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asumofwords · 1 year

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Smoke, Fire and Ash

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

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: I just want to keep giving you all new chapters daily, hahaha its so hard to not especially when I have a chapter ready to go ! The reader deserves a little treat too <3 Enjoy

Chapter 58: Misfortune

The doors to the Kings chambers shut heavily behind you, and you did not slow your pace as you stormed back to your shared chambers. You could feel Aemond following you slowly behind, not racing to catch up with you as he watched you storm ahead, anger rolling from you in waves.

He called your name gently to you, almost in exacerbation, but your pace did not falter as you kept on, your strides quick and long until you reached the chambers. Your own hands pushing the doors open, not waiting for the knight as you stormed into the room.

The doors crashed loudly against the walls behind as you moved straight to the far wall, filling a goblet with wine before drinking it, pacing in front of the fire angrily as you desperately tried to school your anger.

‘Dracarys.’ Lucerys’ voice whispered in your head.

You let out a shaken breath, listening to the chamber doors shut behind you as you stopped to stare into the fire, watching the flames. Your chest rose and fell and the anger that you felt boiled you from within. It did not stop climbing the longer you stood there, the anger building, and building, and building, until all that could be heard was the blood rushing in your ears.

“Dracarys.” Lucerys’ voice got louder, and you scrunched your eyes shut, hands tightly in fists as you held your breath.

You listened to Aemond’s slow, steady steps as he came towards you. His presence coming up from beside.

“Zaldristos.”

You opened your eyes and were met with Aemond’s face. He looked down his nose at you, not cruelly, but expressionless as he watched you react to his brothers mocking. You supposed that he took great pleasure in seeing you like this, and the room began to heat around you the longer you thought of it. Your nails dug sharply into your palms as you all but sneered up at your husband. You blinked, opening your mouth to snap, and that’s when you saw him.

Lucerys stood behind Aemond, watching you.

His eyes and mouth were bloody, and his robes hung heavily from his body, drenched head to toe from rain. His dark brown brows were drawn into a frown as he looked at you. He looked so angry. So rageful, and yet there was sorrow in his eyes. You gaped in horror as you looked at him.

A product of the man in front of you.

A small cry left your lips as you watched him sneer. It had been a while since you had seen him like this. So small, so bloody, so haunted.

So horrifying.

“Dracarys.”

“Enough!” You yelled into the space, watching as Lucerys disappeared with a blink of an eye.

Aemond looked to the space behind him, to where Lucerys had once been, and then looked back at you, head tilted. You did not take your eyes from where Luc had been standing, terrified that he would appear there once again, bloodied from Vhagar’s crushing jaws.

You felt tears well up in your eyes as a sob fell from your lips.

You couldn’t do this anymore.

You couldn’t do this.

You couldn’t.

Aemond stepped forward towards you, hand reaching out to touch you softly. You jerked away, wrapping your hands around yourself as you moved back towards the fire, tearing your eyes away from where Luc had been and away from the form of your husband.

“The Gods must surely hate me.” You uttered to yourself, “Is it not enough that I am married to you?”

You looked down at your hand, fingers trailing up and down the scar of your palm.

Scars that would never leave.

A brother that would never come back.

“You mustn’t-“

“Nothing that you say will make this better.” You interrupted, losing yourself to the storm building inside, “Nothing that you will do, will make this more bearable.”

You turned to face him, looking in his eye as you watched his face. His hand dropped back to his side.

“You took him from me. You took him, and he is never coming back.”

“And you took Daeron.” He said quietly, “He is never coming back.”

You sniffed and turned away looking back at the fire. Behind you, Aemond moved to the side of the room, pouring himself a goblet of wine, and refilling yours. He took deliberate steps towards you until he stood in front of you, handing you your wine.

You took it with no argument.

Aemond seated himself in his usual seat, and looked at the flames, sipping from his goblet in thought. You stayed standing doing the same, desperately trying to calm your anger and sorrow, lest it break free, and you bear the consequences of it at the hands of your husband.

Again.

When your cup was half drained, Aemond finally spoke.

“Don’t let him see that he is under your skin. It will only get worse if you do.” His voice was flat, though something else lingered beneath it, “I learnt that giving Aegon joy from your misfortune only feeds his cruelty.”

You let yourself look at your uncle.

He sat still, looking into the flames, cup to his lips.

If anyone knew of Aegon’s cruelty, it would be him.

You grew beside them both and watched how Aegon had picked on Aemond his whole childhood, even serving to mock him now. Aegon and your brothers had never once held back in their teasing, and you of all people, would know this.

Aemond knew how Aegon’s mind worked.

You would do well to heed his warning.

“And you expect me to sit there and take it? To take his mocking of Lucerys? The both of yours?”

“Yes. Like the dutiful little wife you are.” Aemond let his eye meet yours, “Just as I have had to, all my life.”

“Easier said than done. I have nothing. I have lost everything.”

A pause.

“Mm. It gets easier with practise.”

You watched Aemond’s profile as he stared into the fire. Your eyes traced the sharp line of his nose, to the soft curve of his plump lips, all the way down to his sharp chin and cheeks. His hair looked so soft to the touch, you almost wanted to run your fingers through it.

Or yank it.

“Why did you stop him?” You asked.

Aemond’s brow furrowed.

“Why did you stop him in the Dungeons?”

Aemond stood and walked towards you, towering over your form as you clutched tightly onto the goblet in your hand.

He looked down at you, face uncharacteristically gentle.

It set you on edge more than his anger did.

“Because you are mine. And so long as I have breath in my lungs, no-one will touch you but me.”

His smile was so soft that it did not match the meaning of his words. It made your skin prickle as he held your gaze. A small hum erupted from his chest as he brushed a lock of hair behind your ear. You stood still as his hand lingered, his fingers gently caressing the back of your ear before he turned on his foot to make his way towards the bed.

Aemond began to strip himself of his outer robes. The dark heavy leather tunic fell loudly to the floor in a pile, the buckles clinking against each other, similar to the sound of a sword, making you anxious. Next was his undershirt, a thin white tunic which he pulled gracefully over his head.

You watched as the skin of his back was revealed to you.

You knew that Aemond was lean, but you did not expect to see the outline of his muscles stretching across his back with each movement.

You had not witnessed him undress before.

The low candlelight caught on his hair which shone in the darkness, as he reached at the back of his head with gentle and skilled fingers to undo his small, simple braids. His hair loosened, and the locks that were held in braids all day were now wavy, and fell to the front of his face.

Aemond bent to pick up the leather tunic and placed it on a chair on the side of the room, putting the thin white undershirt on top of it in a messy pile. He did not once turn to meet your gaze as you watched him.

And you, much to your disgust, found that you could not help but admire the way that he was built. No more was he the gangly little boy you remembered. Aemond was now a tall and muscular, who if anybody else, would entice you into his waiting arms to warm his bed willingly.

But he was not anyone else.

You felt a familiar tingle in your core as you watched him from across the chambers. Heat speed into your cheeks and settled into your stomach to which you pushed down in anger, finally tearing your eyes from the man to look back at the fire.

Do not look at him.

The flames danced and swayed around each other, the red and yellow kissing one another as they devoured the logs within. Fire was a beauty all in its own, but one that devoured all in its path. You heard rustling behind you and the sound of a goblet being placed upon a table. A deep sigh flitted across the space of the chambers and you fought the urge to turn around and gaze upon your uncle.

“The hour is late.” Aemond called across the room to you.

You did not answer.

“Come to bed.”

A command.

You were stuck in your place, daring not to move. But even as you stood, you could not force yourself to walk across the room willingly. You could not move as you felt fear trickle into your pores at the thought of crawling into bed beside him.

Would he hurt you again?

“Zaldristos.” He called, his patience from the day finally running thin, and that was all it took for you to turn and slowly move towards the bed.

Every inch of your body fought you as you walked towards the bed, tearing your eyes away from the fire. Aemond lay beneath the sheets, propped up by one elbow as he looked at you. His chest was bared, and you could not stop your eyes from flitting down the toned lines of his stomach. A small trail of silver hair working its way down to his-

You looked away to the ground as you got closer, heat rising into your cheeks. Aemond continued to watch you in amusement as you moved across the chambers until finally, you wear but a mere three steps from the bed.

His hand pulled the sheet from your side back, slowly, an offering for you to crawl into the vipers nest. To lay beside him. To not fight it.

To be a good wife and lay beside your husband and bend to his will.

You gawked at his hand before looking back at him. Your eyes flitted from his face to his shoulder.

There, nestled between his neck and shoulder was a jagged scar. The flesh was puckered and pink, skin pulled taut around the length of it. It looked thick and deep, and had a strange texture around it, as though it had been cauterised.

Perhaps it had been.

It looked a lot larger than you had thought it would have been, and you felt the smallest hint of pride swell inside of you.

There was the proof of your attack.

The proof of your fire.

The skin looked sore, as though it would have been a difficult place to heal for him, especially with his love for the training yard. The scar was so close to where you had intended, that even the slightest movement of your hands, or his reaction being too slow, would have been fatal. You would have nicked the thick artery right at his neck, and Aemond would have bled out in a pool of his own blood, watched on in horror by his mother and knight.

A shame you had missed.

But mixed with this sense of pride, and disappointment of not doing greater harm, there was a quiet voice, lingering in the back of your head. A tiny, stinging pain that rose in your heart that you would not have noticed if it wasn’t for the turmoil that had began to build.

There, deep within you, was regret.

And right beside it sorrow for the damage and pain you had caused.

Was it your inner child that still held onto hope for a better future with him?

Or were you simply reminded that this was your uncle, sins or not, and that you had shared a youth together, and grown together, and had bonded together more fiercely than you had with your own siblings.

Aemond felt you observing where you had stabbed him and he let out a grunt, letting his arm slide beneath him as he laid down onto the pillow to look at you. You moved to crawl into the bed beside him, still in your dress, but his face stopped you in your tracks.

“Undress.” Was all he said.

Your heart raced away in your chest as you turned away from him, reaching behind you to pull at the laces to loosen the gown and let it slip from your form. But the laces were too high, and each time you made to grasp the thread to unknot it, it would slip from your fingertips.

You arms ached as you struggled with it until finally you felt the cool press of fingers at your back, goosebumps erupting around the skin as Aemond grasped the ties away from your feeble hands, pulling them with skilled practise away from your body. The dress sagged in your hold as you heard Aemond settle back into your shared bed.

Letting a held breath pass from your lips, you let go of the gown at your front and let it drop to the floor, leaving you in your thin chemise beside the bed. As soon as the gown hit the floor you crawled into the bed beside him, racing to pull the sheets up to your shoulders before rolling onto your side, not sparing him a glance.

Aemond huffed a small laugh and rolled away from you.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body as you laid stiffly on your side.

Why had he not touched you?

Was he waiting for you to let down your guard?

“Sleep well.” Came his voice from behind you, and you locked your hands tighter around the sheet.

But Aemond did not move once from his position, nor did he move closer to you, nor did a hand snake around your front to caress you. You laid beside him, as he blew out the candle on his side of the bed, and you uneasily did the same. A darkness eventually shrouded the room as the fire dwindled, and you listened to the steady, even breaths of Aemond as he fell asleep.

Once you had realised that he was sleeping, you found that you could finally relax, drifting off into a dreamless sleep, your body finally giving in to the fatigue that had plagued you since your arrival.

You sunk into the clouded depths, your body so wound up that finally, it let go of everything around you. You did not dream, instead you floated in a state of nothing for some time. Sleep was the only place where you could escape the world around you, and not be present.

It was a peaceful and a reprieve from all.

A break from the horrors of your life.

But then you began to rise from those murky depths, a familiar tickle in your stomach growing with every passing moment. Your mind did not want to rise from its sleep, and so you were sitting in a limbo of half awareness.

Aware that there was movement behind you, but no desire to break forth from your sleep to the present. But then the familiar tickle grew stronger, and you found yourself rising from your slumber, pleasure being plucked from your core with soft care.

A sleepy moan escaped your lips as you wriggled, mind still not caught up to what was happening, brain foggy from the depths of your sleep. Fingers swirled gently around your bud, aided by the slick from your core, pulling pleasure from you steadily.

Another breathy moan escaped you.

Was this a dream?

You felt movement against your back, something hard rubbing against your cheeks in the bed, whilst hot breath fanned across your neck. A soft hum came from behind and you were suddenly snapped to the present.

Your eyes flicked open.

Aemond’s fingers softly rubbed your bud in circles, dipping down to your entrance to scoop up the slick your body made, as he dragged it back up to your pleasure centre, your core clenching around nothing. His touch was so soft and gentle, almost as though he was desperate to not wake you.

You body was hot and the coil inside of you was already wound tight from his ministrations. How long had he been touching you? Fear and disgust trickled down into you as you thrusted your hips backwards, desperate to escape his hand and their featherlike touch. Your ass ground against his hard, heavy member, which slipped between your thighs at the movement.

You froze.

His length brushed against your folds, sending a shooting heat up into your core.

The One-Eyed Prince continued his fingers swirling, his hips staying still as his cock was nestled between your thighs, pressed against your cunt, until they dipped back down to your entrance, a long thick finger pushing inside of you. A squeak escaped your lips and a blush rose on your cheeks.

It shouldn’t feel good.

Why did it feel so good?

Aemond rubbed his finger inside of you, up against the soft spongey spot of your core. It happened so quickly that your release came from nowhere, blinding white hot pleasure coursed through you as you let out a breathless gasp, writhing in his grip. Your movements caused the tip of his cock to bump into his own hand between your folds.

His finger did not stop their movements, and instead you were met with a second, pushing into your heat, a dull stinging as they stretched you, pushing you through your pleasure, prolonging your release. Your hand came down to grasp his wrist squeezing it tightly, trying to pull it from within you as he scissored his digits within.

It was too much.

You were too sensitive.

A sob flew from your lips as you dug your nails into his hand, trying to tear his fingers out from within you. Aemond slowly pulled his fingers from within, leaving a wet trail along your inner thighs from your release and you twitched in his hold.

Your breathing slowly began to come down as your core fluttered around nothing.

Yet those fingers that were inside of you, were soon replaced with the thick head of your uncles cock, rubbing through your release-slick folds as he thrusted slowly from behind. You froze completely once you felt it, hand still gripping onto his wrist for dear life as he rocked back and forth, breathy moan falling from his lips into the side of your neck.

Your eyes welled with tears as you laid there, unable to do anything.

You could not stop him.

His hand parted your folds with great care as he rubbed himself against your centre, tip catching on your entrance as he slowly worked his way inside with, gentle, shallow thrusts, stretching you out as he gave you time to adjust to his length.

He was only half way inside of you when you felt the burning stretch of his intrusion, though lesser than the first time. Your core clenched around him in pain as fear began to bloom. An uneasy whimper flitted past your lips, making Aemond bring a slick finger back up to your bud, gently drawing circles as he pushed himself fully inside of you.

"Shhh." He cooed.

You silently cried out, feeling the head of his cock push up against your cervix. Aemond groaned behind you as he adjusted his hips, stilling inside of you as his finger continued to swirl around your pearl. Your core clenched around him as he began to pluck painful pleasure from you, feeling you slicken his length and slowly relax around him.

Aemond stayed inside of you, feeling your heat flutter around his cock until finally he pulled back slowly, placing a small kiss against the side of your neck as he pushed his hips back into your heat, relishing in the warm, wet pleasure that you brought him.

"Doing so good for me." He praised.

You clenched around him at the praise, a tiny moan escaping your lips. His finger on your pearl brought you close to another release, your hips squirming in his hold to try and chase it. Which horrified you all the more.

Why did it feel so good?

You laid on your side as Aemond began to thrust into you, dragging his length through your folds, letting you feel each and every inch of him as he continued to draw pleasure from you with his fingers. He felt so large, and it stretched you deep within. With every slow push, you would swear that you could feel him in your stomach, the flesh bulging from his length.

Tears welled in your eyes as you laid there.

This was so wrong.

It was so wrong.

Why did it have to feel this way?

Why was he being so gentle?

Why was he bringing you pleasure?

Tears began to fall from your cheeks and onto the pillow below as he sped up his thrusts, the tip of his cock pressing sharply into your cervix with every thrust. He moaned from behind you as you felt his other hand wrap from underneath you, coming to rest on your lower stomach.

Aemond pressed down onto your belly as he thrusted, amplifying your pleasure. It tightened everything and heightened your pleasure. You whimpered loudly in his hold. He felt so deep.

“Fuck, Zaldristos.” He moaned from behind, feeling your stomach bulge with every thrust of his cock.

It made you feel ill, and so more tears fell from your eyes as you silently cried.

But then the coil began to tighten again, and your cunt gripped his shaft tighter with every thrust and roll of his fingers. When Aemond felt you begin to reach your peach, core clenching tighter against him, his hand pressed harder into your stomach, thrusting his hips into you harder.

Aemond's fingers swirled around your slick bud quickly, and the lewd sound of your wetness and his hurried thrusts filled the chambers. He pushed into you harder, his tip digging painfully into the end of your core as he beat against it with no care.

The hand on your stomach wound up your body as he continued, coming to palm your breast, rolling a pert nipple in his fingers. Your hips reflexively jerked backwards, his cock rubbing against the rough patch within you, causing the coil to snap once more, and your release flooding through your body. A broken moan falling from your lips

You jerked in his hold as he sped up thrusts, feeling you clench down on him tightly.

“Thats it. Good girl.” He murmured into your neck, placing a wet kiss on the skin as he continued to rub at your pearl, fucking you through your climax as your release coated his cock and your thighs.

More tears fell from your cheeks as he continued, his pace becoming rougher, seeking out his own peak. His hand left your breast, moving up to hold your neck, roughly squeezing it as his other hand finally left your bud, and gripped your hip viciously as he fucked himself into you.

“So perfect. Always so perfect.” He moaned.

An airy squeak left your lips as he choked you, breathing restricted from his hand, each thrust punching up into you painfully after two releases, the overstimulation making you tense in his arms, but Aemond did not stop.

“So pretty." He grunted from behind, “Īlē vēttan syt nyke.” You were made for me.

His hand left your throat and moved higher, coming to grab your cheeks with his large palm, faltering as they felt the tears that flowed down them. As Aemond felt you crying, a feral growl came from his chest as he thrusted one final time, deep inside of you, pressing the tip of his cock up against your cervix as he came undone.

Aemond moaned behind you as he held your face, feeling the tears roll over his fingers as hot ropes of his spend painted your walls, tightly pressed against your womb. A broken sob left your lips as you felt the warmth of his cum flooding you.

Your core clenched painful around him from the aftershocks of your release, and you heard him grunt from behind you. Aemond sat pressed up inside your heat as he slowly softened in your walls, listening to you silently cry in front of him. His fingers on your cheeks rubbed against you, smearing the tears into your skin.

You tried to roll away from him, to remove him from inside of you, but as soon as you moved, Aemond’s grip on your hip moved to your waist, pulling you closer to him in an iron grip to keep you were you were.

Your stomach flipped as the glow of your release left, and shame and disgust crowded you.

How could you have enjoyed that?

Why did you let him touch you like that?

Aemond stayed snugly inside of you until he fully softened, pulling out of your cunt slowly, as you felt his release leak from between your folds and down onto the sheets below. A hand came to brush against your core, gentle fingers prodding at your entrance, feeling where his spend had begun to leak from you. Another sob fell from your lips. His finger moved back up to your bud, attempting to press down on it again, and you jerked away with a pained yelp.

Only then did Aemond release his grip from you.

Only then did the heat of his body move away from behind you, leaving your back cold and no longer smothered from the heat of his body.

Only then, once you had jerked yourself from his grip, did he roll over back to his side of the bed and fall easily to sleep, leaving you to bask in the horror of his assault once again. But this time your body felt heavy, and your eyes slide shut.

Exhaustion consumed you as you cried until you could not cry no more, silently beside your husband. The room was still dark, the fireplace was mere embers, and soon your body was dragged back down into the dreamless depths you had let consume you before.

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humanpurposes · 7 months

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life is awesome, i confess, what i do, i do best

Visenyra is betrothed to an uncle she despises, but she has other desires she wishes to fulfill. Perhaps Aemond is the key to her calling after all? // Main Masterlist

Warnings: smut, murder, enemies to lovers

Word count: 1500

A/n: crack fic, just for shits n giggles

Visenyra stomped into the small council chamber. She shoved the doors open, marching her feet loudly on the floor and flicked her silver Valryian hair over her shoulder in an angry puff.

“I don’t want to marry Aemond!” She shouted angrily. She was furious.

She and Aemond had been betrothed the previous evening, when her grandfather, Viserys, announced to the whole family that they were to be married.

She didn’t want to marry Aemond. He was weird and a loner, and her brother Luke had cut out his eye when they were children, leaving their uncle with a stupid grudge. What was so deep about the eye anyway? It was just an eye and anyway he looked kinda hot with an eyepatch.

“Visenyra!” her mother shouted. Rhaenyra was sitting next to Daemon, her husband. Visenyra had been born after her brother Jace and before her brother Luke, and even though her brothers were Velaryons and had the dark haired features of Harwin Strong, she knew with her beautiful silvery locks, bright purple eyes and pale, pale, like translucent pale, like veins visible pale, like milk, like straight up freshly fallen snow, like that’s how white she was, skin.

“I’m not happy about this either,” snarled Alicent Hightower, the bitter old hag, Aemond’s mother and Viserys’ second wife. She didn’t want her son to marry Visenyra because she was mean and all she cared about was power. It didn’t matter that Visenyra was the most beautiful girl in the whole of the known world, she was even more attractive than her mother, “the realm’s delight.” People loved Visenyra so much they called her “the realm’s sweet angel baby bomb pussy.”

“Shut it, Alicunt,” grinned Daemon. Rhaenyra cackled and gave her uncle-husband a high five.

“My decision is final!” bellowed Viserys. He was here too, his bestie Otto Hightower sitting sneakily by his chair. Otto had a gloved hand on Viserys’ shoulder and was whispering to him. Visenyra often wondered if they were fuck buddies because they kinda acted like it.

“Ugh I hate this!” screeched Visenyra, tossing her hair over her shoulder and putting her hands on her hips.

“Hate what?” came a slimy sick voice. God she hated him so much.

She turned around with her hands on her hips and Aemond was standing in the doorway.

“So… we’re getting married?” she said annoyedly.

“Hmm.” said Aemond.

“Don’t ‘hmm’ all the time,” she snapped, “you sound stupid. Go train with the sword or something.”

“The wedding is in three days!” Viserys called and she shoved past Aemond’s shoulder and exited the room. There was only one place she wanted to be right now.

She sprinted all the way to the dragonpit and plopped herself into the saddle of her dragon, Dorgonelkoryos, the biggest, oldest, most fearsome, most powerful dragon. Viserys said he was double the size of Balerion and she had claimed the dragon when she was six months old, making her the youngest dragon rider ever, younger than her mum and no one else even had a chance of beating her record ever.

She flew the dragon over King’s Landing, screaming into the air because she was so angry. “Dracarys!” she screamed and blew up the Sept because Alicent liked the Sept and she hated Alicent.

The poor people scum didn’t hate her though because then she went to an orphanage and read them some books. They all told her how much they hate Alicent and how they wanted Visenyra to be Queen. She smiled because she knew she’d be a great queen, way better than Aegon would be because all Aegon did was get drunk and go to brothels and watch children in fighting pits. Freak. She kinda thought she’d be better than Jace too because she was smart and level headed. And also super hot. And she had a big dragon, bigger even than Vhagar. That always made her laugh because she knew Aemond wanted the biggest dragon.

When she got home she went to her bedroom and masterbated to the thought of Cregan Stark. She hadn’t met him yet but she knew he was honourable and that was the kind of man she wanted to marry. Not Aemond, ew.

“What are you doing, niece?” came his creepy voice.

Visenyra screamed, her hands under her skirt and covered in her pussy juice. The thought of Cregan Stark turned her on so much, but as Aemond appeared from the shadow in the corner of the room she was kinda aroused?

“None of your business, cyclops,” she said.

“What the fuck is a cyclops?” Aemond asked because Greek mythology wasn’t a thing in Westeros.

Visenyra giggled because he was so stupid. “I can’t believe I have to marry you,” she huffed angrily, crossing her arms and pouting like a child.

“Really? Because I’m really happy about the whole thing to be honest,” Aemond said, walking towards the bed.

“Ugh, you’re a freak, why would I want to marry you?”

“Because I love you,” Aemond said.

Visenyra’s chest felt like it was going to explode. She launched herself off the bed and collapsed onto her knees and started crying into her hands.

“This is all too much!” She screamed. “I just want to ride my dragon, Dorgonelkoryos, burn my enemies into ash and eat cake!”

“Don’t you see?” Aemond said, sandwiching her face between his hands and kneeling. He licked her tears off her face. “We’re basically the same person. I want to do war crimes too–”

“NO!” She roared like an angry dragon, shoving him away until he fell on his back. She took out the knife she always had strapped to her leg and put it at his neck. “We’re not the same! You want to usurp my mum because you hate women! You do war crimes for unethical reasons, I do war crimes because I’m a girl boss!”

“The most beautiful girlboss in the Seven Kingdoms,” Aemond breathed like he couldn’t breathe. He put his hands on her thighs and she shuddered because she was so turned on. “You’re literally Visenya born again.”

Visenyra gasped. That was all she ever wanted to hear.

She kissed him harshly, the knife still digging into his neck until he started to bleed from the cut. He didn’t even care because he thought it was sexy. They fought a war with their tongues, battling for dominance, two dragons locked in a dance of hate and desire.

“Fuck,” she moaned, “maybe I do want to marry you after all.”

“I want to marry you right now,” Aemond wailed. He flipped her onto her back and ripped off her dress. Then he took the knife and made a cut on his lip and did the same. Like the Valyrain wedding ceremony.

Vinseyra shrieked, not because she was in pain, she didn’t feel pain, but because she was so overwhelmed. “Oh my god, Aemond, I think I might love you?”

“I always loved you,” Aemond said as he took his cock out of his trousers. “Even when your bastard brother took my eye I couldn’t stop loving you.”

“But… we’ve been enemies all this time,”

“Yeah,” Aemond said with a smirk, “funny how that works out innit.”

Then he shoved his dick into her wet cunt and fucked her brutally. She started bleeding and he moaned at the sight of her blood and her pussy juice on his cock as he fucked in and out of her.

“Holy shit!” she squealed, “that feels really great! Fuck me like that daddy!”

At being called “daddy” Aemond snapped, and fucked her even more wildly, like a wild beast, like some kind of one-eyed sex monster.

“Fuck I’m coming!” he bellowed into her ear, and then he came and squirted all his jizz into her. She came too, wailing and howling with pleasure. Then he put his hand on her stomach. “You’re gonna be so hot when you’re pregnant. I’m gonna fuck you every day, fill you up with my cum, my little bitch to breed, yeah?”

“Yes daddy,” Visenyra said. “Then can I go girl boss on my enemies?”

“I guess,” Aemond said, and kissed her.

After the wedding ceremony three days later, Visenyra took Dark Sister from her dad-uncle, Daemon and cut off the heads of all the Greens and had their heads served on silver platters to Aemond at the feast. He was sad for a bit but he agreed that she did the right thing, and he loved her now so he didn’t even care that his family died. In fact if anything he was disappointed because he wanted to be the one to do it in the first place.

When Viserys died, Rhaenyra THE TRUE QUEEN OF WESTEROS succeeded without a challenge because all the people who didn’t like her were dead. Then Visenyra and Aemond rode off on their dragons into the sunset to obliterate Oldtown for good measure.

She hopped off Dorgonelkoryos mid-air and jumped onto Vhagar. Aemond bent her over the saddle in front of him and slid his cock into her cunt. They fucked for hours, him filling her over and over again. He groped her breasts, saying he was really looking forward to sucking her titty milk, and then they both came.

He was still inside her when they flew over Oldtown.

They gave each other a loving look before they said together, “Dracarys.”

Fin.

#aemond x reader #aemond x ofc #aemond smut #aemond fanfiction #crack fic

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Text

Safest with You - Ch. 16 (The Matchup)

8.4K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Din comes out of retirement for an unsanctioned boxing match.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Poe is Poe, light violence (non-graphic), boxing match physicality described (by someone who doesn't really know anything about boxing), some machismo and testosterone fueled talk, allusion to thigh riding, semi public sex, established relationship, oral (m receiving), light face fucking, unprotected PiV, recorded sex, panty gag, dirty talk, pet names as usual (pretty bird, baby, sweetheart, etc.), degradation (slut/whore; affectionate), Paz and Din each give reader a little boost/lift once, reader wears a dress.

A/N: Oof! The word count on this one really got away from me - mainly cause it got dirty as heck at the end 🫥 Hope the tension between the clans comes through even though this primarily devolved into filth🤞🏻 And if anyone is wondering, my hc for Al's attack command is "Dracarys" 🤭🤭 Dividers by the awesome @saradika-graphics 🥰

Series Masterlist

(I think this is my favourite chapter I've written 🥹 It used to be The Drycleaner, now I think it's this one.)

“Pretty bird, everything will be okay.”

It seems like unretiring is all the rage these days. First, with the amount of time Din’s been spending working with the Mandos to help contain the recent unrest, you basically consider him to have unofficially unretired. And now this: an unsanctioned boxing match. You could kill Poe.

There had been a commotion brewing outside Mando’s when you approached with Al earlier this afternoon. From a few blocks away, you saw two men facing off, speaking aggressively - the tension in their body language evident even from a distance. Flanking each man were several others, posed to jump in if the confrontation went beyond words. Once closer, you realized that one of the men having words was Poe and the people standing behind him were Paz and Din - the faces of all three men furrowed and serious.

Remembering what Paz had once said about how he and Din used to have to bail out Poe’s big mouth, you wonder if that’s what’s happening now.

When Din sees you, he takes out his phone and sends off a quick text: Go inside please, pretty bird.

You nod when you see the message and head straight for the side door entrance to Din’s place; you’ve almost got your key in the lock when you hear someone speak out, “Nice to see you again, sweetheart.”

You’re not sure where he came from, but you recognize the slimy sneer of one Gorga Hutt right away. He’s walking towards you without any heed to the situation playing out only a few meters away; from the corner of your eye you see Din turn, ready to come and intervene, but you’ve got this. You’ve just come from Peli’s and listened sympathetically as she ranted about the recent attack of vandalism on her shop, you were not in any mood to tolerate men who enjoyed attempting to intimidate a woman. Whispering the trained command into your dog’s ear, you hold on tight to the leash as Alfredo goes absolutely bonkers, snarling and snapping his jaws while growling viciously. The effect is instantaneous – Al’s booming barks silence whatever is happening between the men in front of the gym, and Gorga quickly rejoins them, forced to walk backwards as you advance, holding taut the leash that’s being pulled by your attacking dog. When you step to Din’s side, you pull up and lean down to pet Al’s head, whispering the stop command he so perfectly learned; and just like that, Al stops barking and sits, the only noises from him are happy pants as he absorbs your praise and ear scratches.

Wordlessly, you give Din a kiss on the cheek and turn to go upstairs to the apartment like you had originally planned. As you get to the front door you hear:

“If only Mando’s boxers had that kind of attack in the ring.”

“Fuck you.”

Poe’s incredulous response is the last thing you hear before the door closes behind you. Upstairs, heart still pounding, you focus on getting Al fresh water and giving him soothing pets to help him calm down. The attack command was one that you had worked hard on with your trainer, but you rarely use it (if ever), because of the stress it puts the dog under.

Din enters the apartment half an hour later to find you and Al snugging on the sofa, your face buried in the soft neck scruff of your dog while he rests his snoozy head on yours.

“Hey pretty bird, you and Al okay?”

“Mhhmmmm,” you mumble, face full of fur. You feel the couch dip near your head as Din sits down and then you feel his big rough hands start to gently stroke your hair; you’re positive Al is getting the same treatment. When you look up, you’re stunned to see that Din has the beginnings of a swollen lip and a little cut near the upper left corner of his mouth.

“Din!” you immediately sit up and scramble into his lap to check the rest of him over.

“I’m okay, baby, don’t worry. This,” he points to his lip, “is friendly fire. Courtesy of an overexcited Poe.”

“Geez Louise,” you shake your head, “but it ended with fists, whatever was going on downstairs?”

Sighing, Din leans back and presses the heel of his palms to his eyes, “As it often does when Poe gets feisty.”

Apparently, when Poe had pulled up to the gym today, he had spotted two lower-level Hutt family members milling around on the same block, seemingly doing nothing. Tensions running high from the recent incidents of mischief, Poe had accused them of having less than innocent motives for hanging out where they were. The shouting match escalated to where a few Mandos had come out from the gym to see what was happening and a few Hutts had driven up to back up their brethren.

Then, apparently, Poe had been likened to a chihuahua whose only useful purpose was to “use his yap” to summon his guard dogs, which had set off a string of verbal diatribes where Poe, defending his little chihuahua honour, had disparaged the physical prowess and effectiveness of the Hutt family’s own “dogs” and the lackluster success of their business ventures. Being Poe, he needled in on the Hutt’s inability to produce any serious contenders on the boxing circuit recently, a known sore spot for the Hutts. This led to a proverbial pissing contest where Hutt and Mando’s past and current fighters were compared, more insults were thrown, eventually escalating until the Hutts decided that they would very much like to demonstrate some of these fighting skills that they were being accused of lacking.

You had shown up and left right before things had gotten physical.

A short fisticuffs then ensued where the main challenge for Din and Paz had been holding Poe back and making sure he didn’t get beat; an errant swing from Poe when Din had pulled him away to avoid an incoming punch was responsible for Din’s swollen lip.

By now, you’ve retrieved a little bag of ice and are holding it up to Din’s lip as he tells you how it all ended. While still struggling in Paz’s arms, Poe had spit out a challenge: any fighter from Mando’s gym could take on the Hutt’s best fighter, weight class or fight experience be damned. Gorga had sneered, ‘Any?’ before proposing a bout between the Hutt’s current top fighter and Din, knowing that it’s been years since Din fought professionally. Caught up in his own pride and that of the Fetts and Mando’s, Poe had shook on it.

You’re in shock. You don’t even know anything about the other fighter, but you can’t imagine it’s fair to pit someone who’s in the prime of their career against someone who hasn’t seen the inside of a competitive ring for years, no matter how good of a fighter they are.

“How are you so calm about this?” you’re already filled with anxiety and worry. Din takes the bag of ice from you and sets it aside, raising your hand to his lip, he gives your knuckles a few ginger kisses.

“Pretty bird, everything will be okay. It’s a fight. It’s nothing I haven’t done before. I’ll train, I’ll fight, I’ll win. Sure, it might be harder or different than it used to be, but I’ll train harder, fight harder, win harder. My body knows how to do this.”

That’s true, you suppose. Din’s in excellent shape, it’s not like his body’s been languid and idle; he’s not starting from square one, he just has to remind his body what it needs to do to win. “Okay,” you breathe, “so we train.” Din smiles and repeats back to you, “We train.”

And train he does. Over the next several weeks, Din’s regimen is strict - his daytime work at the gym is replaced with physical training: cardio for endurance, weights for strength, sparring with each and every boxer at Mando’s to keep his technique on its toes. He’s given some reprieve from any nighttime security duties so he can get the rest his body needs, and for this you’re infinitely grateful.

Sadly, you have to stop baking sweet treats for the gym, but instead, spend your time in the kitchen making high protein and carb-based meals to help Din bulk up and stay lean. You bemoan whenever a little bit of his soft tummy disappears. You and Al practically move in during this time so that Din stay focused, but mainly so you can take care of him; you suspected that with all the training and prep for the match, Din would neglect proper self care at the end of his tiring day. After a long day of training, you make sure he takes long soothing baths to relax and soothe his overworked muscles, and not just short showers to get cleaned quickly. When you start to notice that Din’s daytime showers are leaving his hair dry from the constant shampooing, you bring over your expensive salon-quality hair care products and condition his locks and massage in hair masks all while he lays in the steaming water, eyes closed with his head on your chest. After you dry him off, Din grinning the entire time you very meticulously rub him down, you’ll wrap the towel low on his hips and shoo him to the bedroom with instructions to lay facedown on the bed.

Lathering him up in massage oil, you push and pull at the long lines of his muscles, working out the tension and kneading his knots, victorious when you feel him melt under your firm and loving touch. You work your nimble fingers down the strong, corded muscles of his arms and the broad expanse of his back, paying extra attention to where his smooth skin dimples at the base of his spine.

You work diligently and attentively as you straddle his bare ass, and though your intentions are altruistic, inevitably, Din will feel your wetness even through the slippery oil you’ve massaged over his backside. That’s when he’ll catch you off guard - flipping you over and pinning you beneath him with the weight of his body within the cage of his strong arms.

Some nights you’ll let him win, allowing him to smirk, “Your turn, pretty bird,” before giving him access to your body and letting him pull the most delicious orgasm from you with his talented mouth and fingers. As a follow-up, he rails you face down into his mattress, leaving you crying and drooling as you come, fluttering around his cock before he paints your walls white.

Other nights, you’ll gently scold him before slowly rolling him back onto his front and climb back on top of him, continuing to massage his overworked body with your hands - pressing and warming his muscles under your skilled fingers as you grind yourself down on the back of his thigh until you come. Then, and only then, will you let him roll onto his back, just so he can watch you sink your dripping wet cunt down onto his weeping cock and ride him until you both see stars.

The night of the fight finally arrives and you think you and Poe are more nervous than anyone else. It’s not that you doubt Din’s skill or fighting prowess, you’re just anxious knowing there’s some Hutt in the building whose sole goal tonight is to beat the shit out of your boyfriend. You’re in the back hallways of the venue where you first met Greef and Jimmy many months ago, but this time you’re the one who led people down the hall to meet the group. Bea and Lala are here with you tonight, to cheer on Din of course, but mainly as your emotional support; they know how much this matchup has been stressing you out. Thankfully, as you watch Greef and Din laughing with Jimmy and Paz, and all the Mandos getting hyped for the fight, you find yourself getting swept up in their enthusiasm.

When the time comes for you to go to your seats, you sidle up to Din and gentle pull him away from the group so you can have a little privacy.

“I’m proud of you, baby,” you whisper, lifting up on your tip toes while you pull him down with gentle hands around his neck.

Pressing his forehead to yours, Din closes his eyes, reveling in this moment of calm with you before what is certain to be a night of chaos, “Thank you, pretty bird. Couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

“You’re gonna do great, Din. You’re my killer.” Your lips ghost his and Din sucks in your breath, pulling you closer with his wrapped hands spread wide across your lower back, “… and when you win…”

“You gonna give me a prize, sweetheart?” Din smiles against your mouth.

You nod into his mouth, “… I’ll let you take your prize right in this locker room here.” The two of you both glance at the door next to you before reuniting your lips for a deep, searing kiss that manages to simultaneously reassure and ignite an electrical current within you.

“Hey! Save that for after the fight!” yells Greef. You and Din break apart with a chuckle and you leave him with a “Good luck, killer! I love you!” blowing him a kiss before taking off down the hall with your friends and Paz.

---

The roar of the crowd is deafening. Despite this being an unsanctioned match, spectators have showed up in droves - drawn in by Din’s celebrated fight history, the underlying clan rivalry, or both.

When Din and the contingent from Mando’s make their ring entrance, the noise level crescendos; you hold on tight to Bea and Lala’s hands and catch Paz’s eye with your own, shining bright with pride as you cheer loud. Somehow Din discerns your voice over the clamour and as he passes your row looking calm and formidable, he finds you and his eyes soften just long enough to throw you a wink before settling back into a steely glare. Jimmy, on the other hand, follows behind Greef all pumping fists and testosterone fueled howls. He hypes up the crowd even more, reaching in to fist bump you and the girls before accepting a hair tousle from Paz’s long reaching arm.

The crowd remains loud but slightly more subdued for the entrance of Din’s opponent, Rotta Hutt. He’s young, around Jimmy’s age, but way bigger than both Jimmy and Din. He’s Din’s height if not taller, with most of his heft on display as a wall of muscle in the upper half of his body. His arms are tree trunks. His face is impassive but you spy a small curl of a sneer framed by his clean-shaven jaw; all of this topped with a mop of blond hair swept over the front of a high forehead. He looks… sturdy and you can’t help but recoil a little in your seat when you recognize the same sluggish look that you find is common among the Hutts that you’ve met. Lala and Bea both make faces that clearly indicate where their loyalties lie. Paz points out Rotta’s coach who’s walking close behind the boxer, hands on the boy’s shoulders, whispering in his ear, “That’s Ziro Hutt. He’s a piece of shit. Guarantee you he’s telling Rotta to fight dirty and pull some illegal moves on our boy since it’s an unsanctioned fight.”

You look at Paz with alarm, but he’s grinning, “Don’t worry, Lil’ Lady. Din’s got that punk’s number.”

As the fighters go to their respective corners for last-minute pep talks, your gaze shifts over to the crowd on the other side of the ring where you see a continent of Hutts that includes Gorga and his usual lackies. They’re amped and you can feel a sinister charge to the energy emanating from that side of the room.

The fighters and their coaches meet in the middle of the ring with the referee as is customary before the coaches retreat back to their corners for the start of the match, but before that happens, all hell breaks loose. You see Din’s face curl into a snarl before he lunges for Ziro, shoving the slimy man right in his chest with a force that knocks him into the ground; Rotta attempts to retaliate with a punch to Din’s head, and then it’s just a flurry of bodies: the ref trying to get in between, Greef pulling Din off Rotta, Ziro somehow getting up and mixing right back in. The Hutts on the other side of the ring are up on their feet, jeering, some even advancing towards the ring. Paz is on his feet and you see the rest of the Mandos do the same from their seats peppered throughout the stands.

The ref directs everyone back to their corners; you see Greef wrangling Din, turning him to face his corner stool before giving him a little shove in that direction. You don’t know what happened but you know Din must have been provoked; he can’t start the fight in this uncontrolled rage, it won’t fare well if he’s not in a calm, focused mindset. You make your way ringside and reach up, finger tips brushing gently on Din’s arm.

What you didn’t know is that right before the ref was about to send the coaches back to their corners, Ziro had sneered to Din, “When you lose, how about that pretty girl of yours come spend the night with a fighter that isn’t past his prime? Someone who has some stamina?”

Din was still seeing red that that asshole even mentioned you, seething with adrenaline fuelled protectiveness. And possessiveness. His chest is still rising with each heavy breath, agitation rolling over his entire body in waves; he’s barely registering Greef’s words about calming down, when he feels a soft warmth on his arm. He looks down and it’s you. You with your soft smile and pretty eyes, exuding calm and sweetness. Instantly, his breathing evens and his heartrate slows.

“Hey pretty bird, things are getting crazy,” he gives you a little lopsided smile, as if the two of you are the only people in this building, your presence drowning out all the outside noise for him.

You laugh and Din feels his muscles release some tension just at the sound; it’s too awkward for him to lean down and kiss you, but you reach up with both hands and grab on to his wrists, bringing his gloves down so you can lift up and kiss them. A good luck smooch to each, leaving a lipstick imprint of your perfect lips on each. Din grins at you.

“Now when you hit that idiot, it’ll be from the both of us,” you chuckle, and again, it’s like there’s no one else here – just you and Din alone in this yelling crowd, eyes and ears only for each other, “Din, don’t let them get in your head, they don’t want you thinking straight cause they know you’re smarter than all the Hutt braincells combined. Focus and save your energy, killer.”

“You got it, pretty bird,” he flashes you a devastatingly handsome smile, the one that makes your stomach drop every time and tonight’s no exception, you mouth “Love you” before walking backwards to your seat, never breaking eye contact with your man as he mouths it back.

By the time the ref calls the fighters back to the centre of the ring to touch gloves, Din’s back to his steely cool self, focused and calm - ready to take on the world. He looks so fucking good, the lights shining off his broad shoulders, the strong lines of his muscles flexing and pulsating with each breath. You mourn the loss of his soft stomach, but suppose if you have to live with this harder trunk of an upper body, you will. You sigh and Bea leans over to tell you that you’re drooling a little – you giggle out loud.

The ref announces, rather than requests, that it will be a “nice clean fight”; Din and Rotta touch gloves and with a ding the fight starts.

For the first few rounds, you’re learning Rotta’s fighting style and you know Din is doing the same, getting a feel for the younger man’s style, ticks and weaknesses. Rotta’s light on his feet for someone so big, but Din is faster. Though Din is older and the frame that he has to move is just as large, his experience in the ring has his muscles well trained, his moves executed by memory alone. Din anticipates where Rotta will be before Rotta even knows, and his body just follows.

It’s clear by the third round that Rotta favours a right hook, which Din finds easy enough to deflect and more than once is able to combine this knowledge with the Mando roll to devastating effect. You cheer loudly when you watch Din extend his long right arm in a precisely landed cross punch, retracting it lightning fast with grace as Rotta staggers backwards.

Where Rotta is a threat is his sheer power - pound for pound, punch for punch, he’s Din’s match. His size and bulk have the potential to inflict real damage, if Din wasn’t the overall better fighter – Din’s experience and technique are too well honed; Rotta is consistently caught off guard by Din’s moves, and his own in response are amateurish and predictable. And he’s getting tired - the Mando Roll is making quick work of him. Poe was right – the Hutt's best boxer couldn’t hold a candle to a Mando’s boxer, certainly not this one.

By the time the 8th round starts, Rotta is getting frustrated, and as Paz predicted, has started fighting dirty. He’s pushing and shoving Din into the ropes and attempting to hold him, anything to stall the fight and prevent Din from getting in the combinations that would surely finish him off. When Rotta barrels head first into Din’s chest, wrapping his arms around Din’s torso and starts to punch his lower back, you’re on your feet and screaming for the foul call before the ref even blows his whistle. You’re seething - that dirty cheat!! Rushing over to where Din is drinking from his water bottle, you reach up and touch his leg to get his attention. He grins immediately upon seeing you, calming your heart a little.

“You look like you’re going to kill someone, pretty bird,” laughs Din, his voice once again drowning out all the external noise so that it’s just you and him again.

“That neanderthal is going to get it from me if he doesn’t stop with all his dirty shit,” you hiss, though your eyes remain all adoring for Din. Even when sweaty from head to toe, the impressive cut of his body still takes your breath away. Fuck, he’s hot.

“Sounds like I'd be doing him a kindness by knocking him out, then,” grins Din, and the two of you smile at each other dopily, sharing in your little jokes while the crowd around you gets more and more riled up.

“I wish I could reach you,” you lament, pouting.

“Let me help,” Paz has appeared right behind you, no doubt to provide some encouragement for his friend. With your permission, he crouches and wraps his arm around your calves, and after you’ve steadied your hand on his shoulder, he boosts and deposits you so you’re sitting on the edge of the ring. You don’t know how much time you have before the match starts again; wasting no time, you reach through the ropes and grab Din’s face, pulling him towards you so you can kiss him through the slit. The kiss is hard, heady and messy, but it’s exactly what you and Din both need. “Put him out of his misery, killer!” you shout back as you jump down, sending Din a wink before leaving him, Paz and Greef to talk shop.

When the fight resumes, Din quickly finds that he’s had enough. The younger boxer isn’t stopping with the illegal moves, starting to throw elbows and attempting to kick. Clearly on the advice of his uncle, Rotta has foolishly decided that if he can’t win fairly, then he will do everything he can to frustrate Din, be it by stalling the fight, attacking him illegally, or messing up Din’s focus like his uncle did at the start of the match. No doubt hoping Din will finally make a mistake and open himself up to a late attack.

After Din gets in two quick jabs that Rotta isn’t fast enough to evade, Rotta staggers back, eyes unfocused, and when he shifts forward again, he spits out, “Your girl is real pretty.”

Din ignores him and hits Rotta square in the jaw with a blinding cross.

Swaying to the side, Rotta doesn’t know when to quit, “She’d look even prettier with my cock in her mou-”

You think you actually hear the sound that Din’s upper cut makes when his glove hits Rotta's chin. The crowd silent as the crushing power of Din’s fist reverberates through the layers between it and his opponent's jaw, the unmistakable sound of bone being crushed rings through the venue.

It’s only with the resounding thud of Rotta’s body hitting the floor of the ring that the crowd reawakens, screaming at an ear-splitting volume - some for the loser to get up, and others in victory. Din looks animalistic, still bouncing on his feet and panting, as if waiting for Rotta to get up. Rotta is not getting up.

After Din is declared the winner of the fight, arm raised high by the ref while still towering over the unconscious body of his opponent laying at his feet, he’s smartly ushered off to the locker room by Greef and Paz. Not that Din's the type to gloat and boast in an unsportsmanlike manner (Poe doing enough of that all on his own at the moment), but the mood in the arena is incendiary at the moment, clearly you’re not the only one that thinks getting out of here is a good idea. That doesn’t stop Din from reaching into your row as he goes by and pulling you in hard by the waist for a bruising victory kiss. In his arms for only a few moments before he has to go, Din lifts you off your feet – his own little trophy to show off as you gaze down at him in adoration, mouthing, “I’m proud of you.”

You and the girls chat excitedly with Bo and Mayfeld as you practically skip back down the back hallway towards where some of the other Mandos and people from the gym are celebrating. Leaving your friends in the capable hands of the Mandos, you sidle past Jimmy who’s standing guard and give him a cheeky grin before you push open the door to the locker room where Din’s currently showering.

When Din steps out of the shower, he’s only mildly surprised to find you there, sitting casually with your legs up on a bench, back against the lockers, strolling through your phone like it was the most natural thing in the world for you to be in a men’s locker room.

Looking up, you feel your heart nearly stop at the sight before you: Din’s looking at you with a devilishly handsome smile, hair still wet from the shower, which he’s lazily toweling off. Another towel hangs loosely over his hips, leaving his massive chest uncovered; droplets of water clinging to the bare expanse of his torso and glisten like tiny diamonds. His arms, loose after his fight, still look powerful even when relaxed, thick muscles corded under his smooth skin. He’s a fucking snack.

You want to climb him like a tree and sink your teeth into his skin; it's not an imagined ache that has you suddenly desperate to feel any and all the muscles in his arms, chest, legs, flex against your pussy while you ride them until you cry.

Spacing out with what must be a look of pure lust written all over your face, you start when Din’s deep baritone cuts through your horny thoughts, “What are you doing here, pretty bird?”

Beckoning him over to you with a curl of your finger, you smile coyly, and when he’s within arm’s length reach, you hand him your phone, “Come collect your prize, killer.”

Looking at you, then back to your phone with a confused expression on his face, Din cocks an eyebrow at you quizzically.

You plant your legs on either side of the bench and reach up and grab onto Din’s hips, guiding him towards you so he’s stands in front of you, similarly straddling the bench. Looking up at him with an innocent doe-eyed expression, you coo, “Let’s make a video, daddy.”

Din’s eyes widen; the two of you had discussed making a sex tape before, but made no concrete plans on when you would film one - apparently, you want to memorialize him claiming his prize for winning the fight. Testosterone and adrenaline still coursing through his veins, Din puffs his chest out, ready to perform.

He opens up the camera app of your phone and swipes to video mode, framing your pretty face on the screen as you smile up at him, he strokes your chin with his free hand, “Ready, pretty bird?”

You nod - when you hear the bloop of the video starting, you dip your chin down to capture Din’s thumb in your mouth and start to suck, eyes never breaking from the camera.

“Such a good girl, here to reward your daddy.”

You smile with your lips wrapped around his thumb as you pull off Din’s towel, his cock already at half mast, bobbing out towards your face. Din removes his thumb from your mouth and brushes your jaw with his fingers, as if to say go on.

Reaching out, you give Din’s length a few experimental strokes in your small grip before bringing him to your lips, gifting his tip a few shy kitten licks.

“Fuck, baby.”

Flattening your tongue, you run it along the underside of his cock from base to tip, lathering him up with your spit; pumping him a few more times you purr to the camera, “May I please suck your cock, Din?”

Din’s groan thunders through his chest, “Show me what you’ve got, pretty bird.”

Your mouth envelope over Din’s cock, taking as much of him as you can to the back your throat, bobbing your head slowly, giving his head a little extra lick when his tip rests between your pretty lips. Feeling him swell and harden in your mouth, you apply a little more pressure, suck him a little harder, a little bit faster, both of your hands working the base of him that you can’t fit in your mouth.

“Look so pretty with your mouth stuffed with my cock, sweetheart.”

You look past the camera and into Din’s eyes, lustful and blown, and decide to really give him a show. Eyes back on the camera, you smile around Din’s dick and place your hands on his thighs to brace yourself before you start to work him down your throat. Once he's hit the back of your throat, when you have to force yourself to push past the resistance, you gag, and you immediately feel Din’s hand fly to the back of your head, as if to provide you some reassurance or to hold you steady. You appreciate both. Forcing yourself to breath through your nose, you relax your throat and push yourself further down on Din’s throbbing cock, spurned on by Din’s moans echoing off the walls of the empty room. When you finally feel the hairs at his base tickle your nose, you open your eyes and find Din staring at the screen of your camera, looking absolutely wrecked. One hand cups and plays with his balls as you give a small hum of satisfaction, proud of taking him all the way; the combination sensation causes Din’s dick to twitch in your throat and you have to pull off, coughing, spit spilling out of your mouth.

Din pets your hair and looks at you with obsidian dark eyes, “One more time, little slut. Wanna feel my cock right here,” and he reaches down to wrap his hand gently around the middle of your neck.

“Can you be good for daddy?”

Not trusting your voice, you nod, but Din wants more for the camera.

“Need my pretty whore to use her words.”

“Yes, daddy. I can be good for you,” you breathe, as you open up your mouth and stick your tongue out as an invitation.

“Goddamit. You’re going to be the death of me, pretty girl,” Din taps his fat head on your tongue before feeding it slowly to you. Once again, you use Din’s legs for stability, hugging the back of his thighs as you relax and work his length further down your throat. A little easier this time having already opened up for him, you keep your eyes on the camera as you try to even your breathing, coaxing his dick deeper and deeper. When he’s all the way down, Din runs his thumb gently over the column of your throat, and chokes, “Took me so deep, baby. So fucking good for me.”

Eyes watery with tears already running down your cheeks, you can only blink up at him in a daze.

“Can I fuck you a little, bunny?” Din asks so softly. Such a distinct contrast from the lewdness of having his cock shoved down your throat, you feel his tone hit right in your core where your arousal is already starting to leak; you blink quickly to give your permission.

At first, Din is slow to thrust even a little down your throat, careful not push too much or too harshly should it hurt you; when you blink at him and let the tears rolling down your face tell him that you can take more, he holds you head firm and speeds up a little. The ensuing gulg gulg gulg noises your throat makes bounce off the walls and light up your insides - you start to roll your hips and grind your pussy down on the bench for some semblance of friction.

When Din notices, he pulls out and leaves you gasping and continuing to rub yourself down on your seat. Using the hand not holding the still recording phone to help wipe away your tears and spit, he chuckles, “Does my pretty slut need something between those legs of hers?”

Fresh faced and eyes bright, you’re positively strumming for Din’s touch by now. You lean back on your elbows, bite your lower lips and whimper. That’s apparently enough for Din, as he sits down on the bench, murmuring to himself and the camera, “What do we have up here, little bun?” He pushes up your skirt and takes an upskirt shot of your soaked through black panties, “Looks like my little cumslut is all wet.”

He smirks as he reaches and rubs his thumb over your clit through the fabric, causing you to gasp, “Daddy!”

“I wonder if you’re just as wet under these lacy panties?” He hooks the gusset of your underwear to the side, revealing your glistening cunt and gives a low whistle, “So fucking pretty. Who are you so wet for, baby?”

“You!” you whine, wanting more. Needing more.

“Who? Is this for that other fighter?”

“No! Daddy!”

“Is it for those guys across the ring that couldn’t keep their eyes off of you?”

“No! Din, no! It’s only for you, please!”

“That’s right, this perfect pussy is all mine.”

“All yours, Din! Please, oh god, please touch me…”

“Well since you asked so nice, sweetheart,” Din inhales sharply as he backs up on the bench and leans down to bring himself face to face with your dripping seam. He hands you your phone and smirks, “Gonna need both my hands for this.”

You train the lens onto Din and frame his handsome face in the shot so that everything below the tip of his nose is hidden by your lower body; making sure you’re capturing the moment, Din gives you a wink before diving into your cunt. He eats you like a feral animal who doesn’t know where his next meal is coming from. Licking, sniping, and mouthing at every wave and dip of your core, then pushing your legs up by the back of your thighs so he can press even deeper into you. You cry out and moan with abandon, your hands too occupied with holding the camera and yourself upright to stifle the noise.

“Fuck, yes, Din – fuck I love your mouth,” your screams dancing over the wet sounds coming from between your legs. Din dips his tongue into your tight hole, fucking you with his smooth muscle while his nose bounces off your clit over and over until it’s hard and swollen. The band beneath your belly is starting to tighten, and all the blood in your body rushes to your bottom half so you can’t hold yourself up anymore – you lay down and use all the focus and strength you have left to hold the camera steady with both hands between the valley of your breast. You watch Din’s now dried curls bounce on the screen as he continues to tongue fuck you into another stratosphere.

Your never ending chat of Daddy, daddy, daddy, is broken only by the high-pitched cry you let loose when Din replaces his tongue with two of his thick fingers without warning, you hiss, “Din!” Half scolding, half in ecstasy.

“Sorry, baby,” he mumbles, but you can feel him grin against your pussy; the vibration of his words shoot straight to your chest and you feel a fresh wave of slick wash down your inner thighs and Din’s wrist.

“Fucking soak me, pretty bird,” Din commands before sucking your clit into his mouth. The sounds Din is pulling from you are obscene and downright pornographic, you sing obscenities and his name so loud they almost drown out the squelching sounds of his fingers punishing your cunt.

All it takes is for you to look down at the screen of the phone still grasp tight in your hands, take in the vigor with which Din is eating you out, his dark eyes on you as he swirls his tongue over your clit and you’re gone - arching your back off the bench and screaming, “Daddy!” as you gush all over his face. Din continues to finger fuck you through your high, the camera held in your shaky hands capturing the soft butterfly kisses he plants all over your lower stomach while praising you, “Did so good for me, pretty girl. My perfect little slut.”

Sighing a heavy exhale of contentment, you let Din pull you up and kiss you messily, his mouth and scruff shiny with your release. You giggle as you taste yourself on him, putting the phone down so you can cup his face in your hands, helping him clean up even as you make more mess with your hungry open mouth kisses.

“Uh, uh,” Din tuts as he pulls away, pointing at the phone, “pick that up, bunny. We’re not done yet.”

You do as he instructs and pick up the still recording phone and point it at Din, now standing stark naked and holding his hand out to you. “Hang on a sec, killer,” you smirk as you pan the camera over his nude form, your mouth watering as you rake the lens over his broad frame, his bulging biceps and his taut flexed legs. You can't help but zoom in on your favourite parts of his body: his big paw hands where his fingers are currently curling with a twinge of impatience, the little hollow dip at the base of his neck that pulsates when he swallows deeply, like he’s doing now, and his cock, throbbing and angry.

“You done, pretty bird?” Din asks with an edge. Swinging your leg over the bench, you take Din’s hand and gasp when he spins you around quickly, pressing you flush against his back before walking you forwards with your dress bunched up around your waist and his hardness pressed against your ass.

“Liked what you saw, bunny?” he whispers against your ear, crowding you up against the sink and using his hand to lift your elbow so you’re pointing the phone at the reflection of the two of you in the mirror.

“Yes, Din,” you whisper, leaning back to kiss the underside of his chin.

Din drags the zipper of your dress slowly down your back so that the sleeves of your dress fall down your arms, tugging down the front and revealing your matching black bra to the camera. “I like what I see too,” Din murmurs, as he unclasps your bra and pulls the straps down to meet your fallen sleeves, your tits falling out, nipples already hard and pointing at your reflection. Kissing down the back of your neck, all the way down your spine, Din pulls down your panties and helps you step out of them. When he stands back up, it’s to place the soaked lace next to the sink in front of you, before positioning you, the rest of your clothes still half on, so that you’re bending over the sink, hands braced against the front, your back arched and ass sticking out for him.

You wiggle it a little and whine, “Need your cock, Din.”

He gives you a harsh spank that’s harder than you expected, causing you to yelp as the smack echos into the shower stalls, “Daddy!”

“Get used to it, pretty bird. Daddy’s going to get rough with you now.”

Eyes widening and meeting Din’s in the mirror, you smile and lick your lips, “What’s got you all hot and bothered, killer?”

“Some assholes thought about having you tonight. Talked like they might have a chance with you. Want you to walk out of this locker room with my cum dripping down your legs so everyone knows who you belong to.”

“I’m yours, Din, everyone knows tha-” you’re cut off, breath stolen away when Din sheaths himself into you without warning, bottoming out in one smooth motion. He doesn’t give you a moment to get used to him, just starts immediately fucking into you, driving his cock into your tight hole over and over, punching the deepest parts of you that only he can reach as he pushes all the air out of your lungs. You close your eyes and whimper.

“Eyes open and looking in the mirror, baby. Who’s that pretty slut?”

“Me. Oh Din, fuck, I’m your pretty slut.” You make sure your phone still has the entire mirror in view and that it captures the way he’s thrusting into you, every snap of hips jolting your forward so your tits bounce and your mouth is forced into an open ‘O’.

“That’s right. All mine. And what do you want, pretty girl?”

“Ngh—”

“Words, baby. Not gonna give it to you until I hear you say it,” Din lays another heavy spank to your ass, watching your cheek ripple under his hand as he keeps up his grueling pace.

“Uh – fuck, Din. I- I-, I need you to fuck me, daddy. Fuck me so hard I feel you tomorrow. Take me hard against this sink like a dirty whore. Please, please, daddy, please. Uhhhhhhhh, Din, fuck me pleas-“

“Are you my prize? Is my prize for winning tonight getting to fuck a little whore in the locker room as hard as she can take it?” Smack, smack, smack, your ass reddening as it continues to take the double punishment of Din’s pelvis rutting into you and the blows from his hard hands.

“Harder.”

“Then get louder, little whore. Want everyone in this building to hear you.”

You let loose a whine from the very back of your throat as he snaps back into you with a force that nearly knocks the phone out of your hand. Recovering so that you don’t lose a minute of this lascivious footage, you lean and brace your free hand against the mirror while grinding your ass back, meeting every one of Din’s thrusts.

With the way Din is fucking you - hard and unrelenting, there’s a small part of you that isn’t sure if you can take it, but the sticky mess between your legs says otherwise; you want to please him so much, so you take, take, take, and scream out for more, “Daddy, daddy, fuck! Your cock feels so good, no one fucks me like you!”

“My. Little. Slut.”

“The only whore who take my cock this good.”

“Daddy’s going to wreck this pretty pussy.”

Din knows how much you love his dirty talk, but it’s dirtier than usual tonight. Not fully immune to the aggression and macho bullshit that always permeates the atmosphere of these fights, tonight Din’s possessiveness has an edge, his roughness has bite. Din’s degradation shoots straight to your cunt and your walls flutter around him as you scream in pleasure.

“Changed my mind. Your pretty slut noises are mine too,” Din grabs your panties from where he left them next to the sink and stuffs them in your mouth; you whine a muffled sound like a wounded animal as he keeps the lacy fabric from falling out with his fingers, hooking down the corner of your mouth.

“Pretty little whore with her panties down her throat. Good for cock and nothing else,” Din grunts right into your ear, loud enough for the camera to pick up as well.

“Mmmfffmmmm,” you cry, mouth full and unable to articulate anything as Din drags his fingers down from your mouth, giving your neck a little squeeze when he grazes his hand near the bottom of your throat.

“This throat is mine.”

His hands travel down further until they reach your breasts; he grabs and gropes you roughly before pinching on your nipples, rolling and tugging harshly, “These tits are mine.” Your screams stifled as your eyes roll to the back of your head, you tip your head back to arch into his touch, leading Din to chuckle darkly.

“Always wanting more, my little bunny?” He drives into you even harder when you nod vigorously, eyes glassed over, cock drunk.

Din’s hands drags down your abdomen and cups your pussy. “This pussy is mine,” he growls as he starts playing with your clit. You’re about to black out, your whole body is vibrating, nearing overstimulation – every one of Din’s dirty words nearly taking you out.

“And she comes when I say so,” Din orders with authority into your ear. You look at the screen of your phone that you’ve somehow managed to continue to hold upright, still filming, and stare through hazy eyes at the you in the mirror on the screen: blissed out, tits out and bouncing in time to every hard thrust of Din’s cock, mouth stuffed with your wet panties and crying out against the fabric. You plead to the Din in the mirror with your eyes.

“Come on my cock, baby,” comes the command you’ve been waiting for, and you positively wail as your walls contract and clench down hard around Din’s dick. His arms wrap around your breasts to hold you upright, and you shudder to his stuttering thrusts, held tight and limp against Din’s chest as he pumps his spend into you - not sure how you manage to hold on to your phone as you capture every last moment of shaky footage.

Finally having the mind to press the red button to stop the recording, you place you phone down by the sink and let yourself melt back into Din, letting him pull your lacy gag out of your mouth. He holds you close and presses soft kisses into your check, neck and lips, whispering how good you did for him, how perfect you feel around his cock, how sweet you are to let him fuck you this way. You close your eyes and let him praise you and hold your boneless body.

Soft pledges of love and devotion are shared as Din cleans the two of you up with the towel he was using before, and as you right your lingerie and dress. After Din gets dressed and packs up his gym bag, you share one last tender kiss before walking hand and hand to leave the locker room so you can join your friends for the after party at the bar across the street.

You open the door and slyly peek out, expecting to see Jimmy, but instead, you’re met by Greef wearing a pained expression on his face.

“Hey,” says Din, amused.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” deadpans Greef, “I’ve had to rotate every Mando off this door, none of them able to stand it for more than a few minutes. You’re paying for everyone’s group therapy, boss.”

You giggle, feeling the heat creep up to your cheeks as you turn and hide in Din’s chest; Din is laughing as Greef walks off in a huff, and calls out, “Take it out of my winnings, Karga!”

Looking up at Din, you crinkle your nose, embarrassed, “Do you think we were really that loud?”

Din chuckles, “Maybe? I guess we’ll never know. Oh wait,” he playfully grabs your waist causing you to squeal, “we could watch the video later and find out.”

The idea of watching your sex tape together has a fresh wave of arousal pooling in your still drenched panties and you squeeze you legs together; your actions don’t escape Din’s attention, and he whispers low in your ear, “Let’s get through the after party first, then we’ll go home and do… what do the kids call it? Right, Netflix and chill.”

You roll your eyes jokingly, “Alright, old man,” already expecting the playful swat on your bum. Squeaking and grinning, you slip your hand back into its rightful place in Dins and tug, almost shyly, "What are we waiting for then, killer?"

Yep, Din thinks, I won.

#din djarin #modern!din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #modern au #no y/n

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endless-ineffabilities · 2 years

Text

burn them all for you

Aemond Targaryen x f!Reader

themes: reader gets injured, angst, violence, language, enemies to lovers

word count: 1.3k ▪︎ masterlist

You despise each other, that much was certain. You cannot stand his arrogance, and he is always the first to criticize your pretentious mettle. But when you get injured, why is he also the first to run to your side? Why does his rage flare up at the sight of your pain?

The storm rages on, the darkest of clouds looming overhead. The battle between the King's army and the resurgent Triarchy is burgeoning, knights from each side fighting and sacrificing their lives below.

Sat atop your dragon, flying in the skies, you think that you’ve never felt more alive. This is what fuels you – the thrill of war, and the power that your dragon provides. You know full well that there is no better way to test your bravery, your determination. In these moments, you either commit to the madness or risk meeting the Seven gods in a less than timely manner.

Much to your chagrin, Aemond is exactly the same. Vhagar looms above you, casting a shadow over everything. You know he does this on purpose, showing off his much larger beast. But no matter, yours is well-trained and just as ferocious. Vhagar’s too old, anyway. “Soon to be invalid and useless in battle”, you once sneered at Aemond. He rolled his one good eye at that, “Watch your mouth, and quit being insufferable.”

You hear him gleefuly laugh above you, savouring the thrill, and he guides Vhagar to fly down to your level. “I’ll take the archers on the cliff, you deal with our enemies on the ground.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do!” you have to yell back, your voices barely heard in the ceaseless, heavy rain. Disregarding his plan, you fly your dragon close to the cliff.

“Dracarys,” you snarl. Your dragon releases its flames onto the archers. They yell in excruciating pain, scrambling at nothing. Some blindly plunge themselves off the cliff, others fall to their knees.

You start to fly back in the circle, passing by Aemond on Vhagar, who had flown low on the ground.

“Ao dōrī rȳbagon!” You never listen, he screams, his rage palpable. Aemond knows that while you are highly skilled in battle, as well as being quite the proficient dragonrider, your reflexes have never been that quick. Should an attack come at you at great speed, he worries that you might not be able to react in time. Which is why he ordered you not to fly near the archers, with their arrows piercing the skies.

Of course, you are not aware of this. You merely believe him to be his usual domineering self. Always telling you the best course of action, criticizing your every move. To seven hells with him.

He watches as you smile haughtily at him, as if to say, watch me do exactly what you tell me not to.

He wants to rip his hair out in frustration. You are his lifelong affliction. The poison in his veins. You. The only one in his mind. You.

But why would you listen to him, when he has always been cold? When he sabotages any and all of the lords who ask for your hand? When he humiliates you in front of your friends, each time he undervalues your words?

Aemond thinks himself gallant and protective. You think him the greatest pain in your backside. But, as much as you’d be loathe to admit it, you would not mind having his hands graze your backside. To feel his lips dance with yours. If only he wasn’t such a massive prick.

You fly back to the cliff, eager to finish off the rest of the archers. But your hubris gets the best of you. Before you can give the order, one of the archers scrambling out of the makeshift caves on the cliff aims true, straight at you. With no time to swerve out of its trajectory, the arrow buries itself in your thigh, making you yelp loudly in pain.

The impact nearly pushes you out of your saddle, and your body hangs haphazardly to the side, making you grip the reins tightly in fear of falling. Your dragon screeches beneath you. She descends in a haste, and you let yourself drop down on to the grass.

Vhagar lands near you, mud splashing wildly due to the heavy impact. Your hands shake as they scramble at your thigh. You snap the arrow in half to lessen its protrusion, its remnant still buried in your flesh.

“You fucking fool!” Aemond rushes to your side, “See what you’ve done.”

“I am no fool,” you yell back, “and I didn’t bloody do anything! I didn’t mean for this to happen-” Pain spasms in your leg, halting your words.

“I saw exactly what happened. You never listen.” He rips a piece of cloth from underneath his leather tunic, and ties it deftly around the lesion.

“Careful,” you shut your eyes in agony, as he tightens the cloth around your thigh.

He grips your face tightly, “Do you not understand what could have happened? That arrow might have proved to be fatal! You could have died! I could have lost you, you fucking-” He stops, catching his breath, the pouring rain muffling his words.

Both of you kneel on the ground, soaked to the bone. Thunder crackles overhead, and the sounds of the feuding armies ring in your ears. But Aemond does not notice anything else; he holds you as if you are the only thing that matters.

“You’re… you’re distressed… why? I am the bane of your existence, am I not?”

“You stupid, stupid girl.”

“Don’t fucking call me stu-” The air is sucked out of your lungs, as Aemond presses his lips against yours heatedly. You taste him, mixed with the rain. Your eyes remain open in shock, and you see his chiseled face, consumed with wrath and passion. His silver locks are drenched, clinging to him. You intertwine your fingers in his hair, and he opens his mouth further, deepening the kiss. You shut your eyes, giving into him. After all, is it not pointless to deny what tugs at your heart? What sets your entire being ablaze?

His hands blindly roam all over you, finally wrapping themselves around your waist. His tongue dances with yours, and you breathe each other in completely. The thudding of your hearts seem to echo louder than the booming thunder in the skies.

All too soon, he pulls back. Your lips are still parted, and you are left reaching out for more. He smiles at the sight of your swollen lips, at your beautifully bewildered expression.

“Now,” he pants, fervently gazing at you, “now… you know.”

His body twists as he looks toward the cliff, and when he looks back at you, his face is again contorted with rage. “Stay here.” He caresses your face, and briefly touches his forehead to yours, before running towards Vhagar, clambering up the large dragon determinedly.

“Seven…fucking…hells.” Each word is punctuated with awe, and you watch him ascend amidst the storm. What the fuck was that?

Aemond maneuvers Vhagar atop the cliff, and he dismounts roughly, his boots hitting the muddy ridge.

He draws his sword, and soon begins hacking at the archers with undeniable dexterity. He could have easily commanded Vhagar to set them all ablaze, but he craves the pleasure of destroying these imbeciles who nearly took you from him. More so, he needs to find the one whose arrow impaled you.

Arrows aimlessly fly at him, but he easily slashes them away. The archers begin to scramble back in fear, but Vhagar picks them off with her cavernous maw. She knows to leave one of them for him.

He reaches the very archer he came to kill, the snivelling weasel who maimed his love, and he wastes no time. He digs his sword in the archer’s thigh, mercilessly twisting and then wrenching it out.

“Ao ōdrikagon ñuha jorrāelagon,” You hurt my love, he growls. His fury dilates his pupil, as he scans the archer with his frighteningly darkened eye.

“Please.” The man releases a futile, final cry.

Aemond does not hesitate. Blood splatters onto his face, making him appear every bit of the vengeful prince that he is.

He is unfazed as he wipes the blood from his sword onto his sleeve. Nothing else matters; he would burn them all for you.

🗡🔥🏹

Another random oneshot, written completely out of the blue...

I love the enemies to lovers trope. Aemond not knowing how to deal with emotions, so he acts overprotective and callous? Yes. Then it all boils over in a moment of danger and passion? Double yes.

taglist: @angel6776 @huntycola @sanguinalia @random-human02 @thelastcitysposts @schniiipsel @just-a-harmless-potato @outundertheocean @darylandbethfanforever9 @thermiting @witchofthenorthstar @m00n5t0n3 @booknerd2004 @throughgoeshamilton @xcallmetaniax @wrendermeuseless @m-indkiller @mikariell95 @nsainmoonchild @lttflower99 @aemcndtargaryen @fairaardirascenarios @blackravena @daeneeryss @wondergal2001 @boofy1998 @graykageyama @itscheybaby @caspianobsessed @moni-cah

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond one eye #house of the dragon imagine

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stackofstories · 5 months

Text

Laenor Velayron was Lucerys’s father in all the ways it mattered. He was not a perfect man, but he was a good man, an honorable man. It was a rare thing. He married his mother and accepted their reversed roles. It was a good match. They knew their lot in life and tried to make the best out of an unfortunate situation.

Mother knew about Father’s favorites as he knew of her attachment to knights. In public, Father defended her honor and endured whispers of cuckoldry with a genial smile. Mother gave him sons to continue the Velayron name.

They were good together.

Jace came first. He followed three years later. His brother preferred the company of Mother and Ser Harwin Strong while Luke favored Father.

He held to Father like a barnacle. Pale skin, dark haired and a pug nose, any one with eyes knew who Luke’s true sire was, but he was steadfast in his affection toward Father. Though Luke could not match him in coloring, he soaked all knowledge from Father until he was certain his blood was saltwater and iron as Father, and Grandsire Corlys before him.

He was five when he understood the meaning behind Bastard. It riled him as it did Jace, leading them into many a fight. But Jace fought for their mother’s honor, Lucerys fought for his father’s.

Bastard touched them differently.

After fights and in the safety of his bed, Luke counted all the ways he was like Father. It was his own personal lullaby. He was a good braider, he liked the star stories the best, he was a good swimmer, he…

Lucerys was fifteen years old. Father had been dead for eight long years.

In the Round Hall of Storm’s End, Luke faced his one-eyed Uncle and tried to remember Father’s lessons on calm and his promise to Mother. He wasn’t going to fight. He wasn’t going to fight. It was worth repeating half a dozen times as he climbed into Arrax’s leather saddle.

Luke flew with a single command. He rubbed the worn leather of Arrax’s saddle, frowning as the rain came soft. Then hard.

A storm. One he could have avoided if he had listened to Lord Borros, if he had avoided his Uncle.

If.

The sound of distant thunder raised gooseflesh on his arms, and he froze as the world shook with the much nearer sound, of a dragon’s roar. There was no time for a curse of ill-luck. There was no time to panic. There was no time for much of anything, but to hold Arrax’s reins, and urge him to fly.

In Luke’s childhood, he had pretended to be the Black Dread, whizzing after his brother and cousins in the Red Keep, yelling dracarys. He had delighted in their agonized screams of death. He was a dragon, an all powerful god amongst the heavens.

In this moment, he felt very much human. Dread quickened his breath as Vhagar burst from the darkened clouds. His Uncle ready to delight in his death.

If it were a sunny day Arrax could have blinded Uncle and Vhagar both. If it were a normal day, he was certain he could outfly Uncle because Arrax was the nimblest and the fastest of the lot of dragons. If he were a better son, he could keep the promise to his mother. If.

Luke faced Vhagar. The words didn’t come in Valyarian, but in action.

Arrax attached to Vhagar and hooked his claws into her softest parts like Nagga the Sea Dragon. Father used to tell him Sea Dragons were stronger than flying dragons, they were able to wrap tight around the mightiest of monsters and drag them to the bottom of the sea where they had no sovereignty. He had hoped for a Sea Dragon when Arrax’s golden egg had been given to him.

Maybe, he would see Nagga in his death.

The wind whistled in Luke’s ears as Arrax dived down straight to the stormy grey waters.

Luke cleared his mind.

The next part came to him. Part dream, he was certain and part blurry reality just out of his reach but vivid and jarring.

The waters swirled violently. The wind howled in his ears. He was free of Arrax. But his Uncle had been trapped, and Luke had dived and pulled him up.

Luke remembered how Father taught him to swim. He swam until he didn’t swim anymore.

His head rested on hard, solid ground, the rain pelted him hard, and the world was screaming and pounding, powerful and insistent. Luke eyed his left, his shriveled fingers curled, and he wondered if he made it anywhere or if he had drowned and he was now at the bottom of the sea with Uncle Aemond. His eyepatch had come unlose and his sapphire eye winked at him.

Luke closed his eyes. Exhaustion weighed on him. He thought of Greens and Blacks. He thought of Mother’s pale face drawn in worry as she kissed him on his forehead. He thought of Joff’s teasing japes and half exaggerated tales of adventure. He thought of sweet Rhaena and her shy smiles and their dreams of Driftmark. He thought of Jace.

In this half dream of reality, he recalled the warmest days of Driftmark. Peasant and noble gathered in the waters, laughter shrieking all around. Father was tall and nut-brown, glistening like gold in the sun. In his gentlest voice, Father coaxed him toward the water.

And then, black.

#prayer in perfect piety #lucemond #pro ship #draft #spacing is weird #ignore me #i deleted this fic last year but I felt like I needed to store it somewhere sooo here it is on my tumblr page #aemond x lucerys #long post

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leesielex · 1 year

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So anti Dany's love to say that without dragons Dany would be nothing, that she relies far too much on her dragons, even in the books. I would like to say, you must not have read the books in a long time and are most definitely conflating that with the show and your own fanon. But also, tell me with a straight face the Stark's don't rely just as much if not MORE on their direwolves in the books than Dany does on her dragons?

Specifically Jon, Robb, and Bran but even Rickon as little as he is in the books, and Arya using her warging skills to give her an advantage as well. The only one who doesn't use their direwolf as much as Dany is Sansa b/c Lady dies so early.

The other point I heard made today in the same post was Dany relies too much on fire and blood and doesn't listen to her advisors and have any strategy. Which is a completely contradictory statement.

In the books, Dany uses her dragons exactly ONE time in Astapor to burn Kraznys. The dragons are no bigger than dogs with wings and barely can burn one man. It is the Unsullied she uses to sack the city (after coming up with the strategy to do so on her own). The only other time Drogon unleashes his fire is in Qarth. Dany doesn't order him to, doesn't say Dracarys in the books, that happens in the SHOW. In the books, Drogon sees what is happening to Dany and that these warlocks mean to do her harm and Drogon unleashes his flame and fury on the HOU on his own accord.

For the entire first book, Dany does not have her dragons and everything she accomplished was on her own and of her own merit. She gains the strength and power to stand up for herself and others. She eats an entire horse heart. As a 13 year old girl, she marries a 32 year old warlord from a completely foreign culture she is thrown into and doesn't even know the language. She acclimates and adjusts, learns the language, learns the culture; learns of her people; and becomes their khaleesi. She learns how to be respected by Drogo. And if she wasn't worthy she wouldn't have been able to hatch those dragons because Targaryens had tried to bring them back for over a century and failed until her.

It is entirely contradictory to say that Dany only knows Fire and Blood and relies on it and her dragons too much and that she ignores her advisors because it is her advisors that are telling her she is too gentle, too merciful, and she needs to use her dragons. Her advisors are the ones telling her to use her biggest advantage and bring fire and blood to her enemies! Even Ser Barristan! While Dany is missing on drogon, the Yunkaii having taken hostages including Daario, they want the dragons killed for the hostages return. When asked what Barristan will do when they refuse an alternate offer he replies "Fire and Blood."

It's preposterous to say she has no strategy because in the BOOKS every city she conquers is HER strategy. It was her idea to deceive and trick the slave masters and free astapor. Dany was the one who made them pack up all the slave collars into carts and lug them to the next city to shoot them into the city to inspire slave revolts. It was her who came up with every idea to take every city from Astapor to Meereen. She weighs all her strategies carefully and weighs every piece of advice offered to her and only ignores her advisors because she sees a better option. It was the SHOW that gave all her strategy to the MEN around her, whether it was Jorah or Daario or Barristan or Tyrion even.

And the main point, why is it always bad for Dany to use her dragons one time against like one person to take a city, yet Jon who uses Ghost often to fight and survive or Robb who always used Grey Wind in battle and used Grey Wind to scout the land are never mentioned how they would be nothing compared to any other Joe Schmo in the books without their direwolves? It's a Fricken fantasy series and while characters like Cersei, Littlefinger, and Sansa are meant to be political, characters like Jon and Dany and Bran (who uses his direwolf more than anyone uses their magical creatures) are the FANTASY characters, though they do intersect with political as well, their main focus will be on defeating the OTHERS who are also fantastical characters and won't be defeated by politicking but with the help of the fantasy companions by their sides!

The hypocrisy and ridiculous standards y'all expect Dany to live up to but your fave character couldn't do is just ridiculous and it needs to stop but I know it never will.

*I didn't come up with all these ideas all on my own. There was discussion about the post on another social media. I just needed to vent in one place.

#daenerys targaryen #jon snow #robb stark #dragons #direwolves #it's a fantasy #asoiaf #they missed the entire point of asoiaf #did they really read the books when they keep talking about show Dany

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gulnarsultan · 1 year

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You know what, I can’t help but imagine: when Yandere Cersei was pregnant, baby she-dragon was around her, nuzzling and purring on her lap, close to her stomach. At first Yandere Cersei was worried, but Prince reassured her that it’s all right. “It’s okay, love. She likes you and our child.” “Oh, okay.” Cersei replies. Meanwhile baby she-dragon nuzzles closer to Cersei’s stomach and when Cersei scratches baby dragon, baby dragon starts purring. Yandere Cersei can’t help, but she likes baby dragon. And so whenever Cersei goes, baby dragon is on her shoulder, guarding her. The only ones who are allowed being near her is Prince, Lannisters and Targaryens. Prince’s dragon also protects Cersei and when she’s around it, the dragon nuzzles to her. When Princess Joanna was born, baby dragon bonded with her, meaning Princess claimed a baby dragon. Still Yandere Cersei is happy that her precious daughter has a protector.

When Yandere Cersei was in Kings Landing, she left her chambers because she wanted to walk around, also because she wanted to see her beloved. So when she was walking, some noble took notice of her and cornered her near wall “Oh, and why is The Princess Cersei is alone all of a sudden?”-noble gets closer to her, “Where I’m going doesn’t concern you. And I highly advise you to let go of me.”- Yandere Cersei answers him with anger, although she noticed that noble looks at her with hunger and lust in his eyes, which scares her, but doesn’t show her fear. But noble doesn’t let go of her, instead gets closer and starts kissing her neck, which causes Cersei to scream at him and trying to get out, but his grip was strong, he closed her mouth and started to lift her skirt. Yandere Cersei realised what is going to happen, and she screamed for help. “Your husband and Prince won’t save you, pretty girl. Only because he has dragons and you became his wife doesn’t mean you’re safe.” Before anything happens, the baby dragon attacks a noble, causing him to let go of Cersei, and when he turns around, Prince punches his face so hard that he fell on the ground and starts beating him, turning him into a pulp, then he goes towards his wife “Are you all right? Sh-sh it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re safe, he won’t hurt you” The Prince holds Yandere Cersei close and she can’t help but cry in his arms. Once Prince was sure that his wife was safe and sound, he turns to his noble, who was held by Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Arthur Dayne. Then Prince asked Jaime to get Cersei to maesters, just to be sure that noble didn’t hurt her and then to their chambers.

The next thing happens is that at the court in front of the crowd was a beaten noble on his knees and chained up. The Prince announced that the noble tried to commit atrocity (rape) towards his wife. Then The Prince sentenced noble to die, “Dracarys” and his dragon burned noble alive. Teaching a lesson for what happens when you try to hurt his family. After that the Prince goes straight to Cersei and when he goes inside their chambers, he calls out her name and when she turns around, she notices his tears. The Prince hugs her, holds her close, and apologises to her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what has happened, he won’t hurt you, no one would hurt you. I should have left the small council early. I’m sorry…” he continues to apologise to her. Yandere Cersei can’t help but cry even more, “None of this is your fault, my sweet.” At night, The Prince put his daughter down on the crib and baby dragon lays there with Princess. The Prince praise the dragon for protecting his wife. After that The Prince and Cersei go to the bed and lay there. Yandere Cersei falls asleep, but Prince couldn’t, because of that incident, but one last look at his wife and his daughter, he falls asleep. After that incident Cersei is always escorted by Kings Guards (often with Jaime, because The Prince trusts him) and a baby dragon. Although that incident never happened again, because everyone were afraid of The Prince.

So what reactions of Yandere platonic Tywin, Jaime, Tyrion and Yandere platonic House Targaryen react to this incident? Can you describe in details and separately? Also how would Yandere Cersei feel and react? I know she was scared, but still. How would she react to see The Prince beating a noble to a pulp and executing him. I wonder how would Yandere Cersei would feel and what she would say when The Prince is crying, apologises to her and holding her close, reassuring her that no one would hurt her.

The noble was a member of House Reyne. There are survivors from Reynes and Tarbecks and they decided to get a revenge for Rains of Castamere. And this noble decided to hurt Cersei in order to hurt Tywin, but he failed. Although no one knows that he’s from House Reyne.

That’s it, for now. *Sighs* good thing that The Prince and baby dragon were around.

Most likely, this happened during the entertainment held in honor of Cersei's second pregnancy. Princess Joanna Naerys Targaryen and baby dragon bonded. The little dragon is protective of the Princess and Cersei. The prince takes the title of tyrant by burning the noble. After that, no one dares to approach the Prince's family.

Tywin gets very angry. He will send the best guards to the Palace for the safety of his daughter and granddaughter. He is proud of his son-in-law.

Jaime is angry and scared. He can't bear to have anything happen to her sister. He will be his sister's shadow now.

I think Tyrion will be worried even if he doesn't have a good relationship with his sister. He especially loves his nephews. Moreover, the Prince is like an older brother to him. He can't keep silent about her family being harmed.

House Targaryen will be furious. They will execute the criminal and those who have relations with the criminal.

#yandere cersei lannister #yandere cersei lannister x reader #house of targaryen #house targaryen #yandare game of thrones

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ashley-jones · 2 years

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Daughter of Fire and Blood

Chapter 5

Aemond Targaryen x Niece Targaryen OC

OC name: Daeny Targaryen first of her name, daughter of the dragons Rheanrya and Daemon Targaryen, Queen of Dragonstone, Mother of dragons, The Unburnt, Next true Heir to the Iron Throne.

Warnings: Cursing, mention of war, blood, death, dragons, fire, afterbirth, Heartbreak, loss of parent, Targaryen going 'mad', Near death, mention of a coma, oral (female receiving)

"No.." Dany whispered. She stood up handing Deanerys to the midwife ushering away from the cot, and moving towards the door. The guards blocked her but she shoved past them chasing after husband. Hand wrapping around arm pulling him back and stepping in front of him. "No.." she muttered. "Stay here." She whispered. "My love I can't." he firmly spoke. "Y-yes you can.. you can stay here, please.." she pleaded. "You can stay with us.."

Her hands shook against his arms, pain pulling at her body, begging her to lay back down. Her hands moved from his arms to his waist, fingers clenching the leather attached to his body. "Please my love.. I can't lose you to.. We can't lose you.." she whispered.

Just as she was about to continue, guards came running towards them, her head turning looking at them noticing their paled expressions. "What is it?" Daeny questioned. "Your mother my queen.. she was struck down." the head guard spoke shakily. Daeny's arms dropped from her husband waist, as she looked directly at the guards, her heart shattering to billions of little pieces. Her breath caught in her throat, head lowering. The blood in veins went ice, then soon it turned to pure flames, eyes darkening as she watched everything die before her very eyes.

She moved around Aemond, making her way back towards the birthing room. "Doarn, ready Mexes, I'm done with mercy." she ordered. The head guard bowed then rushed to ready the queen's dragon. "But my lady you've only just given birth!" the midwife cried. The maids helped her remove the dress, and replace it with her dragon scaled black armour, red cloak glowing behind it. "I want all women and children taken to the safety of the dragon pitts. All dragons should be out in the sky!" she ordered. Her boots clicked, Aemond trying to stop her but she just pushed past him making her way straight towards the Pitts.

Loud screeches of Mexes could be heard as she walked out of the Pitts head shaking and stretching her body. She leaned over allowing her rider to climb, and with her order of high valerian, she ran and then took for the skies. Guards flowed through the halls of Dragonstone, Aemond making his way to Vaghar and immediately taking to the skies, attempting to catch up with Mexes, but the female dragon was 3x faster than Vhagar could ever be.

"Dracarys!" Daeny yelled. Mexes sucked in the. Opened her scaled mouth, teeth of razors showing and with one roar large bursts of red and blue flames erupted from her mouth hustling over the Hightower guards and knights.

Daemon lifted his head looking at his daughter while kneeling beside Rheanrya and her dragon, both dead. He stood watching as she rode down and hit the ground, the female jumping from the beast and rushing over kneeling beside her mother, then looked at her father. "I wish to burn them to ash.." she whispered. "They have taken too much, and we have showed nothing but mercy, they must pay!" she argued.

"Then burn it to the ground." her father whispered. "Make them suffer." he rasped. "You my child are the only one left to do it." He whispered, his hand trailing along his daughters cheek, spreading blood down along her jawline. Her eyes where dark, nearly deep blue, not even the sunlight did the once beautiful glowing gaze good.

She nodded turning around boarding Mexes, fingers grasping at the handles. "Naejot dārys tegorīr mexes!" (To Kings Landing Mexes!) she ordered. The dragons wings spread and took to the skies, flying over the fight, heads lifting towards the dragon when it didn't attack.

"The queen is going to Kingslanding!" one of the greens yelled. Otto looked up from the bridge, his heart pounding as he watched Mexes fly through the clouds. "Has your wife gone mad Aemond?" Otto called out, head turning towards his grandson who sat on top of Vhagar. "She will die just as the rest of them have." he coldly spoke.

Aemond turned his head from his grandfather looking in that direction, but Mexes was long gone, nearly half way their already. "Jikagon lenton vhagar" (Go home Vhagar.) Aemond spoke to his own. Vhagar flew up into the skies flying towards Kings Landing.

Mexes crashed through the kingdom putting a hole straight through the throne room, yells and screams could be heard as Mexes walking through the room screeching at anyone that dared to stand in her way. Aegon and Alicent stood up quickly eyes widened in fear as the dragon walked through the smoke, then soon the queen of Dragonstone could be seen peaking through the dust. She looked at them with this darkness of pain and bloodlust.

Climbing from Mexes she hit the floor with heavy boots, unsheathing her blade, while Mexes chewed and bit away the knights that even dared to approach her rider. Making her way up the steps, spinning her blade then aiming it towards the king. "Tell me uncle.. Has it been worth it?" she whispered. Aegon shivered at the dullness to her voice, hand pulling his sword from his side ready to fight against her.

He moved first, swords clashing together, sparks enlightening as he attacked messily. She kicked him in the stomach sending him clashing against the throne, a yell escaping him as one of the blades pushed through his chest, blood seeping out through the wound. He looked down grabbing the blade with shaky hands, but refused to move.

"No!" Alicent cried. She grabbed her sons sword attacking the queen. Daeny's blocked the first few attacks but her sword was flinch from her hand by a knight, and the kings sword ran straight through her abdomen, a strained gasp escaping the Targaryen. Mexes let out a loud screech, fire pouring from her mouth and over the three.

"Mexes keligon!" (Mexes stop!) Aemond yelled out. Mexes moved her head away fire disappearing, leaving Alicent and the knight in ash, while Daeny sat on her knees, sword sheathed in her stomach, armour red from the flames. Blood dropped down her chin, and into her lap head lowered eyes partially open.

"No, no, no, no!" Aemond cried running straight grabbing his wife by the shoulder lifting her head looking directly at her wiping the blood away. "A-Aemond.." she whispered. More blood spilled from her mouth as she looked up at him. "T-this doesn't f-feel worth it.." she whispered. Her head turned towards Mexes, going to plead for her dragon riders death, but she wound up coughing blood escaping and falling down her chin and to the stone floor.

She tried to push Aemond away so if she where to get her order out, he wouldn't get hurt. "M-move.." she pleaded. "No. You're not leaving me, do you understand, you will not die." Aemond growled. "I'm already dying Aemond.. A-allow me to go out on my own terms.." she whimpered. "M-Mexes.." she whispered. "No!" Aemond cried.

She reached down grasping the sword, pulling from her stomach blood spilling from the wound. She reached up grasping her husbands hands looking at him. "Lo vēzos endiā sīmonus se ñāqot mazilībus, skori se seas jikagon tista se mountains jēlēbagon isse se jelmio raqagon tēmbi. Skori issa womb quickens arlī, se nyke gryves nykeā living riñnykeā. Pār ao jāhor return, issa vēzos-se-qēlossās, se daor gō." (When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When my womb quickens again, and I bear a living child. Then you will return, my sun-and-stars, and not before.) she whispered. her fingers traced his hands, then with one nod, Targaryen guards grabbed him pulling him back and out of aim, despite his yelling and orders to unhand him.

Daeny stood on shaky legs moving down the steps and collapsing in front of Mexes, looking up at her with pleading eyes. "Dracarys Mexes.." she whispered. But Mexes didn't move, didn't react, instead pushed her ahead against her rider. "Dracarys.." she cried. But still nothing, Mexes refused laying down pressing her head into her mothers arms. Daeny leaned down eyes closing as she shook in pain, head pressing into her Mexes' head. "P-please my b-beautiful girl.." she whimpered.

"Dracarys." she whispered.

Mexes sat up looking at her then opening her mouth, blue flames could be seen coming from her throat. Then the brightness of her flames erupted and Daeny was drowned in them, pure relief showing on her face when they covered her body. But when the flea died away, she still sat hand pressed over her stomach a cry escaping her lips as she leaned forward.

She had no choice but to suffer the pain. She was unburnt, unable to die of her dragons flames. Aemond pulled from the guards rushing to her side once more, this time he ripped the armour from her skin leaving her in the black dress shirt and leggings. Lifting her from the floor he stepped on top of Mexes, ordering her to fly to Dragonstone. Vhagar was quick to follow after with the order of her rider.

Daeny looked at the skies, her hair blowing harshly from Mexes' speed. Caraxes soon joined the two dragons looking over at his son in law/nephew, eyes searching his daughter, taking notice of the blood that poured from her stomach. "Jikagon faster mexes!" (Go faster Mexes!) Deamon yelled out. Aemond had grip harder onto the handle, and Daeny as Mexes took past the two dragon, flying quicker and messier towards Dragonstone.

Soon Daeny just turned her head laying it against her husband chest, fingers pressed over her wound attempting to push down on it to stop the immense bleeding. She could feel Mexes drop, and how she was lifted, but didn't remove her head from him, eyes opening and closing, body begging for it's endless sleep, but Aemond refused to let her, moving her around waking her.

"Aemond.." she whispered. "Yes my love?" he questioned. His pace quick as he walked straight for the measters, that where in the safety of the dragon Pitts along with the children, including theirs. "Do you think the war is over?" she whispered. "Yes my love." he whispered. "It's over.." he softly asked. "Good.." she whispered tiredly. "Just 5 minutes of sleep.. t-thats all.. N-no more than that.." she whispered, her voice trailing off as her eyes closed against her husband chest, fingers loosing from her wound laying flat over the stab wound.

Aemond's pace sped up slamming the door open, causing those inside to flinch. "M-mama, dada!" Alysanne cried standing and wobbling over, but one of the maids gently grabbed him. The Maester's stood up looking at the queen with widened eyes.

"Help her." Aemond ordered.

It felt like years of sleep when Daney's eyes opened. The sight of her and Aemond's room was the first thing she saw. Aemond's voice was the first thing she heard. The silkiness of their sheets was the first thing she felt against her skin. She turned her head looking around, hand moving, and smoothing over her stomach, but instead of a gaping wound, all she felt was a scar that's been stitched and sealed, healed over like it was never their in the first place.

She sat up looking for her husband, she could hear him but couldn't see him. "Aemond.." she whispered. "Alysanne Deanerys.." she soon whispered. She stood up shakily, a black nightgown that ended at mid thigh swirled against her skin, shakily walking towards the second door that connected their rooms.

Opening the door she walked in seeing her husband sitting on the chair in front of the fire place. "Aemond." She gasped. He turned his head, quickly standing from his chair and rushing over grabbing her waist carefully so she wouldn't fall. Once she realized he was holding her up, she released the wall and grabbed his cheeks looking up at him, then pulling him down kissing him, lips molding together in perfection, arms wrapping around his neck, his tucking behind her waist.

Aemond lifted her from the floor, legs going around his waist, allowing his arms to tuck beneath her, holding her close and tightly to him. Moving away she pressed her forehead against his, fingers pressing and entangling through straightened silk silver strands. "Mhysa!" Two voiced yelled out. Aemond lowered her holding her waist gently, two children with bright white strands of hair, eyes as purple as lilac hooked onto the female.

Aemond helped her kneel down, her arms grabbing both children hugging them tightly, arms shaking as she held her children for the first time in what felt like forever. "You've been in a coma for 2 years.." Aemond whispered. His fingers where running through her hair, smoothing it out gently. Her hands tucked behind each child's head, holding them tightly to her while she cried quietly against them.

Alysanne moved away grabbing his mother's arms pulling her gently, to which she stood, taking Deanerys' hand and allowing her son to drag her towards the fire place sitting in the larger chambers. "Look Mhysa!" Alysanne pointed. A red scaled dragon egg, along with a black scaled egg sat over the fire place, cracks could be seen along them both. Kneeling down Daeny reached forward gently lifting the red egg, her children watching with amazement as she reached through the flames, lifting the lava heated egg without an ounce of pain showing across her features.

Aemond kneeled down, elbows resting on his knees watching her pull the eg out carefully, fingers trailing along the scales. "Haelena picked this egg.." she whispered. She lifted her head looking up at her husband, noticing his saddened gaze. Placing the egg back carefully, turning over, hand moving to sit over his arm gently squeezing. "Hey." She softly spoke.

Just as she was about to comfort her husband, the bedroom door open Deamon rushing inside. Daeny looked up slowly standing gently touching her husband shoulder. Deamon made quick strides fowards her, arms wrapping around her lifting her from the floor a yelp escaping her as he hugged her tightly. "F-father, y-you'll break me if you squeeze any harder." she gasped out.

Deamon released pressing his head into her shoulder, arms never leaving her. He was terrified of losing her as well, leaving him to raise Aegon alone. Speaking of the boy, he came running into the room despite the calls of the maids, and crushed into his older sister, causing the girl to stumble slightly. "Jesus.." she whispered. "I just awake and everyone wishes to already snap me half." she softly joked.

The maid came in gently removing the children and taking them towards the dining chambers for their afternoon snack. Daeny watched them leave, wanting more time with her children. "Daughter, now that you've awakened and healed, you must take on your birthright of the Iron Throne." Deamon spoke more seriously.

This was the last thing she wanted to hear, a sigh escaping her as she turned around walking towards the chair sitting in front of the fire place sitting down. "Father please.." she whispered. "No Daeny, your mother named you the new heir. The people of the seven kingdoms will kneel to your and your first son." Deamon spoke. Daeny feared war happening once again, she just wanted to live her life in peace alongside her husband and children. "Father I do not wish to speak of this." she softly spoke. Deamon went to continue arguing, but Aemond stepped in front of her glaring at Deamon. "That's enough uncle." he growled.

"You tell me that you will allow your grandfather to sit on that throne?" Deamon growled. Daeny pit her hand against her forehead eyes closing in frustration. "You will let him lead to another war?!" he yelled. "Enough!!" Daeny yelled. She stood up walking around her husband looking directly at her father. "The whole reason that war started was because of that throne. I will not bring my children anywhere near it. I do not want to it. I will not allow myself to fall into the same death as my own grandfather. If you wish for the throne so much, then sit on it. But do not drag my family down with you." she growled. Her voice was sharp and serious, and with one order for him to be removed, the guards had him out and the door shut behind them.

"What a great thing to wake up to." she muttered. She made her way back sitting down once again, hand smoothing over her stomach. Aemond kneeled down in front of his wife, hand smoothing over top of her hand, leaning his head down pressing a kiss to her right thigh. "Aemond.." she whispered.

He hummed lifting her leg up and placing it over his shoulder, lips pressing into the inner portion. He pushed the nightgown up to her waist, her cunt now in full view of her husband. "Aemond.." she moaned. He leaned forward, pulling her closer by her leg, his hot breath pouring over her, making her hips twitch and a soft moan to escape. Her hand reached out, fingers smoothing through his hair carefully unlatching the eyepatch and removing it from his eye, allowing his lilac and sapphire gaze to sit on her, lips parting in pleasure as he sank into her heat, tasting her essence after what felt like forever.

Her hips arched off the chair, only to be pushed right back down, his tongue diving inside, then pulling out lips surrounding her clit sucking on it sending pleasure jolts through her body. Her thigh pushed against the side of his head, moaning his name sleek sticking along her thighs and his chin. She sat up grabbing the top of his head gently, moaning as she came undone on his tongue.

He pulled her hips to the edge of the chair, hand forcing her back to press into the mount of the chair, his lips devouring her, drinking her, savoring, holding her still as she squirmed and moaned pleading for him to stop as she shook. She went from holding onto his hair, to grabbing on his leather jacket, fingers pulling and gripping, nearly tearing the fabric. His name falling from her glossed lips like a high valyrian song rolled from her tongue.

Her eyes rolled back, lids closing over them as a moan escaped her throat, knot releasing and pulling within her stomach as a rush of pleasure ran through her whole body. Aemond moved away wiping his chin with his thumb, licking away the excess. He took in her blessed features, head back eyes closed lips opened, and cheeks flushed.

"Ñuha." (Mine.) he rasped. He stood up, hands pressing into the armrests of the chair, watching as her lilac gaze fell on him, eyes blown with pleasure. He leaned down pressed a hard lustful kiss, tongue forcing between her lips and taking control over her. She leaned up kissing back with the same force, one of his hands leaving the rests and wrapping around her throat holding her still, keeping her beneath him, keeping under his control.

"Dohaeris." (Obey.) he growled. She wanted to say something but the pressure on her throat kept her from doing so. She stared up at him lips parted, one hand moving from him and wrapping around his wrist that held her neck captive.

"Dohaeris." he growled. Knee forcing it's way between her legs watching her struggle against his hand with a darkened pleasure.

#house of dragons #house of the dragon #game of thrones #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond the kinslayer #deamon targaryen #the rogue prince #Rheanrya targaryen #rheanys targaryen #alicent hightower #otto hightower #aegon targaryen #aegon the usurper #dragonstone #kingslanding #aemond targaryen x oc #deamon targaryen x daughter oc #the iron throne

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magalidragon · 3 years

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Anger Management | fic teaser

a/n: I am loving kickboxing lately and naturally the most random of things inspire me...like an enemies to lovers smutfic where Dany punches Jon on accident. I have NOT punched anyone in the face in my workouts but I did punch a handsy pervert kid when I was in middle school. Anyway, this fic will have SMUT, an angry Dany, mysterious snarky Jon, Dadvos, and BFF Missandei who has butterflies on her gloves. Also weird Rhaegar makes an appearance. I love that weirdo. 😂

"Ready?"

"Ready," Dany said, jumping up and down in place, patting her fists together. She grinned at Davos. "So? Who am I kicking the shit out of?"

He sighed. "So much for teaching you to channel your anger, to control your emotions."

"Everyone always wants women to control their emotions, but men can get away with anything."

"I am not touching that one."

It was true. Not that her eldest brother had any emotions, but if Rhaegar got angry in court it was "passionate" and if she got angry in court it was "shrill." Although Dany did have to admit, spending every other day in Davos's gym for about an hour and a half was really helping with her anger, frustration, and general stress levels. She discovered she was sleeping better, eating better, and even Rhaegar commented on her "distinct calm" in the partner meeting that morning.

It was because she knew that tonight she'd be able to actually mess with someone else. She liked kickboxing. Missandei preferred to just stay punching the bag and then let Grey try to teach her some of the staff-work, but Dany was eager to try out her moves with someone else. It was the competitive streak inside of her, coming from growing up with one brother as her sort-of father and the other as an annoying twit who pulled on her braids and terrorized her. She always had to outshine them.

Now she wanted to outshine this. She had mastered the punching bag, now she wanted to try with someone else. Even if it wasn't quite 'boxing.' Davos said as much as she thought she wanted to truly 'box', there was no way he was going to risk it. "I'm not delicate!" she'd shouted.

"Oh I know you aren't, I'm scared for the men."

Today, she'd carved out exactly ninety minutes to get through this before she had to be back at work to go over briefs and prepare her statement for Rakharo's hearing the following day. She'd managed to get it reverted back to juvenile court, which infuriated Tyrion, but it made her day. She'd be before the juvenile court judge, all of whom she knew and they were mostly softies who believed in second chances, as they should. Plus, the juvenile prosecutors were usually fresh out of law school and she could walk all over them.

Missandei was still waiting on their source at the courthouse to tell them who the judge would be. Dany hoped it was Brienne Tarth. They were going up against Edd Tollet as the prosecutor and as a former juvie himself, he tended to always give benefit of the doubt. It would be Rakharo's day in court and she was looking forward to winning and getting him free. Then straight into a relative's home and back to school, learning from his mistakes.

She climbed up into the ring, bouncing around in place, liking the feel of it. It was fun. "You have a trampoline? I could do this all day," she commented, hopping around.

"I’m sure the lads would like that."

Dany glanced at some young rugby players from the high school who were doing weight training, their mouths on the floor as she jumped. She glanced at her chest; she didn't have a huge one, but it wasn’t bad. The sports bra was keeping her in place, but boys, ugh. She rolled her eyes, knocking fists together. "Okay, get in here old man."

"I have to help Gendry, he's got a bunch of new kids coming in for the session of Faceless training."

"We're teaching children how to move like assassins? That sounds dangerous."

Davos's eyebrows lifted, agreeing. "Don't I know it. He never should have recruited at the playground, tons of parents want their kids to be involved, but I don't know what they think." He smirked. "You'll be training with one of my favorites today. Jonny boy!"

Dany wondered who Jonny was, she didn't recognize the name. She glanced over and saw movement from the back office, shocked at the sight of the hot man she'd taken to calling 'White Wolf' because she noticed that there was a white wolf on his black boxing gloves and he sometimes wore a black t-shirt with a white wolf head on the front, no other insignia. Missandei wasn't giving up info if she knew him, Grey was silent as ever, and most of the time he wasn't in the gym at the same time as her. When he was, he was busy and so was she, their paths never crossing.

He was kind of mythical, she'd decided, preferring to look at him from afar. He might ruin the illusion if she heard him speak more or learned that he was a pig like her previous two serious boyfriends.

"Jonny?" she echoed.

"Just Jon," he said, accent rough. It was like Arya's, Gendry's girlfriend, who was from the North. He climbed into the ring. He wore a t-shirt over black sweats, feet bare, and his hands were bare too.

"We bare knuckling it?" she asked. That seemed a little crazy.

"Don't do that stuff here, this isn't the 1800s."

Jon picked up two pads from the corner, slipping them over his hands. He held them up, smirking. "Let's see how you do with someone moving your target."

"What?"

"Gotta walk before you can run, lass."

She wrinkled her nose. Fine. She shrugged, rolling her head on her neck. Today's outfit was an all red ensemble, her braids hanging down her back from their elaborate up-do at her crown. "Let's do this then."

Jon smiled; he had a nice smile, she'd give him that too. It was entirely unfair how attractive he was. Probably has an empty skull, all the brains knocked out from boxing, she figured. She noted that he had a couple scars on his face; he had some more on his chest too, when she caught him without a shirt. He also had a tattoo along his shoulder and onto his chest. More wolves and what she thought might have been red leaves of some sort. There was a tattoo on his inner wrist, which she caught sight of now, standing close to him.

Duty

She darted her gaze to his other wrist. There was another word there. Love. She nodded to them. "Your fists are named love and duty?"

"Something like that." He smiled again, flash of white against his dark beard. His curls were half-back from his face in a knot. He also had gray eyes. They looked practically black in the dim light around them. An air conditioner vent blasted down on them, sending a chill through Dany's spine.

Or perhaps it was the wafting scent of spearmint, faintest cigarette ash, and...woodsy pine? She wasn't sure, coming from the man she now stood about a foot in front of. He was built, but not obscenely so, not like her ex-boyfriend Drogo, who spent more time preening before the mirror inspecting his muscles than using them. Her lips twitched, lifting her fists. "What do you got White Wolf?"

Davos heard that, whistling low under his breath. "My, my Jonny, she truly has your number."

Just Jon smirked, holding up the pads, squaring off. "Let's go Dragon Queen."

She flung out her fist, connecting so hard with his right pad that he stepped back, eyes widening, surprised. She grinned.

"Dracarys."

#jonerys #jonerys au #my moodboards #jonerys fanfic #when my stress reliever inspires fic #and you live in the enemies to lovers aesthetic #fic tease

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sydneysageivashkov · 3 years

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daensa au where your soulmate’s name appears on your wrist when you turn eighteen

sansa and dany both grow up hoping for a soulmate. everyone does, even if most people don’t get one. there are songs about soulmates (though there are also songs about two people who love each other so much they defy destiny and get married anyway - arranged marriage is still a thing, after all).

dany expected hers to be drogo. she maybe hoped that it was daario. she was not expecting the oldest daughter of one of the usurper’s dogs. she tries to be subtle when she asks barristan about house stark, but he sees through her quickly enough when she keeps bringing her questions back to sansa. she’s not happy when she finds out her soulmate is betrothed to joffrey baratheon.

(barristan’s words are positive, of course. sansa was still a young girl when he knew her, and naive, but she was also sweet and courteous and he’s sure she’ll grow up to be a fine match. hmm, says dany.)

meanwhile, back in westeros, sansa is getting steadily more and more disillusioned with songs. by the time her eighteenth birthday arrives, she’s not particularly eager to have someone who’s meant to be her perfect other half. after everything that’s happened to her, she doesn’t want to ever have to rely on anyone again. she struggles to trust her own brother, let alone a woman she’s never met.

when dany lands on dragonstone and summons jon to bend the knee, jon insists on going until sansa rolls up her sleeve. it’s the first time she’s ever shown the name on her wrist to anyone, the first time she’s even acknowledged she has one. oh, says jon. well I suppose you have to go then.

this doesn’t mean sansa’s going to bend the knee. she genuinely believes the north should be independent. she just thinks that, if the soulmate thing has got anything going for it, then she’s probably in the best position to talk daenerys around.

daenerys had hoped that the north might be the easiest kingdom to bring into the fold, with the lady of winterfell being her soulmate. their first meeting does not go well.

“your ancestors swore an oath in perpetuity,” says daenerys. “in return, your ancestors swore to protect and aid the starks,” breaks in sansa. “your father broke that vow when he had my uncle and grandfather killed, and demanded the head of my father, your grace.”

littlefinger goes to dragonstone with sansa, because he’s a creep and sansa did some quick maths and decided it was safer for her to keep an eye on him then let him sow discord back in winterfell unsupervised. he lingers at sansa’s side, whispering to her that this is sansa’s best chance to rule the north, to just bend the knee.

“theon,” says daenerys pleasantly. “you grew up with sansa. is she always this frustrating?” “uh, no,” says theon, looking vaguely panicked and wondering what the fuck’s he’s gotten in the middle of now.

“theon, why does your queen have to be so stubborn,” groans sansa. what the fuck is going on, theon mouths at brienne over sansa’s shoulder. brienne shrugs.

daenerys targaryen is a dreamer, sansa decides quickly. she dreams of a world that’s fair and just. sansa wishes she could still believe in that.

tyrion laughs for about ten minutes straight when he finally works out that dany and sansa are soulmates.

eventually, daenerys cuts to the chase and asks sansa who, exactly, littlefinger is. “a nuisance,” says sansa. “one that I couldn’t afford to leave behind in winterfell.” dany digests that. “so littlefinger isn’t your lover, then?” sansa shakes her head, revulsion on her face. “say, lady sansa, do you happen to know what dracarys means?”

“alright,” says sansa, the next evening when littlefinger is no longer a nuisance. “that was very helpful, I’ll give you that.” “I don’t suppose that means -” “I’m still not bending the knee.” daenerys looks at her sideways and says, “I’ll keep working on it.” sansa smiles. “I’m sure you will, your grace.”

#daensa #got #sansa stark #daenerys targaryen

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sceptilemasterr · 3 years

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Defenders of the Flame (TE Rewrite) Act 2, Scene 7: The Perks of Being Twins

Title: Defenders of the Flame (A CIU Screenplay)

Main Pairings: Shreya x F!MC, Beckett x F!Atlas

Other Pairings: N/A

Genre: Full Rewrite (The Elementalists, Book 1)

Rating: PG-13 for violence, blood, swearing, alcohol, and sexuality

Summary: The Luxen sisters grow impatient with Dr. Swan's continued absence. Fiora comes up with a plan to gain more intel on Raife.

Previous Scene: Link

Masterlist: Link

INT. FLETCHLY HALL, ROOM 108 - MORNING

The early morning sun streams through the window of Fiora’s bedroom as she yawns and turns over in her bed. On the floor next to the bed lies Atlas, already awake and glaring at Fiora’s small desk as though expecting it to come to life and attack them at any moment.

ATLAS: You’re up.

FIORA (yawning): Barely... ugh, what time is it?

Atlas shrugs.

ATLAS: Does it matter? It’s Saturday; you don’t exactly have anywhere to be right now.

FIORA: Exactly, so just let me sleep!

Fiora turns away from Atlas, but her silver-haired sister clears her throat in annoyance, glaring at Fiora until she relents and turns back to face her once again.

FIORA (sighs): Okay, what’s this about?

ATLAS: Dr. Swan’s been gone all week. Nobody knows what happened.

FIORA: Yeah, I know... what do you want me to do about it?

ATLAS (frustrated): Nothing! And that’s exactly the problem. Raife’s been here in the Stoicheal Realm for a whole week while we sit on our asses in a bedroom. Waiting.

FIORA: ...And?

ATLAS: We have no idea where he is or what he’s doing. I need more information. I’m sick of doing nothing.

FIORA: Well, I can’t help you there. I know about as much as you do. Less, probably, to be honest.

ATLAS: You’re right about that.

FIORA (sarcastically): At least you finally agree with me on something.

Atlas groans and flips over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. The two sisters sit in silence for a moment, until suddenly Fiora sits bolt upright in her bed. Atlas looks over at her, surprised.

FIORA (excitedly): Information! Duh! That’s it!

Atlas raises a curious eyebrow. Fiora smiles triumphantly.

FIORA: Raife was active some time ago, wasn’t he? I mean, people knew about him and fought him and stuff, right?

ATLAS: Yes, duh...?

FIORA: Which means... there’s got to be books on the subject somewhere in the library! It’s pretty extensive, so something in there has gotta have some good information! Motivations, abilities, weaknesses... and more importantly...

She and Atlas lock eyes, on the same wavelength for the first time.

ATLAS AND FIORA: ...How he was stopped.

ATLAS: Gotta say, Fiora, that was some good thinking. Thanks.

FIORA: Was that... a compliment?

Atlas smiles but says nothing.

ATLAS: So... new problem, then. How do I get to the library without being spotted? There aren’t exactly any convenient rivers leading straight from here to Glebiza Hall--

FIORA: What d’you mean? I’ll go, obviously!

ATLAS (laughing): You?! You wouldn’t know the first thing about what to look for! If we’re gonna do this, it has to be me who goes.

Fiora looks like she is about to argue the point, but then relents as the truth of Atlas’s words sinks in.

FIORA (defeated): You’re right.

ATLAS: Okay, so... Ah!

Her eyes light up and she snaps her fingers as an idea occurs to her.

ATLAS: We switch places, of course!

Fiora’s mouth drops open in stunned surprise as Atlas stands abruptly and crosses over to the dresser, rummaging through Fiora’s clothes. Before Fiora can object, Atlas has pulled out a pair of jeans and a dark red top, then starts walking toward the door to the common area.

FIORA: Hey! Those are mine! What are you--

ATLAS: Relax. I’ll be right back.

Fiora watches Atlas leave with concern etched upon her face. Dracarys lifts his head up from where he had been sleeping and flits over to her, curling up in her arms. Fiora pats his feathery scales.

FIORA (sighs): Dracarys... why is everything weird?

Dracarys looks up at her and purrs. A moment later, Atlas re-enters the room... but her hair is now the exact same reddish-orange shade as Fiora’s, and she is dressed in the clothes she had taken out of Fiora’s dresser. The twins--now looking nigh-indistinguishable save for their facial expressions--stare for a moment at one another.

ATLAS: ...Well? Am I convincing enough for you?

FIORA: First of all, I don’t scowl like that--

Atlas immediately adopts an exaggerated, fake smile and pitches her voice a few octaves higher.

ATLAS (imitating Fiora): I’m Fiora! I want everyone to be my best friend, and I think the world is just sunshine and rainbows, and I’m so in love with Shreya Mistry--

She is interrupted by a thrown pillow to the face, courtesy of the real Fiora.

FIORA: Shut up! I am not in love with Shreya; where the hell did you come up with that one?!

ATLAS (shrugs): Stop lying, Fiora. Even I can see it.

A brief, awkward silence hangs in the air between the two of them, until finally Atlas frowns, returning to her usual serious demeanor.

ATLAS: For real, though, Fiora. I look convincing enough for you, right? Think I can be “you” long enough to get to the library and back?

FIORA: I guess... Gotta say, that hair-dye technique you used is pretty convincing--

Atlas laughs and holds up a very ordinary-looking bottle of hair coloring.

ATLAS: “Hair-dye technique,” good one. Found this in the bathroom in with Shreya’s stuff. She was still in her room, so I figured she wouldn’t mind.

FIORA: ...Well, now I feel stupid. Look, just...

She sighs.

FIORA: Be careful, would you?

ATLAS: I always do.

And with one final, confident smirk, Atlas exits the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Fiora sighs and flops back into bed, allowing sleep to quickly overtake her again...

_______________________

Timeline Notes: It is now the following Saturday: January 5th, 2018.

_______________________

Next: Research Day

CIU Tag List: @brightpinkpeppercorn @endlesshero1122 @bbaba-yagaa @acidsugar0 @shaylan211 @griselda1121 @acanthisorbis @marmolady @choicesbabie

DotF/Elementalists Tag List:

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xxbyimm · 3 years

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25 oc questions: 🌟🌙❄️🔥🌻💎👀 and I know who you wanna talk about 😆

Lol, you do???? I have no idea...

Thank you so much for asking me these questions, my dear sister from another mister! <3 I really enjoyed answering these. 🔥

🌟 When your OC loses all hope, who do they turn to first? What helps make them feel better? What calms them down and reassures them? Why?

Enya Blueheart always turns to her husband Thorin first. If something or someone is letting her down, she will needs his reassurance and support. Since a large part of their love language is physical touch, they’re often found hugging, kissing (among others things.. LOL). Within his arms, she feels safe and at home. Snuggling up with him in front of the fireplace is one of her favorite things in the world.

Secondly, Enya’s tiny pet dragon Dracarys never fails to make her laugh, because of he’s too stupid to be even alive to be honest. His cuteness has saved his tiny ass more than once!

When Thorin or Dracarys aren’t available, I can see Enya seeking comfort with Dís. Because Enya is about the same age as her sister-in-law’s sons, Dís is very protective of her.

🌙 If your OC could have one wish come true what would it be and why? Would there be consequences to this wish or would they regret it once they get what they want? What would they give in return for this wish to come true?

Hmmm… Quest Enya has one wish in mind, but that one will get granted fairly easily and she has no regrets. At all… ;D

I think Queen Enya desperately longs for some private time with her king. And with this I don’t mean quality time in their private quarters, but more like an equivalent of a holiday we humans have. She wants to go on an adventure with him, explore Middle Earth and have long, passioned make out sessions without having to worry which member of the court is playing peeping Tom. The consequence of this wish would be that the kingdom has to survive without its’ king and queen for a few weeks, but I think they’ll survive…

❄️ What makes your OC sad, so sad that they can’t help but cry all day? How do they cheer themself up? Does their sadness upset any of their loved ones too?

Losing Thorin. As we’ll see in the upcoming chapters of Enya’s journey, losing Thorin will devastate her. There’s no cheering up from that. At that point, En just wants to crawl into a hole and die.

🔥 If your OC known for having temper tantrums? If not, what gets them really angry? What makes their blood BOIL? Is there anyway to calm them down or are they unstoppable? What are they like when they’re angry? Do they take it out on their loved ones?

UM, YES! We’re talking about a bloody fire-witch here! Enya is notorious for her temper tantrums, in which she sometimes loses control over her powers (a.k.a. setting the bed on fire). She despises arrogant people, females who dare to even look at her husband (Dolvira and Elmilynn are honorable mentions) and gender inequality.

Calming this sassy lady down isn’t easy, especially when she has turned into a literal fireball. But somehow (I’m not sure how he does it), Thorin manages. He listens to what she has to say or simply distracts her from the topic that’s enraging her.

🌼 Write a short drabble from your OCs POV meeting their LI (or if they don’t have a love interest, their best friend. If you don’t want to do a drabble, describe their first meeting instead!)

Oh yass!! If you don’t mind, I took a snippet from the remastered Enya’s Unexpected Journey series I’m currently writing!

‘Ouch!’

She landed on something hard and unrelenting. Next thing she knew, the world was literally spinning on its axis and she was lying under a gruffy, very angry man with long, dark manes and a beard. The fight was over before it even had begun and Enya found herself being pinned firmly on the ground, a sharp blade pushing against her throat. She hissed in pain as her assailant’s deep blue eyes flashed over her, scanning the level of danger from his current foe.

Even to someone as inexperienced in combat as she was, it was clear that the man was overpowering her in both strength as deadliness. Resistance was futile. Enya stopped writhing under his tight grip and the can containing her only way to defend herself, rolled onto the ground.

‘Honestly, my dear.’ Her mind huffed. ‘Are you even trying to escape or what?’

For a moment, they were taking each other in and emerald eyes burned into their pale blue counterparts. Aside from those gorgeous eyes that looked straight into the depths of her soul, the man possessed a characteristic nose and a carefully kept -though no less majestic- beard. His mouth was set in a grim line. A strand of his unruly, dark hair brushed over her face. His scent, a mix between tobacco, musk and worn leather, was both soothing and intoxicating.

Good gracious. He was hot…

💎 Does your OC collect anything? Is there a reason? When did they start and is it beginning to turn into a little bit of a hoarding issue? What do they do with their collection?

I don’t think that other than pets, Enya doesn’t really collects anything. She loves animals and once Dracarys bonded with her there was no going back. Thorin often jokes that Erebor is a kingdom, not a farmhouse… xD

👀 Describe your OC through the eyes of another person! (bonus + specify who)

This is a snippet from a chapter I have yet to write!! Lady Dís meets Enya!

A slender female clad in black appeared behind her trusted informant Daniel. Dís, who wasn’t used to Dan bringing companions with him- especially not ones covering their face with a hood-, arched a brow. Dan caught her gaze and grunted something incomprehensible, making the princess of Durin smile. The poor ranger just couldn’t help himself, could he? He always had to play the hero.

‘I don’t remember asking you to bring me anything other than information, Dan.’ She spoke. ‘Who’s this?’

The female lowered her hood and a wave of chestnut brown locks fell over her shoulders. She had pretty, delicate features and though the lack of any apparent facial hair (not even a slight sideburn) was a bit disappointing, the fiery, determined gaze in her pale blue eyes made up for it. But there was something else. A small flicker in her gaze betrayed there was much recent hurt and heartbreak lurking beyond the surface. Whoever the girl was, she had been through much.

‘I’m sorry for intruding your home like this, lady Dís.’ The girl said, her light and melodic voice sounding polite but yet quite certain. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’

‘None taken.’ Dís replied. ‘What’s your name?’

‘My name is Enya Blueheart and I’m the last royal descendant of the firebeard clan.’

Ah, a dwarrowdam. Of royal ancestry no less! Dís neared her new acquaintance with curiosity. ‘You’re most welcome here, miss Blueheart.’ She said. ‘May I offer you something to drink and a place to rest? You look rather tired.’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Enya murmured as she let the princess of Durin guide her towards the long dining table near the fire.

‘My my.’ Dís muttered as her fingers accidently dug into Enya’s ribcage. ‘You are too thin for my liking. If I may inquire… Who broke you?’

@criminaly-supernatural, do you approve of this Dís and Enya scene? ;D

#enya blueheart #thorin oakenshield #thorin x enya #thorin x oc #25 OC questions #sister from another mister #i love enya more than life #ugh

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alinaastarkov · 4 years

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I don't think it's clear for you that Dany using a slave army means she's a slaver. She should have freed them rather than attack several cities, ruin hundreds of thousands of lives and unleashing a deadly plague that'll kill millions. The way her dragons ate children is just a small part of how destructive she is. I'll never forget how she refused the only ally coming from a Westerosi family and how she laughed at Quentyn Martell. She doesn't understand diplomacy or how to peace or make allies.

You’re right! It’s not clear for me because that is utter fucking bullshit.

Did you even read the books? Cause Dany did free them. After ensuring that the monsters who put them in chains, and would have killed her to continue their oppression, were dead, she freed all of them.

"Spears!" Dany heard one Astapori shout. It was Grazdan, old Grazdan in his tokar heavy with pearls. "Unsullied! Defend us, stop them, defend your masters! Spears! Swords!" When Rakharo put an arrow through his mouth, the slaves holding his sedan chair broke and ran, dumping him unceremoniously on the ground. The old man crawled to the first rank of eunuchs, his blood pooling on the bricks. The Unsullied did not so much as look down to watch him die. Rank on rank on rank, they stood. And did not move. The gods have heard my prayer. "Unsullied!" Dany galloped before them, her silver-gold braid flying behind her, her bell chiming with every stride. "Slay the Good Masters, slay the soldiers, slay every man who wears a tokar or holds a whip, but harm no child under twelve, and strike the chains off every slave you see." She raised the harpy's fingers in the air . . . and then she flung the scourge aside. "Freedom!" she sang out. "Dracarys! Dracarys!" "Dracarys!" they shouted back, the sweetest word she'd ever heard. "Dracarys! Dracarys!" And all around them slavers ran and sobbed and begged and died, and the dusty air was filled with spears and fire.

One of the first things Dany had done after the fall of Astapor was abolish the custom of giving the Unsullied new slave names every day. [...] Grey Worm had remained Grey Worm. When she asked him why, he said, "It is a lucky name. The name this one was born to was accursed. That was the name he had when he was taken for a slave. But Grey Worm is the name this one drew the day Daenerys Stormborn set him free."

The raggle-taggle host of freedmen dwarfed her own, but they were more burden than benefit. [...] They ate the land bare as they passed, like locusts in sandals. Yet Dany could not bring herself to abandon them as Ser Jorah and her bloodriders urged. I told them they were free. I cannot tell them now they are not free to join me. She gazed at the smoke rising from their cookfires and swallowed a sigh. She might have the best footsoldiers in the world, but she also had the worst.

Yes, she bought them first. Why? Because she was explicitly told they would not obey her and continue to obey their slave masters. If she had tried to inspire them to kill their masters without buying them they would not have listened, and the masters would have made them kill her instead. So, she buys them, inspires them to kill their masters when they are no longer under their thumb, an opportunity they clearly relish in by the way, and immediately frees them so they can choose whether or not to stay or go and, if they stay, they will be free men with wages and rights and freedoms. So, she did free them, and them being free meant they were free to join her. And the sacking of cities was, surprise, TO FREE MORE SLAVES, IDIOT. She didn’t go to Yunkai or Meereen just cause she likes destruction, she goes there to free hundreds of thousands of men, women and children from bondage and end thousands of years of oppression.

"Mhysa!" a brown-skinned man shouted out at her. He had a child on his shoulder, a little girl, and she screamed the same word in her thin voice. "Mhysa! Mhysa!" Dany felt a lightness in her chest. I will never bear a living child, she remembered. Her hand trembled as she raised it. Perhaps she smiled. She must have, because the man grinned and shouted again, and others took up the cry. "Mhysa!" they called. "Mhysa! MHYSA!" They were all smiling at her, reaching for her, kneeling before her. "Maela," some called her, while others cried "Aelalla" or "Qathei" or "Tato," but whatever the tongue it all meant the same thing. Mother. They are calling me Mother. The chant grew, spread, swelled. It swelled so loud that it frightened her horse, and the mare backed and shook her head and lashed her silver-grey tail. It swelled until it seemed to shake the yellow walls of Yunkai. More slaves were streaming from the gates every moment, and as they came they took up the call. They were running toward her now, pushing, stumbling, wanting to touch her hand, to stroke her horse's mane, to kiss her feet. Her poor bloodriders could not keep them all away, and even Strong Belwas grunted and growled in dismay. Ser Jorah urged her to go, but Dany remembered a dream she had dreamed in the House of the Undying. "They will not hurt me," she told him. "They are my children, Jorah." She laughed, put her heels into her horse, and rode to them, the bells in her hair ringing sweet victory. She trotted, then cantered, then broke into a gallop, her braid streaming behind. The freed slaves parted before her. "Mother," they called from a hundred throats, a thousand, ten thousand. "Mother," they sang, their fingers brushing her legs as she flew by. "Mother, Mother, Mother!"

And whose lives did she ruin? Slave masters, oppressors, men who viewed other humans as property. If she hurt anyone else it was purely by accident because she is a 15 year old girl who has had to dismantle an entire economic system and replace it with a new one. It is an insurmountable task that has never historically been achieved without any mistakes or harm coming to others. That would be impossible. So you must be complaining about the slave masters’ lives she ruined on purpose. Cause, yeah, she did ruin their lives on purpose. She did destroy their livelihoods built on owning people and kill a few of them because they were completely reprehensible people. And you know what I say to that?

Seriously, if you’re upset she killed slavers then you’re the slavery apologist, not her and not us. And are you now suggesting Daenerys caused the pale mare on purpose? Seriously?? Have you read the books? Do you have any idea how illnesses work? Read a little up on it then get back to me cause that suggestion is straight up ridiculous.

Her dragon killed (not ate) one child and her response to that was to immediately lock them up in a dungeon because she couldn’t allow it to happen again. Nice try, Karen.

Lmao “she doesn’t understand how to make allies”. Did you forget Xaro? Barristan? (And that was without even knowing it) Daario and his whole group of sellswords? What was marrying Hizdahr if not making allies and securing peace? There are more on this list. Btw, yes she laughed at Quentyn for a moment. And immediately after she stops others from insulting him.

"Fifty thousand?" mocked Daario. "I count three." "Enough," Daenerys said. "Prince Quentyn has crossed half the world to offer me his gift, I will not have him treated with discourtesy."

She also had Quentyn stay at the palace so they could continue to talk, only refused him because she was already engaged. And that marriage would secure her people peace and security in the present, where Quentyn’s offer would only help her in the future/ if she abandoned her children, which she was not prepared to do. Any idiot can see that she could not have “accepted” Quentyn’s offer even if she wanted to, and all that happened to Quentyn was his own fault. I love the kid, but his mistakes are on him, not Dany.

So, you’re full of shit nonny! 👏

#asoiaf #daenerys targaryen #does your arm hurt from all the reaching?#seriously who can read the books and come up with this?#still laughing at being upset she ruined slaver's lives #like i'm supposed to feel sorry for those bitches?#i DON'T #miss me with this bs #the dragon's daughter #Anonymous #neve has mail

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alexhogh7137 · 4 years

Text

The Battle Between Love and Fire-

Ivar the Boneless × Reader

Chapter Seven is here...

Chapter Eight: Dracarys

Chapter Nine is Coming Soon...

Word Count 1.8k

Warnings: Mentions of blood, gore, fluff, mentions of beatings (may be triggering)

When you walk alongside Ivar and Hvitserk, you see the three guards that put you in that horrid cage. The other two that helped carry you, were behind them, waiting for their fate to be sealed. Hvitserk nudges and smirks at you.

"What?"

Hvitserk "Nothing, I just think that you are going to enjoy this a great deal."

"Oh I will. I didn't deserve what they did to me, so they deserve what they are going to get."

Hvitserk chuckles and throws his arm around your shoulder, "I like you, princess. You are going to fit in very well here in Kattegat."

"Thank you, and I like you too Hvitserk. You've helped me these past two days and I cannot thank you enough. I owe you."

Hvitserk "Don't worry about it, Y/n. It was my pleasure to help you. Ivar would have done it himself if he could."

"I know. I feel for him."

Hvitserk "As do I, princess. But he is Ivar, he does not like pity."

"I understand how he feels. My people in Wessex, they know how my father is. And yet they don't show me pity, they just simply look the other way when I come out of my chambers with fresh bruises."

Hvitserk "He beats you-?!" He gets cut off by Ivar starting the ritual.

You whisper and lean into his shoulder, "I will tell you after, but yes he does. It is a very long story."

Hvitserk "Okay, I am sorry. Just know that as of right now."

"Thanks."

…

Ivar takes a seat right in front of his people and reaches out for you to join him, to which you gladly take his offer.

Ivar "Are you ready, princess."

"Yes, my king. Thank you for giving me justice. You don't have to if-"

Ivar "Nonsense! I care for you a great deal, Y/n. These three deserve what they are about to get. You are not the first person to be treated that way."

"Really, who were the other's?"

Ivar "Hvitserk's late beloved, and two others. So yes, I am happy to do this."

"Okay." He kisses your knuckles and then looks at his people.

Ivar "My good people, you all know these men very well! You know how they have tendencies to take their power a little too far, don't we?"

"Yes!"

Ivar "What you do not know, is that these three guards threw princess Y/n into a cage we keep for intruders! People who disobey and people who defame my image! Not innocent women who simply came for help, for a better life! They also did that to Thora, my brother's late lover. She also did not deserve that. Two others were also thrown without my word, without my ruling! Now do we allow that?!"

"No!"

Ivar "So what should we do, my people! Because surely princess Y/n, among others deserve justice for what they have done to them, do they not?!"

"Yes!"

Ivar "So, what shall we do to them huh?!"

"Hang them!" Some shout.

"Sacrifice them!" Another shouts.

Ivar chuckles and then looks at you, "What do you wish for me to do, princess?"

"I do not care, just kill that one first." You point to the man in the middle.

Ivar "Yes, my princess. Question...ax, dagger or sword?"

Him asking you that question, gave you a tingle that you couldn't ignore.

"Dagger, my king. Make him suffer." You see his jaw clench in excitement. He kisses your forehead and then gets up and walks right up to the man you pointed at. He turns around one last time and takes out his dagger.

Ivar "Your future queen, has decided that I do this personally! To which I am happy to do. Do any of you object?" No one objects, making Ivar look at his brother in amusement.

Hvitserk "Do it, brother! Make him scream-" when Ivar is about to do it, Ubbe and Torvi arrive back from their travel's.

…

Ubbe "What is all of this hmm? And who is she?"

Ivar "This is my soon to be queen, Ubbe."

Ubbe "Oh is that so? Well, what is your name little sis?"

"I am Y/n, princess of Wessex."

Ubbe "Oh how nice. Now Ivar, why are three of our personal guards waiting to be killed, hmm?"

Ivar "They threw Y/n into our cage, Ubbe. I did not command it, I did not even know that she was here! They kept her in there without my knowledge for over eight hours."

Ubbe "Are you serious?"

Torvi "Are you certain?"

Hvitserk "Yes, they admitted it."

Ivar "I won't allow another woman to be thrown in that horrid cage that isn't meant for them. First it was Thora, then it was two of your allies, now Y/n. I won't allow it...surely you would agree, yes?"

Ubbe "Yes, it was just a shock is all. But it must be done. Y/n, it was nice to meet you. I look forward to getting to know you shortly, hmm?"

"Yes of course."

Torvi "How long is your stay?"

Ivar "Indefinitely."

Torvi "Oh how wonderful." They walk away, not even mentioning the emerald green dragon that sat calmly by your side. Which you thought was strange.

Hvitserk sits down next to you, waiting for Ivar to get the job done as much as you are.

Hvitserk "Continue Ivar." Ivar clears his throat and turns around to face the man.

"Please my king...I will not do that again. Give me another chanc-"

Ivar "YOU HAD CHANCES! I GAVE YOU FOUR, AND YOU STILL DISOBEY MY ORDERS! I told you, when we have visitors you send them straight to me. And what do you do? You put them in the cage for hours on end!"

"I AM SO SORRY, IVAR! PLEASE HAVE MERCY!"

Ivar "Mercy? MERCY?! DID YOU GIVE Y/N MERCY? HUH?"

"N-no."

Ivar "Let me ask you something. Did she tell you who she was, hmm?"

"Y-yes."

Ivar "Huh? I didn't catch that."

"YES!"

Ivar "Yes. That is what I thought. What else did she say to you huh?"

"She..she told me that you knew that she was coming. She told me to just talk to you."

Ivar "Mhm..and did you? Did you come tell me that?"

"N..no. I didn't trust her! She has a fucking DRAGON!"

Ivar "I KNEW THAT SHE HAD A DRAGON! YOU ABSOLUTE IDIOT!"

"Please Ivar."

Ivar "You threw the woman that I have grown insanely close with in a dark, isolated and cold cage for over eight hours! She could have starved to death, she could have died from hypothermia! It is beyond freezing in there, for a reason!"

"Please, i-i am not ready for Valhalla!"

Ivar "Hmm..strange. 'cause I can hear the Valkaries wings coming down to bring you home right now!" The man screams out one last time before Ivar digs his dagger into his right eye. Hvitserk cheers and throws his horn of ale in the bastard's direction. Ivar doesn't stop there, he digs his other eye out and then slits the man's throat. To everyone's surprise, he is still gurgling. Ivar looked at you and then at Ryuu. You know what he is asking of you and you think about it for a moment. He didn't just put you in that cage, he also put your dragon in there with you. You make up your mind and rise from your seat. You walk over to Ivar with Ryuu on your shoulder.

"Dracarys." Ryuu blazes the man from head to toe while the people of Kattegat cheer. Ivar stood there in amazement at your dragon. After he was dead, it was the two others' turn.

"What about them?"

Ivar "I will simply hang them."

"Good, the two behind them don't deserve to die, Ivar. They followed his orders, nothing else."

Ivar looks at them kneeling on the floor, begging for mercy and then back at you.

Ivar "Okay princess, if you say so. I will allow them to live."

After the two others were hung, Ivar had his people clean up the bodies.

Hvitserk walks over to the two men that you saved, uncuffing them from the floor.

Hvitserk "You owe her your lives, do you understand that?"

"Yes." They both said.

Hvitserk "Because of her, you both live to see another day." That is when you walk over.

"Th-thank you! THANK YOU!" They practically chanted.

"You are very welcome. I know that you simply followed orders. Now if you ever betray me, I will burn you alive."

They swallowed deeply, "Yes. Yes princess."

"What happened to not using your dragon's to kill?" One said.

"I will allow them to kill for me if it is justified. If you betray me or your king ever again, I will burn you alive. Do you understand?"

"Yes." They both said.

Hvitserk "You can leave." They both ran for their lives. Ivar was behind you and Hvitserk the whole time.

Ivar "I have never met a woman so powerful before you, princess."

"I-I don't know where that came from." He walks towards you, cupping your cheeks.

Ivar "Your rage came out, my sweetheart. Your pain from your father, your pain from your past came up...that is why you said those things."

"You are right. I am not usually like that."

Hvitserk "But you have a reason to be, Y/n. Don't feel bad for setting rules, you are a princess."

"Okay."

_____________________________

Ivar had matter's to take care of with his brother Ubbe and his wife Torvi, leaving you and Hvitserk alone.

Hvitserk "Hey."

"Hey."

Hvitserk "Do you want to tell me now? If you are ready.."

"Sure, Hvitserk."

He sits down next to you and listens to you tell your story of your past. You explained to him your father's ways and his behavior. When you get to the beatings, you can see Hvitserk's behavior change abruptly: tears filled his eyes and his jaw was clenched. But eyes never left yours.

"So that is why I understand how Ivar doesn't like being pitied. But for me, I have never experienced empathy, sympathy or pity. I just had to fight my own little battle by myself because no one else would dare go against my father."

Hvitserk "I don't know what to say."

"Yeah."

Hvitserk "Well you aren't there anymore, Y/n. You don't ever have to go back if you do not wish to."

"I have to eventually, Hvitserk. I have two dragon's at home waiting for me. Oh my gods MY DRAGON'S!"

Hvitserk "Y/n, what is it?!"

"My dad, he...he will change my dragons! I trained them to be loving unless told otherwise! His dragons were much different."

Hvitserk "What do we need to do?"

"I need to get my dragons."

Hvitserk gets up, "So let's get ready to get your dragons and bring them home. Where they belong."

@hvitserkmarcosource @ivarsgoddess @youbloodymadgenius @a-mess-of-fandoms @ivarzeitgeist @kaitieskidmore1 @fadedprincess @more-stuf-f @herestherealproblem @heavenly1927 @saldelys

#the battle between love and fire #ivar the god #ivar the boneless #alex hogh andersen #marco ilsø #marco ilsoe #hvitserk lothbrok #hvitserk #jordan patrick smith #ubbe lothbrok #torvi vikings #vikings

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idrewbedraggledbreaths · 4 years

Text

Sorting Daenerys Targaryen and Jorah Mormont with the sortinghatchats system (GoT verse)

I didn’t want to write this post before I finished my Killing Eve sortings (basically Carolyn and Konstantin), but I’m stuck with them, so I decided to revisit an old fandom instead with a new approach. My take here is possibly an outsider’s take, given that I haven’t interacted with this fandom for a while, save for a few close friends I made in it. Now, bear in mind this sorting system IS NOT the original HP system, it is simply based on it. It sorts you into two houses. Your primary is you WHY, your reason to be who you are, what you believe in. Your secondary is your HOW, the way you act and approach life. Below is a little tl;dr of what each of them are (I’m using the animal terminology that’s being used in many blogs, by the way. If you know the houses, you know what each animal is supposed to represent).

Lion primaries are intuitive and guided by their moral compass, which is very strong (doesn’t mean what they believe in is in fact good or correct) and Lion secondaries are the people who charge straight at something, regardless of whether they will come out of it unscathed or not.

Snake primaries value people. Not any person, their people. They will go to hell and earth for their people to be safe and happy, which can get kind of self destructive. Snake secondaries improvise much like Lion secondaries, but they tend to adapt to situation and shapeshift their way out of problems.

Bird primaries also value right and wrong like Lion primaries, but they build their systems with external information and observation, not from their gut feelings. That means Bird primaries change a lot with time, because their ‘rights’ and ‘wrongs’ change. Bird secondaries collect. Skills, tools, random knowledge, they delve deep and acquire as much of them as they can, not because things are useful, but because it’s fun.

Finally, Badger primaries are also people-persons, but their communities are much broader than a Snake primary’s. They value people, tradition, cultures and so (but not every Badger sees everyone as people, so there’s that). Badger secondaries are the hardworking types in the sense that they cultivate things, they invest in them and even become them.

You can develop models of each house according to what you find useful or what society has instilled in you, but when push come to shove, the models aren’t the real you. All of these houses can burn, meaning their essence is somehow scared away from them due to trauma, depression, societal pressures, etc. That means a Lion stops trusting their instincts, a Snake no longer feels like they’re able to protect their people or their people are better off without them, a Bird loses faith in their systems and a Badger closes themselves off from their communities and adopts a smaller circle of people. Burnt houses can look a lot like each other. For more info, check out the tags.

Daenerys

Double Lion, no doubt (for most of the show). Dany knows what’s right, she feels it in her bones. She never tries to rationalise her decisions and she won’t usually budge, even if she is presented with a more rational plan. None of her advisors have really convinced her to do anything, they might have pushed her to do what they wanted, but if she had her way, Daenerys would only ever listen to her own heart. She needs people around her to help her not make impulsive, brash decisions(because of her Lion secondary that I will get into), but she definitely doesn’t need - and doesn’t want - a moral compass, hers works just fine. She was burned as hell in the first episodes of the first season, mostly because of Viserys’ horrible influence, because he had robbed her of a purpose, of her truth. Drogo also stifles her primary and secondary for a while, but he eventually gives her some space to be herself. When she unburns, she unburns fast. ‘Not a Queen, a Khaleesi’ is pretty much Day gong ‘yeah, I can do things my way, I can be my own person with my own values and my own self.’ I think from there on, her quest to liberate 1) take back the Iron Throne 2) liberate Slaver’s Bay and ‘Break the Wheel’ just show how much she is focused on a big quest that is not explained by reason, by her need to form a community or by the influence of someone in her life. She does it because that’s the Right Thing ™ to do, and that’s Lion primary in a nutshell. Another thing that points towards Lion primary to me is how she just won’t take criticism and specially betrayal well (not that anyone does, but Dany is particularly unforgiving most of the time). Lion primaries are particularly shaken when someone they admire doesn’t have the same moral standards as they do, because deep down they like to think they know what’s ‘good’ and ‘true’ (oops my Snake primary who doesn’t really get Lions is showing), so if you don’t follow them and their beliefs, you must be doing something wrong. This is why Dany is so fucking pissed at Jorah when she finds out he betrayed her. She is also devastated true, and she misses him, but her ideals and her ‘truth’ stop her from seeing things from his side ad from forgiving him until he has proven himself worthy. Her reaction to betrayals tie in to the fact that she is a MASSIVE Lion secondary. She headbutts her way into things and her liberal use of Dracarys is proof of that. That’s not to say she doesn’t think or plan or listen to her advisors, but when push comes to shove, homegirl ACTS. Fuck the consequences, I have three dragons, fucking try me. Don’t tell me that climbing on Drogon in the fighting pits and burning the Khals were calculated decisions. Burning the Lannister army wasn’t a calculated decision. She leaves the planning to the people around her. This is something I struggle with regarding Lions, but I have to admit they are much more prone to seizing opportunities that us Bird secondaries (because I do have a Snake model but it is utter shit).

Now, in seasons 7 and 8, she starts burning again. She gets to Westeros, where people aren’t flocking to her side like they did in Essos. Daenerys lets herself be swayed by Jon’s pretty little speeches that sound very Lion, sound very true to Daenerys, but guess what? She is fucking betrayed by everyone. The people she loved are killed, her children are killed (and the whole ‘I will take what is mine’ thing indicates that she might have a Snaky primary model, after all, she does some things because of what she claimed as hers, be it people or the Throne), she is left absolutely alone, so she burns, she loses faith in herself, starts doubting her actions and her instincts and no one is there to help her unburn safely, so the way she does it is destructive, as it often is with Lion primaries who don’t have guidance in order to regain their trust their instincts and their selves. To me, the KL incidence is her primary going ‘You fucking left me behind, you fuckers, now you are going to see that I was right and fuck the consequences’. Her primary takes a turn for the worse with the help of an impulsive secondary and she ends doing anything to reach her end goal, similar to Albus Dumbledore and his disregard for human life as long as Voldemort being defeated is concerned.

Jorah

I have no doubts whatsoever that Jorah is a Snake primary. I know the fandom likes to sort him into Hufflepuff when using the traditional sorting system and while there’s no doubts he is a loyalist to the bone, Jorah’s loyalties are much narrower than a Badger primary’s would be. Before he meets Daenerys, he wants to go home and make up with his family, because they are the ones who matter. Not his reputation, not the North, not Bear Islad itself, the Mormont House. Before that still, he does literally anything to keep Lynesse happy, including doing things that are against the law. This utter devotion to certain people are what makes him a Snake primery to me, a paricularly self destructive one. He starts worrying about the fact that he berayed Daenerys when he ‘adopts’ her into his circles and more so when she goes from being in his outermost circles to being the one person his Snake primary is attached to. Daeerys is everything to Jorah. Does he persoally care about freeing slaves or generally following her morals? No, he does it because it is importat to her and he wants her to see he is worthy of her attention (I, another Snek, still don’t kow if I like Florence + The Machine so damn much because I liked a girl who was into FATM or if my Bird secondary saw her taste for FATM and went ‘OMG ME TOO LETS TALK ABOUT THAT’ and the primary just said ‘huh, that’s legit. We’ll worship her from now on’, so yeah, us Snakes do that. On a side note, I never worked up the courage to ask her out, though). That’s why he goes batshit when she banishes him. He doesn’t burn, which means his primary is so strong it wasn’t fazed by being ast out of her circles; no, he is hell bent on getting back into her good graces and if he has to sacrifice his life fr that, so be it.

Now, when it comes to secondary, I’d say Jorah’s a Lion secondary too, even though he has a lot of models he picked up with time. Models are useful, models get you out of bad situations, but they’re not who you really are. Jorah wans to be a Bird secondary when he’s around Daenerys, he wants to be the careful planner who looks ahead and ensures she is successful and he also needs a Snake secondary model, because his life demands that he twists and turns himself to fit different situations, but deep inside he is a Lion. His most honest moments are the moments when he just does it, no thoughts head empty. Did he have a solid plans when he kidnapped Tyrion? Fuck no! Did he truly know what he was doing when he decided to fight in the pits? Fuck no! Did he think before he charged at the wights and saved Daenerys in Winterfell? Fuck no! His head was probably just going ‘my Daenerys is in danger let’s punch first and see what happens later’. He’s not like Littlefinger, who plans everything ad is so fast at analysing and changing plans he looks like a Snake. His models make him seem like the opposite of Dany, like a Bird to a Lion, brains while she is brawn, but when she is in danger, Jorah charges.

What the Jorleesi shippers do is take Dany’s Lion primary that is so focused on a quest and show her that she can also include people in her big aspirations. The gut feeling that is so characteristic of Lions is already inside her, all she would need is to put it into words, which isn’t necessarily the strongest suits of many Lions (that’s a Bird thing). Since most of their dynamics inevitably lies on Jorah’s models regulating Dany’s secondary, there’s not much point in ‘taming her Lion’. Jorah stays the same. The fandom looooves his Snake/Lion, specially since us Snakes tend to be too hard on ourselves. A self-loathing Snake who is also a stupid brave Lion secondary? Yes. They are both stupid brave. Also just stupid. Just talk, you two, for fuck’s sake. Get over your Lion, Daenerys, and talk to him, his Snake won’t allow him to bother you too much.

#daenerys targaryen #jorah mormont #Dany x Jorah #jorleesi #sortinghatchats #lion primary #gryffindor primary #lion secondary #gryffindor secondary #snake primary #slytherin primary #double lion #snake/lion

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