that after a while she didn’t really experience pain, (y/n) had cuts and scars all over her arms and legs from the battles she had part taken in honour of her grandsire Corlys, she stood by him and was willing to give her life towards his cause.

“The Faceless nightmare” was the nickname she had earned, a particular thing she had picked up was covering her face from the nose and down when she fought while her dragon flew above her and burned everything in her command, no one really knew what she looked like except her ice cold eyes, the most brutal and strongest soldier her grandisre had.

When Corlys laid ill of blood fever she could sense what was going to come for them, Vaemond was a crow that circled patiently until he saw a corpse he could feast on, specifically her grandsire, it truly disgusted her how can one secretly hope for the death of their own blood for glory.

“They cannot allow this grandsire, you are not dead”

“They know that my dearest, it is just another shot to Rhaenyra”

“I do not care about the throne but I must put a stop to this sick claim that wishes for you to die”

“Come here my little sea snake”

Corlys laid in his bed as (y/n) paced back and forth. The man could barely speak due to his fever, however as (y/n)s parental figure he felt obligated to support her in her delirium that had her causing up a storm with her circles.

(Y/n) complied, she sat next to his bed with her knees touching the floor as she took his warm hands in hers, his fever had gotten the best of him.

“Listen to me, you must go to the red keep on my behalf, back your mothers claim”

“No, I will not stand on her side”

“Your brother will be a good ruler, I know my brother and he will bring our Velaryon legacy to its knees. Don’t do it for her, do it for your grandsire, you will be heir one day, put your differences aside and do what’s right for the family”

When Rhaenyra arrived with her family at the red keep she was surprised to see the bronze fury outside of the castle, the humungous beast could only mean that her daughter was also close by, countless questions occupied her mind, has she sided with Vaemond? Was she here to claim driftmark for herself? Endless possible schemes made Rhaenyras head ache.

What was even more surprising was when Rhaenyra saw her daughter holding king Viserys as the walked in the throne room side by side.

“King Viserys of house Targaryen, the first of his name, king of the andals and the rhoynar and the first men, lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm, with his grand daughter princess (y/n) Velaryon, princess of dragon stone and a swore knight to Lord Corlys Velaryon”

(Y/n) was still dressed in armour attire as she supported her grandsire, her face covered like she was going to battle, mentally she was, she would actually feel more comfortable if she charged in the room with her sword in hand as she slashed through every single one of them. Now she had to play pretend and act all prim and proper in the presence of “noble” people that most of them wanted her dead.

“My grandsire will sit on the iron throne today Lord Otto”

(Y/n) declared as the older man stepped aside, she was never fond of Otto, he had ambitions and was an extremely calculated person, there was no authenticity when it came to his behaviour.

Meeting her mothers eyes was surreal. She was covered in scars from wounds that had fully healed yet the scar that her mother had created all these years ago still bled, all a girl ever needs is her mother, (y/n) never had that and then Rhaenyra robbed her from her father as well.

“Here my king”

She whispered to Viserys as she assisted him to settle on the throne. The sick old man looked at his grand daughter, with his weak hand he reached up to take off the cloth that covered her face, she saw how Viserys smiled fondly at the sight of her face being exposed, under all this armour and the tough facade was his little grand daughter was hiding, as the moments went by he could see her clear as the sky.

“My dearest (y/n)”

He managed to speak, (y/n) leaned into his hand that caressed her cheek, the touch deprived teenager in her screamed for comfort as her grandsire showed the affection she had missed, if her father was here everything would have been so different.

“May I speak my king?”

“Of course”

(Y/n) left her grandsires side to join the others, before she spoke she walked towards her grandmothers side to hold her hand. Rhaenys squeeze with might, to gaze at her grand daughter was like looking into Laenor, Rhaenys adored (y/n) ever since she was born, she was completely aware of her sons nature and her arrival was gods gift.

“My grandsire Lord Corlys is alive and resting, his recovery is slow yet steady, he send me here as his messenger. Firstly, he told me to hold his wife tightly and tell her how much he missed her. Second, he is severely disheartened about any petitions when it comes to his successor, my grandsire has always wished for my brother to take his place at drift mark, he asks for my aunt Leanas daughters to be betrothed to Jacaerys and Lucerys so we can strengthen the Velaryon Legacy. Lastly I wish to announce my proposition on my betrothal, it is not tradition still I ask of king Viserys to allow my betrothal with Aemond Targaryen, I have been informed that he is a fine sword man as well as a mighty dragon rider, let us join our houses once again”

Whispers took over the room as the news of her betrothal were heard.(y/n) had not seen Aemond since the incident at driftmark, she was the only one to defend him that night as the others scarred him for life for what (y/n) considered a petty argument, till this day she could not forgive herself when it came to her fail of protecting the young boy, this was her way to make up for the damage she allowed to take place.

“What bliss! My dearest (y/n)-“

“No”

Rhaenyra interrupted the king. She was fuming, how dare she match in here and declare her betrothal to a green, she could not comprehend that her own daughter was scheming against her. (Y/n) spun to face her mother, confusion written all over her face, she had backed up Rhaenyras claim, she secured her brothers succession what more did she want?

“No?”

“You have some nerve, overshadowing your brothers with your so called wedding plans, you want driftmark to pass to your brother while you scheme against the throne”

“It is an honest offering to uphold the peace that you keep disturbing”

“It is a malicious and calculated movement against your own family, have you no shame?”

(Y/n) did not speak, she just kept eye contact with the woman she called mother. (Y/n) had pushed her pride aside, she swallowed her pain, she ran away and came back to support her, yet nothing was good enough. Tears welled up in (y/n)s eyes as Rhaenyra scoffed at the vulnerable movement of her daughter that she thought was another play for manipulation.

“Tears? Really?”

“That is enough! As your king I command you to stop”

“You speak of family? All I ever craved was your love, I did everything to make you proud and you casted me aside, what do they have that I don’t? You were my mother”

“settle down now”

(Y/n) heard Aemond whisper to her at an attempt to console her while he rubbed her upper arms compassionately, tears had managed to escape (y/n)s eyes as she tried so desperately to find some type of emotion in her mothers eyes.

Aemond felt his heart ache at the sight, (y/n) had managed to go from a fierce warrior to a little girl in a blink of an eye, begging for a crumb of her mothers affection, he could not stand for it.

He had always kept the warm memory of her standing between him and her brothers to protect him in his mind for all these years or when she held his hand while the maester stitched up his eye, she was gentle soul which was something he could not say he would often listen to stories about her brothers.

Aemond would sometimes listen to conversations about (y/n)s accomplishments and admire her courage, now it was time for him to pay her back with the same kindness.

“The matter is settled, again. I hereby reaffirm prince Jacaerys of house Velaryon as heir to driftmark, the driftwood throne and the next lord of the tides. Let it be known that princess (y/n) of house Velaryon is betrothed to my son prince Aemond Targaryen, after their wedding (y/n) will be announced as my successor as I declare that my throne will pass to princess (y/n), making prince Aemond the next king consort”

“What?”

“Father you cannot-“

“You are a cruel woman Rhaenyra, your own daughter came from the battlefield to support you, to honour your family and you spoke in such… viciousness. You are not worthy of the throne, but (y/n)…. She is… destined to become a legend”

The man started to breathe heavy as you could listen to the pain he was experiencing. (Y/n) froze in her spot while Aemond held her hand, an act of intimacy he performed to show support in his betrothed, her hand was cold as Aemonds thumb made circles on her flesh, a subtle way to say “I am here”

“Let us be done with this”

Was the last thing the king declared before his wife tended to him and called for the maesters. If looks could kill Rhaenyra would have stabbed her daughter right in the heart, that was until Aemond did what (y/n) had done for him in his time of need, he took one step to stand in front of (y/n), acting like a human shield for the vulnerable woman while her mother was ready to assault her.

“Congratulations nephew, I look forward to the small court meetings we will attend together”

Aemond teased Jacaerys, he had no reason to do it other than taking the attention off of (y/n) who gripped his hand with all her might, before Jacaerys could respond Aemond turned his back on them and wrapped a hand around (y/n)s shoulders, to him it seemed like he was putting a wall between them and her, a wall (y/n) desperately needed.

(Y/n) gazed up at him with eyes full of gratitude, her bottom lip trembling as she put a fight to not sob in his arms, Aemond was a stranger, a distant family member yet he rose to the occasion better than her immediate family.

(Y/n) had to admit that after years of fighting and killing it felt nice to allow someone to protect her, even if the person he protected her from was the woman that broke her hips and went through hours of pain. (Y/n) thought of how she had paid back for those labour pains, (y/n) had been in pain all her life.

“Come along (y/n), I believe we have so much to talk about”

Requests are open!

@lightdragonrayne

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lxdyred · 2 years

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Among snakes I shall dance

Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!Targaryen!Fem!Reader

Next chapter

Summary: Rhaenyra's firstborn finds herself surrounded by the greens and, to her misfortune, betrothed to one of them. So she begins to plan how to take them down, one by one, from the inside.

Word count: 2.8K

Warning: Allusions to incestuous relationship (it's HOTD, come on!), use of obscene language (c-word used somewhere), some characters might be a bit out of character. And this is my fist time writing about GOT universe, so yeah :)

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"Do you want to execute the princess, the only daughter of Rhaenyra?" the queen asked incredulously, after standing up.

"Your Grace." The Master of Ships, Tyland Lannister spoke. "You must know that to leave her, her mother and bastard brothers and alive would be to jeopardise the integrity of yours son's reign."

"Let us not forget about Daemon either, I stress again." Otto dropped, running a hand through his beard.

"I will not allow you to execute the princess." Spoke firmly and sternly, Alicient. "Viserys loved his granddaughter in a very special way. I will not allow you to proceed with this absurd idea when my husband's corpse is not even cold yet. I will not let you sully his memory in this way. And whoever does so will be sent to the wall."

"You propose to let her go, my queen?" the Hand of the King asked, one eyebrow arched at his daughter. "Need I remind you that she is her mother's heiress? And that she, in turn, is just as dangerous? Any pretender to the throne can be a threat to your son."

"I propose something, an alternative that might work." Tyland Lannister spoke. "What if you marry her off to someone loyal to Aegon?" he proposed as he swept his gaze over everyone present.

"That would be a good alternative. The young princess is Targaryen and Velaryon, pure Valyrian blood unlike her brothers, she is the only one who resembles somehow to her late father, Ser Leanor. To betroth her to someone we trusts would do well." Grand Maester Orwyle commented with a nod, it seemed to be a great idea. "An advantageous marriage might prevent bloodshed, might even make her mother swear fealty to Aegon and bring them to kneel.”

"To whom would you offer the Red Mermaid’s hand, Grand Maertre?" Alicent asked once she stopped to think about the idea.

"You could betroth her to Lord Strong. Ser Larys is loyal to you, My Queen. To Aegon."

"I could betroth the princess." Tyland replied, a small smile plastered on his face. They all looked at him.

"That is a good offer, Ser Tyland, but I think Prince Aemond would be suitable." The smile that had been on the Lannister's face moments before was wiped away at those words. "He would know how to tame the young princess, who to our misfortune is as wild as her brothers and mother." Otto added the last with venom, who glanced at his daughter who was thinking about the whole situation.

"We would start, moreover, with the advantage that both of them were close in childhood." Orwyle spoke. "I propose, if we all agree, that the ceremony take place as soon as possible."

Alicent nodded. "We shall marry them right after Aegon's ceremony. By nightfall."

"It would also be advisable to have the princess present at the coronation. It would give a message of unity, so anyone loyal to Rhaenyra would think twice."

"Let there be no more talk. After Aegon's coronation, Prince Aemond and the Princess will be wed tomorrow before the day ends."

Once the green council had settled all the matters they had to deal with to carry out their plan, the queen, along with the company of Ser Criston Cole, went in search of the princess to let her know what would become of her. How before nightfall of the next day she would be married to her uncle, who in what seems to have been a past life, was a friend of hers.

"My queen." Said the young princess once she saw Alicent in front of her, bowing after addressing her. "I suppose you have come to give me the terrible news that my beloved grandsire has passed away." Spoke the silver-haired young woman with a soft tone.

"That is not the only reason I am here, my dear." The Hightower woman spoke as she approached her granddaughter-in-law with a sad smile.

The Queen looked at the you woman. She could clearly see that she had been weeping for hours over the pass of Viserys, who had been so important to her. Even though she had not been able to see her grandsire for the past six years, the two had been corresponding by letters weekly, which had made the bond between grandsire and granddaughter very close.

"I am so sorry for your loss." Spoke the young woman who stood by the window of her room, which overlooked the inner courtyard of the castle. She knew things were wrong when she saw the behaviour of the people in the castle different, as if they were following a protocol. Well, let's just say that Ser Criston Cole locking her in her room and the guards taking anyone who worked in the castle to the dungeons - where she supposed they were sent - were two other big signs.

"I too am sorry for your loss, sweet child." The queen murmured as she took the young woman’s hands for her attention. "There is something I must inform you of."

"What is it?" the young one looked at the Queen, once her mother's best friend and now her grandmother by marriage to Viserys.

"Viserys… before he passed away, he told me one thing." The brown-haired woman began to explain to the silver-haired. "He told me that his dying wish is that your uncle, Aegon, should succeed him as king."

The young princess shook her head in confusion. "Pardon me?" she asked with a frown, still showing signs of confusion. "It makes no sense at all. He made my mother his heir." Said the young woman turning away. "He wanted my mother to rule the kingdoms."

"It's true. He told me, he changed his mind, it was his dying wish. For your uncle to be the new king."

"Is that what you had to tell me, dear Grandmother?" The young woman asked as she folded her arms, still frowning, but this time she did not show confusion, if not displeasure. "Is that why I have been locked up all day? To keep me from running away? Or perhaps, to keep me prisoner and use me to your advantage and make my mother bow the knee to your son?" The young woman exclaimed in anger. "I will not allow my mother to kneel."

"They wanted to execute you." Alicent spoke calmly, resting her hand on her granddaughter’s cheek. "I have prevented it. But to avoid a war, we have made a decision, of which I have come to tell you."

The young Velaryon laughed cynically. "To keep me prisoner, I assume." She took a step back.

"Of course not."

"You are telling me I can go back to my mother, to Dragonstone? Or back to Driftmark where I am supposed to go with my Grandmother?" The young woman looked around and sighed. "Where is my grandmother? Princess Rhaenys. Do you have her locked up too? Or have you executed her already?"

"She is well. In her room, making a decision."

"I see." The young woman dropped into the chair next to the window. "Seven hells." She dropped her head into her hands. "So... can I go now? I mean, if I am not a prisoner, I would like to leave as soon as possible." She looked up and looked at the queen, who was staring out the window, in silence.

Alicent continued to stare out the window, until she turned silently, with a serious countenance, then broke the silence. "You're getting married. Tomorrow night, after Aegon's coronation."

Like her mother in her day, the young woman did not want to get married. She wanted to live her life freely, free of responsibilities and heavy burdens. In a way, because she knew she was not made to be a pretender to the Iron Throne, which had given her so many headaches throughout her life. She knew that her younger brother, Jace, would be a better candidate when the time came. That was why, the day before, after what had happened in the throne room with Veamond Velaryon, she knew she must speak to her mother before she went home.

"Mother, may I have a word with you, please?" The firstborn said to her mother, who was with Daemon, preparing to leave the red keep. They both looked at their daughter.

"I will leave you two alone." Said the Prince, preparing to give both women space.

"That's not necessary, Father." Daemon was not her father, but since Leanor's passing, he had taken it upon himself to play that role, protecting and thus teaching the young woman everything he knew of the world, from High Valyrian to how to fight with a sword. "I would like you to stay. Please."

"What's wrong, dear?" Rhaenyra said, approaching her daughter in fear that something bad had happened. "She took her daughter’s face, and could see sadness and uncertainty in her expression.

Daemon approached her as well, and placed a hand on her shoulder, a sign of support and encouragement for her to speak. "If someone has done or said something to you, tell me who it is and I will kill them. No hesitation, you know that.”

"Nothing bad has happened, everything is fine, really, father." she said with a small smile at her father's overprotective reaction. "I wanted to let you know before you leave…my intentions."

"Your intentions about what, my daughter?"

"I do not desire the Iron Throne, mother. I do not wish to be your heir." The young woman spat quickly. The last thing she wanted to do was disappoint the person she loved most in the world. "Jace would be a better king. He should be your heir. I wanted to tell you, but... I didn't want to disappoint either of you. I- I'm sorry, mother. I'm not up to it." The young Velaryon girl burst into tears.

"You could never let us down, sweetheart. Never, do you hear me?" Rhaenyra hugged her daughter tightly. Daemon smiled briefly at her and stroked her long silver hair.

Alicent's words really did hit her like a bucket of cold water. "Of course I am not getting wed!" The girl exclaimed. "No."

"If for the sake of your family, you want to avoid a war and getting them all killed, that's what you have to do," Alicent spoke calmly, with a tone that sent shivers down her spine.

This could not be happening.

Fuck it all.

Fuck the greens and their manipulations.

Fuck Alicent Hightower and the snake she had for a father.

"And who is the highest bidder to whom you have sold me, my queen?" the Velaryon said the last with mockery. "Ser Larys Strong? Or perhaps Ser Tyland Lannister?"

"Aemond, of course. Your dear uncle."

"I-no... He's-"

"Ser Criston." Called the Queen to the new Commander of the Kingsguard, who until then had been on the other side of the door to the princess's chambers, waiting for Alicent.

"My Queen." Said the knight once he entered the room. He looked at the princess and gave a small bow with his head. "Princess."

"Ser Criston, escort the princess for a little stroll to the gardens. She's been cooped up here all day, I'm sure some fresh air will do her good."

"As you commanded, my Queen."

Great, we're going on a small trip with Cole. Sounds like fun.

Spoiler. No.

A few moments later, when the Queen had left the place, together with the Commander's company, the young Velaryon woman went for a walk, in silence, to the Red Keep’s gardens.

It was strange to be walking in the Keep at this hour. It was almost dark, everything was dark, there was hardly anyone in the there, only guards and a few servants going to their rooms. There was not as much light as she remembered from when she was younger, except for a few torches and candles.

No doubt, the Red Keep had changed, it was not the place she loved to be in her childhood. Now it was just a dreary, cold place, a memory. A shell of its former self.

"Enjoying the walk, niece?" A voice interrupted them.

"Uncle." The girl whispered as she saw her uncle leaning against a brick pillar.

"I suppose you have been informed of the great news by now, hm?" The young Prince took a sip from the cup in his hand.

"Yes." She said in a dry tone, as she watched his every move.

"It will not be so bad, do you think?" The silver-haired Prince arched an eyebrow, before taking a final sip from his cup and setting it down.

She watched as the cup fell to the ground and the noise it made when it made contact with it. The noise echoed down the hallway.

In a way, that was how she felt. As if she was falling and was about to make an impact with something that was going to end her.

She didn't know at what point he had approached, but now he was standing in front of her, a smirk plastered on his face. "Don't you think it is funny?" He asked her, she watched him. She noticed his features slightly illuminated under the torches. His eyepatch was what caught her attention the most. She thought about the sapphire that was underneath. "By this time tomorrow we will be married. We will be one before the gods." She looked at his only eye, his blue gaze attracted her, much to her dismay.

"Delightful." She snapped wryly.

"Don't take it like that, princess. We will have a good time, just like when we were kids."

Something about him was attracting her. She didn't know what it was exactly, but it was electrifying. She looked closely at his long, seemingly silky hair, his high cheekbones, his perfect nose. His lips. Those lips, which were quirked into a mocking smile.

"I would rather jump from the highest tower of the Keep, my Prince." That was what came from between the lips of the young woman, who feigned sweetness.

"Seven hells. You really feel like it, hm?" Aemond said as he took the young woman's chin and lifted her face, so that she would look at him. "It is alright. I am dying for it too." He whispered teasingly before placing a kiss on the young woman's forehead, as if this was a game. "Ser Criston."

"Yes, my prince?"

"Please take my betrothed back to her chambers. She must rest for tomorrow." The young Prince ordered.

"As you command." Replied the brown-haired knight at the young man's command.

"Good night, my dear. We have an exciting day ahead of us tomorrow."

That was when she made up her mind to send it all to hell.

If she was going to be surrounded by Snakes from now on, unable to be with her family, she was going to do everything she could to destroy them from the inside. Or at least try and enjoy the process.

After all, she was her mother's daughter. She wouldn't let them finish her off so easily.

"Fuck all of this, fuck this place. Fuck all of them." She whispered.

The commander heard her. "You could have your tongue cut out for saying that." Criston told her, as she was escorted on her way to her room.

"Would you do it yourself, Ser Criston?" The girl gave the knight a fleeting glance.

"If I were ordered to." He replied.

"Surely you would enjoy it, would not you?"

The commander frowned and gave the young woman a look full of anger and displeasure.

"This can stay between us, Commander. It could be our secret, one more we would have." The young woman paused as she almost reached the door to her quarters. "I know you loathe my mother, that you resent her and that if it were up to you she would be dead. I also know that you think the same of me. That I am a savage and perhaps a spoiled cunt, worthy daughter of my mother? Perhaps?"

"You should go inside your room, princess. You must rest."

"Yes, don't worry. But first I want to tell you one thing. As I have already told you, all this may be our secret." The Velaryon woman spoke as she finished heading to the door of her quarters, once she reached the door she looked at the knight. "Well. As I was saying, I know you hate my mother, and I also know why, because she supposedly made you break your vows, the ones you took when you entered the kingsguard, am I wrong?"

Cole took a breath, thus trying to control the anger he was beginning to feel at hearing the young woman's words. His knuckles were white now. “What are you trying to say?”

"You see I am also my father's worthy daughter. For that I think you should be glad, don't you think? After all, not many Commanders of the Kingsguard have a daughter who is a princess." The young woman opened the door to her room. "I'm going to get some rest now. Good night, Commander. Oh! My mistake - should I address you as father from now on?"

No doubt she was going to do her best to destroy them from the inside. One by one, if that wasn't too ambitious of her.

Anyway, she was going to try to enjoy the process.

Even if it ended with her.

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haru-natsuka · 8 days

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The fate (Anastacius x Female Reader x Claude)

Chapter 5 : The Mistress's Child

It was normal for a wife to hate her husband mistress and their child, but for her, the mistress was the person who had treated her fairly instead of the husband. When the latter died during childbirth, the wife pledged to herself to raise her child with care and love, giving the child the affection and treatment she deserved but had been deprived of...

Female reader will be named as Celestial

As always, Celestial hid behind a pillar to oversee a certain little girl who was approaching the Emerald Palace. She had observed the princess and noticed that she resembled Claude when he was a child, and there were no evident traces of Diana's characteristics except for her curiosity, similar to the latter and yet a lot of people did claimed the princess followed her mother features more. However, the princess did not take any precautions or seem concerned about the risks of being at the Emerald Palace, despite it being a place only for the Empress and the Emperor. Did she not feel scared if she accidentally met the emperor who had ignored her own mother?

Athanasia, a name that Diana bestowed on her own daughter before her passing from childbirth, also became the name that Claude used mockingly, being aware of its meaning as immortality. As if she was begging Claude to not kill their child. But, the crown prince had grown distant from Diana, not taking her feelings into consideration and only seeking for himself. And so, as Claude claimed to have lost a lot and could not bear to lose any more. Then, if he killed his only child, would he did not do anything except for losing some more? Celestial had lost her freedom because of Athanasia and Diana, but still she could not help but worry about the princess' fate.

"I am willing to do anything of your choice. I will support you with all my strength. I will be a good wife in exchange for saving the life of a child who was born innocent and free of sin. I beg you to have mercy and spare her, Claude. She is a pure being who only needs to be protected,"

Celestial pleaded as she hoped for the princess' safety. She could not help but feel the sense of urgency to protect Athanasia who was motherless and help Claude understand that this would be the right thing to do.

Celestial, despite having not bowed before anyone in her life, was now kneeling on the floor before her egoistic, monstrous husband. She lay her forehead on the ground in order to plead with the emperor to spare the princess' child from being killed. The scent of blood and corpses was overpowering and unpleasant, but Celestial remained to make sure that the innocent princess was protected. She could not risk it, having the sense of urgency to protect the pure and precious life of a child, despite her hatred for Claude. She had to save Athanasia with her very life.

Celestial refused to look at her husband, knowing that he was looking at her with hatred and anger. The surroundings were tense, due to the emperor's anger and the tense situation at hand. Knowing Claude, Celestial was fully prepared to sacrifice her own life to protect Diana's child, which she held so dearly. The mistress of her husband, Diana, was a kind person who was by Celestial's side when her husband neglected her and mistreated her. Because of her deep care and affection for Diana, she would go to any lengths and give her life to save Diana's child.

"Her name. Tell me,"

Claude ordered coldly, increasing the tension in the room and causing Lily to tremble in fear. She was desperate for her life and the newborn baby too. As they were the only ones alive amongst the sea of corpses, the Emperor's focus was firmly upon them. Lily was so terrified that she began to speak, answering his question with all her might, hoping that this will appease him and spare her life.

"Athanasia, Your Majesty," was the answer she gave, hoping that it was enough to keep her alive.

"Amusing. I wonder how long this thing can live in accordance to its name." Claude, upon hearing the response from the maid, chuckled madly and turned around to left the room without a second thought. He did not bother to look back, and in a stern tone to regard his wife. Knowing that Celestial gave him an offer to let the princess live, Claude finally agreed to this in turn for her devotion. He seemed to be satisfied by this outcome as he got to chain his wife by his side as long as he desired.

"And I would take your offer to me to let that filthy thing live"

While the palace was full of tension and conflict, it seemed that Athanasia enjoyed her time there. The little girl, having turned five years old this year, felt like a big girl as she was actively engaging in thievery of the palace decoration. The empress, could not help but notice her efforts to steal some decorations from the palace. In fact, she was so exposed in her position that anyone could locate her. Celestial, noticing her acts, tried hard to conceal her laughter, for she felt joy looking at the little princess engaging in such antics.

"I never know our guards are this incompetent that a thief can trespass into the main palace?"

Athanasia was caught off guard by a voice behind her. She then turned around, adorably showing of her doe eyes as she stared pleadingly at Celestial, who had witnessed her multiple times committing such sinful acts. Knowing that Celestial was aware of her daily activities, she hoped for her mercy and tried to gain sympathy by looking appealing and cute to her. However, Celestial had already grown accustomed to her thievery and antics, and the fact that Athanasia had gained a large collection of stolen items in her pockets had become a routine matter for both of them which the empress gave her full support for the girl. Let's make the palace be poor!

"Auntie, please don't tell anyone. Athy will give you my precious chocolate. Please keep this a secret," the little girl begged Celestial, referring to her as 'auntie' as she never know the true identity of the woman who she had met since a week ago.

"Is it the chocolate that you steal from the kitchen?"

"It already in my hands so it is Athy's!"

"You're funny. Am I not giving you enough jewels yesterday?"

"Athy just love pretty stuff so much that Athy wants it to be mine! Auntie is pretty too! Athy loves your hair and your eyes the most. Athy loves Auntie the most!"

Celestial knew the princess wanted her to keep her thievery a secret, but it was fun for her to tease Athanasia from time to time. In a way, being with this little girl had brought life to Celestial's darkened world, and she was glad to spend proper time with someone who was open and honest in their thoughts. She knew that the princess was a little wild at times, but it was far more enjoyable to speak to someone who was sincere and innocent compared to communicating with an adult with hidden agendas.

"Athy, I have a present for you for visiting me again, please extend your hand to me," Celestial told the little princess, who was more than happy to accept the gift.

"Is it bigger and sparkly than yesterday?" Athanasia asked with excitement, clearly expecting a magnificent gift as she had gained many trinkets from her previous visits.

"It is better than yesterday, Athy," Celestial replied with a smile, indicating that the gift would be better than what she had given Athanasia the day before. She gave the princess a little pouch, which she took in her hands curiously.

"It's not a jewel or gold?"

"Open it. I assure you will love it a lot"

Athanasia, the little girl from the royal family, opened the pouch with a sense of doubt, as she had certain expectations when it came to gifts such as this. She considered only gold and jewels to be worthy gifts to receive, as they were the only things she deemed to be invaluable for her future. The princess was not easy to please when it came to gifts, for these precious items were crucial for her future, and she wished to find out whether her expectations would be met.

Athanasia, the princess, was overjoyed when she opened the pouch and discovered that there were endless amounts of gold and jewels inside. She was overwhelmed with joy at the sight of the precious items and was amazed at the seemingly endless space inside the pouch. She was thrilled by the knowledge that she would no longer have to struggle with hiding the items she had stolen, for the pouch's space could hold everything with no one being able to notice. She thought that the gifts that she had been given were more than worthwhile, for they had truly exceeded her expectations.

"It is a limitless space inside the pouch so after this, you can put everything inside the pouch instead of your pocket. No one will notice if you steal anything more after this"

"Athy loves it! Thank you, Auntie!"

The princess hugged Celestial and gave her thighs a tight hug, as a way to show her appreciation for the gift she had just given. Celestial, in turn, also enjoyed the hug for it was a way of bonding and communicating with the little princess. She would also look forward to more future interactions, for the time she had spent with Athanasia had been an important and precious experience for both of them.

"I'm glad that you love it" She caressed the little girl hair gingerly to return her action. Celestial and Athanasia were in their own pleasant world, being completely unaware of the presence of the two individuals approaching them. However, they were soon pulled back from their dreamy moments when they heard a loud voice coming from somewhere nearby. It seemed that the princess and Celestial were not the only ones in the room, for two individuals had arrived and spotted them from a distance.

"What is this filthy bug doing in my palace?" The two girls turned to face the source of the voice, curious to see who had spoken out in such a way. It was non other than the emperor, Claude De Alger Obelia

@fluffy-koalala

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#anastacius de alger obelia #anastacius x reader #claude de alger obelia #claude x reader #wmmap #wmmap fanfic #wmmap anastacius #romance #who made me a princess #wmmap x reader #wmmap claude #manhwa #manhwa x reader #wmmap athanasia

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asumofwords · 8 months

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Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Court, death, mentions of violence.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello angels! We are getting closer and closer to the end! Only 3 more chapters to go, I can't wait to finish this with you. I know I sound like a broken record, but jesus! I've had this bad boy ageing in my computer waiting to be posted haha. Anyone, Enjoy! <3

Chapter 107: And So The Tide Rushes to Shore

The news of the seizing of Kings Landing by Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen spread across the realm like wild fire. There was no corner that had not heard the news, nor person that had not swallowed in apprehension.

But the promise of war was over.

There would be no war.

No torching of the realm and its innocents, no destruction of Keeps and homes and livestock. No call for men to join armies and fight for the throne in a bloody and violent death. Nor women and children who would be left alone without their fathers, or husbands.

However, now was a time where the fragility of her rule would hang upon a delicate thread, and although Rhaenyra had her supporters, there were still those who had supported Aegon’s rule, and then subsequently Aemond’s.

The Small Council of the Greens had been rounded into cells by guards and knights. Gold cloaks flooding the Keep at the order of Daemon, a man who they had kept their allegiance to for all his time spent away.

And as Rhaenyra had personally escorted you, alongside Daemon, towards your original chambers, the ones that you grew up in, and not the one that now housed the corpse of your late husband, you walked quietly, dagger still in your hand, Daemon’s fingers unable to pry it from you just yet.

The corridors were a mess of Lords and Ladies, maids and servants who rushed and fled, were captured, and otherwise scattering like ants as they were unsure of what to do, or what was to come.

Above you, four large dragons, circled the Keep, crying out into the air. A vision of red, and green, and pale pearl flying about as they surveyed the Red Keep below. One outsized them all.

The bronze scales of Vermithor shimmered brightly in the sun.

A sob of relief fell from your lips as you watched him, looking up at a dragon you had been separated for months from, not being able to see him or know he was okay. There was agitation in his body as he flew, but otherwise he was safe.

He was safe.

And he knew you were too.

When you had gotten to your chambers, Amala and Joanna were already there, waiting, wringing their hands together in anticipation. And upon seeing you, Amala had gasped, and ran towards you, hands checking your face for wounds, no doubt shocked by the blood.

Daemon turned to the girls, “Fetch her some water for a bath.”

And with that, their fussing and stress stopped, and they sprung into action, running from the chambers. Both girls eyes dragging over your body and the crown atop your head as they exited.

It was weird to be back in them.

The chambers that felt alien to you now.

You stood in the room you had once called your own and breathed, slowly walking over to your old table to place the dagger atop it, finally feeling safe. Finally feeling as though you didn't need the blade any longer. That the last piece of safety Aemond had given to you had served its purpose. And it was then that you breathed, truly breathed. Breathed for the first time since coming to the Red Keep.

It was over.

You stood as you were and watched the maids return, another younger girl in tow, blonde and thin, who bowed and introduced herself quietly to you, ‘Ceryse, Your Grace’, eyes widening at the blood on your skin and hair before she averted her eyes, face having turned ashen.

Daemon and Rhaenyra waited with you as they filled the bath, and as the chamber doors opened once again, you had expected one of the girls to be bringing more water to rinse you with, but instead, you were met with a pair of deep brown eyes.

Jacaerys.

You sucked in a sob as he raced across the chambers, crashing his body into yours as he gripped you tightly. You almost fell backwards from the clashing of your bodies, arms curled under his and up his back, squeezing the leather riding tunic he wore to you tightly.

He smelt of dragon, of musk, and the subtle sulfur of dragon flame. But most of all, he smelt of home.

You half sobbed and half laughed, overjoyed and grieving all at once in his arms. Hands shaking around him as he squeezed you tightly. His chest shaking as he sobbed himself, holding you outwards in his arms as his eyes roamed your body, looking you over.

He was taller, so much taller than he had been, and broader too. His hair was long against his shoulders and curled, pulled behind his ears by braids.

"You're here." He breathed, as though he was even unsure of it. As if seeing you had confirmed that his greatest fear had not come true.

You nodded, hand coming to touch his jaw gently. He grabbed the wrist that held his face tightly, emotion pouring through his eyes as he shook. And in a turn of familiarity that you only knew from Daemon, he rested his forehead against yours and breathed, eyes shut, brown lashes clumped together and wet as he fought the tears that escaped them.

"I'm here." You breathed, "I'm here."

The rest was a blur.

A blur of reunion, a blur of being bathed, the milky water below turning a soft pink, to an earthy copper as the blood was washed from your hair and face. The maids scrubbing your body with a sponge to pull the dried blood from your skin, Rhaenyra not once leaving your side.

One of the maids had to bring her a chair and tell her to sit down as she anxiously stood between you and the door, eyes darting back and forth, the fear of having you taken from her again ripe.

But nothing had happened. No knights entered to take away, no Greens supporters came to call, no Alicent, or Jasper, or anyone. Just you and your mother, who insisted on brushing and braiding your hair, and you had let her, tears cascading down your cheeks as she hummed to you.

A familiar tune.

Something the maids had sang to you a long time ago, but this time, it was the song of the Goddess Meleys, and you had cried even harder.

She had been there all along.

That evening you dined with your family, exhaustion burrowed deep within your bones.

And it was still all a blur, it felt like a dream still. Sat with Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jacaerys, Rhaenys and Baela around the table in the intimate dining hall.

It was almost like it had been before.

Before the war.

As though this was as it was supposed to be.

Almost.

And whilst they celebrated the victory quietly and solemnly, toasting a cup towards you which you lifted your own in response, there was no denying the grief that lingered in the foreground. No denying the grief of the loss of Lucerys and your sister. Their palpable absence. The grief of the war and time lost, of your own child, of Aemond.

Tears escaped your eyes, and you were thankful to be with them, but for the most part, sitting with your family, it felt as though you were watching them all through somebody else’s eyes, as though you were watching from somewhere else, or that you were a puppet from Flea Bottom and somebody, high above in the clouds, was pulling your strings, stretching your cheeks into a smile, nodding your head in agreement, ears listening to tales and comments of relief without truly listening.

It was not a loud and joyous celebration. In fact, it felt more like a funeral, like the one for Laena, like the one for Laenor.

There was no music, there was no dancing, but it was enough.

It was enough to just be with them, to just be in their presence, hear their voices, be able to reach out and touch them if you wanted to. The subtle scents of their own, curling around you in a soft blanket.

You had reached for your goblet at one point during the night, mouth having gone dry at the mention of Aegon, and you had to hold in a scream, eyes finding your hands covered in blood once more. Your eyes had widened in shock, a small inhale ripped into your lungs, and Daemons careful eye from across the room had spotted you.

And though the maids had washed and scrubbed you vigorously, cleaning under your nails with careful hands, even though you knew in your heart that you were clean, it didn't stop your mind from seeing them soaked red with your lovers blood. Covered as they had been that morning.

And he was there.

Watching.

By the corner of the room.

Eye never leaving you.

But you kept a brave face, if only for a while longer, not daring to look where you hands would reach, grasping blinding in front of you, resulting in wine spilt and worried eyes. You had blamed your tired and shaky hands. For how were you to explain that when you looked down upon them you saw the proof of your misdeeds. The proof of your sin. The proof of your betrayal.

Then all too soon, exhaustion creeped over you, and your mother, noticing the shift, escorted you back to your chambers, and readily tucked you into bed, sitting on the side as she looked at you with nothing but love. She brushed your hair from your face, and without a word, climbed into bed beside you. She pulled you to her tightly, and you curled up against her, nestling your head into the crook of her neck to breathe deeply.

And as your eyes were closed, you let yourself pretend that it was him.

Sleep dragged you under, and no dreams haunted you this time, though you felt his presence behind you. And when you woke, still in her arms, her hand was holding your head against her as she breathed, fingers absentmindedly carding through your hair in thought. You shifted, looking up into her lilac eyes which seemed to be shadowed, dark rings on the skin beneath.

She had not slept.

“Did you rest?” You asked, eyes darting across her face as you shifted to sit up in bed.

“I have not slept since the day you left. And now that I have you in my arms again, I am frightened that my eyes shall close, and when they open and you will be gone.”

You swallowed thickly, “I would never leave you.”

Rhaenyra gave you a small smile, though edges pulled down into a frown.

“If it is your wish, I would not keep you here in the Keep. If the memories are-“ She paused, unsure of how to move on, “If it is too much to bear, I would not hold you here. I would not force you to stay.” She whispered, brushing your hair from your face.

You frowned at her, “I am your Hand. I am bound by duty to be at your side.”

Rhaenyra let out the breath she had been holding before she nodded, “Duty be damned, I think you have performed yours and then some, more than I ever would have asked you to." She breathed deeply, "The rest of the council and my men shall arrive today. There will be a trial, to convict those who have plotted against me. Those who aided Aegon in the usurpation of the throne. And those who kept you here.”

You shifted in the sheets as you looked at your mother.

Her soft brows pulled slightly together, the frown lines that seemed to now permanently mar her skin, were present with the movements of her lips, which she pressed together into a thin line, moving to open again.

But you beat her to it, “Then we must be ready.”

And so, you were dressed in a black leather bustier, with large winged shoulders, the neck of the leather coming just below your chin. It was a shorter gown, coming just mid calf, and beneath, you wore black trousers and leather boots that tucked them inside, just below the knee. Across your chest was chains, hooped and long against your bust, each end being the opened mouth of a dragon on either side.

The girls braided your hair back, gentle and soft in their movements, both working together as they used small pins with red jewels at their tip to hold your hair up and off of your neck. And all the while, your eyes did not leave the Conquerors Crown that was placed atop the table, smears of blood on the steel and ruby.

Rhaenyra had already left, to be dressed and readied for court in her old chambers, joined by her husband. But you were rooted on the spot, unable to move as you looked at it, watching as the light from the sun caused the ruby to glimmer.

A blood red.

Blood.

Like the blood that had covered you. Like the blood you had tried to stop at Aemond’s neck. The blood that spilled through your hands and his and soaked the sheets and pillows below. The blood that had soaked you.

You would not dare look at your hands, for you knew what you would see.

You blinked and moved towards it.

But it was your crown.

Yours by right.

And so you lifted it, placing it atop your head, revelling in the weight that it pressed down your neck. The weight that then settled in your chest and gut.

With determined steps, you left the chambers, blade tucked into a holder at your side, dried blood still smeared across its blade and hilt as you walked swiftly down to the throne room to meet your Queen, and meet with the rest of the council and Lords of the realm.

All ready to see and watch the true heir to the Iron Throne be seated where she should have always sat, from the moment Viserys had passed, and for her to cast down her judgement on those who went against her.

Traitors and turncloaks alike.

When you entered the throne room, it was bursting with life, and the floor where Larys had laid was stained with his dried blood, a large smear across the stones from where his body had been dragged and removed.

All eyes were on you, each step echoing in the chambers as the people quietened, and your mother lifted her head.

Your father stood at the foot of the throne, Jacaerys beside him, as you came to stand before her.

Ser Erryk Cargyll announced you to the chambers, presenting your titles to the room, “Hand of the Queen.”

With a bow of your head, foot sliding beneath you, you pressed your knee upon the floor and reached a hand up, grasping the crown from your head as you held it towards her, “Your Grace, I give my crown lands and titles to you, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the true heir to the Iron Throne.” When you stood again, you looked up at your mother who smiled gently at you.

“Princess Y/n, my daughter and first born, you have earnt that crown valiantly, through months of tireless work.” Her voice rose in the chambers, all still as they listened, “You may hold it in your possession, as a reminder of your deeds.” You could feel the eyes of all in the chambers flickering on the back of your head and then to the Queen who sat atop the throne.

“Your acts of bravery have not gone unnoticed, nor has your role in winning this war, and returning the throne and all the realms to me rightfully.” Jacaerys shifted at your fathers side, a small smile pulling at the side of his lips, “And at this time, the succession for the Iron Throne has changed.”

What?

Your breath stopped in your chest, eyes darting to Jacaerys who gave you the slightest tip of his head.

“Let all who stand here bear witness to the naming of my true successor. A successor who had been promised the throne once before.” Her eyes met yours, “Let it be known, that in the eyes of the Realm and before the Old Gods and the New, that my daughter, Princess Y/n Velaryon, is my heir and successor to the Iron Throne. Duty of the Hand of the Queen shall be placed upon Ser Corlys Velaryon.”

Heir.

Successor.

You blinked.

You were her heir.

You were the heir to the Iron Throne.

"But now," the Queen continued, "Is not the time for talks of succession and my rule. Now is the time to bring forth traitors and turncloak's who broke their oath to my father, King Viserys, and to me, the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms."

The sound of men around you shifted as they bowed their head towards you, your face in pure shock as you looked at them.

“Now,” The Queen boomed over the rising whispers in the chambers, “Bring forth the accused.”

You stepped on unsteady feet, unsure and uncertain as you came to stand beneath the throne on the opposite side of your brother and father, both who beamed at you with pride. The Conquerors Crown still in your hands, the cool Valyrian steel pressing into your palm.

But as the doors to the chambers were opened once more by guards, you had snuck a glance at your father, who was already watching you, and gave you a promissory nod. And so with certain hands, you lifted the crown once more, and settled it against your scalp.

Wild auburn hair appeared first, and then a gown of deep green as Alicent Hightower was dragged before the Iron Throne by Gold Cloaks. Each one stood behind her as her hands were locked in chains at her front, eyes flickering from you, to Rhaenyra, and then back to you.

And then you began.

“Lady Alicent Hightower. Dowager Queen of King Viserys. You stand before Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Roynar, and The First men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. You are bought here to be charged with crimes against the Crown. You are accused of treason.” Your voice carried through the chambers, the chains on Alicent’s wrists knocking against each other as she picked at her hands, fingers raw and bloody.

“You are charged with conspiring against the Crown to usurp the throne with Prince Aegon Targaryen and Ser Otto Hightower. You are charged with the conspiracy to cause harm to a Princess of the realm, and her wrongful imprisonment.”

“Rhaenyra, see reason. I beg you. Your father-“ Alicent began to plead.

“-My father,” Rhaenyra’s voice boomed, “Is dead. And you kept that hidden from the people for days, and rushed to crown Aegon as King in the Sept before the realm. You usurped the throne from its rightful heir and King Viserys’ successor, whom your House swore fealty to. Do you deny your charges?”

“I beg mercy! I only did as I believed was right. Viserys told me before he passed that he wished Aegon to sit the thr-”

“-You will have chance to make your own petition, Lady Alicent. Do Queen Rhaenyra the curtesy of letting the charges to be heard.” You held your head high, mimicking the same words she had said to your mother, a long time ago, “If the Lady Alicent Hightower speaks out of turn once more, cut out her tongue.” You watched as her face ashened, and her brows pulled together in desperation.

“You supplanted the Iron Throne’s rightful heir.” Rhaenyra growled, “You sent Aemond to slay my son, Prince Lucerys, the heir to Driftmark, who was an envoy in Storms End. And you have kept the Princess, my heir to the Iron Throne prisoner in this Keep under the hands of your rabid sons.”

“Please, Rhaenyra.” Alicent begged, “Am I to pay for the crimes of the wants of a father on his daughter? For the crimes of my sons? We were close, you and I. Friends!”

Daemon snickered beside the throne as he watched the Hightower woman beg.

Rhaenyra straightened, “What good is a friend who plots and grooms her sons into usurping the throne from its rightful heir? Their half-sister? From her supposed friend? These crimes are treason. And there are witnesses. A Maester who was slain here. Maids who had watched. Gold Cloaks, and servants, and Lords alike witnessed your crimes, Lady Alicent. Do you deny these charges?”

A tear fell from Alicent’s eyes as she sucked in a shuttering breath.

She stayed silent.

Rhaenyra looked at the woman from down her nose before speaking once more, delivering her conviction.

“For your crimes against the Crown, against my blood, and against the people of the realm, you are found guilty. I, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Roynar, and The First men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, sentence you to death by dragon fire.”

Alicent’s face morphed into horror, “No! Rhaenyra, please! I beg mercy! We are but women who had our hands forced by the men around us!” She cried into the chambers as she was dragged out by the Gold Cloaks, “What choice did I have?! Imprison me, Rhaenyra, I beg this of you!”

Alicent Hightower’s voice faded down the halls and walls she was dragged down, pleading for mercy, begging to the Seven for help. But the Seven did not hear to her prayers, for the Stranger was already on their way to take her.

Maester Orwyle was next, and the man stood silently as his charges were given to him. He did not speak, nor did he rebuke them, or plead for mercy. Instead, his dark brown eyes stared into your mothers with nothing more than disgust and pure hatred, until he was pulled away, the same way he came, back to the holding cells of the Dungeons you had once spent your days in, with his verdict.

Guilty.

It was this way until the whole of the Green Council and turncloaks was laid before your mother, each one individually brought before the Queen, had their accusations of treason laid. Some were given the option to bend the knee to Rhaenyra and serve her in exchange for their lives, others were not.

None, bar Lord Jasper Wylde, bent the knee.

And all, bar the Master of Laws, was sentenced to death.

The chamber of the Iron Throne was ripe with energy. Nervous, excited energy from Rhaenyra’s supporters as they watched on as they delivered the sentences to those who had betrayed or turned cloak against her.

And then, the court was dismissed, and the Lords and her supporters were led outside of the Keep, to the mouth of Blackwater Rush, where a flat grassy knoll lay before the cliffs, and a worn path for traders was trodden upon.

It was there where Lady Alicent Hightower was led, beside her Maester Orwyle, Ser Tyland Lannister, and the turncloaks, Lord Bourney, Butterwell, Mootey and Rosby stood in a line.

The oceans breeze ruffled the cloaks and hair of all those in attendance, and Rhaenyra was the last one present. The final person to arrive.

Above you, the large and excitable screech of a dragon who would finally be reunited with its rider.

Alicent looked up the skies in fear, her hands clutched tightly together in prayer as she shut her eyes, mumbling to the Seven, begging for mercy, and guidance, and promises of good servitude if they grant her her life.

But dragons did not answer to the Gods.

Nor were they inclined to show mercy.

And so you watched, in delight and anticipation, as the large bronze dragon landed against the grass beside you, purring into the air with his large scarred snout, mouth full of jagged teeth opening, and eyes dancing over you.

All watched as you reached out to touch him, the dragon rumbling deep in his chest as he leant into your hand. The bond sent sparks through your fingers and arms as you leant a forehead against him, breathing in his dragon smell, sulfur and smoke, and the distinct almost reptilian stench that they all carried.

But your true reunion would have to wait, for the Queen and realm were waiting on you.

It was only right that you delivered the blow of justice.

As heir.

As now stand in Hand before Corlys.

In fact, your mother and father had been most insistent upon it, if only you wanted to.

And the Gods knew that you did.

The crowd of people shuffled backwards as Vermithor’s long tail beat against the ground forcefully, vibrating the earth beneath.

Alicent Hightower jumped in her spot, knuckles white as she stared at you in fear.

“You are guilty and have been charged of treason-”

“-I am innocent. I beg mercy, please. Rhaenyra, see reason!” Alicent cried out into the soft ocean breeze, her words lost to the crashing swell. Rhaenyra blinked impassively at the woman.

“Reason?” You parroted, “Mercy?”

“Please, it was the ambitions of a father onto his child. I had no play-“

“No play? None?” You sneered.

There was that rage again.

“I beg mercy. I will work in-“

“-Where was your mercy for the Queen when you usurped her throne?” You stiffened, Vermithor behind you growling, sensing your anger through the bond.

“Where was your mercy for her sons? For Lucerys?”

“I was not at-“

The Bronze Fury shifted behind you, head coming to loom forward in the space beside, teeth bared as he growled at the woman who dropped to her knees in fear, legs giving out beneath her.

"Where was your mercy when you locked me in a cell? Where was your mercy when you let him rape me? Defile me.” You took a step forward towards her, “Hurt me.”

Another step, and ice spread through your chest, “Where was your mercy when the King broke into my chambers?” You spoke dully this time, but inside you was the fire that you had hidden. Trampled by your own hands and feet in order to keep on, to keep moving.

To survive.

Vermithor lifted his head into the sky and cried out shrilly, all around him flinching from the sudden movement. His large jaws opened, and a plume of fire shot into the air, the heat falling down around you hotly.

You looked down at the woman who started it all.

Her children.

The usurp of your mother.

The war.

Lucerys.

Syndor.

Visenya.

All of it.

“You are found guilty of treason, for the usurpation of the Iron Throne from its rightful heir. You are guilty of crimes to the Princess; Daughter and heir of the Queen. You are guilty of hiding the death of King Viserys from the people and Lords to conspire with turncloaks and oathbreakers. And you have been sentenced to death.”

You stared into the eyes of the woman before you, tears cascading down her cheeks as she looked up at you and pleaded, begged for her life, begged for mercy.

Prayed.

Her hair was messed, her robes were crinkled and green, and as you looked at the woman you felt a surge of rage.

“Dracarys.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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bullet-prooflove · 8 months

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Matriarch - Filip 'Chibs' Telford x Reader

Tagging: @anime-weeb-4-life @redpoodlern @ravencrow83 @kishie8 @thelonewolfwillsurvive @thanossexual @nu1freakshow @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @jtelford @the-wandering-lunatic @darqchilddaydreamz @yourwinchesterbros @lexondeck @keyweegirlie @poppyrose33 @belovedbastardremus @trublu2u @thebaileybugle @ambassadortotrilliusprime @yvette22 @legally-a-bastard @thequeenoftheisleofavalon @joyfulfxckery @justreblogginfics

Companion piece to Punishment & Silver & Gold

You’re sitting at your desk, smoking a cigarette when Chibs enters your office. You look at the clock on the wall and realise it’s gone past midnight, you’re not sure when that happened. Time’s been fluid since you watched the light die in Galen’s eyes. You remember something similar happening when you’d killed your ex-husband.

He looks down at the body on your floor and you see the way his jaw tightens, the muscles in his shoulders tensing. It’s his job to keep you safe but you’ve managed to do that all by yourself. He’s old fashioned sometimes with his thinking, he has no illusions about being a white knight, but he hates the fact you’ve been forced to take action.

“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer scumbag.” He spits on the corpse before turning to face you. His eyes come to rest on the gun that sits in the space between the two of you, the one he had given you just in case. He had never dreamed that you would need to use it.

You offer him a cigarette from the cardboard carton on your desk and he removes one before using the gold Zippo to light it. He takes a drag before leaning against the wall, his gaze straying to the blood pool underneath Galen.

“You’re going to need a new carpet love.” He tells you. “There isn’t enough bleach in the world to get that up.”

Realistically it would be simpler to burn down the entire office, eradicate the evidence but that would bring the police calling and he thinks they probably hate you as much as they despise the club. It was the downside to being good at your job.

“The place needs refurbishing anyway.” You remark, tapping the ash from your cigarette into a silver ashtray. “I don’t think it will take Allie much convincing, she’s been wanting to change things up for a while.”

“I can get Juice and some of the guys on it, get rid of the body and the carpet but…” He trails off and you know that the ‘but’ is. It means that news of Galen’s death, the manner of it, spreads around the M.C like wildfire. Nobody would believe that Chibs had done this, it’s too personal.

“They need to see that I take care of my shit.” You state, blowing a stream of smoke out of your mouth and watching it evaporate into the air. “That I’m still taking care of their shit.”

Secrets is what it all came down to.

The Club’s secrets.

Galen had wanted to pluck each and every one of them out of your head and twist them to leverage his position with the M.C. Not a single one had passed you’re lips during your time together. He respected that, he’d told you, your loyalty. You couldn’t buy that shit, it was born out of love.

You weren’t sure when that had happened.

There were moments though, ones that stuck in your mind.

The look in Tig’s eyes when he told you about his girl, how proud he was of her whilst the two of you hammered out his investment into Cara Cara. The enquiry he’d made about making sure she received his share of the business in the event of his passing. He’d worried about that, you remember, making sure that she was taken care of, along with the two daughters he barely saw.

The taste of Bobby’s banana bread as he told you that his kid was better off not knowing him, that he had always been bad news, which was why he was on his third divorce. You knew a thing or two about making bad choices, you’d reminded him. He wouldn’t always be unlucky in love, especially not when he baked like that. His smile had warmed your heart.

Tara’s guardianship and adoption of the Able after you’d helped facilitate her marriage to Jax. You’d been invited to both the wedding and the subsequent adoption party. You remembered standing in the kitchen, talking to Juice about his weed shop when Jax had passed you baby Thomas for a minute because he’d had his hands full with Able. You think that was the moment it dawned on you how much trust they had in you, that they’d come to see you as one of them.

All of these things they weren’t just legal affairs; they were snippets of people’s lives. Important pieces that meant something deep to each and every one of them.

Strung up in that barn you had known that you could never let Galen have that. To him the M.C was a device to be wielded, a tool to build up his side business but to you they’d become a part of your life.

It would have been easy to relent. To divulge how the M.C were diversifying, making more money with legit businesses like porn and escorts than they ever had with gun running, which was why they were starting to pull out of the trade but the damage of revealing something like that…

It would have been catastrophic.

Noone would have blamed you, Tig had told you in the aftermath when he was helping Tara see to your wounds.

I would have, you’d responded.

You’re distracted as Chibs removes his phone from his pocket. You see him hesitate, his thumb hovering over the buttons before he looks at you helplessly.

“This will bind you to them.” He tells you, tilting his head towards Galen’s corpse. “After this there’s no going back, they’ll start looking to you. You’ll go from their lawyer to their matriarch.”

You understand what he’s saying, you’ve protected them once, allowing Galen to take his pound of flesh. This thing that you’ve done will reinforce the action, you’ve taken care of something that was very much a Club problem. Before his presidency, before killing Galen, you could have been viewed as collateral damage, an affiliate of the Club who been caught up in their mess but now…

You know how this looks. That they’ll see it as you defending them.

“Right now, you can walk away from me, from the club…” he trails off when he sees the look in your eyes. The glint of steel underneath all of that silk. “That was never going to happen was it?”

You shake your head.

“I didn’t want this for you.” He tells you honestly. “When I kissed you that night at my kitchen table, I had no idea we’d end up here.”

You know what he means. Him with the presidency, you standing along side of him, a part of the Club’s bloody history. Nobody could have foreseen this, the course of circumstances that has led you to this moment.

“Maybe it was always meant to happen.” You tell him stubbing out your cigarette before casting a glance at Galen’s corpse. “This feels like the beginning of a joke. What do you do with a dead Irish Man?”

He laughs, he can’t help it because it does. He feels that pressure in his chest relinquish as the edges of your mouth tip up into a smile. Anyone else would be horrified by what had happened here tonight but you’re anything but. He senses the relief in you, you’ve slayed another of your monsters, you can sleep easy knowing that Galen can never touch you again.

“I love you.” He finds himself saying.

He means it. He always has. He’s just never been able to vocalise it until this moment. He’s never doubted your commitment to him, but accepting the Club, that’s always been at the heart of his reluctance. You don’t shy away from the life he leads; you embrace it. You understand that it’s part of him and now it’s a part of you too. It may not be what he envisioned but it’s the future the two of you are stepping into and he treasures it with every fibre of his being.

“I know.” You tell him, clasping his hand. “I’ve always known Filip.”

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storiesforallfandoms · 1 year

Text

letting go ~ corpse husband

word count: 1972

request?: yes!

“Could i make a request for corpse?

Dad!corpse x reader where it’s their daughter’s first day of school of kindergarten and he is not really taking it well?”

description: on their daughter’s first day of kindergarten, he feels a whole bunch of emotions

pairing: corpse husband x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two, three)

You could remember the day your daughter was born like it was yesterday. When you held her in your arms for the first time you couldn’t believe how small she was, or the fact that she had come from your body. She had you and Corpse wrapped around your fingers from the very second she was born.

It felt like one day you were cradling the newborn girl, then you blinked, and suddenly she was a five year old little girl getting ready for her first day of school.

You were making her breakfast when you heard her footsteps thumping down the stairs. She appeared in the kitchen with a flourish, showing off her outfit for the day. Corpse came down behind her, a smile on his face as he looked at his baby girl.

“What do you think, mommy?” she asked.

“You look wonderful, baby,” you replied. “Did you pick it out yourself?”

“Daddy helped.”

That was evident by the black t-shirt with a cutesy skull on the front. Your daughter, Mia, was basically a perfect mini version of Corpse. Most days you couldn’t see a single aspect of you in her, even though Corpse swore that she was more you than him.

You plated breakfast for the three of you and put it on the table as the two of them sat down. Mia excitedly started shoveling her breakfast into her mouth.

“Hey, slow down,” you laughed. “You’re going to give yourself a bad tummy.”

“I’m excited, mommy! I want to go to school!”

“Sweetheart, we have almost an hour till we have to leave. You can take your time.”

It seemed to take a lot of control, but the young girl managed to slow here eating. You looked over at Corpse with an amused look, but he was looking intently at his own breakfast.

When she finished eating, Mia got up and ran back to her room to start packing her new backpack. You chuckled and took up the empty plates. Corpse was still sat at the table, still seeming very distant. You placed the dishes in the sink and walked back over to the table. You got Corpse’s attention by sitting on his lap and tilting his head back to look at you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you asked.

He smiled and wrapped his arms around your waist. “I just can’t believe she starts school today.”

“I know. It feels like just yesterday she was sleeping on your chest while you were recording your horror stories.”

Corpse chuckled. “We’ll have to make sure she doesn’t repeat the bedtime stories she’s used to to any new friends.”

You kissed the top of Corpse’s head and wiggled off his lap. “I should make sure she’s not trying to pack her entire bedroom into her backpack. Do you wanna come?”

“I’ll clean up down here. We’ll regroup in time to bring Mia to school.”

You chuckled and headed up to Mia’s room.

~~~~~~

Nearly an hour later, Mia was strapped into her car seat and ready to go to school. She had been excitedly chattering for basically the entire hour. She had her whole day planned in a number of different ways. She had even planned who she was going to become friends with despite not even knowing who her classmates were.

She was unbuckled and tugging on the door handle before you even had the car in park. You and Corpse shared an amused look before getting out of the car. Corpse helped her out and he held her hand as the three of you crossed the parking lot to the school. The classroom meant for Mia’s class was already filled with other excited kids. It was a loud and hectic setting that you were afraid would scare Mia, but she welcomed it with excitement as she immediately ran up to the first group she saw.

A sweet young lady walked up to the two of you and introduced herself as Miss. Rebecca.

“I’m (Y/N), and this is my husband, Corpse. We’re Mia’s parents,” you said as you and Corpse shook her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you two. Seems like little Mia is already settling in with her classmates.”

You smiled as you watched your daughter playing with the other kids she had undoubtably considered to be her new friends.

“She’s been looking forward to this,” you said.

Mia could only be separated from her friend group by the idea of seeing her assigned seat and her cubby, which she immediately stuffed her backpack into. As the class was being called to start, you and Corpse knelt down to hug the young girl.

“We’ll be back in a few hours to pick you up,” you assured her. “But if you want us to come back any sooner, you can as Miss. Rebecca. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Bye mommy, bye daddy.”

She waved you off dismissively and returned to her new table mates. You chuckled and stood to leave. With one last look, you and Corpse reluctantly pulled yourselves away from the classroom. Your heart felt heavy having to go. No matter how much you prepared for this day leading up to it, you were not ready to see your baby girl grow up.

The car ride home was extremely quiet. Not even the radio was playing. It felt like you had just left Mia somewhere for the rest of your lives and not just for a few hours. When you pulled into the driveway, you both sat in silence after turning off the car. You heard Corpse sniffle and when you looked over, you saw tears running down his cheeks.

“Oh, honey,” you said, taking his hand.

“Sorry,” he croaked. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, honey. I know this is hard.”

You ran your thumb along his knuckles as he wiped away his tears with his free hand.

“I never thought I’d ever be here,” he said. “Like with a wife and a kid. And now I have to send my little girl off into the real world and she’s still just a baby.”

“It’s the hardest part of being a parent,” you agreed. “First she’s going off to school, next she’ll be going on her first date.”

Corpse shook his head. “Absolutely not. She won’t be dating until I’m long dead.”

You chuckled and squeezed his hand. You leaned over to rest your head against his shoulder despite your seatbelt still tugging on you to sit back. You didn’t want to go into the house yet, and it was very obvious that he didn’t want to either.

“I don’t want to let go yet,” he said.

“We’re not really letting go, though,” you said. “She’s only in kindergarten. She’ll be out of the house for a couple hours on weekdays, and then she’s home all night and on weekends. We have another year until we truly have to let her go into the world.”

“But what about when she makes friends and wants to go to their houses or to the playground with them and their parents?”

“Well, then we let her go without us. After we’ve made sure the parents are nice and we trust them, obviously. But it had to happen eventually. The only friends she’s had have been her own family, or when our friends bring over their kids every now and then. Socialization will do her good. How else is she supposed to find her own little Amgops gang.”

Corpse smiled. You knew exactly how to bring him out of this funk, even if you were also feeling the same emotions he was.

“It feels like we haven’t had her long enough,” Corpse said. “Five is way too young to be letting her fly the nest.”

You giggled and shook your head. “She won’t fly the nest until she’s 18 at the earliest. We still have her for another 13 years. We just have to get used to not having a little tike running around the house 12 hours a day.”

Corpse made a noise in response, but he was once again looking off without focus. You squeezed his hand again, which drew his attention over towards you.

“We can always use this time to ourselves to try and make another baby to fill the void while Mia’s gone,” you pointed out.

A knowing grin crossed Corpse’s lips. You moved your head so that you could kiss him before the two of you took off your seatbelts and rushed to the front door to get inside.

~~~~~~

A few hours later, you and Corpse were waiting outside the school for class to be dismissed. You weren’t the only early parents, and you certainly weren’t the only ones who were excitedly waiting to have your kid back in your arms.

When the doors opened, a flood of kindergarten kids rushed out. Most of them were still conversing with one another - showing off toys and trying to continue their playtime instead of going right to their parents. Mia was one of the last few to come out, two other young girls following her as they went. From afar you could see that there was something else on her shirt next to the skull, and the closer she got, the easier it was to make out: it was a skull sticker.

When she noticed you and Corpse stood by your car, her face lit up and she ran the rest of the way. Her little arms were outstretched to Corpse as she called, “Daddy!”

He picked her up in his arms and gave her a big kiss on her cheek. “How was your day, sweetheart?”

“It was amazing, daddy!” Mia exclaimed. “I made so many friends, but these two - ” She gestured to where the two other girls had been, but they were now with their own parents talking about their day. “ - are my best friends: Laura and Dani.”

“I’m glad you had such a good day, honey,” Corpse said. “What’s the sticker on your shirt?”

“This boy at my table had a bunch of stickers in his backpack. He wouldn’t share with anyone else, but he said this one reminded him of me because of the skull on my shirt, so he gave it to me!”

You and Corpse shared a look. You had a feeling you’d be hearing more about whoever this sticker boy was as the year went on.

Corpse put Mia in her car seat as she continued to give you both a play by play of her entire day, and about how excited she was to go back to school again tomorrow. You were almost home when she added, “But I missed you guys a lot.”

You peaked at her in the rear view mirror. “Are you sure? It sounds like you had too busy of a day to miss us.”

“Of course I missed you! I made so many new friends, but they don’t play the same as you and daddy do. They don’t like the ghost stories I tell with my dolls.”

You glanced over at Corpse, who was trying to stifle a laugh. “That’s my girl alright.”

“You’ll just have to teach them that your ghosts are friendly,” you told Mia. “But I’m sure they’ll learn to play the same way we do with you, or you’ll learn to play different with them.”

“No, I don’t want to play with the dolls the way they do. It’s boring. They just want to kiss the boy dolls and have baby dolls. They don’t even want to do scary stories about houses being haunted by scary old lady dolls.”

Corpse put a hand over his mouth to muffle his laugh. You looked over at him, an amused smile on your face.

“That’s your girl,” you said.

“That’s our girl,” he corrected.

#corpse husband #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband x reader #corpse #corpse imagine #corpse x reader #imagine #one shot #request #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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stuckybarton · 1 year

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Bathala and the Forsaken Queen

Summary: He was called by the Spanish as the child without love, but to you, his wife, he was the man that has saved you and your child from the impending death at the hands of the colonials dead-set on killing your entire bloodline. Character: K'uk'ulkan/Namor x Filipino!Queen!Female Reader. OC Daughter (Adlaw) Word Count: 6,388 Warnings: Philippine History Inaccuracy, changed some dates to suit the story. Mention of War and the Atrocities during the Spanish Colonization in the Philippines. Death and mentions of corpses. Angst. Happy Ever After. BPWF spoilers and slight deviation to the plot. Mention of consuming dangerous plants. A/N: A request from @kpopgirlbtssvt, Another banger of a request from you thank you so much for this. Again I did tweak a few things here and there and i hope that's fine with you.

Masterlist || Join the Library ( i no longer do taglist you can just turn on notif here)

Bathala and the Forsaken Queen

TALOKAN | PRESENT DAY

Shuri walked into the room where Namor had been spending most of his time painting the murals on the walls. The vibrant colors and intricate details caught her attention as soon as she stepped in.

“Princess.”

Shuri continued to observe the paintings, noticing the different scenes depicting the history of Namor's people. She pointed to one in particular, showing a woman and child, protected by a God-like being from attackers.

“Who is this?” Shuri had inquired. Among the numerous of artworks, there was a certain veneration, a certain care into painting this woman among the rest of the artworks in the murals on the wall.

“She is my wife, my Queen, the mother of Talokan.”

MACTAN, CEBU, PHILIPPINES | 1592

You hold your daughter close to you as you run along the sandy beaches. The wind is whipping at your hair and dress, and you can hear the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, the screams of death of your people, and the sound of the fire enveloping your homes. Your heart was pounding in fear as you glance over your shoulder to see the Spanish Conquistador chasing after you with a sword in hand—blood that you were certain was of your husband, the King’s after the brutal fight. Now you and your child run to avoid becoming the spoils of their victory.

“Keep running,” You urged yourself, holding your infant close to your chest, trying to sound calm despite the terror and anguish in your heart. “We will not let them take us.”

Your daughter coos as if sensing your own dread, her eyes filled with tears as she was looking up at you. You can see the fear in her eyes and it breaks your heart to know that she is experiencing such terror at such a young age. You are the Queen of your people, but in this moment, you feel powerless against the force of the Spanish invasion.

As you run, you see a large rock formation in the distance. It's your only chance to take cover and make a stand against the Conquistador. You pull your daughter towards your chest even more, hoping that it will provide some protection.

As you reach the rocks, you turn to face the Conquistador, your heart heavy with the knowledge that this could be your final stand. The Conquistador approaches, his sword gleaming in the sunlight.

You stand tall, ready to fight for your life and the life of your daughter. You know that the odds are against you, but you will not go down without a fight. You hold your daughter close, feeling her small body tremble with fear. You whisper words of love and comfort to her, trying to give her strength in this dark moment.

The Conquistador approaches, his sword raised high. You close your eyes, ready to face your fate. But before he can strike, the sound of a neck being snapped and the Conquistador falls dead to the sandy ground below you was what now comes to you.

You feel the surge of gratitude and relief wash over you as you turned to face a possible soldier from your people that helped, but the smile that was slowly growing on your face faded just as quick as it had appeared. The man in front of you was no soldier of your people—but a man that exuded power greater than any Gods in your lifetime.

Was this Bathala? Has he finally answered your prayers? You could not think straight out of fear of everything that has transpired, you had pulled your daughter closer to your chest. Protecting her from whatever wrath the God might come for you and your fallen people.

The man speaks, a language that you know nothing about. Fear grew more and the possibility of him being just like the Conquistador but instead of savagery, you were given a small bracelet which he gently slipped onto your shaking wrist.

You approached the man cautiously, your mewling daughter close to your chest and ready to move if the need arises. With his hands held up, you took a look at the man and realizing he was truly no human you had ever seen in your life before.

Pointed ears, same skin as you, his ears, nose, and neck adorned in jewelry but the most shocking part of the man in front of you were the pair of wings on either side of his feet. How only now did you realize that he was not standing on the sand, but was hovering and the sight of the fluttering wings both interested you as much as it did scare you.

With your own shaky hand you slipped off your own gold armband, handing it to the man in a quiet exchange hoping he would understand you were no threat, just simply a mother trying to protect your daughter. You watch him take hold of it, how he had slip the band around his wrist and the smile of reassurance resting on his face.

The fear slowly fading away from your system at a friendly company, but your mind was now washed with the anguish of what was left of your home. Everything that close to ashes at this point. No longer did you hear the sound of cries nor the sound of swords in the distance. It was quite painful to hear the empty silence of what was left of your people because of the Conquistador.

As you turned to finally thank the man that has saved you and your daughter, the man was gone, leaving you and your daughter to tend to yourself from now on.

TALOKAN | PRESENT DAY

“She was just like me, but from another country far from our own. Her people and her first husband were killed in the aftermath of the Spanish Conquistador.”

Shuri could only nod, watching as Namor gestured to images of you, who moved and settled to a cave-like home, far from what you were once so accustomed to in your life.

“She had a daughter?” Shuri wondered, looking more into the child that once had the same color of skin in the first image before her skin was now painted blue just like your own now.

“My blessing. She might not have been my blood, but I have treated her just like my own.”

MACTAN, CEBU, PHILIPPINES | 1592

It was hard to start from scratch.

The fear of possibly another Conquistador coming for you and your daughter had you on edge and instead of returning to your home, you have decided that it was best to live in a cavern close to your home, but discreet enough to hide you and your daughter from anyone that would place the both of you in harm’s way.

It’s been days since the attack in your home, days since you have ever caught a wink of sleep. In the damp floor with your daughter resting on what was once your lavish robe laid besides you sleeping, you found yourself sobbing. You begin to mourn the death of your husband, who fought valiantly against them in hopes of buying enough time for the both of you to escape. You could remember the way your husband was outnumbered, how in his dying breath he had screamed for you to and your daughter to run for your lives, how he had told you his love and devotion to you, his Queen and his wife. The memory was a burning reminder of everything you have lost because of the invaders.

Your hands had covered your mouth, fearing that you might wake your daughter up because of your despair. You watch your daughter’s chest gently rise and fall and in the image of her, you grew numb for what you knew you needed to do to live, to strive, and to ensure that she would grow up happy and away from whatever danger that was in this world.

In the stillness of what you now call your temporary home, you heard footsteps. The alertness waking you from your sleepless state. You crouch in the dimly-lit cave, your heart racing as you listen for any sound of approaching danger. In your arms you had lifted your daughter up, your six-month-old daughter sleeps peacefully still, oblivious to the turmoil that surrounds her.

You stroke your daughter's soft cheek, marveling at her innocence and her trust. She is your hope and your future, the embodiment of all that you hold dear. You vow to keep her safe, to teach her the ways of your people, and to instill in her the strength and resilience needed to survive in this harsh new world.

As you wait in the darkness, your mind drifts back to happier times, before the arrival of the Spanish. You remember the lush forests and sparkling beaches, the vibrant festivals and colorful ceremonies. You remember the warmth and generosity of your people, the sense of community and belonging that permeated every aspect of your life.

But those memories are tinged with sadness and anger now, as you realize how much has been lost. Your people have been forced to flee their homes, to abandon their farms and fishing boats, to abandon their traditions and beliefs. The invaders have brought disease and death, destruction and despair. They have shattered the very fabric of your society, leaving nothing but chaos and uncertainty in their wake.

Suddenly, you hear a commotion outside the cave grow louder. You can hear the Spanish shouting and cursing, and the sound of horses whinnying in distress. You dare not hope, but perhaps there is a chance that they will not find you. But your hope is short-lived. You hear footsteps approaching the cave, the sound echoing in the darkness. You hold your breath, trying to remain as still as possible. You do not want to give yourself away.

The footsteps stop just outside the cave. You can hear the Spanish muttering to each other in their foreign tongue. You understood what they are saying having insisted to your husband that it was a good thing to learn their language to know their true intentions.

Suddenly, a hand reaches into the cave, groping blindly in the darkness. You shrink back, trying to make yourself as small as possible. But the hand finds you, gripping your arm tightly. You try to pull away, but the hand is too strong. You feel tears stinging your eyes as you realize that this is the end. You and your daughter are going to be captured, enslaved, or worse.

Turning to the owner of the hand gripping onto you, you saw the same man that had saved you a few days prior. He held up a finger against his lips, requesting for you to keep quiet. He had guided you towards the darker corners of the cave, wrapping a blanket around you before he walks towards the sound of the Conquistadors that you were certain were still after you and your daughter.

You hear the sound of violence, the sound of your savior killing the remaining Spanish soldiers who came to look for you in the cave. You do not want to listen, but you cannot help it. You can hear the brutality of the way he kills each and every single one of them without mercy. You can hear the sound of bones breaking, of swords clashing, and of flesh being torn.

And then, as suddenly as it began, it is over. You hear the man's footsteps approaching, and you brace yourself for his arrival. You do not know what to expect, but you know that it cannot be good. But when he appears, he is different than you expected. He is covered in blood and dirt, his face twisted in rage. But there is also something else there, something that you cannot quite name.

He looks at you and your daughter, and you see the rage in his eyes soften. He approaches you, his hand outstretched. You catch sight of the golden band you had given him wrapped around his wrist. You do not know what to do, but you realize that you must trust him. You take his hand, and he helps you and your daughter to your feet.

He spoke a language you did not understand. You blinked uncertain what you could say or do to understand the man.

“Mi nombre es K'uk'ulkan, aquí no estás a salvo. Hay muchos que todavía te buscarán. (My name is K'uk'ulkan, you are not safe here. There are many that will still look for you).”

You pulled your hand away as he spoke the same language as the Conquistadors. You held your daughter closer to your chest, fearing of what the man might do now or of his intentions with you in this moment.

“No quiero hacer daño. Mi gente es víctima de los conquistadores como la tuya. (I mean no harm. My people are victims of the Conquistadors just like your own).”

You find yourself sadden by his words. You had believed that you and your people were the only victims, only to turn out there were more people like that had suffered so much at the hands of the colonizers. Walking a little closer to the man now, but still the precaution was ever so evident for you.

Standing in a damp and dark cave with your six-month-old daughter in your arms, you can feel her little body trembling as she snuggles closer to you, seeking warmth and comfort. This was not the healthiest environment to have her live. You can have no one else to blame, for you were just as afraid about this circumstance. You know for certain that the Conquistadors would continue to hunt you and your daughter still. As you look around the cave, you see nothing but darkness and silence. You wonder if this is where you will spend the rest of your days, hiding away from the world.

The man, K’uk’ulkan, was a tall and imposing figure, with a regal bearing that genuinely reminds you of the nobles of your own people. He is dressed in a long white cloak with a headdress adorned with shimmering feathers. He looked far too different from the first time you had met him and it didn’t truly give you the benefit of trusting him in this moment. Especially with the blood that still painted his skin and some of on his cloak from his actions against the Conquistadors.

“He venido a ofrecerte santuario en mi propio reino. Es el lugar más seguro para usted y su hija mientras los conquistadores aún los buscan. (I have come to offer you sanctuary in my own kingdom. It is the safest place for you and your daughter to be while the Conquistadors still search for you).”

You stare at the man, uncertain whether you could truly trust him. But the two instances of him saving your life should have been enough for you to at least try. Aside from his abilities to kill the Conquistador with his bare hands, the sight of him with wings and the pointed ears had you cautious of what more he was capable of doing. It was as if you were not truly in the presence of a mere mortal—but something far greater or worse depending on what you decide to do.

"Mi reino está lejos de aquí, pero me aseguraré de que tú y tu hija lleguen a salvo. Puedo ofrecerte protección y un hogar, donde estarás a salvo de cualquier daño. Y prometo que haré todo lo que esté a mi alcance para garantizar que nunca más serás perseguido por los conquistadores. (My kingdom is far from here, but I will ensure that you and your daughter arrive safely. I can offer you protection and a home, where you will be safe from harm. And I promise that I will do everything in my power to ensure that you are never hunted by the Conquistadors again)." The man continues, his voice spoke softly.

You consider his words carefully, weighing the risks and the benefits of accepting his offer. You know that the journey to his kingdom will be long and dangerous, but you also know that you have no other choice. The Conquistadors are still searching for you, and they will stop at nothing to capture you.

Finally, you nod your head, accepting K'uk'ulkan's offer of sanctuary. You feel a sense of relief wash over you, knowing that you and your daughter will be safe from harm. As you follow K'uk'ulkan out of the cave, you can't help but feel a sense of trepidation. You know that the road ahead will be long and hard, but you also know that you have made the right decision.

The walk out of the cave was filled with death, you did your best to ignore the bodies laid around and brutalized by the man that walked in front of you. But it filled you with a great sense of fear and reassurance, fear for what he was capable of doing and the reassurance that he will be there to protect you should the need ever arise against the Conquistadors.

As the sunlight begins to beam against your eyes, you tried your best to adjust as the first brush of the wind has brushed against your cheeks and your baby slowly but surely waking from her slumber.

“¿Cuales son tus nombres? (What are your names?)” He asked you waiting by the end of the cave.

You told him your name, of your daughter, Adlaw, a daughter-born under the scorching sun that had ended the long-standing drought in your land. He smiled as you explained your daughter’s name to him. How invested he seemed to be of what was once your people.

“Tu hija le ha dado a tu pueblo la lluvia tan necesaria como yo le he dado a mi propio pueblo el sol. (Your daughter has given your people the much needed rain as I have given my own people the sun).”

You gasped, realizing that the man was truly a God after all.

You continued to walk through the now deserted beaches. The putrid scent of death and burned down husk wafted and it took a lot out of you not to gag from where you stood. As your eyes to one last glance around what you once called your home, you noticed something strange. Warriors that were now closing in on K’uk’ulkan who have blue skin.

You rub your eyes, thinking that perhaps you were seeing things from lack of sleep, but when you open them again, the blue-skinned warriors were still there and meant no harm as they kneeled in front of your savior. Hands helped up in a gesture that was similar to an open flower.

You glance over at K’uk’ulkan, who notice your confusion and apprehension.

"Esta es mi gente, (These are my people)," he explains. "Son los soldados más valientes y leales que he conocido (They are the bravest and most loyal soldiers I have ever known)."

You can't help but stare at them in wonder. You have never seen anything like them before. Their blue skin seems to shimmer in the sunlight, and their eyes are a reassuring shade of black just like your own. Aside from armor that were somewhat similar from that of your own people’s, aside from their skin color, it was the mouthpiece covering their mouths and nose that took you by surprise, made you wonder how they could breathe at such a constrictions. As you walk alongside them, you feel a sense of safety and security that you haven't felt in a long time. These warriors are here to protect you and your daughter, and you can tell that they take their duty very seriously.

But as you continued to walk, you felt uneasy as you walked closer towards the water instead of what you would have expected to be in the forest up above the mountains. You had watched half of the warriors make their way towards the waters, diving in without an ounce of hesitation. Turning towards K’uk’ulkan, he provided a reassuring smile, holding onto your hand.

“¿Confías en mí? (Do you trust me?)” He asked you.

“No. Pero prometiste mantenernos a salvo a mí y a mi hija y cumpliré tu promesa. (I don't. But you promised to keep me and my daughter safe and I'll hold you onto your promise).” You responded right back honestly.

“Y mantendré la promesa mientras viva. (And I will keep the promise for as long as I live).”

Eventually, two of the warriors have come to stand in front of you, the mouthpiece they wore was now handed to you and your daughter and with a small prayer of guidance and remaining bravery after everything that has happened in your lives, you accepted the mouthpiece and with K’uk’ulkan holding you and your daughter made your way further and further towards the water to a life that was not your own anymore, but for the sake of your daughter will be the best thing to happen.

TALOKAN | PRESENT DAY

“Yuum!”

The sound of giggling children sounded catching Shuri’s attention. Turning to where the sound began, she had watched the sight of three small children making their way towards the both of them, walking slower after them was two women, spitting image of each other.

“In Reina. In sáasil k'iin.” Namor spoke so tenderly towards the two women. His attention turned towards the three children, peppering each and every single one of them with kisses and endearing words that reminded Shuri so much of her father long before he had passed.

Shuri turning her attention back towards the women, she had come to realize who exactly they were. The similarities and the much more evident jewelry that adorned their necks and ears.

“You are the mother and daughter in the murals.” Shuri spoke.

TALOKAN | 1593

“Mama.”

You smiled the slow but sure progress of your one-year-old daughter in a place that you now call as your own. Your daughter was slowly but surely learning the ways of Talokan, of their people without sacrificing the ways of your own people too. You have mourn the death and end of your people for months, being allowed the courtesy by K’uk’ulkan to do a ceremony for your fallen people and of your husband.

But like your daughter, you began to learn about the ways of the people of Talokan, even if you remained in the comforts of K’uk’ulkan’s cavern above the water. Every single day, a teacher would come to visit you and your daughter, teaching you the language of their people and slowly but surely you have stopped using Spanish to converse with the people and began to use their own, in your own end had thought them about the history of your own, of your Gods and of your culture that were somewhat like their own before they had escaped to the waters.

“In chan k'iino'. (My Little Sunshine).”

Turning, you realize you and your daughter were not alone. K’uk’ulkan has returned from his duties. You gave him a smile, it been a year now since you have arrived in Talokan after he had saved you from the Conquistador—twice. He had kept his promise to keep you and your daughter safe away from the Conquistadors and from whatever danger may come lurking in the corner. Upon your arrival to his home, you have learned of his identity—a King and God to the people of Talokan, the first-born of the people of Talokan and a man that gave his people the hope that never truly settled because of the attack of the Spanish.

You watched your daughter make her way towards K’uk’ulkan. It warms your heart how it had been easy for your daughter to trust the man, the people of Talokan, and of the new life that was not of your own. Just as much as it had been hard for you to do the same. The never ending apprehension even with all the kindness his people have given you and your daughter.

“My King.” You spoke greeting the man.

“I thought we have agreed to call each other by our names, In Reina.” He playfully scolded, arms were quick to hold onto your daughter and to lift her up.

You had watch how K’uk’ulkan had a soft spot for her, how he grinned and played along with your daughter and her dangerous curiosity. How he had allowed for your daughter to hold onto the jewelry nestled on his nose even as hard as your daughter would tug at the jade.

“I am no Queen in Talokan.” You spoke, finding yourself now sitting onto the chair, your eyes lingering on the murals that painted the walls—K’uk’ulkan’s creations.

“But you are the Queen of your people, as much as your daughter is still the Princess. It does not change here as long as I would allow it.”

You nodded, knowing it was no use trying to argue with the man, he would always find a way to ensure that he gets his way.

TALOKAN | 1598

A year turned into two, then into three, then you have realized that it had now been five years since the fateful day that the man had saved you from the clutches of the Conquistador. Five years of living your life and your daughter’s own under the confinements of the cavern of K’uk’ulkan’s home. You were beyond grateful for everything the man has done for you, for keeping his promise of keeping you and your daughter safe, for stepping into the role of your daughter’s father but always spoke kindly of your late husband and his valiant effort to keep the both of you safe all those years ago, for allowing you to believe that there were still people you could trust and love even after all that you have been through.

It wasn’t sudden, nor did you plan for it to happen but it did. How you found yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with the man that loathed the surface world and its people, but had opened his home to you and your daughter. He had promised you a life safe from the terrors in the surface and he gave you the home that was nothing you had ever dreamed possible.

But the most important thing he had ever given you was the choice. A choice to remain as the human you still were or be just like his people, to live in the waters like every single one of the people of Talokan. You know your daughter craves the water, from the instances of her playing with K’uk’ulkan in the shallower parts of the waters, how she had longed to be able to play with the other children of Talokan deep in the waters instead of the confinements of the cavern.

He promised you that he would respect whatever decision you might decide, but he provided the option should you want to finally make a change.

“You want to go back to the surface?” The panic was all so evident in his face when you had made the request one morning. It’s been five years since you took the risk of coming with them and you have yet to truly regret your action. But you needed to have the much needed closure before you open the new chapter in your life.

“I—I want to see my home one last time.” You explained hoping it was enough of an explanation for him. And the nod he had given seemed like it was. He requested for two breathers to be brought for you and your daughter.

It took no time at all when you made the request. No hesitation and no apprehension from the man at your request. How it was easy for him to explain to your daughter about the trip that you were to make up to the surface. How the excitement bubbled in every question that escaped her lips, her eyes twinkling as she continued to ask K’uk’ulkan about the surface world, of the life that you once had before Talokan.

You did not truly have the heart to tell her that this was the closure that you would finally have for the both of you. Your late husband would have wanted just as much, after everything that has happened, it was time to finally move on with your life and with everything it encased.

It took less than an hour for you, your daughter, K’uk’ulkan and a handful of his most trusted warriors to arrive to your home. The shore of what was once your home was a part of the home you missed, of the laughter and fun you had growing up with your siblings, running through the sands and talking about the life you would have hope to have growing up. It was bitter to know that as you stood looking at your feet, that you stood as the last remaining member of your family and of your family’s line and worst part was those dreams of the life you hoped to have no longer viable for you or for your daughter.

“Are you alright, In Reina?” K’uk’ulkan had inquired, he kept his voice low, hoping that your daughter would be unaware of the mental chaos in your mind.

As you approached closer towards the land of your once-beautiful home, you felt your heart racing in anticipation, of the hope that your home was restored and there was still a glimpse of hope of your people even in the years of your disappearance. It has been years since you had last laid eyes on your home, remembering the gore and death that you had run away from and of the smell of fire and blood.

The hope has died further into the pits of your stomach, you were struck by the emptiness and desolation that surrounded you. Your heart sinks, the tears have fallen at the sight that have come before you. Corpses from all those years ago still remained, like trash discarded for the wilderness to take. Homes that was once gave you comfort burn, golds and jewelry robbed and the number of weapons that were discarded, both guns and swords littered the ground.

You look around in disbelief, struggling to make sense of the scene before you. Your beloved home, once filled with your people, now lies abandoned. The trees were stained with blood and ashes. As you move through the land, you heart grows heavier with each step. All around you, evidence of a brutal invasion was evident, after the initial one that you had escaped from. Your once-beautiful gardens have now been trampled and burned.

As you move to where you knew was your hut, your heart grows heavier at the sight that befell you. You were certain of who it was. The putrid smell of death could not waver you as you kneels toward the skeletal remains of your husband. How he still wore the garments from which he had died in. The anger for the Conquistadors for removing his gold jewelry after, of the array of brutality you were certain they had placed on his body after his death, it brought a sob out of your lips.

You whispered a prayer, hoping to the Gods that your husband has finally laid to rest peacefully. Kissing your hand before resting it on his skull, you stood back up and made your way further into your hut, to see that every single jewelry and possession you once had now gone with some of the clothes you had woven for your infant now torn and painted in blood.

You sobbed as you were now facing the truth of the aftermath of the Conquistadors. Everything you had left behind was taken from you. You felt the deep sense of loss. You walked out of your hut to the sight of K’uk’ulkan that was carrying your scared daughter and the number of his people keeping guard while to took one last look at your former home.

The sound of a far too familiar language had you turning to the owner of the voices.

“Kill them.” You ordered the Talokanil warriors.

“In Reina—”

“Kill them and burn everything to the ground.” You ordered to which the warriors bowed towards you before doing such thing.

You stepped towards your daughter that was now shaking in fear at the sight of you tear stricken and the sound of death of the remaining Conquistadors being killed by the Talokanil soldier.

“Hush, little girl. Once we come back home, you’re gonna be able to play with the kids in the water.” You whispered reassuringly towards your daughter, sensing how K’uk’ulkan had tensed at your words.

“Are you sure?” He asked you, cupping your cheek with his free hand, his thumb rubbing away the tears.

“We have nothing else here in the surface to live for, the Conquistador had succeeded in destroying my people. It is only right for us to return back to Talokan as part of your people. Not as a guest, but part of your community.”

“I want you to be my Queen.” He pleaded, pulling you closer to him, his warmth radiating giving you as much as it did your daughter, the reassurance that you did not truly have in the moment of weakness. “Be the mother of my people as much as you are the mother of our daughter.”

Your heart raced, he had always showed his love and affection for your daughter, but this was the first time he had actually acknowledged her as his own. Not by blood, but by circumstance that he made the most out of it. Nicknames might had constantly escaped his lips when it comes to your daughter and your daughter had always called him ‘Yuum’ and your late husband as his Baba but this was the first time that there was a clear indicator of it all from him.

“I have kept my promise of protection and all I want in return in your love for me and for my people.”

Looking, you had realized one of the healers has arrived from the waters, you had realized that he had the idea of you finally making your much needed decision for your sake and for the sake of your daughter. In his grasp was a glowing blue plant and you know that once you’ve made the life altering decision, you will finally live the life that you have never expected but realize was all you needed.

“You always had my love and of my daughter’s.” You whispered smiling as his forehead rested against your own. You held onto your daughter’s hand and as the pain of your past slowly washes away, you could only hope what the present and future would be like for you three as a family.

As you three had walked towards the shore, the sound of the crackling fire echoed the skies, you had accepted the bowl given to you by the healer, you had watched K’uk’ulkan sit on the sand besides your daughter, reassuring her that things will be alright and when she wakes up they could play in the deeper part of the waters from now on.

You watched as K’uk’ulkan had hand fed your daughter the plant, seeing how your daughter was wincing at the bitter taste of the crushed plant but continued on as her eagerness to be in the waters overcame everything else. You took a deep breath as you finally consumed the plant in one go, your teary eyes closed as you tried your best to eat everything that was in the bowl.

You felt your skin grow jelly and with one of the warriors holding you up, you were assisted onto the sand and as you opened your eyes you saw your daughter now unconscious in the arms K’uk’ulkan. The panic never sets in, as the trust on the man had grown a hundreds of folds since the first time he had asked you to trust him to return to his home. You trusted him more than you would have ever believed you could.

“Thank you for giving me this new life, K’uk’ulkan.” You whispered.

“Ch'ah Toh Almehen.” He spoke, moving your head until they rested on his shoulder.

“What?”

“My real name. My people call me K’uk’ulkan, my enemies call me Namor, but I want you to call me by my birth name.”

You nod, your eyes grow heavy as your last words before darkness consumed you was his name, the name that he had entrusted for you to use from now on as you lived a life away from what you once lived for. No longer were you the Queen Mother of the Raja in Mactan, but now as the last ounce of life in the surface world fades away, you now became the Queen of Talokan, the mother they had always hoped to have in their life and in their community.

You awoke hours later, but instead of the beach from where you had finally made the decision to change, you were in he middle of the water and the first person you had seen was the man that had saved you. A smile on his face as he pointed towards the side and your eyes had caught sight of your daughter, freely playing with the children in the middle of the waters—breathing through the waters just as much as you and K’uk’ulkan did.

You smiled, holding onto the man’s hands and before you know it you pulled him into a kiss—sealing your fate as the Queen of Talokan and eventually the wife of the great King and God of Talokan.

#k'uk'ulkan x reader #K'uk'ulkan oneshot #K'uk'ulkan oneshots #K'uk'ulkan fluff #K'uk'ulkan imagines #K'uk'ulkan imagine #namor x reader #namor oneshot #namor oneshots #namor imagines #namor angst #K'uk'ulkan angst

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siriustreasure · 2 years

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being corpse husband’s daughter would include:

a/n: these headcanons were written with the idea of y/n’s mother not being involved. ++ find part 2 here <3

warnings: like one swear word, me rambling? 😎

he’d “cherish the fuck out of” you. probably the most loved kid ever let’s not lie.

so many hugs and lots of quality time whenever you want, no matter how old, you’d always be his little princess.

he probably wouldn’t make a big announcement about you, he’d just mention you very briefly in a stream, as if everyone already knew which would obviously result in his chat freaking out. he’d clear up some very basic/general questions like “what’s being a dad like?”, maybe even address “so you have a girlfriend?” one thing he definitely wouldn’t share is your real name. potentially even your age - he won’t even reveal when he got cinnamon so… yeah, i wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t share your age. he might let the chat come up with an alias for you though. that’d be so stinkin’ cute.

he’d let you sit on his lap while playing games by himself or with friends, as long as they weren’t streaming and the game wasn’t too scary for you.

he’d also let you play on stream/with his friends sometimes - he’d start and then all of a sudden your voice would be heard with his faint laughter in the background as everyone loses their shit. {here’s a fic based on this - not posted yet <3}

he’d definitely makes use of parental control settings on any technology you have whilst you’re younger. wouldn’t want you finding any of his songs lmao.

wouldn’t post many pictures of you, even if they were faceless. he might post like one of you wearing a new merch design from behind/with you covering your face or with you face cropped out and because he hasn’t said anything about you, or has said very little, twitter freaks out whilst they try to figure out if he’s got a daughter, a niece, if your one of his friend’s or if you’re just some random kid model.

he’d try his best to do/take care of your hair and would do a pretty good job but, especially if it’s curly like his, would struggle to at least some extent - particularly when it comes to styling due to the liberal and overly dramatic use of “ow”.

i could totally see corpse opting to at least try having you homeschooled. not self indulgent ssh. like {keep in mind i have a lot to catch up on in terms of corpse ‘lore’, if you will} with his anxiety and consequent difficulty/hesitancy to leave his apartment sometimes, he might view homeschooling as fairer for you because then you wouldn’t miss school if he wasn’t able to take you.

he wouldn’t dismiss any of your thoughts or feelings no matter your age, or topic - medical, safety in a place, trust of a person, whatever. he’d always listen and take necessary/appropriate action.

you’d literally be inseparable. best buds. idc.

he’d make you a mini him like once, as a joke, for halloween or something and nobody can tell me otherwise.

idk i feel like corpse isn’t that great of a cook… so y’all would probably have pretty ‘basic’, ‘just chuck it in the oven’ food or takeaways. and cereals for breakfast. hey at least the foil can’t best you. actuallyyyy wait, you’d make kinda shitty homemade food together like pizza that’s basically ketchup on bread w/ toppings. and always somehow make a very big mess in the kitchen. y’all would basically learn to cook together. eventually.

idk if all of corpse’s tattoos have colour but if they don’t, he’d 100% let you colour them in for him.

nail polish king 🥲 he will paint your nails, if you want, and he will do a good job. thank you very much. will even help you with eyeliner too when you’re older.

also y’know those bead bracelets he wears sometimes? you better make him some so he can show them off to everyone. and necklaces, picture that with his chain imma cry. and rings. sobbing.

#corpse husband #corpse husband x you #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband x daughter reader #corpse x you #corpse x reader #corpse x y/n #corpse imagine #corpse husband imagine #corpse x daughter reader #corpse x child reader #corpse husband x child reader #corpse husband x child! reader #corpse husband x daughter! reader

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arabellasleopardcoat · 5 months

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Lookalike (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Inside the highest tower of the Red Keep, lives a girl with long silver hair...

Warnings: Oh man. What a trip. Rapunzel, innocence kink, daddy issues, cursing, mature language. Light groping, kissing. Daemon, and all his usual warnings. Manipulation. I tried to make it whimsical. You know, a fairy tale.

Requested: Yup. For the bingo. Daemon + retelling of another story. Posted it early because I couldn't sleep last night so I stayed up finishing this.

Once upon a time, in a far away land called Westeros, lived a King and a Queen. The Queen was a beautiful woman, with hair made of spun silver and gold.

The King and the Queen had a daughter, a bright girl called Rhaenyra. They loved her deeply, but as many powerful men behind him, the King could not help but wish for a son.

When the Queen had carried Rhaenyra, her pregnancy had been harsh. She had struggled to fall with child, and when she had, she had been sick the whole time. The Queen was not too sure if she could withstand another pregnancy.

“My love, I need my heir.” The King said to her. “You must help me and try again.”

“But husband, you know we cannot. The Maester said pregnancies were too rough on me."

“If I can't have my heir, I fear I will lose my throne!”

So the Queen decided to try again. Soon, she was with child. Yet, the Queen could feel something was different, this time. She got twice as large as she was when she was carrying Rhaenyra, her body ached even more. Only the hottest baths could soothe her abundant pains.

“This pregnancy is not normal, not normal at all.” Said the Maester, when examining the Queen. “I fear the delivery will be hard.”

And hard it was. For there was not one baby but two. A girl and a boy, a moon and a sun. The parents only found out when the Queen was unable to deliver the baby, and the King, believing it to be his precious heir, ordered the Maester to cut her open.

Wailing into the world they came, shrieks so loud they rose half the Red Keep. Every bell in the city was toiling for them. The King named his heir Baelon. The girl, the little moon, was forgotten. That was you.

Too young to know it then, your first hours were spent in your sister's arms, both of you forgotten in favor of the new heir. But it was barely hours at all when your little brother passed away.

At the funeral, the King was the picture of despair. His Queen was dead by his hand, his heir lasted no longer than a day. Now a father to a baby girl he didn’t know how to care for, and an unruly maiden.

Perhaps, sensing his despair and hoping to offer some words of comfort, and Arryn cousin took you from him and gasped:

“By the Sevens! If she is the very image of Aemma as a babe.” No one took in consideration that this Arryn cousin was not, in fact, older than the Queen.

“Is she?” The King asked, on the verge of tears. Your father could not stop remembering your mother’s face, as the Maester aided your entrance into the world. Her cries haunted him even in his sleep. He was turning into a decaying corpse, from inside out, guilt rotting him alive. “Rhaenyra, come here.”

“Father?”

“Does she look like your mother?”

Your sister squinted at you. You yawned, a toothless, sweet thing. Rhaenyra wasn't very knowledgeable about babes, but she liked you. You had grabbed into her finger the first time you had seen her, tiny fingers turning into the most adorable rings.

“She has her beauty.” She answered, politely. The King hummed, an idea sparkling into his head. Soon, the highest tower in the Red Keep was being repurposed, and the Hand relocated.

Nine and ten years later, that brings us to you, in a continent named Westeros. Inside it, Seven Kingdoms. Inside them, a city called King's Landing. Inside the city is a castle. In the castle, a tower. In the tower is a room. In the room, a girl. You.

You stared at your reflection, squaring your shoulders. You gave yourself a big smile.

“Father, I want to try claiming a dragon.” You repeated to the mirror, before shaking your head. “No, no. Too disrespectful. Lord Father, I was wondering if I could go and try to claim a dragon?”

The reflection did not answer. You frowned. You didn't like groveling, but you weren't too sure of what else you could do. Perhaps, sending him a note would be better.

As the youngest sister of the heir to the Iron Throne, you had led a sheltered life. Even more so, as the spitting image of his late wife, according to your father. When looked in the right light, your eyes were the same shade hers had been. And the way you spoke did resemble the short, clipped speech of the Vale.

No one dared question those things, even though your accent had been ensured by your father by providing you with tutors only from that region. The King was very protective of you, set on expiating his guilt over the death of your mother by ensuring your safety.

All of your care had been provided by him after her death. Viserys knew nothing about child-rearing, but refused to let any servant touch you beyond the wet nurse. You grew into a child, and your father didn't even know how to cut your long, silver hair.

Years passed, and soon you learned to take care of yourself. Used to long hair as you were, you never thought about cutting it. Instead, your mind was preoccupied with more urgent matters. For example, how could you get out of the Red Keep.

Sometimes, your father's protection turned overbearing. Unlike your older sister, you were not allowed to leave the castle. Nor had you been allowed to partake in the activities other young ladies did. The only way you had managed to know the world around you had been through your books and observations.

Your rooms were in the tallest tower in the Red Keep, ensuring you would be kept safe from intruders and even invaders, if such a thing ever came to pass. You had double the guards Rhaenyra and Viserys did. Instead of providing his new Queen with a sworn shield, he had chosen to devote all the Kingsguard to you.

While you knew your tower had been used for other things before, it had clearly been refurnished. Now, it worked as a castle of its own, inside which you had a tiny kitchen, bathing quarters, rooms, and a library. The idea was that you would never need anything outside it. A tiny universe, just for you. You had plenty of space for your books and trinkets, but it made for a lonely existence.

Each time there were unknown men roaming the Keep, you got sent back to your tower. Your father didn't like the idea of you being married off or corrupted by them. You were too precious, too good. He had said that when the day came, he would find you a good match. One that, you suspected, would keep you close to home. Perhaps Aegon, or one of your cousins in the Vale.

If you married at all, of course. Your father had gone through a phase of encouraging your faith in the Seven, in the hopes of you deciding to be a Septa. If you did, the King would be most pleased, for it would mean you would never suffer the same fate as your mother.

You wanted neither. What you wanted more than anything was to see the world, do the things Rhaenyra told you happened outside the Red Keep. And according to you, it would all get started if you got your own dragon.

With a dragon, you would be protected. Your father always used your lack of one as an argument for denying you the experiences ladies your age had. Your egg had not hatched, but if you claimed one, you would surely be allowed to leave.

Unfortunately, what was required to be able to bond with a dragon had been deemed too dangerous for you. King Viserys had banned you from the dragon pit, arguing that dragons could be unpredictable.

Today, you had been sent back to your tower due to an impromptu visit from your Uncle Daemon. You knew the man by reputation only, by how much he angered your father. If there was one person who you were prohibited from speaking to, it was him.

You had heard the rumors, of course. A few years back, after your mother's passing, he had taken Rhaenyra to a pleasure house. Whatever had happened inside was between her and him. To your father, though, it was enough to keep you away from him.

Smile. Square your shoulders. Try again to assert yourself. You eyed your reflection once again, wondering how you could convince the King to let you try to get a dragon. Outside, something scraped against a rock, again and again. Curious, you went to the window.

On the very base of your tower, there was a man hopelessly attempting to climb upwards. He was very dashing, sporting the same silver hair you did, only much shorter.

“Who are you?” You asked, slightly frightened. In truth, you were not used to strangers being so close to you. Your father always said men were dangerous, and that outside the Red Keep there were aberrant creatures, mean and ruthless, that hurt young maidens for their enjoyment. “Step away from my tower, or I shall call my guards!”

The man ignored you, choosing instead to stab a sword between the rocks that made up your tower. You screamed, alarmed.

“Stop that! That's not allowed, you are damaging my tower.”

The man ignored you, trying to use his sword to climb. He grunted in exertion. You ran towards your chambers and filled a jar with water. Then, you ran back to your window and dumped it on his head.

The man shrieked and fell down the few meters he had managed to progress. You laughed, startled.

“Aren't you a fearsome thing?” He muttered to himself. Then, he looked up at you, with the most purple eyes you had ever seen. “Please, Princess. Help me out.”

“Why should I? You are an intruder.” You glared down at him, not even entertaining the notion, but deciding to play along regardless. In truth, you were curious about him. And starved for companionship.

“I am being chased.” He screamed up at you, frantically looking behind him. “Please, help me.”

You leaned down towards your window, bracing your arms on the edge of it.

“Bad business, that.” Your voice was cheery and woefully uninterested. This was the most exciting that had happened to you in years, you were not about to stop it. But at the same time, you did remember all of your father's warnings. There were people out there that were not kind.

“Damn it, you are just like Aemma. Pair of cynics.” He cursed, and started to try to retrieve his sword. Your eyebrows raised.

“You knew my mother?”

The man looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun with a hand. He squinted at you. His bone structure reminded you of someone.

“I did.”

Your mother. A cynic. You smiled. No one had ever told you about her, not beyond all those polite things everyone said about the dead. How kind she was, how beautiful and learned. It did nothing to make you feel closer to her, these empty platitudes. They were generic, they could be talking about any woman.

Your father never went beyond that, either. The Aemma he talked about was an idolized version of her, a woman frozen into a perfect state of likeness to the Mother. He didn't allow anyone to contradict him, not even Rhaenyra. When you were younger, she had told you your mother had been hesitant about having another pregnancy, and struggling to carry another baby to term. Your father had banned her from visiting you during the next six moons.

But this stranger was speaking of her as if he knew her well. Your heart ached to know more about your mother, know the real her. It was enough to help you make your choice. You gathered your hair and threw it down the window.

“Come up then.” You ordered.

The man looked at the mass of hair in bewilderment. He touched a strand of it, fascinated by the way it picked up the light. He did not move.

“Use it as rope. You won't hurt me.” Were all men so dumb? Surely, if this one was so slow, he could not be a threat.

“Of course. Magic hair. Fucking Viserys.” The man started to climb. He got quickly inside, panting with exertion.

“You know my father, too?” Your body tensed. This, you did not like. What if he was one of the men that were supposed to visit the castle today? One of those who corrupted and hurt young maidens?

Your heart started to beat harder and harder. You tried to convince yourself he might not be a bad man. Perhaps, he had met the King through your mother. Regardless, you turned away from him, keeping your voice and posture deceivingly calm.

“Would you like some water?” You did not wait for an answer, starting to move towards the kitchen. You reached into a cabinet, as if searching for a cup.

The man followed. You could hear his footsteps on the stone floor.

“I do know your father.” His voice was strange. As if he were realizing he was making a mistake but couldn't pinpoint why. Uninterested, you took out a cup. “He is a great King.” He added, hurriedly. Just in time for you to grab a pan, turn and smack it against his head as hard as you could.

The man dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. You hiked up your skirts and rushed to his side. Kneeling by him, you took a closer look at his sword and grinned. You had seen it before. In your books. That was Dark Sister, Visenya's sword.

You had caught Daemon Targaryen. What better proof to show your father that you were not helpless? You tied him to a chair and gagged him for good measure. Then, you pushed him inside your bathing quarters. Only then did you call for a guard.

“Could you summon my father? I need him.” The guard bowed, but didn't speak. Most of them didn't. Your father said they weren't allowed to.

Despite not receiving an answer, you knew your father would be here soon. He always came when you called. You placed a kettle in the fire. Before it could boil, King Viserys was already there.

“Dear.” The King kissed your forehead. You tried not to wrinkle your nose at the smell of herbs and milk of the poppy. Your father always smelled like a medicine cabinet. “As beautiful as your mother, like always.”

You smiled.

“Father. Tea is not ready yet, but sit.” You pointed to your small parlor. When you were a child, the two of you had used to pretend you were a great lady, hosting tea parties there. It had been how he had taught you courtly manners.

The memory was bittersweet. Your father was good to you. He had raised you as best as he could, loving you more fiercely than any of his other children. It was not your intention to upset him, but you knew this topic would do exactly that.

“Were you lonely, my heart?” The King settled on one of the loveseats. You sat across from him.

“I did miss you.” You gave him a coy little look. “But I asked you to come for something else.”

“Do tell.”

“Father. I think I am ready to claim a dragon.” You rushed to say, almost tripping over your words. Already, you could see how his expression was clouding over, a storm raging behind his eyes.

“You know you are not.” The King answered, sternly. “It's too dangerous.”

“I can handle myself.” You fought for your tone to remain even. If it came out too angered, your father would say you were hysteric or having a tantrum, and refuse to take you seriously. So was the curse of being a woman.

“My heart, you have never stepped out of this tower.”

And you had not. But what did dragons care about one's knowledge of the world? You had read about dragons bonding with babes, sharing their cradle with them. To claim one, being well traveled or wise was not required. One had to be chosen, that was all.

You raised your hands in the air, palms up, as if placating a beast.

“I don't want you to get upset, Father. I wanted to prove to you that I am capable, too.” You got up and opened the door to your bathing quarters. “Do not be scared.”

The bound Daemon was still gagged, inside the tub. This time, though, he was awake. Upon seeing his brother, he immediately started screeching and squirming, making up a ruckus.

“Shh.” You said to him, kicking the tub a little. He was turning out to be a very annoying guest. “As you can see, Father, I caught him.”

“And you put him in the tub.” The King said, perplexed.

“He was dripping water all over my floors.” But your explanations fall on deaf ears, since your father has already moved on from his shock. He grabbed Daemon's shirt, forcing him to sit upright.

“Haven't I told you this tower is out of limits?” The King barked at him. “I will throw you into the deepest, more dark and humid dungeon I can find, and then I will…”

“Father.” You did not like being ignored. Daemon was a secondary concern, you just wanted to know if you were allowed out now.

Yet, your father seems to think the issue was an entirely different thing.

“Oh. Sorry, dear. What father meant is that Uncle Daemon has been very bad.” He gave him a shake for good measure.

“I can tell.” Your tone was flat. “Have I proven myself enough to be allowed to try to claim a dragon?”

The King let go of Daemon. He turned towards you and tenderly started checking you over for injuries.

“I would die if something happened to you.” He answered, evasive. You didn't need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. It was too dangerous. It was a no.

Five more long days went by. Poor you, having to stay all day in your tower. After Daemon, your father had now deemed it too dangerous to allow you to roam the Red Keep. It was the tower and nothing more. All you could do was sing Old Valyrian songs and look out the windows. Sometimes, birds would chirp from above, and you would feel slightly better, as if they were singing with you.

Perhaps it had been your song, what had led him to you. Perhaps it had been his own guilty consciousness for a sin long forgotten, or a sliver of empathy for the lonely girl in the tower up above. Whatever it was, before the sixth day came to an end, Daemon appeared under your window.

“Princess, Princess, let your hair down.” You heard him say. You walked to your window, curiously. Daemon was back!

“Come down if you want to be free.” The Prince ordered. “I do not have much time.”

His words stilled you. Freedom. Your father often said freedom was a dangerous thing. If you let people make their own choices, it was much more likely that they would choose unwisely. That was why you were kept in the tower, safe from the world and bad decisions. As long as King Viserys controlled your life, you would be protected.

But what if you left? What if you ran, jumped out of your tower and made your way to Dragonstone to get your dragon? You imagined a version of yourself, dress fluttering in the wind like a flag as you ran, barefooted in the sand. You imagined yourself feeling the sun in your face, having your first cup of mead or watching a parade.

Then you imagined yourself tripping and falling into the sea. You didn't know how to swim. No one saw the need to teach you such a thing. You imagined yourself at the parade, getting robbed. You imagined a man, trying to hurt you. What if people out there, what if Daemon, were truly as wretched as your father said they were?

Your face must have shown your distress because Daemon, impatient, shouted something more.

“I won't hurt you.” The Prince raised his hands in surrender. “I will not tell you I am a good man, but I will take you to Dragonstone.”

His honesty was what sealed the deal. You threw your hair down, grabbed one of your warmest cloaks, and shouted for him to loop your hair around a branch and not let go.

Daemon obeyed. You jumped, and as your feet hit the floor, you wished to be able to say you didn't look back. But you did. And as you saw the silhouette of your tower getting smaller and smaller in the distance, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness deep in your chest.

Noticing how quiet you have gotten, Daemon adjusts your cloak and gives you a grin.

“Do you want to ride Caraxes?” He asks. You match his grin, sadness nearly forgotten. There is a whole world out here, begging to be explored. You can be sad later when the adventure ends.

Caraxes is the most bewitching creature you have ever seen. He is red and serpentine, looking so much like the drawings of dragons you used to do as a child. You nearly scream in excitement.

Daemon whispers to him to stay calm, but Caraxes seems to sense your happiness, for he keeps trying to correspond your loving pets.

“Oh, by the Seven Hells.” The Prince pushes you towards the saddle. “If neither of you stop the tail wagging, we are going to get caught.”

“And we don't want that.” You agree, kissing Caraxes' scales one last time.

Caraxes gives another excited, full-body wag. He seems to be preening under the attention. Daemon must not praise him very much, which is a shame.

“You are such a good boy. So pretty, too.”

Caraxes preens even more. It makes his body shake, tail hitting against the floor in an ominous beat. Daemon groans.

“Enough, enough.” The Prince grabs you by the waist and gets you up in the saddle. You shriek in laughter. Caraxes appears to be happy about it, too, since he starts spreading his wings. “We are going to get caught.”

Daemon jumps into the saddle, hugging you tightly to him. You squirm, unused to the closeness of another human being. When your father and Rhaenyra touch you, it's never like this.

Daemon feels overwhelming, in the best kind of way. His chest is firm, and his smell surrounds you. His arms around your waist hold you tight, but remain loose enough to not hurt you. Your hips fit snugly against his, and make something you can't yet name stir in your lower belly.

It's different. It's strange. You want it to stop. Why do you feel so nervous, as if Caraxes was suddenly dropping down and not barely getting ready to fly?

“Soves, Caraxes.” Daemon orders, careful not to scream in your ear. “Are you alright, little Princess?”

You cease your squirming, hoping that he doesn't notice whatever is different with you.

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“You keep squirming as if there were ants inside your bodice. Are you uncomfortable?” The Prince snickers by your ear, pressing a soft kiss right by the top of it. What happens next is impossible to hide. Your body gives a shiver, all of your hairs standing up. The sensation is as confusing as it is pleasant.

“My stomach feels funny.” You complain, knowing that it isn't exactly that, but close enough that he probably won't question it.

“Funny how?” Daemon kisses behind your ear. You make a hurt, confused noise. You have been kissed before, but never there. In your experience, kisses are not this devastating.

“Funny.” You refuse to elaborate because while naive, you are not dumb. This must be precisely why your father wanted you away from men. If they were able to inflict so much pleasure, it was no wonder why maidens let them do whatever they wanted to them.

“Does it hurt, little Princess?” One of his palms goes to your lower stomach, pressing slightly. “Here?”

You squirm. So he definitely knows.

“Yes.”

“Hurts? Or…?” Daemon's hand goes dangerously low, nearly pressing between the parting of your legs. You squirm more. He brushes something that makes you jolt, delighted.

“We shouldn't.” You answer. It would be much more convincing if you were not relaxing into him. He laughs right in your ear, but retracts his hand.

Even with his hands away from your most sensitive areas, you still feel worked up. Your bodice is too rough against your skin, the way Caraxes moves under both of you makes the area between your legs tingle.

You keep your eyes firmly on the sky in front of you. As it starts to change into pinks and yellows, the feeling ebbs and starts to fade. You feel sleepy, so you recline more against Daemon. A tiny yawn escapes you.

“Tired?” Daemon brushes your hair back, much more tenderly than your father would. With your father, the touch is always harsher, more possessive. As if he is always grasping to the last threads of Aemma he can hold. With Daemon, it feels like he is actually touching you.

You hum, soft and sweet.

“Sleep, little one.” He kisses your cheek. “I'll wake you up when we get there.”

The next time you wake up, it is in an unknown bedroom. At first, you panic. The canopy over the bed looks too similar to the one in your tower, and you wonder if perhaps you dreamed it all. Daemon, Caraxes, the flight, your feelings. Then, you get even more scared because the more you look, the more you realize this is not your room.

You get out of bed. You are still dressed in the same dress you were wearing earlier, but your shoes are gone. The door is closed. Fear grips at you. What if Daemon has sold you to someone evil and rotten, as your father says people outside the Red Keep are? What if he is the evil man?

You rush to the door. It opens easily. There is a hallway that looks much like the ones in the Red Keep, but there is no one there. You scream in fear.

Another of the doors opens in the hallway. Daemon, in a sleeping shirt and breeches, runs out.

“Princess!” He hurries to your side. You are crying, you realize, as he wipes away some of your tears. “What is it?”

“I woke up alone, and I didn't recognize…” You sob, softly.

“Oh, little girl.” Daemon scoops you in his arms. “I should have thought of that. I am so sorry.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you look at him, eyes swollen from your crying.

The world had impressed you during the day, but now that the night had fallen, and you found yourself in an unknown castle, you were afraid. What if there were monsters lurking in the hallways? Or if you needed something? What if someone hurt you?

“I do not want to go back there. I am scared.” You rubbed your eyes. Your hands dug into his arm, not wanting to let go of him.

“Do you wish me to keep you company while you fall back asleep?” Daemon asked, gently smoothing your hair down. You must look a mess, and would find it embarrassing were it not for the fact that being alone in such a big place terrifies you. At this point, you would do anything to keep him here.

“Please.” No more words are needed. Daemon doesn't want you to beg, nor does he want anything in exchange. It's comforting.

One of his hands goes to your shoulder blades, leading you back to the room. Daemon tucks you in and sits by your side.

“I'll stay until you fall asleep.” He says, smoothing down your frown with the gentlest touch. Daemon starts to hum in High Valyrian, softly. You know the melody. It's about flames and burning together. Almost against your will, your eyelids start to drop.

“Don't… Don't want you to go.” Your body feels so heavy, as if sinking into the mattress. With great effort, you manage to curl your fingers around one of his.

“Oh, Princess.” He says, interlacing your hands.

“Stay.” You order.

Daemon lets go of your hand, and you whine, awake instantly. You go to sit up, but he shushes you.

“Shh. I am just… Let me.” He slides under the covers, behind you. You close your eyes, trying to relax against him. It's no hardship at all. Now that the candles have been blown, the light is low and Daemon feels so warm against you.

He starts to trace your features. Finger meets brow, temple, cheek. Thumb brushes nose, then lips. Idly, so very idly, his voice mutters near your ear.

“How many mouths has yours kissed?”

The question startles you. You suppose there is no harm in telling him, yet there is a tinge of embarrassment over it, too. It has finally dawned on you what this new, uncomfortable, thrilling feeling is. Desire. You lust after Daemon.

“I have…” You answer, softly. You do not dare speak it out loud. Not when you rather know exactly how far the two of you are. “How about you?”

“I have lost count. Twenty, perhaps more so.” Daemon says it so casually, as if it did not matter at all. But to you, it does. What are you, compared to this man? How could you want him in such a manner, having so little to offer?

“What makes it special, then?” There has to be a reason for him to bother with kissing all these people. Perhaps, to him, all kisses feel as devastating as his does to you.

“The person, I would gather.” The Prince answers, softly rubbing your back as one would do to help a child fall asleep. You frown. It does make sense. You know what love is, after all. Being in love with someone, or at least desiring them, must make it special.

You would like to kiss him, you think. Daemon is handsome, and his touch does not feel as damning as other's do. He has already provided you with pleasure, even if unknowingly.

You make a wish, then. For your first kiss to be special, with someone you like and that knows what they are doing. If not Daemon, at least someone like that.

“Was your first special?” You ask, curious.

“No. She was terrible. Sharp teeth and all.” Daemon moves your hair aside, exposing your neck. You barely get any warning before he is taking a bite out of your nape. For a playful gesture, it's oddly painful. Your body tenses, and you try to fight it, but Daemon's hands are like a vice around your waist. “Like this.”

With no other choice, you ride it out. Pain is nearly unfamiliar to you, beyond small cuts or painful cycles. It's scorching red and hot, making you break into a sweat. Daemon forces you to take, and take, gently holding your hands in his. It's only after that you go limp under him, twitching slightly, that he lets up.

The aftermath of pain is sweet, you learn. Daemon kisses around the painful bite and blows a raspberry behind your ear. Now that he has let go of your nape, you find out that the pain was not so bad. You are not even bleeding.

“You are such a good girl.” Daemon praises. “So strong. I'm so proud of you.”

You preen as if you were Caraxes, delighted to make him feel proud of you. Daemon smiles against your temple, as if amused by you, and presses a little kiss there. It’s so tender, and so loving, a sharp contrast to his earlier behavior. It makes you feel as if you were once again on dragonback.

“Could you kiss me?” The words escape out of your mouth, without any real thinking. You know they are the wrong thing to say as soon as they leave your mouth.

Daemon pulls away from you. A hurt, confused noise leaves your throat, hands desperately searching back for his warmth.

“Oh, little Princess.” Daemon mutters, tone full of regrets. “I should not.”

“Why not?” You complain. You are not used to being denied so. The only times others do not bend to your will, you get what you want by your own means. Case in point, leaving your tower. Your father had said no, so you had ensured it happened by other means.

“I have done…. What I have done to you, why I took you…” Suddenly, it is as if an icy hand has taken hold of your throat and started to suffocate you. Betrayal settles over your features, overpowering it all.

“You are only doing this to piss off my father.” You say, shocked. Daemon raises his hands, trying to interrupt you, but you halt him with an imperious wave. “You had no intention of taking me to the dragons. You sought to ruin my reputation, as you did Rhaenyra's.”

“No, Princess, no.” Daemon shakes his head. You get up from the bed, angered. He does not try to stop you. “I swear I didn't mean for anything untoward to happen.”

“I bet you said that back then, too.” You retort. You have half a mind to do something crazy. To grab the fire poker and smash his head with it, to set the whole place on fire. You want to make him hurt.

“I… I did mean to anger your father.” Daemon admits, still trying to placate you. It only makes you wish to scream and scream and never stop. “But I do think it is a shame not to let you even try. Dragons are your birthright. Denying you is unnatural.”

You glare at him. You are unconvinced of the truthfulness of his words. Your father was right. You were unprepared for the world, and it couldn't show more. Daemon has tricked you as easily as if he were taking candy from a babe.

“I'll take you there regardless. I promised to.” His eyes are pleading, but you do not wish to hear him, or see him any longer. Instead, you sit in front of the vanity and look at yourself.

The long, silver hair. The scared eyes. The night, the first you have of freedom, is spent utterly cold and miserable. You stare at yourself and stare at yourself until you think you are going mad.

Daemon does not say a word. He doesn't leave the room, either. Perhaps he falls asleep at some point, perhaps he does not.

You look at your reflection again. You look at your hair. Silver, like his. The lovely color Daemon loves so much. Long, and braided back, flaunting your maidenhood and youth. Forever your father's little girl, never allowed to grow, to love, to lust.

A braid that long won't allow you to claim a dragon. You are more likely to set yourself on fire or trip on it. It's that thought that gives you the determination needed to do what needs to be done.

In the first drawer of the vanity there are a few miscellaneous ribbons. There is also a pair of scissors. You grab it, and grab your braid. You chop it off. As it falls from your shoulder, you feel a weight lift off from you. No longer your nape is heavy with the weight of all these expectations laying on you.

There is a woman staring at you, from the mirror. She looks like she is getting ready for war, eyes alight with determination. You stare at the contours of her face, mesmerized by what you see. All traces of Aemmas's ghost are gone from your reflection. You look more like yourself than you have ever done.

Daemon is up at sunrise. He may have been watching you chop all your hair off and expose the lovely bite mark that now mars the skin of your nape. He may have been sleeping. Whatever it is, he doesn't say a word about your change of appearance, choosing instead to dress in silence.

“Off we go.” He says, briskly, leading you out of the castle. Daemon points to a hill in the distance. “But after that, you are on your own.”

You are suddenly filled with doubt, the determination you had felt when looking in the mirror dissipating under the morning light. Your stomach clenches. Your legs are sore, unused to the exercise of riding. The bite on your neck burns.

"I do not feel ready to claim a dragon.” You say to him, as you get closer and closer to the hill. You feel like a fool. What if your father is right? What if you end this escapade with nothing to show but a ruined reputation?

“You are.” Daemon answers, barely paying attention. It makes you angry beyond belief. To make your mood known, you stomp over a few leaves, grinding them to dust under your heel. Ugh. Why were you looking to him for reassurance in the first place? It was not like Daemon wanted to help you. He just wanted to make himself feel less guilty over trying to cause a scandal and kill your father from the fright.

“I am not.” It’s almost as if you can hear the voice of your father in your head, telling you exactly why no dragon would bond with you. You are a fool, you are a little girl, you…

“You are a Targaryen.” Daemon interrupts your trail of thought with a squeeze to your nape. Right over the bite. It makes your knees nearly buckle. “You were born ready.”

“But what if it isn't enough? What if they see me, and don't want me? I am not brave, like Rhaenyra, or cunning like you or learned like my father. ”

“They will.” Daemon says. “Because you are strong here.” He taps your sternum. “And your father is a fool for not seeing it.”

You look at him. Past the guilt, past the acting up to get your father's attention. His eyes are nervous, but they hold the same steely determination yours had earlier. Daemon believes in you, you realize. You look up at the hill and think to yourself, it is time to see if you can claim a second dragon.

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pinkydevil16 · 2 years

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Aemond targaryen x targaryen reader: part 9

As Y/n laid on her bed, her mind racing with what to do, her mother was speaking to Viserys he had deteriorated so quickly, he had already been a walking corpse which the court had been banned from talking about and now he could barely breath. He had been assured by Alicent that Y/n had accepted the proposal and the houses were to be united, he would miss his granddaughters wedding but he felt content knowing the fights were over and the targaryen house hold would live on. Rhaenyra tried to mention the topic but was told it was handled, her father kissing her hand before she left. Alicent sat by him as he said his last wish, the name Aegon slipping through his lips. Although no one but Viserys would ever know who he spoke about Alicent took it to be her son and watched her husband pass after years of fighting his illness. As maesters entered and left Alicent sat in the corner, drinking from her cup, she was now on her 4th and could still not bring herself to move and declare that her son was king now. She had told Viserys Y/n had accepted the marriage in hopes he would pass quicker thinking his family were whole. She called guards over, demanding they guard Y/n's room, if anyone tried to enter but the Green's they were to cut them down where they stood. Alicent stood, calling for Aegon to be brought to the throne room. It was the declared the kings dying wish for Aegon to be king, Aemond left the throne room quickly to make sure Y/n had not fled. He saw the 6 guards outside her door, and her shouting from inside, she was here still.

Y/n had gotten up from her bed, her decision made, she would reject Aemond's proposal and beg her grandfather to betroth him to Raena or Baela instead if matches for them had no been secured yet. She would offer herself up to marry the Lord whose alliance they needed the most and secure the throne through better means. She did not think it would work but she could atleast try, if her grandfather would not accept she would relinquish and marry Aemond. Y/n changed into a dark blue dress, a more modest cut than her regular dresses to show her maturity. As she went to open the door she realised she could not, the door would not budge no matter the force. She started to slam on the door, screaming for help, she could see the shadows of guards outside her door and begged them to let her out. She had tried to break the door, a dagger in the lock had proved well but the guards had blocked the door so quickly, shoving her back inside.

Rhaenyra and Daemon had heard of her fathers passing and the news of Aegon becoming king, she knew this was the doing of Alicent, her father had always supported her claim to the throne. Now they needed to flee, she had no doubt they would try to remove any threat to Aegon. Rharnyra collected her children and fled whilst Daemon searched for his daughter, he came upon her room covered in guards. Daemon began to fight to get into his daughters room, he would not allow them to keep her captive, as Daemon cut down the second guard Aemond attacked him from behind. Cutting down his back as Daemon span to fight the one eyed man, both shouting at each other as the guards watched but knew this was personal to Aemond who was now next in line for the throne. Y/n kept screaming, as the guards were distracted she managed to get out, seeing her father be attacked by Aemond she shouted grabbing a guards sword and attacking them to get to her father. Aemond knew he had to act fast, knocking Daemon into another guard he was soon forced to his knees as Y/n was grabbed from behind and placed next to her father.

"Now my brother is king there is no need to be nice to you Daemon, we will win this fight and be rid of your wife and those bastard children. We shall send them your head." As he raised his sword to cut into her father Y/n shouted.

"Stop please, please let him go i will marry you Aemond!" Aemond paused looking at her, he smirked slightly.

"My dear Niece i have no reason to let him go, you are already here and you will marry me." Y/n bit down on her lip hard to stop the filth about to spill out, her eyes going darker as she stared up at the man she once called her friend.

"If you let him go i will not fight you, i will do as you say and i will be the perfect wife. But if you kill him i will never stop trying to kill you, you won't be able to sleep or relax because i will always be there waiting to stab you through your god damn eye!" Y/n shouted at him, Daemon disagreed and told his daughter to let him die rather than let Aemond have her. Y/n pulled herself away from the guards walking upto Aemond, placing her hand on his chest she pushed the sword down.

"Please Aemond release him." Aemond pulled his arms around her waist and brought her closer, his hand guiding her head upwards and spoke against her lips.

"Release him, if he can escape the castle that's his own battle." Daemon was shoved down the corridor, looking behind him to see his daughter begging him to leave. They would win the war and bring her home she knew it in her heart. Aemond pulled her attention back to him.

"Let us go declare our engagement and start wedding celebrations" Aemond whispered before capturing her lips, her eyes screwed shut as she let him kiss her, hoping her father would get to his dragon and be gone. She tried to relax against him as he nipped at her lip, his arms pulling her against him until she was tiptoeing, barely holding herself up from how tight she was held. Tapping his chest she pulled away, breathing lightly as the hunger in his eyes only grew, he had a taste now, how could he stop at one kiss.

"We must go and declare our engagement my love. You want to do this honourably right?" He understood her hint, any physical and lustful contact should be halted until the wedding night. He nodded slowly placing her back down and allowing her space to grasp his arm. As they walked she saw her father escape on his dragon, followed by arrows and chanting. Y/n physically relaxed into Aemond allowing him to guide her as she kept her eyes on the outside world.

Okay so this got pretty dark, i wasn't sure if i wanted to go down this route as i had a separate idea to get aemond to try to woo her but i'd already written over half of this. Please let me know what you think of this as i'm honestly not sure if i like it as much i wanted to. I plan for aemond to try to redeem himself btw!

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond the kinslayer #daemon targeryan #aegon targaryen

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 10 months

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The Dragon’s Spoil (Aemond Targaryen x Rivers! Reader) Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Summary: The baseborn daughter with little knowledge of who your Lord father was, your life is caught in the midst of war. The Riverlands are the base for the Greens and the Blacks, dragons loom in the skies, and men die daily, especially within the walls of the cursed Harrenhal. It’s only when a certain one-eyed dragon comes for his retribution. The year is 130 AC and war endures.

A/N: It was good to see people liked the first part, so I’m continuing with this. If you’re not aware, this series will be around 4 parts, sort of following what happens at the end of the dance of Dragons.

I also changed the ending to the final part as initially, Vhagar was going to eat the corpses instead or burn them, but it made me think that Aemond wouldn’t do that. Despite killing pretty much all of House Strong, he will still respects their bodies to give them a respectful funeral rite similar to the cremations Targaryen family members get.

I also promise the next chapter is when it gets most spicy.

Tags: slight mention of threat, some gore at the end.

Wordcount: 1,817

The Dragon’s Ruin

It feels like an eternity when you next see the Prince.

Criston Cole has you dragged away into the kitchen of the castle, throwing a cleaner apron that is not stained in mud. “I’m sure one of the ladies has a spare gown for you to wear.”

There are no true ladies of Harrenhal, only those that were dragged to live here by the husbands if they were willing. You gritted your teeth, finding some reprieve when the Hand leaves the room, only to allow you a short moment to change.

You can’t do much apart from try and drag the mud out from the bottom of your gown, already was it stained and appropriately dirtied from days of labour around the castle. The castellan had made sure you were occupied in cleaning: especially in places that had little to no to see you.

You wipe at your brown kirtle with some water in a bucket close by, changing your previous apron with one that is just as messy as the previous one, except the stains seemed more appropriate for a cook. You tie your long black hair up in a bun, loose ringlets fall and frame around your face and fail to fall back behind your ear.

You’re appropriate when the Hand comes for you again, muttering along the lines of “the Prince wants to see you in his chambers” before you’re dragged by the arm again, through the corridors you’ve known all your life.

It’s not hard to find him: he’s in the same apartment you had previously been cleaning, its fireplace still unlit and ash messily strewn in a manner that had looked to of been discarded. He would be displeased to have his room not the cleanliness of one in the Red Keep.

The One-eyed Prince is situated in a chair by the unlit fire, idly preoccupied in waiting for you as if he had been called to see you and not the other way around. For a moment when you both enter the room, he does not look to address either, and you see in the split second how he does not seem as calm as he usually is.

His hair is thrown forward past his shoulders, long and graceful, he is caught staring with a stare of longing and unknown thoughts. It makes you wonder just what he is thinking, whether he is proud of his doings, or if war has strengthened him into becoming the man he was meant to be.

He is playing at war. You think, staring at him. Boys as green as summer, they think they’re untouchable.

“My Prince,” Criston addresses and the split moment of being with his thoughts bring him back, his eye turning just enough to see you both in his peripheral, “the bastard you called for.”

“Thank you, Cole,” Aemond speaks calmly, though one hand is squeezing his thigh with might that you think he’ll rip the fabric. “You may leave us both.”

Cole obeys like the loyal dog he is, leaving through the doors and closing them shut, leaving you with the man who killed all in a minor House, and what he could do with a girl like yourself.

You could only imagine what Perra was feeling, how she had been lucky to escape with her life. If Aemond had found out that her uncle had been working alongside the Blacks, you were certain her head would have been sent over to him in a lavish box.

She was the daughter of a knightly house. She escaped because her name was important, not yours. You think, and sadness spreads through your chest. If you had been born a lady of some house, you wouldn’t have to worry about the judgement, the hatred. It burnt in the back of your skull knowing they stared when you walked past, whispering the lies about you.

Witch. Sorcerer of Harrenhal. Killer of babes and men.

They had all been lies, though, if you had been a witch, you wished your stares could burn through a man’s skull. The part about killing babes was false when you had rarely seen children born in a place such as this. Harrenhal was not the place that would bring life but take it.

You had been warned that bastards were sterile, never able to create life. It was “to curse them for their unfaithful parents.” Though you did know some bastards could reproduce, you dared think the rumour had been true just for yourself.

Though, you feel rather relieved that you wouldn’t be able to, the constant reminder is enough to make you believe so. You wished you were the witch people called you by, just so you could curse the Prince who had waltzed in and dug up everything root and stem. House Strong could never come back and if they could, the baseborn girl that came from the line could certainly not be legitimised to restrengthen its line.

Aemond is standing from his seat when you blink out of your thoughts, staring at his lips move when you realise he is asking you something. “Who was your father, my Lady?”

My Lady. It stings when you hear that come from him, and you almost laugh at the absurdity. You were everything but a lady. Witch. Sorcerer. You think he uses it to humble you, to remind you of what you were.

“I did not know who,” you answer coolly, “many whispered it had been Ser Simon or Lord Lyonel. Some even said Harwin or the Master of Whispers himself, though I would believe they would be similar in age to me the same way a sibling or cousin would be.”

“How old are you?”

“I am three-and-twenty, my Prince.” You grit your teeth when you say his title.

“And your mother?”

A sad smile appeared on your features, hoping that he did not see it appear before you look away from him. “My mother too, was a mystery I never got to know.”

Aemond hums at your word as he slowly stalks closer towards you. “It is not right for a child not to know their parent.” He speaks causally. “The Mother above can be cruel in most ways.”

“It is the sins of the parents that bring bastards into the world, my Prince, not the Mother.” You say, and when he turns his head to you sharply, you dart away to look elsewhere.

You curse at yourself for overstepping and speaking when you shouldn’t have.

He stares you down with fascination, humming lightly in a singsong tone. “You’re familiar with the Seven, but you were never brought into the Faith?”

“A novice life would not suit me well,” you shrugged, smiling to yourself. “I simply could never remember the prayers. Harrenhal is cold but I would rather prefer these walls than those of cold and dreary Oldtown.”

Aemond chuckles at that and it takes everything not to gawk at him when you hear it. It’s soft and subtle, but it sounds surprising and oddly nice to hear come from him. “I suppose you’re right. My mother always thought I would make a great knight, fighting in tourneys.”

“I suppose we were put here for greater purposes.” You speak, trying not to look as intimidated under his purple-eyed gaze.

He stares at you, not saying much, but his eye flicks through emotions as if flicking through a book. It’s unnerving but it draws you in ever the same as a moth to flame. You’re intimidated, but you’re intrigued to know more about him, even when you feel such conflicting feelings of wanting to see him and the entirety of the Greens burn.

You find your words come easier, and you ask the crucial question that had plagued your mind since the moment he landed in the courtyard. “If you aren’t going to kill me, my Prince, why am I here?”

honestly to him before you find yourself lost in his gaze and you forget everything about hating him.

Aemond draws his hands behind his back to straighten his back and appear taller, towering over you with ease. It’s as if just staring at his features makes you feel lost in his Valyrian beauty, and you forget everything about hating him.

“I need a handmaiden and someone who is most familiar with Harrenhal. You would fit both best, am I correct?” He speaks earnestly.

“That… would be correct.”

He is close enough that you can smell the oils on him, the smell of musk that any proud warrior would wear. It's powerful and overwhelming, but it’s almost as if the way he's standing so close to you is his ploy to make you subservient to him. “My brother will only ask that the prominent line of House Strong is destroyed, not of its baseborn. After all, he had taken… to creating some of his own.”

Oh. He was far from a faithful man, and certainly fit the role of a sloth and licentious King. “My condolences to the Queen.”

Aemond hums amusedly as he traces back to his seat, “I require a fire. I expect you know how to work one?”

“Indeed, my Prince.”

“Very well,” he spoke, his face turning just enough that you see his visible eye, burning with something that makes your heart flutter and your stomach twist, “you will have my undivided protection from all the men in this castle. I swear it on my life.”

It doesn’t make you feel any better to know that, rather you think of one thing that you wish you could ask him aloud, and what about you?

You curtsy rather clumsily, forgetting your footing but playing it off as you leave his chambers, hurrying past Cole who awaits just outside. You almost bump into him as you catch him scowling down at you.

You’re blinking away your confused thoughts, muddled in a worry of feelings and mixed emotions. You hate him, and you should hate him for everything, but his looks and charm were everything that made you feel lured to him.

Standing back in the place you recalled not long before, the courtyard is a sore sight. Blood still cakes the ground, but the bodies are all replaced with a large pile of ash, some mixed with plates of metal and burnt articles of clothing.

Your stomach twists once again as you back away from the sight, turning back as your vision catches something perched on the walls above.

Thinking it was a raven at first, your heart drops when you recognise that no, they’re not birds, but the heads of every member of House Strong.

Your fists clench into your apron and you’re nearly quick to tears as you look away, remembering your job was to collect firewood for Aemond’s chambers.

Hurrying away, you think if there was any way Targaryens were immune to fire.

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #Aemond the Kinslayer #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #aemond targaryen x reader #strong! reader

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octoberclidan · 8 months

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Moving to Kansas

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester x Reader

Request: heyyy, ur a very talented writer!! could i request a fic where sam and dean are on their way to a mission, and when they arrive, they find the reader as the only survivor who has killed the shapeshifter (or whatever u choose), but she's injured? they figure she must be a skilled fighter tho and now all her family is dead, so it ends with them offering her a place to stay at the bunker? hope u like it <3

Masterlist

Story

Dean pulled in opposite a moderately sized family home, the destination that the hunt had brought them to. Sam and Dean had been on a suspected shapeshifter case, and after following all other leads, they were almost sure that it was in this house, posing as a woman in her early 60s. Her husband and daughter along with her two siblings had all been reported as missing by family friends, but she hadn't reported anything herself, and was just going about her daily business as usual.

"How sure are we? We gonna knock on the door or do you want me to go around the back?" Sam asked as he got took his silver knife out of his bag, ready to open his door and step out of the car.

"Let's try and test her first, on the off chance that she's not the shifter, we don't want to traumatise the woman by going after her with a knife". Dean said as he dug his hand into his jacket pocket. "I'll ask for her contact details and give her this pen, it's silver". He showed Sam the pen, and Sam put his knife away and nodded in agreement. They were dressed in their FBI disguises, and they straightened themselves out in the wingmirrors once they got out of the car. They walked up to the door and Dean knocked, but there was no response. Exchanging a glance, Sam tried the doorbell and they waited again, but there was still no response. Sam took his knife out, and Dean took his gun out, giving Sam the go ahead to try the door. Sam tried it, and it wasn't locked, so he pushed the door open before stepping back and letting Dean take the lead with the gun.

The house was silent, but a struggle had clearly taken place. They walked through to the kitchen, where the table was in its side, the chairs scattered across the room, plant pots and plates smashed on the floor, and blood was everywhere. They left the kitchen and froze when they heard a creak above them. Dean nodded to the staircase, and Sam nodded back, following closely behind as they made their way upstairs. Dean opened a bedroom door and was greated by three still bodies. Sam stood in the doorway while Dean checked two of them on the ground for a pulse, but they were gone. "Dean, they're the two siblings, her brother and sister". Sam whispered, nodding at the two corpses on the ground where Dean was. "And that one's her husband". He gestured towards the man lying on the bed.

"Okay, so that leaves the daughter and the woman, and I think we now know the shifter has definitely been here. It could still look like the woman, or it could look like daughter by now". Dean said as he reached for the man on the bed's neck. "Gone too". Sam kept a lookout while Dean cleared the room, and he was just about to join Sam when a noise came from the room across the hall. With their weapons at the ready, they quietly walked across the hallway to a closed door, and Sam pushed in open before stepping back to let Dean in.

Their eyes were immediately drawn to the suspect, or rather, two copies of the suspect, identical and on the ground beside one another. They shared a confused look while Sam knelt down beside them check for pulses and to test his knife on both of them. He looked up at Dean. "They're both dead, one is the shifter, the other is human".

"So... the daughter? Where's she?" Dean looked around the room and stopped when he saw another door. "Sam". He whispered to his brother, nodding at the door. Sam looked towards it and stood up, raising his knife as he quietly moved to the door. They were silent as Sam pulled open the door to a bathroom, but before either of them could react to the movement inside, Sam was pinned against the door with a knife only an inch from his neck. He dropped his own knife in surprise and stared down at the woman who had pushed him.

Holding his hands up in defence he glanced to Dean over her head, who was holding up his gun and pointing right at her. "We're not here to hurt you, we're here to help". Sam said to her. "I'm Sam, that's my brother Dean behind you. The guy with the gun. Want to take your knife away from my neck?"

"Tell him to put his gun away first". She reached up to press the side of her knife against his neck, narrowing her eyes at him. All she knew was that her family had been killed by something that looked like her mother, something that tried to kill her too, and now these two strange men in cheap suits were outnumbering her.

"Dean". Sam said, nodding at him to let him know it was okay. Dean nodded back and lowered his gun, and she lowered her knife and stepped away from Sam. "I'm sorry". Sam said as he looked down at her, before hitting the knife out of her hand and spinning her around so she was pinned to the door. She let out a gasp as he held her there, and Dean was quick to pick up Sam's dropped knife to hold it against her arm. She struggled in Sam's hold for a few seconds, but once they saw there was no reaction to the silver, Sam let go.

"What was that??" She shouted at them. "Who the hell are you two? What the fuck is all of this?"

"We'll tell you everything, okay? But we've got to get you out of here if you don't want to go down for murder". Dean backed away from her to give her space, and Sam followed his lead. "You're bleeding too, you'll have to let me take a look". He noticed that she was breathing quite heavily, and now that he was looking at her properly he could also see the tears that stained her cheeks and how red her eyes were. She was wearing a torn up tank top, several cuts clearly visible on her arms and waist, and her jeans had splotches of blood on them too. They had no idea how long she'd been in that bathroom, not knowing who was dead or alive, not knowing what was going on. "Hey, you have to calm down okay?".

"Calm down? My entire family is dead. I had to stab my own mother because she was trying to kill me". Fresh tears started to escape her eyes as she leaned back against the open door.

"That wasn't your mother, you killed a monster that was disguised as your mother". Sam said to her. "Just come with us, we're staying in a motel a short drive from here. Let us patch you up and explain everything, alright?" He gave her a concerned expression, but she wasn't looking at him. She was looking down at the ground, trying not to catch sight of the two bodies on the floor, not even sure which was her mother and which was her attacker.

"I don't understand". She sniffed, quickly wiping away her tears. Her anger and fear slowly dissolving into confusion and sadness.

"Hey, look, I know this is confusing, but if you just take some time to let the adrenaline wear off and let us look at your injuries, we will explain it, help you process what happened". Sam tentatively reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but he kept it there and she looked up at him, then looked to Dean, who was trying his best to look friendly despite the situation they were in.

"Okay". She whispered.

"Okay. Good. Here, take this". Dean took off his suit jacket and held it out for her. She cautiously walked past Sam and turned around for Dean to help her into the sleeves. She winced as she lifted her right arm, and both of the boys made a mental note to check that arm. Dean closed the jacket around her once both of her arms were in, and he slipped his arm around her waist, making sure his body shielded her from the sight of the bodies, and pushed her gently back out to the hall. "Check the rest of the house then meet us at the car". He said to Sam over his shoulder, then proceeded to help her down the stairs, noticing that she also had a slight limp in one of her legs.

He opened the back door to the Impala and she slid in. He wanted to say something else, something to comfort her, but knowing what she'd just been through he couldn't think of anything that would help. He got in the driver's side and they sat in silence. He glanced at her in the rearview mirror, she was staring out the window, shaking slightly. "You cold Sweetheart?" He asked her and she shook her head no. "What's your name?" He asked.

"[Y/N]".

"[Y/N]? It suits you". He noticed the tiniest upturn of her lips and he relaxed back into his seat. He wasn't the best at comforting people, or the whole emotion thing, but there was something different about her. He wanted to make her feel better. The passenger door opened and Sam slid in, tucking his knife back into his bag.

"It's all clear, let's get out of here". He said and Dean nodded, turning on the engine and pulling away from the kerb. The short drive back to the motel was quiet. Only having one survivor was not a successful hunt, especially when that one survivor was injured, their entire family dead, and the boys hadn't even killed the shifter, the survivor had. Sam opened [Y/N]'s door and held out his hand for her to take, which she did, mumbling a quiet thank you to him. Once they were in the room, he told her to sit on one of the beds while he got the first aid supplies ready.

"I'm gonna get us some food, Sammy will patch you up, he's better at that than I am. You good with diner food?" Dean asked [Y/N] and she nodded at him. Dean left and Sam pulled over a chair from the corner of the room to sit in front of her, his legs either side of hers.

"Let's get that jacket off you and take a look, I want to see that arm and make sure nothing's broken. Can I help you out of it?" He asked.

"Yeah. Thank you". She was quiet now, nothing like the woman who'd pinned him against the door earlier, the adrenaline was definitely wearing off.

"[Y/N], was it?" He asked and she nodded as he helped pull her arms out of the jacket sleeves. "I'd say nice to meet you, but under better circumstances we wouldn't have had to meet". He offered her a sympathetic smile and began turning her right arm over in his hand, lifting it up and back down again. "It's not broken, or dislocated anyway, I think you just pulled a muscle. Can I have a look at those cuts? If they're deep I'll have to stitch them up. I don't know if you wanna just take your top off if you have a bra on underneath, or I can try and work around it?"

"I'll take it off, it's ruined anyway". She started to pull the hem of her top up, but with the dried blood, it stung as it pulled away from her skin. "Shit this hurts". She laughed and paused, taking a deep breath.

"Hang on, I'll get some water and wet it, it should come off more easily then". He stood up and made his way to the bathroom, and she sat there staring out into the room. She still had no idea what was going on, but she had calmed down a little bit. Still in shock, it wasn't quite real yet that her entire family was gone. She'd found her aunt and uncle dead in her old room, then watched her mother tear her father apart, she'd fought with her, she'd been hurt by her, then she'd seen her mother dead on the floor of her parents' bedroom. She'd never been so convinced that she was living a nightmare, how could her mother be dead while also attacking her? They'd fought and fought until she finally won and hid in the bathroom, where she'd cried in fear for hours. However, she felt safe in that motel room. Whoever those two men were, whatever they were, she felt safe with them. She was brought out of her thoughts by a cold sensation on her lower stomach, and she flinched back. "Sorry, sorry, it's a little bit cold". Sam was back sitting in front of her, a grimace on his face as he held a cold washcloth under her ripped tank top on her stomach. "I'm gonna start pulling it up, but if it's too painful let me know and I'll stop, alright?"

"Okay". She nodded and gripped the bedsheet under her bracing for the sting. Sam's plan worked though, and it was only a mild sting as he slowly brought it farther up over her head, dabbing at the dry blood along the way. He looked over the cuts on her arms, they were mostly just scratches that just needed to be cleaned, which he did with an alcohol wipe from his first aid kit.

"Okay, this one on your side is going to need some stitches. I have some numbing cream, so I'll put that on and let it sit for a few minutes, then I'll stitch it up and cover it with a bandage. Is that okay with you?" She had mostly been avoiding looking at him directly, but she looked up at him to tell him it was okay, and she'd never seen such genuine concern in someone's eyes before.

"Thank you". She said and he shook his head.

"We should be the ones thanking you, you're the one who killed the monster". He said just as Dean came back through the door with a couple of paper bags in his hand.

"You giving her the talk?" He asked as he set them down on the small table and began to take containers out of it.

"Haven't yet, you wanna do it while I stitch her up?" Sam asked and Dean shrugged before lifting the small table up and carrying it over to the bed. He sat down beside her and told her to help herself to the selection of food he'd bought. While they ate, Dean explained how they were hunters, how they spent their time researching monsters, looking for cases, fighting monsters, and saving people.

"So.. it was a shapeshifter, not my actual mother that I stabbed?"

"That's right, it was a monster. We'd actually been tracking it for awhile, it was a smart one. Guess it messed up by choosing you". Dean said as he popped his last fry into his mouth. Sam was cleaning up the supplies, happy with the stitches he'd done. He'd already helped her into one of his flannels, much too big on her but she didn't mind, and Dean had given her a pair of his sweatpants since her jeans were covered in blood.

"So it was just luck that I happened to grab a silver knife when we were fighting in the kitchen, before I ran to my mom's room. If I'd picked up a stainless steel one I'd be dead too?"

"I wouldn't say it was all luck. You seem to have pretty good reflexes, not many people can surprise us and pin one of us against a door". Dean chuckled at Sam who had just finished packing the first aid supplies away into his bag.

"How many are there?"

"Shapeshifters?"

"Monsters".

"Don't know, thousands". Dean said.

"Hundreds of thousands". Sam said as he sat down in front of them again. "But, not all of them are bad. One of our old friends is a werewolf. He's actually a hunter himself when he's not too busy with his family".

"His family?"

"Yeah, they're all werewolves, but they don't hunt people. There's actually quite a lot of supernatural beings that just keep to themselves, lots of them didn't choose who they were, you know? We even met a shifter once who worked as a therapist because she wanted to help people". Sam smiled at her. "One of our best friends is an angel too, I think you'd like him".

"An actual angel? So... heaven's real?" She asked.

"Yeah, we've actually been there". Dean gave a dry laugh before noticing her expression. "They're in a better place". He gently patted her thigh and she swallowed back a lump in her throat, the image of her dead family members still fresh in her mind.

"I want to kill the bad ones. I want to do what you guys do". She quickly wiped her eyes before any tears could drop. Sam and Dean exchanged a look before Sam spoke up.

"It's dangerous, what we do. Hunters get seriously hurt, they die. You'd never have a normal life, you'd never be safe". He said to her.

"Well I wasn't safe living my normal life, was I? Or my mom, my dad, my aunt and uncle? They were all living their normal lives. How many people are hurt or killed by monsters?"

"A lot" Sam admitted.

"I'm alone now. I have no family. I can't just... go back to my normal life, it's not there anymore". She turned to look at Dean. "Can you teach me? About monsters". He gave her a long hard look before sighing.

"We'll teach you. But you'll need to do physical training too. And you won't be able to go on an actual hunt until both myself and Sam are happy with how much you know. Got it?"

"Got it". She nodded. "So do you just like, go from motel to motel?" She asked and heard Sam chuckle in front of her, so she turned to him.

"Not anymore, we have something better than that". He smiled at her. "How do you feel about moving to Kansas?"

The end

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dedicatednotobsessed · 1 year

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Bound in Fire and Blood [Aemond Targaryen x Reader]

Previous chapter || Series masterlist || Other HOTD stories [requests open]

Summary: You are the younger twin sister of Aemond Targaryen and the second youngest child to King Viserys and Queen Alicent. Growing up you were extremely close to your twin brother, practically inseparable and as you continued to grow, you realized your feelings for him were more than just a sibling love….

TRIGGER WARNING: This is a story of incest (obviously, it’s Game of Thrones). It contains strong depictions of sexual content and blood. Please read at your own risk.

Warnings in this chapter: Contains spoilers from the book that have not appeared in the show yet and contains the death of a child.

Chapter Twenty-Two: A Son For a Son

The room fell silent when the Green Queen chose her younger sister’s daughter. The tears rolled down your cheeks looking over at Helaena. You could not feel too much anger with your dear sister because you would have chosen one of her children if it were you, Maelor perhaps since he was still too young to remember this event.

The bulkier man clicked his tongue. “Tha’ ain’t a son, now is it?”

No, Aemond was unfortunate enough to only have a daughter. Some tales mention that he named his sole child his heir, however, others say how he was disgusted not only by his daughter but by his wife. Most find the latter to be false considering in the true texts, it was stated how the twin green dragons had a bond that none have seen before.

“P-please,” Helaena choked a bit on her words. “I chose, n-now, let us go!”

The two men exchanged a look and the room went silent. With one quick motion, the body of Jaehaerys fell to the ground and the men ran off with his head. Your sister’s screams echoed in the room as you rushed to untie your mother, tears in your eyes. You went for the crying children next, holding them close as Alicent rushed to console Helaena.

Your eyes stayed on the headless corpse of your nephew though, feeling your left eye twitch. Memories of Vhagar snatching Lucerys in her jaws came rushing back through your mind. Another innocent life was taken because of this damn war and it felt as though there was only one person to blame.

"Mama," Vhaenys whimpered out, clutching onto your skirts when you tried to move.

You looked down at your daughter with a small frown as you pulled her close to you. Part of you felt guilt for even thinking that you were thankful for it being one of Helaena’s children instead of your own.

“It is over, sweet one,” You whispered to her kissing the side of her head.

Your eyes wandered over to your elder sister, frowning as her wails echoed throughout the chambers. You slowly let go of the crying children while standing up.

“Mama, stay,” Vhaenys whimpered grabbing onto your skirt.

“I am only going to your father,” You whispered to her with a small smile, your own eyes red rimmed. “I will be back.”

You stroked back her silver hair gently before you pulled away and made your way out of your mother’s chambers. In that moment, you only saw red. It may have been the Blacks who sent the assassins, yet it was your husband’s actions that caused this.

Aemond sat in the same spot he sat in every night: at the table with a single candle lit reading over his book. It was a different one every night. He did not seem to even turn when he heard the door open, knowing who it was.

“Did Vhaenys give you any trouble tonight? Why are you late?”

You clenched your jaw as you glared at the back of Aemond’s head. “Because of you, your nephew is dead.”

Aemond furrowed his brows as he turned towards you. “Do not start with this, Y/N. Not again.”

You felt your bottom lip quiver, the tears fresh in your eyes. “An eye for an eye, a son for a son,” You choked out. “The Blacks wanted revenge for Lucerys and sent assassins to kill one of Aegon’s sons.”

Aemond’s face visibly paled at the news. “What?”

You pushed his hands off of you when he tried to touch you. “They killed Jaehaerys!” You cried out. “They killed him because you could not get over yourself for what happened all that time ago. I hope you are still content for murdering Luke,” You spat.

Aemond slowly backed towards the table, trying to comprehend the news. “V-Vhaenys…is she okay? Did they harm her?”

You shook your head. “Do not act as though you care about our daughter,” You whimpered. “You clearly did not care for a child’s life when you murdered Lucerys.”

“I care about Vhaenys,” Aemond spat back.

You sniffled and wiped your eyes, turning your back to your husband. “I am done with you and your actions, Aemond. I will not be staying in the same chambers any longer,” You croaked out and opened the door to leave.

“Y/N!” Aemond called, reaching out to grab your arm.

You pulled your arm away narrowing your eyes up at him. “Until you can prove to me you are my husband, I am not staying with you,” You spat before slamming the door behind you as you left.

The news of Aegon’s heir being assassinated seemed to spread rather quickly on the next morrow. You sat beside Aemond in the small council room, your eyes on Aegon, watching as he poured himself a glass of wine.

“Those cunts will pay for murdering my son,” Aegon exclaimed as he sat back in his chair. “And I want all of the children to be separate from Helaena for now on.”

Your eyes flickered up to the chair beside Aegon, Helaena’s chair. You had informed him of how he chose Vhaenys and his face had turned red with anger. He still considered her his daughter although everyone knew the truth and he had promised you that Helaena would not even go near your daughter.

You picked up your own wine cup, bringing it to your lips listening to your grandsire discuss the assassins; “my men are still finding them,” Otto explained. “With luck, they should not have gone far.”

Aegon scoffed. He had been irritated with his Hand for quite some time now. He was growing impatient and it was beginning to show. “They might as well have left the city by now,” He mumbled into his cup. His violet eyes met yours and a smile came onto his lips. “Y/N, I would like to have a word with you in my chambers later in the night,” He suddenly stated.

Aemond clenched his jaw. “Why must you talk with my wife in private?”

Aegon chuckled at the clear envious tone to his younger brother’s voice. “If you remember, brother, she was my wife before she was yours, but it is none of your concern as to why I need to talk with her.”

You glanced over at your husband while biting your lip gently. “If it is what you wish for, Your Grace.” You nodded a bit. “Then, I will meet you in your chambers.”

You slowly walked into Aegon’s chambers looking around. It was a bit messy from books not being placed neatly on the shelves to blankets being scattered. It was quite different than the marital chambers you used to share with him.

“You wanted to see me?” You called to Aegon who was sitting in front of the fire.

Aegon lulled his head over to you, a small smile on his lips. “I have a present for you, Y/N.”

You furrowed your brows a bit. “A present?” You laughed a bit. “What is the occasion?”

Aegon stood up as he walked over to his closet. “I heard you and Aemond have not been doing well.”

You laughed a bit. “You believe a present would have me coming back to your feet?” You questioned with a cocked brow. “You are an imbecile if you believe—“ You were cut off as he brought out a set of armor complimented with a green cloak.

“This is to resemble what Visenya’s armor looked like,” Aegon explained as he showed you. “I of course made a few adjustments.” He shrugged as he looked up at you. “I thought you would enjoy being my personal executioner, as a way to let out your aggression.”

You furrowed your brows, being at a loss of words. “Why would you gift me this?” You asked walking closer, your fingers lightly running over the cloak.

Aegon smiled as he looked down at you. There was a certain look in his eyes, something you have not seen in a very long time. “I want this to be considered as a gesture from my heart,” He responded. “What do you say, Y/N? Will you accept my gift?”

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. You knew his motive, you were not an idiot. You furrowed your brows a bit before slowly nodding. “Thank you, Your Grace. It would be my honor.”

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