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marvelcriminalhoe · 2 years

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Mavs Kinktober

Rhaenyra Targaryen x Handmaiden! Reader

“Touch me there. Right there.”

Warnings: Power imbalance (Which could lean towards dub con but reader is entirely willing.) Talks of political marriages. Oral (Fem receiving.) Kissing. Groping. Declarations of love.

word count: 3,227

You’ve known Princess Rhaenyra for years, being one of her handmaidens since you were just a mer tween. Your mother was one of her mothers maidens and when you were real young, you and Rhaenyra would play together in the gardens as your mothers watched.

You were from a low house, not having place in court, but it never bothered you. Until Alicent Hightower started whispering in Rhaenyra’s ear about how being seen with you was a travesty, a mockery of the courts hierarchy. Of course, that didn’t stop Rhaenyra from wanting you around, but she was a princess, the heir to the thrown, which means she does need to look at such things with a firm eye. So her plan was to make you one of her maidens. No one could say anything about your friendship or how much time you spent with each other if you were one of her maidens.

You didn’t have a problem with this either. You knew you would eventually be a handmaiden for one of the lady’s of court, and you were glad it was for someone you viewed as a friend, rather than someone like Lady Alicent, who probably would have made your life a living hell, more so than she already did.

You were glad you were able to still be friends with Rhaenyra, to be there for her when her mother died, when Lady Alicent wormed her way into the kings bed, wedding him and becoming Rhaenyras good mother and effectively ruining their friendship forever.

Rhaenyra cried on your shoulder for days, talking of the betrayal she felt, the sadness, the grief of losing someone she thought of as a sister. You tried to comfort her as best as you could. The entire situation was bizarre to you, how someone like Alicent, who you thought was a real friend to Rhaenyra, regardless of how she treated you, could actually do something like that, but regardless, the situation made you and Rhaenyra a whole lot closer. She made you promise you would never betray her, confiding in you that she felt you were the only person she could trust in this kingdom, and you vowed to never break that promise.

“And then he says he wishes for me to start courting soon, to announce in the next few moons who I wish to marry!” Rhaenyra retells of the meeting she had with her father earlier that morning.

You send her a glance through the mirror as you continue to brush her hair, “Nyra, you knew you would always have to marry, this should not come as a surprise.”

“It’s not.” She scoffs, turning around in her chair to face you head on, making you drop the brush to your side. Her eyes are angry, but the pout on her pink lips shows she is also feeling dejected, “I just wish he did not force me to spend time with a magnitude of Lords I will never choose.”

You raise a brow at her as she continues to pout of her duties, you feel for her, you do. Although you come from a low house, and it does have some disadvantages, it also comes with some advantages, like getting to marry outside of political advancement, “Are there any Lords you would choose?” Already knowing the answer, your friend is not shy about her distaste of the courts high men.

Rhaenyra snorts, very un-lady like, but you don’t reprimand her. It’s only the two of you in her chambers and you enjoy how carefree she is in moments like this. You know the stress she is under, the weight of the realms on her shoulders. You feel special, knowing you get to see her so casually, easygoing, that she can feel that way in your presence.

“I don’t want a Lord.” She stands, going over to her large bed and throwing herself down, looking up to her ceiling as she huffs, “I am to be a queen, why would I waste my days being some wife to a lowly Lord.”

Her words bring a chuckle to your lips, “I doubt whatever Lord you marry will be lowly.”

She sits up, looking to where you’re still standing by her vanity chair. Her soft silver locks you just brushed meticulously down her back, now stick up in a few places, “Who says I will marry a Lord?” “A common man then? What ever will the court say?” You question her, only really in jest, setting the brush down and organizing her vanity back to order.

Rhaenyra doesn't answer you, choosing instead to watch as you place everything precisely. You've always taken to making sure everything is structured correctly, her wardrobe, vanity, baths. Taking to being in charge of everything here so she can just relax, be at ease in her quarters. You are her greatest companion and the person she feels is most loyal to her. She also feels most loyal to you, how you care for her, show her nothing but fondness and warmth. Rhaenyra calls your name, waiting until you look over to her to speak, patting the space next to her on her bed, “Come sit with me, you work far too much.” “I’m supposed to work, Nyra.” You roll your eyes, but walk over to her bed and sit next to her like she asks, “It’s why I’m here.”

“No,” She draws out, an over exaggerated pout on her lips, “You’re here to keep me company.” She flops her head down in your lap as you laugh, “And run your hands through my hair.” “The hair I just brushed?” You tease, but your hands are already combing through her locks, the softness of the silver strands is light through your fingers, and you can smell the jasmine from her bath oils.

Rhaenyra smiles up at you, eyes bright with admiration, “Well it is your job, is it not?” “You are a brat.” You pull one of her strands of hair, making her hiss out. She pops up fast, making you jump back with a yelp, only for her to pounce on top of you, the smirk of a dragon on her lips as she stares down at you, “Now who's being a brat? Do you know the penalty for pulling a princesses hair?” “Are you going to put my head on a spike?” You fake fear.

“Your head is far too pretty for a spike.” She puts more of her body weight onto you, affectively laying on you, clothed chest to clothed chest.

You try to move out from under her, flustered by her brave comment. It’s not the first compliment she's given you, she doesn't shy away from giving you kind words such as the ones she just said, but that doesn't stop you from being flustered each time you hear them, “Rhaenyra let me up.” You tell her, trying to push her off of you, but your efforts are in vain, as she grabs your wrists and slides them up the bed above your head, “What’s wrong? Don’t like being underneath me?” Her words make you heat up, trying to pull your wrists free but that makes the silver haired girl above you tighten her grip, her nails slightly digging into your skin, you huff when you're unsuccessful, “Rhaenyra, let go, if someone walks in—“

“Are you trying to tell the princess what to do?” She tsks at you, dropping her face to your neck where you feel her warm breath, goosebumps appearing on your skin, “Perhaps you should be punished.” “Rhae—“ You try again, your voice a stutter of nerves, affectively turing to a gasp as you feel her plump lips come in contact with your throat. You feel the twitch of them as a smirk threatens to reaper, even if you cant see her face. A small whimper releases past your own lips when you feel her teeth nibble lightly on the tenderness of your neck.

She places small kisses up towards your jaw, pulling back to look in your eyes, her face one of teasing, but her gaze one of lust and desire, so abundant in her stare it sends a wave of anxiety through you, “That sound was almost as pretty as you. Are you sure you wish for me to stop?”

“Nyra please.”

“How do you expect me to stop when you beg so nicely?” She mocks you, placing delicate kisses on your cheeks.

“This is unfitting,” You say, but your voice is one of waver, you don’t have much fight left in you, not when her lips feel so good upon your skin, “Your reputation would be tarnished if someone were to walk in, as would mine, no matter how low it already is. What Lords would marry you with the rumors that would start?”

Rhaenyra pulls back, her lilac eyes narrowed at you in an intense glare, “I already told you, I don’t wish to marry a Lord.”

“This is serious Rhaenyra!”

“I am not joking.” Her tone turning forceful and hard. You've heard her speak this way before, during court when someone says something she disagrees with, when she comes back and rants of her meetings with her father. Her temper can become as dangerous as the beast she rides, but it’s never been directed to you, not until now that is, “I am not going to marry some Lord, some man, that I will never love. I refuse. I will not be some brood mare to give him offspring.”

Her face becomes assertive, powerful, she’s so full of confidence in next words she speaks that chills arise on your skin for a whole new reason, “I will have a wife of my own, one of my own choosing. One who will take care of everything around me as I take care of the realm. What good will a man do me, as I am queen? I need a woman, a wife, by my side as I rule.”

You imagine this is how she looks during her meeting at grand court, meetings you do not attend as only a select few high members are allowed. Her confidence is admirable, something one stands in awe of, though, you imagine she’s not called the realms delight for nothing, people are constantly standing in awe of her.

She lets go of your wrists to cradle your face in her hands, your heart beating faster as she caresses your cheeks with her thumbs, “A wife that I will take care of, just as she has taken care of me all these years.” “Nyra.”

Its just a whisper, because truly, you don’t know what to say. What can you say to all of this? It’s not that you don’t reciprocate her feelings to some extent, you've always felt your fondness for her was more than a fondness for a friend, but you never lingered on the thought, there was no reason to, nothing would ever come from it. Even when you would notice the soft touches she would give you, the longing looks, or the sweet words, you never thought too much into it.

You feel absolutely stupid now for not letting yourself linger on those thoughts.

“Will you let me take care of you?” She questions, looking into your eyes so sincerely that it would take your breath away if she hadn't already done that by just merely existing.

“I—I don’t know…” She’s patient with you, something you are entirely grateful for as she nods at your words, “You don’t know if you want me to take care of you? Or if you want me?” “I want you.” Your voice still low, but filled with so much revelation that it brings a bright smile to her face as she pushes some of your hair back with one hand, petting you softly, “I just— I don’t know ho— I’ve never…” She just continues to smile down at you, eyes full of the same tenderness as her touches, “Can I teach you then?”

The nod you give is all she needs to connect her lips with yours, her velvet lips dominating your tentative ones is a dance of desire and passion. You grab her hips with your hands, needing something to ground you in this whirl of emotions, your nerves fluttering away as she pulls back, a gleaming smile on her face, bigger than you had ever seen before.

“Seems you don’t need my teachings after all.” She teases, laughing as you swat at her arm, embarrassed by her teasing, but also relieved by it, the soft ordinary of her banter making it feel as though its just another day by her side. She sighs softly as the both of you gaze at one another, “My heart has craved to do that for years.” You frown at the melancholy in her voice, the sadness that lingers in the joy, the yearning for not moving in this direction before now, “Then why have you waited?”

“I did not know if you desired me in the same way.” Her words utterly confuse you, “Who wouldn't desire you?”

“Then why have you not taken any action toward that affection?” She questions.

Your earlier words are repeated, “I don’t know how, Nyra. I’ve never been with a man, let alone another woman. I wouldn't even know where to begin.”

“I can show you.” She tells you earnestly, with such grave sincerity all of your quarrels are driven away before they can truly take root in your mind, “All you have to do is ask, and I will show you the world,ñuha jorrāelagon.”

You've spent enough time with her over the years that, although you still can’t speak it fluently, you know enough Valyrian to understand her words, my love. They strike some sort of chord in you, driving away any lingering nerves, leaving only lust and devotion in its place.

“Then show me how to please you, my queen.”

Your words have the same effect on her as her words had on you, if the growl she let out is anything to go by, smashing her lips on yours in a much more ferocious pace. Your hands make home again on her hips, uncertain of what exactly to do with them, as hers, much like the confidence she has in her words, have no problem mapping your body out over there clothes.

“I wish to feel you without confinement, dōna riña.” Sweet girl. The moniker is a new one, but one that sends warmth to your heart as her hands continues to roam.

She whines as you pull away from her, earning a bite to your lower lip as she concedes, a warning really, “You must teach me first, I wish to please you.” “But I can teach you as I please you.” She kisses down your neck, sucking lightly on your exposed collar bone. You softly grab her face, forcing her to look at you, “Please Nyra.”

And damn you, you know she wont say no. She can almost never deny you, but especially when your begging is so sweet. She pulls herself away from you, with much resentment, standing at the foot of the bed, and starts to remove her dress, turning around for you sit up and undue the laces in the back.

The heavy fabric drops to the floor, leaving her bare to you. You’ve helped her in her baths before, but those have never felt as intimate as this.

Rhaenyra smirks as she pushes you back onto the bed, crawling over you slowly, your eyes taking in all of her. She's like a hunter stalking her prey, and you finally understand why people say Targaryens look like their dragons. She is fierce, and strong, and entirely magnificent. Just as her dragon is.

“Do you enjoy what you see?” She raises a brow at your staring. You can only nod, prompting her to take one of your hands in her own, bringing it to the middle of her chest, right above her heartbeat, “You can touch me, you know. It’s only fair, since my heart beats for you.”

“Show me.” You speak with such desperation to satisfy her properly that she takes pity on you, moving your hand to her breast, her voice dropping to honeyed charm, words filling you with ease, “You do not need to fret, for I am already fulfilled by you, anything more is added delight.” This time you're the one to bring your lips together, your kiss one of gratitude and joy. You roll over till she's underneath you, pulling away when the both of you can go no longer without air. Chests heaving with breaths.

She places one more fleeting kiss to your lips before grabbing your hand again, “Ready?” “Yes.” You nod, watching as she delicately moves your hand down her stomach to her most sensitive spot, “Touch me there. Right there.” She instructs you, helping you press down on her sensitive core, moving your fingers in soft circles.

As your pace steadily increases, Rhaenyra lets go of your hand, allowing you to continue on your own, her eagerness present by the wetness growing.

“You’re doing so good.” She moans, bringing your eyes from her core to her face. She’s watching you possessively, “Taking such good care of me.”

You move forward in order to kiss her lips, making sure to keep your circular moments as you do.

“Do you wish to learn more?” She questions. “Teach me all of it.” You beg. You want to know everything, every way to bring her happiness, to have her quivering underneath you in ecstasy.

“Where your fingers are,” She gestures to your movements, “Use your mouth.”

You move to position yourself between her spread legs, glancing up at her face. Her reassuring smile brings you courage as you swipe your tongue through her folds. The moan it draws from her is heavenly, and you want nothing more than to listen to it again, driving you to lick her again.

And again.

You don’t need any instruction when you take her clit into your mouth, sucking on it benevolently. Your rewarded by her loud moan, and the tight grip she has on your hair, pushing her hips up into your face more as her back arches.

“My sweet girl.” She moans, “Always taking care of me. Doing so well for me.” You continue to lick and suck as she moves her hips along, enjoying the slight pull she does to your hair and moaning into her, “I’m going to come, my love.” You don’t let up as her high takes over, choosing to keep your pace as she goes through it. You’re rewarded for it as she lets go of your hair, grabbing your face to pull you up towards her. She looks absolutely blissful, and you don’t think you've ever seen her as beautiful as you do right now.

“You did so good, dōna riña.” She caress your face, kissing you sweetly. You pull back, smirking down at her, “I think you’re the sweet one.”

She laughs at you before her eyes turn wicked, turning over so she's above you, “Ivestragī īlva find hen qilōni iksis tolī dōna ñuha aderī naejot sagon ābrazȳrys.”

Let us find out who is sweeter then, my future wife.

#rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #house of dragon #rhaenyra #targaryen #kinktober fics #handmaiden reader #rhaenyra my beloved #house of dragon fic

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flowersforlaila · 1 year

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Queen Consort Alicent cleaning Warrior Queen Rhaenyra’s battle wounds can be something so personal—

Like Rhaenyra’s laughing because she got a very minor, totally-not-at-all-consequential stab wound; and Alicent’s going through seven different stages of panic because There’s a Hole in Her Wife’s Stomach.

Alicent’s fussing, Nyra’s wincing her way through laughter, and they’re both just so fondly exasperated with one another.

Alicent has her lips tightly pressed against her mouth, painstakingly cleaning Rhaenyra’s bloody wound so as to not cause her any further harm. She’s so focused she doesn’t notice the way Rhaenyra’s laughter slows into a soft quietude. A serenity swelling in the battle-worn Queen’s chest, adoration marking her features as clear as day. The high of dragon riding, the drum of a fight, the rush of blood that she cherishes at a grip of her sword all pale in comparison to the surge of emotion she feels at Alicent’s touch. The ministrations of her unrelenting love and care absorbed in full are enough to make Rhaenyra drop her sword and never pick it up again. She thinks herself mad, she knows herself in love.

She stills Alicent’s tender, steady hands. Cupping her love’s hands in her own scared palms, the hardened tissues of a dragon rider, she feels along the lines of abrasive skin she’s grown accustomed to recognize as Alicent’s. Permanent calluses from years of weaving, writing, and anxiety seamed into the tips of her fingers and the heart of her palm. Rhaenyra traces them as she’s done a thousands times before, gently, adoringly, mindlessly. She could trace them in her sleep, she knows this. She touches them to her lips and holds them there, speaking a love into them she doesn’t think she can articulate in words. Alicent gasps, a soft sound that disrupts the quietude of their shared room and Rhaenyra knows Alicent understands.

There are bandages loosely hugging Rhaenyra’s torso. Alicent is seated in-front of her with a inquisitive look in her eyes; to which Rhaenyra returns a blessed smile.

“Thank you,” she says, lilac eyes fixed on Alicent, “For taking care of me.”

It’s so unvaryingly sincere Alicent doesn’t know what to do with herself, hands still clutched in Rhaenyra’s palms. She bites the inside of her lip, so as to stop a completely idiotic smile from emerging onto her reddening face. She doesn’t think herself successful from the way Rhaenyra’s smile twitches into a full grin. Ten years as her Queen Consort and Rhaenyra persists to blindside her at the most inconspicuous moments, wholly by just being herself. Her lovely, lovely self.

Taking a moment to collect herself, Alicent smoothly detaches herself from the Targaryen’s grip and resumes mending her stupid wife’s utterly careless injuries, clipping out, “You’re very welcome. Faith knows I’m seldom afforded all the proper acknowledgment for all my ever-so valiant efforts.”

Rhaenyra takes to laughter then, the softness still presiding in her eyes, and consequently, is met with a sharp pain effected by an ever-bruised torso. Wincing, she doesn’t miss the way Alicent’s lips turn up, cheeks still a delicate red, as she continues to tend to her lover’s wounds.

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