Hotd Fic - Tumblr Posts

Also this cute little scene of Viserra trying to convince Alicent that she is her mother.

I am not a great artist but this scene hit me in gut and I wanted to draw it.

I wanted to draw it so bad and I did.

I know Alicent's hands look funny and I forgot rings... But hey I learnt to make the Seven Pointed Star. It was hard at first but I did it.

Alicent is holding Daeron in that and Viserra is no older than five.

Read it here!!

HELAEGON + FAMILY IN ESSOS

moodboard for my fic the dog days are over. helaena sees a vision of the dance and decides to run off to essos with aegon and their kids. they proceed to heal and have the best time. 🧡

I should not be this soaked when my beloved Can-Can just died

"Syz Riña" - Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader

A/N: i'm going to hell for writing this, you're going to hell for reading it, let's have fun twerking on satan's lap ig 🥰

Summary: Aemond takes what he is owed.

Rating: 18+, MDNI

TW: DUBCON, canon-typical incest, profanity, innuendo, afab reader, she/her pronouns, P IN V SEX, spit kink, breeding kink, fingering

Word Count: 2,343

HOTD Taglist (bold means I could not tag you): @pastelorangeskies @poppyreader @ietss @hopelesswritergall @michaelcliffordbrokeintomyhouse @ad-astra-again @hedahobbit98 @its-halleys-comet @ur-local-asseater @not-a-glad-gladiator @babyblue-chaos @clara02 @ultraviollett @bitchyglitterfox @polireader @disco--fairy @hwaillight @avaleineandafryingpan @larix999 @jamespotterismydaddy @the-jess-life @onadailybasis @mawofmeraxes @fandoms-unite123 @elle4404 @givemeeverything @tinykryptonitewerewolf @whorefordrew @foxyanon @aemondsdaemons @candypurplebutterfly @revory @floswife @r1dd1kulus @unnoticeableparadox @jessica295 @rottingviserys @alitaar @cumslutforaemond @nyaaaaa008 @watercolorskyy @justanotherkpopstanlol @crownedtargaryen

When you land at Storm’s End, dismounting from Cannibal, you know you should turn right back around the moment you see Vhagar. Jace volunteered the two of you to go as your mother’s emissaries, and you don’t wish to disappoint either your twin or your mother. And so, you steel yourself and announce your arrival to the guards, knowing your uncle, the man whose eye you stole all those years ago, is waiting just inside.

As you walk, you reminisce about the last time you saw Aemond, only a week or so past.

-

As the pig is brought to the table, you stifle a laugh. It is a knee-jerk reaction, reminding you of the idiocy of your youth. Aemond, of course, does not see it that way, leveling you with an icy glare. You bite your lip, still holding back a giggle at how ridiculous you all had made the pig look, the Pink Dread as Aegon had so ingeniously dubbed it. You are not laughing at Aemond necessarily, but unfortunately, that is the way he takes it.

“Final tribute,” Aemond stands suddenly, staring at you, “To the health of my niece. Beautiful, wise. Hm,” you feel your skin flush as his eyes rake over you, blood going cold as he finishes, “Strong.”

“What the fuck did he just say,” Jace scowls as Alicent hisses her son’s name.

“Come, let us drain our cups to this beautiful, strong girl,” Aemond smirks again and tips his glass to you, Aegon laughing and raising his glass as well.

“I dare you to say that again,” Jace growls, rounding on his uncle, intent on defending your honor, you, his beloved twin and betrothed.

“Why?” Aemond feigns innocence, “‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think your sister strong?”

Jace punches Aemond in the face, prompting you to jump to his aid, only to be slammed into the table by Aegon.

“I quite like you at this angle, Niece,” he grins into your ear, rolling his hips against yours.

Aemond is able to make quick work of Jace, shoving him to the ground. Jace looks over to you, seeing you being harassed by your other uncle. Fire is in his eyes as he stands again, ready to fight. He is pushed back by your stepfather. He points a warning finger at the both of you as Rhaenyra sends you off to bed.

Aemond feels burning flames of anger licking his stomach as he watches Jace wrap you in some furs and hold you tightly. You are shivering. It should be him. And it will be. This betrothal will not be an issue much longer.

He follows the two of you out and waits for you to separate from your twin to head to your own quarters for the night before approaching you, silent and dangerous. An apex predator, going in for the kill. Before you can even touch your doorknob, she’s shoving you up against the door, his chest pressed against your back.

“I will take what I am owed, niece,” his voice is quiet, cold, and calculating as he whispers in your ear, “And you will give it to me.”

He turns to leave, gone as fast as he came. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. Your heart beats wildly against the wall of your chest. What you owe him…? The incident was years past. And you never meant to blind him. You were children, for fuck’s sake, so what does he mean?

-

“Princess Y/N Velaryon. Daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

The thunder roars at Storm’s End as your arrival is announced to Lord Borros Baratheon. When Jace suggested that the two of you deliver your mother’s ravens, you had a feeling something like this could happen. When you saw Vhagar, you should have turned and run all the way home. But you did not. And so now?

You attempt to sound as dignified and mature as possible, curtsying and handing the scroll to the older man, “Lord Borros. I brought you a message from my mother, the Queen.”

Borros sighs and calls for the maester to read the message to him.

Aemond steps forward from the shadows. You feel him before you see him, his eyes on you, as they always seem to be. Your eyes travel to where your uncle stands, his blue eye glaring at your no doubt drenched and shivering form.

“King Aegon at least came with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact,” Lord Borros turns to you, eyes scrupulous and calculating, “If I do as your mother bids, which of my sons will you wed, girl?”

“My lord,” you pause, truly apologetic as you speak, “I am not free to marry. I am already betrothed to my brother.”

“So you come with empty hands,” Lord Borros mocks, before sighing and fixing you with an uncharacteristically gentle look, no doubt feeling sorry for you, “Go home, child. And tell your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”

You feel a sharp sense of disappointment. You’ve failed your mother and now you will have to bring her news of your failure.

“I shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord,” you reply, curtsying.

As you turn to leave, your uncle’s voice rings out, “Wait! My Lady Strong.”

You stop in your tracks, frozen, turning slowly to meet his gaze. You choose to ignore the jibe at your parentage and wait for him to speak.

“Did you really think that you can just fly above the realm trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?” Aemond questions, his face stern and intimidating, “In truth, I’m surprised you’d go against your rightful king, considering your pathetic attempts to get his attention as a child,” he takes a step closer, “You followed him around like a lost puppy, didn’t you? Is that all you are? A little puppy following commands?” Aemond chuckles, “How pathetic.”

You wince at his harsh words, knowing them to be true. Growing up, you always admired your Uncle Aegon. You sought his approval in everything you did, and as such, it often involved tormenting poor Aemond.

-

“Behold, the Pink Dread!” you lead the pig toward Aemond, giggling.

Aemond’s smile turns sour. He turns to his brother and nephew, both laughing hysterically before storming away, looking almost as though he’s about to burst into tears. A wave of guilt washes over you as you watch him leave.

“Should we say sorry?” you ask innocently.

Aegon scoffs, “Niece, if you even try saying sorry, I’ll make sure that you never get to train with us again,” he ruffles your hair, “You did well. You can come to the pit with us tomorrow.”

You all but jump for joy at Aegon’s approval, forgetting Aegon, and thereby, your guilt.

-

You swallow and find the courage to speak, “I will not fight you, Uncle. I came as a messenger, not a warrior.”

“A fight would be little challenge,” he muses, staring at you, “No,” Aemond speaks, removing his eyepatch to reveal the sapphire that had replaced what you had stolen from him so long ago, “I want you to put out your eye as payment for mine. One would serve.”

Aemond tosses a dagger at your feet, making you take another step back, stumbling slightly. The court begins whispering at the fear evident in your eyes at your uncle’s words, your entire form trembling.

“I would not blind you,” whatever comfort these words bring you is taken away by the next, “I plan to make a gift of it to my mother.”

All is silent for a moment before your voice rings out across the hall, clear and with a strength that you did not quite realize you had, “No.”

Aemond glares, “Then you are craven as well as a traitor,” he smirks, letting out a malicious laugh, “No matter,” you see his gaze harden slightly, “You can give me your cunt instead.”

Your eyes widen as you stumble backwards, held up by a lord who you assume pities you.

Aemond lunges for the dagger he’d thrown at you, roaring, “Give me your cunt or I will take it!”

You reach for your own dagger, holding it out in front of you defensively with shaking hands as Aemond smirks at you, twirling his dagger between his fingers. Ready to take what he wants.

Lord Borros snaps, “Not in my hall,” he turns to his advisors, “The girl came as an envoy. I’ll not have bloodshed beneath my roof,” he turns now to the knight who had aided you to your feet, “Take Princess Y/N back to her dragon.”

You’re led back to your dragon, glancing back over your shoulder at Aemond’s seething form. Somehow, you have a feeling that this is not going to work out in your favor. You remember the last time you saw Aemond as you climb atop Cannibal, your beloved mount. You run your hand along his scales, the warmth of them a welcome solace from the cold rain overhead. You take to the skies, whispering to him to take you home as quickly as possible. Back to the safety of your mother’s arms and Jace’s.

But fate has something else in store for you. From the corner of your eye, you see Vhagar’s massive shadow advancing on you. You’re not sure what’s more terrifying. The mighty dragon herself or its rider. The storm rages on as Aemond continues his pursuit of you. You maneuver through the sky as quickly as you can, and it’s as though Cannibal senses your fear, because his movements grow more erratic.

“Dohaeres, Cannibal,” you whisper frantically, “Soves! Please!”

“Riña,” Aemond’s voice taunts from somewhere behind you, “Come out wherever you are. You owe me a debt.”

You pray that you and Cannibal remain hidden from your uncle and Vhagar by the clouds you are about to pass through. Then, as if out of nowhere, Vhagar appears, flying just in front of you, Aemond seated atop her, looking like the Warrior himself.

You feel Cannibal bristle beneath you and know he’s planning on using his flame to defend himself. You scream, begging him not to. While Cannibal is massive in his own right, Vhagar? She is gargantuan. But Cannibal does not heed your warning, blowing fire into Vhagar’s face.

Everything happens so fast. Vhagar lets out a horrifying roar, making you stare at her, and her rider, in fear.

Your eyes widen in fear as Vhagar’s giant jaw clamps on Cannibal’s neck, “No, Cannibal!”

As your dragon begins to fall from the sky, you are lifted onto Vhagar. You find yourself chest to chest with the man you fear most. 

Aemond stares at you impassively, “You are mine,” he speaks, his voice low and terrifying, “You have been mine since the day we met. You took my eye,” his hands move to rest at the bodice of your dress, “I will take your body.”

“No,” you cry, attempting to squirm away from him, terrified by him and by the fact that any movement could send you careening down to your death, “I’m supposed to marry Jace! Uncle, please let me go!”

This seems to displease Aemond; he grips you by the throat, squeezing just tightly enough to make you gasp, “Speak his name again,” he murmurs in your ear, “And I will gouge out his eyes and give them to you as a wedding present.”

You begin to sob openly, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as you wail at the thought of your beloved older brother being hurt. Aemond leans forward to lick your cheek, lapping up the saltwater that flows from your eyes.

“Just kill me,” you cry, cringing, “Blind me, Uncle, I’m sorry! I never meant for that to happen!”

“Apology not accepted, niece,” he hisses, grabbing you by the jaw and forcing you to look at him through teary eyes, “We will be wed tonight. I will have you. I will take what is mine.”

He grabs your skirts and bunches them up at your hips, his eye ravenous as he takes in the sight of your bare legs, almost as though he’s a dragon himself, going in for the kill. He moves his hand up your thigh, his eye never once leaving yours. You squeeze your own eyes shut, unable to look at Aemond, unsure of just what it is he plans to do.

Aemond’s long fingers move with grace up to your cunt, making you gasp as he strokes at it lightly. He smirks at the shiver that goes through your body at his touch, noticing everything you do. Every breathy little gasp. Every whimper. Then, he pushes two fingers inside you, making you let out a yelp. You’re no stranger to pleasuring yourself. You’re quite sure no girl your age is. But his fingers feel entirely different. They’re long and fill you up in the most pleasurable of ways.

Aemond laughs darkly as you squeeze around his fingers, “You little whore. Your cunt is soaking my fingers. I thought I’d have to prepare you, but you seem quite ready for my cock.”

You feel your blood rise to your face as he continues working his fingers inside you, curving them, pumping in and out at an agonizingly slow pace. Aemond watches as your body writhes against his touch, as you struggle to maintain some composure as you come undone at the hands of the man you’re meant to hate.

“That’s right,” he hisses, his thumb rubbing against your clit, making you let out a sharp gasp at the sensation, “You’re such a greedy, wanton little thing. Look at you. You’re supposed to hate me, aren’t you? Now look at you. You came here to rally support for your mother. Now? I’m about to fuck you.”

He speeds up his movements, making you let out a cry of his name, “Aemond, don’t, it… I…”

“You, you,” he mocks, not relenting, speeding up even more, “Spill yourself on my fingers, you little whore. Scream my name.”

Aemond pinches your clit slightly, making you finally let out a scream of his name as you reach your peak, throwing your head back as he pulls his fingers out of you. He presses them to your lips.

“Lick my fingers clean.”

You stare at him, surprised, but seeing the intense look in his eye, you part your lips. He pushes his fingers into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself. You close your eyes, only to hear him growl against your ear.

“Eyes on me.”

Aemond stares you down as your tongue moves against the skin of his fingers. You feel entirely humiliated and yet, you can’t keep your eyes off of him. After he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, he grips your jaw.

“Open your mouth,” you do so and are quite surprised when he spits into your mouth, “Swallow.”

You’re silent for a moment, completely shocked, when he repeats himself, a little more aggressively. He grabs your hair, pulling you up to him.

“I said to swallow.”

You again do as he says, staring back at him, wondering what he’s planning on doing next, “Are you going to kill me?”

He doesn’t speak, rather he merely rips the bodice of your dress open, leaving you in your flimsy shift, which quickly gets soaked by the relentless downpour of rain. He watches with delight as it clings to your form, the outline of your breasts quite evident through the thin fabric. He takes your dress and tosses it. You watch it fly away, thinking to yourself that if he wished… That could be you.

When you turn back, Aemond’s breeches are undone and he has his rather lengthy cock in his hand, the tip already weeping with pre cum. He leans down over you, lining his hips up against yours before pushing into you. The intrusion is not altogether unpleasant, and you find yourself raising your hips, wanting him to move even deeper.

“Such a nasty, wanton little harlot you are. Drunk on my cock,” he chuckles, grabbing your hands to pin above your head, “I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”

He pulls back before slamming his cock back into you, making you let out what you’re sure is a pathetic mewl of his name. Your noises spur him on as he begins bucking his hips against yours, his cock railing into you over and over again, without mercy or hesitation. With one hand he holds your wrist, while the other snakes under the fabric of your shift to squeeze your breast so hard that it has him moaning at the feeling. He mouths at your other peak over the fabric of your shift, biting down slightly on your nipple, making you whimper and turn your head away as he continues.

Aemond continues slamming his hips against yours, reveling in every moan, every breathy gasp, every cry of his name you let out, the rain soaking the both of you as he finally takes what he believes he is owed.

“Your family won’t want you back after this,” he hisses in your ear, his movements stuttering slightly as your walls tighten around his cock, nearing your peak, “I’m going to fuck my heir into you right now. I’m going to spill my seed in your cunt every night. You’re going to be mine in every sense of the word. Wanted you so long. Loved you so long. You’re mine now. All mine.”

“Yours,” you manage to agree, feeling as though your body is on fire, and only Aemond can quench it, “I’m close…”

“Soak my cock, syz riña,” Aemond hisses at the feel of you tightening around him, hardly able to so much as move, “Come on.”

Your peak hits you more intensely than ever before, white hot pleasure blinding you as you feel almost as though you’ve died and ascended to the Seven Heavens. Aemond continues fucking you through it, spilling his seed deep inside you, staking his claim over you once and for all.

He stays there for a moment, just staring down at you, “We’ll be married tonight. You’re mine now.”

His words while he was inside of you ring like a bell in your head, “Loved you so long.”

He can’t have been serious… Could he?

…oh sure, just rip my heart why don’t ya?

"Moonlight Girl" - Aegon Targaryen II x Niece!Reader

a/n: i'm sorry in advance lol

Summary: Try as he might, Aegon will never be able to forget his moonlight girl.

TW: canon typical incest, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, arranged marriage, alcohol consumption, alcoholism, angst, hurt no comfort, character death

Word Count: 2,035 words

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

He had loved you from the moment he saw you, when he watched his elder sister place a dragon egg in your cradle. At the same time he placed in your tiny hands a locket with the emblem of a dragon, the sigil of your house, smiling at you as you reached out to snatch it from him eagerly. Neither Rhaenyra nor Alicent wished to encourage Aegon’s affection for you, but he was not so easily deterred. You were a mere two years younger than him and ever his constant companion. While your younger brothers constantly sought Aegon’s approval, you never had to. He gave it to you readily. The two of you grew so close that those who lived in the Keep knew you were all but inseparable. So often did you sneak out to Godswood or into the city in the dead of night together that Aegon began calling you his moonlight girl. He would come to your usual meeting place, at the hour of the ghosts every night, the fountain where the birds would come to drink. Ever since your shared childhood, you enjoyed bringing seeds for them, feeding them alongside Aegon.

And he enjoyed watching you, how you smiled and how your aura shone in the moonlight. His sweet moonlight girl. Every memory he had with you he held near and dear to his heart, from the most trivial to the most consequential. It was all equally important and treasured by him.

When your Aunt Laena passed and your family in its entirety was reunited on Driftmark for her funeral proceedings, you begged and pleaded with your mother to offer your hand in marriage to Aegon. She resented the idea, opposed it vehemently, but she saw that look in your eyes. She did not wish to subject you to the same fate she had been. So, Rhaenyra Targaryen swallowed her pride and approached the woman who was once her dearest friend. Queen Alicent cruelly rebuffed her, declaring that arrangements had already been made for Aegon to wed Helaena in the Valyrian tradition. Rhaenyra knew this was meant to be a slight against her. Alicent had always considered the traditions of the House of the Dragon to be queer, an affront to the Seven. She was only doing this so that Aegon could not marry you.

Your mother allowed you to scream at her, your rage pouring forth from you like rain from the heavens. But she vowed then and there that she would not allow you to be humiliated by the likes of Alicent Hightower. She would find you a match more suitable. She would not let her beloved firstborn be insulted by her father’s second wife.

You ran to Aegon, telling him what all had happened. Until that night, Aegon had not understood the extent of his feelings for you. He did not realize just how deeply he loved you until he learned he would never be able to have you, that he was to be wed to his sister. Aegon took your hand, pressed a kiss to it, and vowed to you that the two of you would reunite one day. That he would be your husband and you his lady wife.  And your lips met in a tender first kiss. He gave you a lamp, bidding that you keep it lit for him. That you keep the flame burning until the day you were finally reunited, the day you would finally be together.

Surprisingly, the day of your nuptials came before those of Aegon’s to Helaena. In his wisdom, your stepfather brokered a peace treaty between House Martell and House Targaryen by way of you - Rhaenyra’s rightful heir. You were to marry Prince Qyle, thereby bringing Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms upon your ascendancy to the throne. It was a wise choice, one you had no reasonable objection to. You had long held out hope for the betrothal between Aegon and Helaena to be broken. But your hopes, your dreams… They were not to be.

He sent you a raven, the day you turned six and ten. You opened it, bright-eyed, hoping that it would bear news of his betrothal being annulled, that you would finally be able to be with him.

My sweet moonlight girl,

I must beg your forgiveness. It was folly to believe that love could ever exist between the two of us. I implore you to forget about me. To forget any words I ever spoke to you that gave you hope of a match between us being possible. You must move on from me. We are not meant to be, and we never will be.

Aegon

Jace rushed to your side as the letter fell from your hands and your body dropped to the floor, racking with sobs. Your brother knew the truth of what occurred between you and Aegon, the love that was shared. And all he could do was try to offer you the comfort of his arms, whispering that Prince Qyle was a good man, that he would make you happy. And all you could do was sob, your spirit utterly broken at Aegon’s rejection. Even so, you keep Aegon’s lamp lit, hoping beyond hope for a miracle.

The entirety of the Targaryen clan attends your wedding ceremony in Sunspear. Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena serve as part of your bridal party, painting your hands and feet with henna, preparing you for your new life as a bride. The two of you will live at the Water Gardens until such time you take the Iron Throne. You do your best to smile for your mother and Daemon’s benefit, to feign happiness at marrying a gentleman like Qyle. After all, he has been nothing short of warm and welcoming to you ever since you and Aegerax set foot in Dorne. You may not love him, but he is a good man. And you hope he will make a good husband.

Helaena gives you a soft smile as she fastens your payal around your ankle, “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you say, your voice thick with emotion.

You do not hate Helaena, nor do you begrudge her for marrying Aegon. You know neither of them had a choice in this. But that does not mean you do not envy her. That it does not hurt when you look at her and see her sweet face, knowing that she is the one who will be wed to the man you love, the one to bear his children and spend her life with him.

You stand outside just before you are meant to walk down the aisle, gazing up at the moon. That is when he comes to you. Aegon drops to his knees before you, taking your hands in his.

“You look so beautiful, my moonlight girl.”

You shake your head, eyes stinging as you struggle to rein in your sadness, “No. No, you cannot do this to me. Not when I am about to be married.”

“Run away with me,” Aegon pleads, clutching at the skirt of the lehenga you wear, his eyes watering, cheeks stained with the tears he has been shedding all day at the thought of losing you, “I was wrong. I love you. Gods, I have always loved you. I was a fool to allow my mother to sway me into writing that letter. She said it would be for the best. That it would allow you to move on from me.” He gives a furtive glance at the lamp in the chambers where you were just getting ready. His lamp. He smiles ruefully, “There is no moving on from each other when it comes to us.”

You look at him, choking on the words you wish to speak. You wish to take Aegerax and Sunfyre and fly far from here. But you cannot. This is your duty. You could never forsake your family. Your mother. Your responsibility to the realm. You kneel down to Aegon’s level, resting your forehead against his, your voice coming in a shaky whisper.

“I cannot. You know I cannot.”

And he does know. As you move to get up, Aegon grabs at your locket, a last minute plea for you not to leave him. But with a strength you did not know you had, you walk away from him. The locket’s chain breaks, falling from your neck into his waiting hand, neither of you knowing that Prince Qyle has witnessed this entire affair.

And Aegon is helpless to do anything but watch as the love of his life weds another.

It is said by many that from the time Aegon picked up his cup of wine at your wedding, he never put his cup down again. He drowned his sorrows in drink, in the brothels of Flea Bottom. He sought refuge in Helaena’s arms, sobbing, wishing he could love her the way he loves you. But he cannot. He vows to her that in another life, he would never have been able to resist her. But she just gives him that serene smile, running her fingers through his hair as she tries to soothe her brother’s aching heart.

But there is no reprieve for Aegon. He drinks and he drinks, his health deteriorating with every passing day. He is killing himself with this habit. Helaena pleads for him to see reason, but he cannot. His only wish is to see you one last time before his disease claims him.

So, with the last vestiges of strength that remain in his body, he flies to Dorne atop his golden mount, calling out your name as he stands at the gates of the Water Gardens, begging to see you one last time.

You move to answer his call, but are stopped by your lord husband.

Qyle scowls, shaking his head, “No! She will not see him! Guards, secure all the doors. My wife is not to leave the palace.”

You turn to your husband, shocked, “How dare you presume to command me? I am your wife, not your slave! If I wish to see my uncle, I will see him!”

“Oh, it is not your uncle you wish to see, Princess,” Qyle spits, “I know of your past with that drunken fool, and I’ll be damned if I let you make a fool of me in front of all of my kingdom.”

You hear him calling for you. Your Aegon. Your beloved calling for his moonlight girl. Tears prick at your eyes as you race through the hallways of the palace, doing your best to reach him. You can feel it in your heart and you can hear it in his voice that he grows weaker with every passing moment.

“Aegon!”

You get closer and closer to the main door, seeing him standing there, dark circles under his eyes, his hair a mess, sinking to his knees with fatigue as his hand reaches out to you. You run as fast as your feet can carry you, your heart pounding like a drum, praying that you will not be too late to see him, speak to him one last time.

Just as you are about to reach the Water Gardens gates, your hand outstretched toward Aegon, a melancholic smile on both of your faces at the thought of reuniting, the gates are closed. You sink to your knees, bawling hysterically, while Aegon? He falls to the ground, clutching at his chest. He does not know if it is the drink that has killed him or the pain in his heart. The last thing he sees is your blurred figure racing toward him.

Aegon’s last word is your name, falling from his lips in a weak whisper as his eyes close for the last time, clutching your broken locket to his chest as if holding you before he left this world.

Sunfyre lets out a mighty roar, one that many who heard would come to say sounded akin to a sob.

And the lamp you lit for your beloved Aegon, all those years ago in the hopes of him returning to you, of your love finally prevailing, flickers for the briefest of moments before finally going out.

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter One: My Dream

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Let's celebrate the first episode of season 2 with a new story! I'm publishing this before the show airs, so let's say a tentative prayer in case the first episode is Blood & Cheese. Thank you for reading! (⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡

Chapter Warnings: sexism (it's a patriarchal feudalistic society), brief descriptions of childbirth and death related to it, Alicent being delulu.

If a daughter were to be born seconds before a brother, it did not matter. He was the heir. If she was born decades before a boy, it did not matter. He was the heir. Or so the realm believed until the reign of Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Son of Baelon and Alyssa Targaryen, Grandson to the Old King Jaehaerys.

When Viserys Targaryen's wife, Aemma of House Arryn, had failed pregnancy after failed pregnancy, a girl was a welcomed result. It proved not only to Aemma herself and her King Husband that she could produce a child but to the realm that there was hope for a son, a much-preferred result.

Queen Consort Aemma Arryn died in pursuit of something she could not control, screaming, wailing, begging her husband not to cut her open, but he did not listen, for the birth of a son was more important than the life of a woman.

The infant Baelon Targaryen died a day later, leaving King Viserys a widower with only a daughter with the same fair skin and hair as the woman he murdered. The woman who laid slain on her birthing bed, bright blue irises now glassy, blood pooling from her womb, was given a Targaryen funeral along with the Heir for a Day, as her good brother called him, her last surviving child whispering, “dragon fire” through tears, with the encouragement of the same man who lusted after her and the throne.

The result of a mother’s and son’s death gave way to grief and anger. Viserys, blinded by the insults levied against his dead child, broke centuries of tradition and named Westeros’ first female heir Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Daemon Targaryen was furious at the abuse of being cast aside for a girl of ten and four and took to Dragonstone, the rightful seat of the Iron Throne's successor, with his whore, Lady Misery, an enslaved Lysene sold into the sex trade that became the Prince's favorite mistress.

Daemon did not hate his niece. He loved his family far more than anyone believed, so he surrendered when the Realm's Delight flew on her dragon to confront her uncle.

Less than a year later, not nearly long enough to mourn the death of two people, Viserys Targaryen married Alicent of House Hightower, daughter of the Hand and dearest friend to his daughter. The King saw the union as an act of fortunate duty and desire instead of love. On that much, the young Alicent Hightower could agree. Perhaps, he thought, it was a way to ensure his daughter would always have her closest Lady around, but Viserys was a fool . He could not see past his blinding grief and selfish lust that he tore the two girls apart.

Rhaenyra Targaryen's mother was a girl her age, a girl she longed to have to accompany her on Syrax, explore the East, and eat cake, but that was never meant to be. The Gods provided as quickly as they took, and her lifelong confidant viewed her with such hate and distaste that Rhaenyra soon began to consider her the same.

“Stepdaughter,” Alicent called her at the Princess's wedding feast to Ser Laenor of House Velaryon. Her voice laced with enough venom, and her dress so green you would mistake her for a snake. This gave Rhaenyra a sickening feeling in her gut, which soon hardened into one of cool indifference.

And that was how they lived.

Silent and icy indifference as Queen Alicent walked through the Targaryen halls of the Red Keep in Hightower Green, birthing the King his first surviving sons and second daughter.

However, there was a moment of repreave in the Queen's and the Princess's glacial flippancy when her forgotten ally fell pregnant for the first time.

Alicent could not help herself from caring for her old friend during her first pregnancy. She quickly fell back into the role of her Lady, supplying Rhaenyra with food, oils, clothing, and occasionally companionship during the quarrelsome nine moons.

The Queen had almost found it within her heart to forgive Rhaenyra for her lies and false swearing beneath the Heart Tree all those years ago, and she did until the labors when she saw the brown tuft of hair atop a young babe's head.

At the time, Alicent did not have a moment to contemplate what that meant before her friend screamed, holding on so tightly to her hand that she thought it might break as the rest of the infant emerged. The babe's face was so purple and cord wrapped around their neck that Alicent nearly cried, fearing life had repeated itself. The nursemaids quickly cut the blue and pink veiny line that connected the child to its mother, turning the babe upside down and spanking it on the back until its cries rang out throughout Maegor’s Holdfast.

A girl.

There, screaming and curling their once lifeless fist, were you , the firstborn child of Rhaenyra Targaryen, only by a mere moment, finally breathing and wailing as they swaddled you in an embroidered black and red cloth, a boy soon following.

“What shall you name them, your highness?” the eldest midwife asked, nearly as out of air as Rhaenyra.

“We…” the princess breathed heavily, positioning herself in the birthing chair. “We had only thought of a boy with the help of Lord Corlys. Jacaerys,” she panted, her cheeks tinged pink, either from exertion or embarrassment from being so thoughtless. Alicent did not know.

The nurse holding Rhaenyra’s son passed him to her, all eyes lingering on that same flattened-down dark hair. “Shall we wait for the Prince, your highness?” another question, holding the unnamed girl.

“I think,” Rhaenyra groans, shifting her weight to account for the new one, “we shall be waiting for a while should my husband suddenly return from his travels.” She glanced at Alicent, watching her once closest friend pick at the skin of her nails. She grinned, a brilliant idea coming to mind as she ordered the maid to give her daughter to the Queen. 

Alicent's doe eyes widened as she accepted. She peered down at the tiny bundle before her, still crying, purple face now a deep red and full of life. The Queen did not know what came over her as she leaned, bringing the child’s blotchy forehead to her lips, inhaling the unique scent only a newborn has. She noticed the muscles around where the babe's brows should be twitching, opening her eyes to reveal a mirror of Alicent’s own looking at her.

The Queen forgot for a moment that she was not her own and that she should be alarmed that the child's eyes bore no resemblance to their parents. Yet the Queen continued to smile down at the small fidgeting bundle in her grasp, her arms wiggling themselves out of their confines to clench and unclench. The cries now became softer but still there. Sounds that used to cause Alicent great distress now soothe her uneasy soul like a salve to a wound. 

“What shall we call her, my Queen?” Rhaenyra questioned, a crooked smile on her face as Alicent broke from her revere. Her plush lips parted in surprise, looking as if a deer caught grazing alone in a field.

The Queen appeared bewildered, unprepared for such a monumental task; all faces turned to her. “I… I am unsure, Princess. I did not come prepared for such an honor.”

Rhaenyra kept the same lopsided grin on her lips, showing the tips of her white teeth. “Tis all mine. It's an honor to have the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms name my first born daughter.”

“An honor I accept gladly,” Alicent rushed, worried that her refusal would shatter their peace.

She paused, pursing her lips in thought. Despite having three and another on the way, she had never named a child. Helaena was the closest she had ever gotten, a familiar name within the Reach but made to fit the traditional Targaryen spelling. Alicent would have something to herself, one tiny sliver of something that belonged to her, and she was unsure what to do with it. She was confident that Rhaenyra would be content with any name she chose, but she wanted it to be unique, to mean something more than just a word.

Alicent thought of her mother then—her darling mother, whom she barely had a chance to spend life with before a fever took her. A mother that her father said she looked like an extension of, and suddenly, only one name felt right.

The Queen was constantly conflicted about every choice she made, every move. From the food she ate to the clothes she wore, Alicent always worried herself over it, wondering if she had made the correct decision, but in this, she was sure. No man, woman, or God could sway her from this choice. It was right. The Queen could feel it in the marrow of her bones that it was so.

“Aelora.”

Aelora, my light.

The King came bursting moments later, a servant dressed in a crimson gown, white apron, and cap standing anxiously beside him. He immediately went straight into the room, brushing past his wife in favor of his daughter. Alicent felt a sour taste in her mouth at the notion, pulling the quiet lump tighter to her chest.

“A boy and a girl!” Viserys excitedly hollered, Rhaenyra passing Jacaerys to him. Anxiousness settled over the birthing chamber, the midwives and maids observing with worrisome eyes at the head of brown hair. “ Ah! And I see they have inherited my favorite cousin's hair.”

He held the newborn with a reverence Alicent had never seen with her own, and she stepped back into the shadows of the onlookers. She peered down, catching the babe's eyes shut and face slack, still with the fresh scent of birth. She brought you to her forehead again as she took in this brief moment of joy, nose nuzzling the infant’s as she grunted at the intrusion.

“Aelora, the Gods’ Light. My shining light,” she whispered so softly against the babe's satin-smooth skin that it drifted into the air like dust, lost in the wind. 

“Oh, and her eyes, too!” Viserys beamed, hoisting Jacaerys into the air as the wetnurses squealed in terror. “She will make a fine queen one day, and should the Gods allow it, you, a king.” Rhaenyra laughed at her father's antics, already planning the children’s marriage. She was too high on the feeling of birthing not one but two healthy babes, a boy and a girl, no less to care. Alicent's amber eyes flicked to her husband and then to your plump face, a frown pulling her lips.

Aegon had come quickly and without fuss. Though Alicent was merely a girl of ten and six when it happened, the moments leading up to it frightened her thoroughly. She worried her nails down to the quick, the pink fleshy beds exposed and bleeding whenever she would use too harsh of a grip.

She knew of what happened to Aemma Arryn, that the babe was stuck and couldn't turn to leave the womb, at least to the Maester’s belief. He gave the King a choice, not the woman who was writhing in pain as her body contracted, to either let the process play out with the chance that the child and his wife could perish or have him slice her open from hip to hip, dig through her guts and blood to pry the child out. Aemma Arryn had no voice in the matter from what she heard from the midwives, as her husband allowed a man to pull Prince Baelon straight from her womb.

Alicent did not want to face the same fate and prayed to the Mother day after day, night after night, until her knees were yellow and blue, and even then, she continued her efforts. She was alone in all this, with no one to confide in. Her father had told her to do her duty when she expressed concern. He assured her the King would allow no such thing if she did everything correctly. He offered no comfort, and Alicent longed for her dearest Princess. Her prayers were answered when that fateful day came, and the labors lasted no more than an hour.

She birthed a healthy boy with blonde hair and purple eyes, but even then, Viserys did not act the way he was now with Rhaenyra's children. A means to end all the uncertainty of an heir, her father said in words of solace. She hadn't understood what he meant then. Rhaenyra was the heir, crowned Princess of Dragonstone, and Lords swore allegiance to her across the realm. To Alicent, there was no uncertainty until there was.

Until Otto Hightower planted the rot that festered and spread in her mind that the girl she grew up alongside, the girl she spent so many days and nights with, the girl that had said she would forget her duty and fly off across the world eating nothing but cake with her friend by her side, would murder Alicent's children so they could not depose her reign.

She did not believe Rhaenyra was capable of cruelty, but then again, she had once considered her incapable of lying to her and was proven wrong.

She began to fuss as if the infant in her embrace could sense the Queen's unrest. Her delicate little face scrunched up as Alicent bounced her softly, cooing soothingly. She smiled despite her unpleasantness within, unfazed by the sudden outburst, unlike when Helaena had her fits as a child. Her daughter would have to meet her niece and nephew, along with Aegon. Aemond was too young. She wouldn't be able to keep a close eye on him.

Though he was half the size of Aegon when he was born, he had grown twice as fierce. At barely three years old, his nursemaids had to ceaselessly follow the moonlight-haired boy less than a step away lest he jump down a flight of stairs just to see if he could. Once, when Alicent dismissed the servants from Aemond's chambers as he readied for bed, she turned her back on him for a singular blink, and he opened his balcony doors and climbed over the railing to get a better view of the night sky. Alicent remembered how he kicked and screamed as she yanked him from the ledge, saying words and phrases she never knew, even at the age she was now.

“My Queen,” the wetnurse called like she had repeated herself as Alicent looked at the girl. “The young Princess needs her first feeding.” The woman held out her arms for her to hand over the fussing bundle, a calm but concerned expression on her face.

Alicent refused, curling her limbs as the babe squirmed, her cries becoming ear-piercing screams. She knew the child needed to eat but could not force her body to release the girl. It was as if her very bones denied the movement that was not keeping the hungry infant close to her. The fleeting thought that Alicent could feed the girl herself crossed her mind, but she shook it away, realizing the ludacrisy of it. It was improper for a woman of nobility to nurse their child. That's what the maids were for, the Queen told herself.

The wetnurse peered at her curiously, walking a pace closer, but Alicent stepped back as if she attempted to harm her. “The King has not held her yet,” she protested, looking towards her King-Husband in an attempt to prolong her time.

“All is well, Alicent. What kind of King refuses to let their babe grandchild eat?” he jested, tilting his head to the side playfully and exposing a gaping smile. It made Alicent want to vomit.

When she doesn't move to listen, the Queen stared at her husband like her silence could serve as a rejection of his words. Viserys sighed as Rhaenyra watched with piqued interest, wordlessly handing Jacaerys to another maid.

“Alicent, give her the child.”

She hesitated again, her brown eyes flickering to Rhaenyra when she did not offer for Alicent to stay while the maids worked. Once again, she mused bitterly, watching the infant intently as she relented. I give my dream away to you. A dream that was never indeed mine.

The Queen bowed to the Princess, congratulating her on the success as she took her leave, hand splaying over the swollen stomach of her emerald green gown. It felt too tight, the once smooth fabric now itching at her skin, the fine hairs on her arms catching between the threads.

How stupid she was to believe in Rhaenyra’s kindness. She felt like a girl again, the same girl who stood beneath the Weirwood, listening to her friend swear on her mother’s memory that she had not lain with a man, only to find out there was moontea delivered to her chambers.

A sudden kick was sent to the Queen's abdomen, halting her brisk pace as she doubled over within the pale redstone hall. Ser Criston Cole arrived moments later, helping her rise to her feet. She soothed the afflicted area with her palm, no doubt the cause being her own making. Despite the growing life inside of her, the Queen has now done it four times. Alicent believed the moment she laid her wide amber eyes on yours was the closest she had ever felt to being whole with someone in her life. It’s as if the child's very being was now a part of her, and every moment she was away, it felt as if she was missing a piece of her soul.

Rhaenyra flaunts and does as she pleases, lies, and tricks all she pleases. It made Alicent furious with a rage she had not felt for nearly a decade. Aelora will not become like her mother. The Green Queen will not allow it, even if she has to twist and shape the clay of Aelora's mind into something of her own. Aelora is her dream. She is the Gods' shining light, and Alicent will be damned if she allows Rhaenyra to blacken her glow.

Septon Eustace's Recount of Princess Aelora I Targaryen's Early Life

The young Velaryon princess, later taking her mother’s namesake, grew into a spritely and mischievous child, playing jests on her Septa and Prince Aemond with the aid of her brothers and the eldest of the Queen’s children, Prince Aegon. She did not develop into a traditional Targaryen beauty with blonde hair and violet eyes; instead, she had a golden chestnut crown with eyes to match. Many said she resembled Queen Alicent, though if anyone made the error of voicing it, they faced Princess Rhaenyra’s wrath.

Though her features were plain by Targaryen standards, the realm rejoiced in her beauty. Lords and ladies commissioned portraits of her countenance throughout the kingdom, proudly displaying a halcyon halo of red rubies adorning the top of her divine facade. The common folk coined the name “The Gods' Light” for the sweet girl. A glimpse of her was as close as one would get to the Maiden, and they cherished it whenever Princess Rhaenyra's faction made rare journeys to the Grand Sept.

I'm excited to write for my favorite war criminal, Visenya Incarnate, Aemond Targaryen. I'm just super happy to write Aemond smut! I'm also taking a different approach to this story because it will solely be based on the show (to the best of my ability), not the book, and will be released with the same progression. It will have accounts of the reader's life through the eyes of the Maester's. Of course, there will be some cannon divergence and whatnot, considering we're introducing a new character into the fray. This fic will also be a lot darker than what I've written in the past, including content such as childhood sexual assault and the after-effects of it, self-harm, depression, suicide, and unhealthy sibling dynamics/relationships.

Masterlist of Series

Spotify Playlist

This story is told from the second person's perspective. The reader only has a name for the sake of a title and the description of Strong features.

Y'all have no idea how fulfilling writing has been for me. It's given me purpose when I've felt like I had none. It's helped my mental health by giving me an outlet for self-expression and a good source of distraction from all the worries I have in life. I wish I could get paid for this!

I hope y'all will enjoy the story as much as I will writing it, and of course, thank you so much for taking the time to read this. You genuinely have no idea how much your support means to me, but I will continue to express it in the best way I know how. ♡⁠(⁠˃͈⁠ ⁠દ⁠ ⁠˂͈⁠ ⁠༶⁠ ⁠)

Ps. Alicent's mom's name is unknown in the show and the book, so I'm creating a name that combines my original idea with traditional Targaryen spelling.

Pronunciation: Uh-lore-uh, Ae-lore-uh

Origin: Latin

Meaning: dream, dreamer, shining light.

Biblical Meaning: God is light, God's light.

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf

There are two wolves in me. One wants to use the Cannibal as my OC's dragon in my story as a reference for how all consuming my character's anger is in both herself and her family relationships and as an illusion towards her internal views of kinslaying and feelings towards her extended family.

The other wolf is afraid it would be cringe.

BROO the wanda!reader in HOTD is so good 😭 I’d love to read ab it if you’d make it an actual fic

dude thats the problem, im too lazy to write😭😭 but im actually thinking abt it, however i am waiting for other authors just in case if one of them decided to write it yk?? but like i said, I am thinking of writing it...idk yet. thankyou for that tho, i appreciate it very much🫶🏻🫶🏻

guys, if I were to write the wanda!reader in HOTD, who should she end up with?

Aemond Targaryen or Daemon Targaryen 

The Witch of Westeros

CHAPTER ONE - what heavy storm brings

disclaimer:

I do not own House of the Dragon nor the Scarlet Witch and her powers. Credits to Marvel and Stan Lee.

gif not mine, I got it from pinterest

this fanfic does not follow the plot of the series nor its books. storyline belongs to me.

note:

I am so so sorry for not updating for weeks, I've been busy with school and friends and christmas. And I also lost my motivation with writing but I'm back now!!

anyway, sorry for the long wait!!

warning:

mention of blood, open wounds, and I think that's all, but if I missed anything, please tell me. !! NOT EDITED !!

-×-

Thunder was heard from the gloomy sky, and a howl of wind passed through the crowd of people from the busy streets of the market. Yells and cries of vendors who desperately call for customers to buy from their shops mixed with the sound of talks of the people passing by, but the only thing you can focus on that leaves their mouths is the topic of the prince's name day.

Prince Joffrey's 12th name day was the only thing people talked about the whole week. And it was tomorrow. However, the king hosted a get-together party tonight and invited a few noble houses to celebrate. Despite not having an invite, the people of King's Landing are hosting dinner feasts in their homes in honour of the prince's day.

Though, you can't say the same. Unlike the others excited about the prince's name day, you were lost.

Five months, that's how long you've been in this...peculiar world. Although, you can't say that the last five months had been treating you with nothing but peace, something you needed after everything. The world you landed in was strange. Nevertheless, it amazes you how it all works. You don't know everything about it yet, but the experience was enough to tell you that it's nothing like the others you've ever been to.

Another rumble from the sky was heard, and it was enough to signal you that rain—perhaps a storm might arrive due to the gloomy weather.

The thought of a storm coming made you quicken your pace. You were making your way home from the market since you decided to shop for food like the others. Though your house wasn't much like a real house, it's more of a cabin. But it was big enough for a family of three.

Your house came into your view a few feet away. It was located nearby the shore and a few miles from the city. The waves from the sea were getting harsher and more vigorous. You internally thank your past self for putting an invisible barrier, a hex, around the house for safety.

Just as you were about to enter, something floating from the sea caught your attention. You don't know what it was, but a small voice in your mind told you to check it out.

Dropping the bags you held to the ground gently enough, not letting anything fall to waste. You position your hand to your side, ready to summon your magic in case it is dangerous you're walking towards.

As you approach the sea, you notice that what is floating isn't a creature or an object. It was a body. A human body.

But you didn't know if they were alive or not.

The thought of a possible dead body floating in the sea made your hesitation go away and run toward the sea, not caring if your skirt got wet. You'll dry it later with magic.

When you got closer to the body, it gave you a good look at them. He was a boy, merely a man. His sleeve was ripped open, and a deep gash on his arm. Blood dripped down from the wound, and it was clear it was still fresh. You pressed your fingers on his pulse, sighing in relief when you realized he was alive.

Not wasting any more time, you waved your hand, lifting the young boy with your magic and snapping your fingers with your free hand, teleporting you and the boy inside your home.

You placed him on the sofa, carefully lifting his wounded arm. You crouched down beside him and started using your magic to heal him.

Once he was fully healed, you took some heavy metal off the armour so he could be more comfortable and used your magic to dry him off. Looking at his wound again, your magic helped it heal, but there was still a dark scar.

You summoned a clean towel to clean off the excess blood on his arm. He stirred a little from your touch, and you thank the gods that he was alright. You softly smiled, bringing your free hand to brush his hair, soothing him back to sleep.

He reminded you of your twins with his dark brunette hair, but he mostly reminded you of your Billy. He was usually the gentle one, keeping his brother out of trouble or, at least, he tried to. You wondered if this young boy is like him too or if he has a brother or sister.

"Oh, Gods." You mumbled, eyes widening in realization. Your hand slowed as your mind became clouded with thoughts. His family, his parents. They must be so worried about him.

Sighing, you continued cleaning his arm and stood up, patting your dress that was still wet. You figured you would ask him when he wakes up. Hopefully, he trusts you enough to tell your where he came from so you can bring him back to safety.

-×-

The storm wasn't stopping anytime soon, so you thought you could make a nice warm soup for you and the boy when he woke up. It was a cold, chilly night, and you changed into a more comfortable dress to keep you warm. You noticed the young boy was shivering from the cold, so you brought a nice fur blanket and wrapped it around him.

You sat on the stool, looking out the window as you got lost in your thoughts, thinking about, well...everything.

This world was different, but it somehow felt familiar to you. You weren't a nostalgic person, per se. But you do value things, especially memories.

You sighed blissfully, the sound of heavy rain dropping from the skies with thunder following. It was the same weather when you first arrived, and it caused you a sense of deja vu. You still remember what happened months ago.

But before you could get lost in your thoughts again, you heard a groan behind you. He's awake.

You turned to see him sitting up, looking around, confused. You felt bad for the young boy. "You're awake," You spoke in a soft tone.

He turned in surprise before standing up quickly. "W-who are you? Where am I?" He urgently asked in a shaky tone.

You sent him a soft smile, hoping to ease him. "You're in my house, dear. I found you in the sea with a deep wound in your arm and brought you here before you lost more blood and healed you." You explained to him.

He seemed speechless for a second as if he couldn't believe he was still alive. Was the accident he was in so bad that he is contemplating his survival?

"Thank you," The young boy said, looking down shyly before looking you in the eye. "Thank you for healing me, my lady."

You smiled at him, "Of course, it's no problem." Just then, you remember the food you made. "Oh, I made some food if you want some. It's still warm, perfect for the weather."

He seemed hesitant, but his stomach let out a grumble. His gaze dropped to his stomach, frowning as if he felt betrayed. You chuckled, gesturing for him to sit on the stool on the other side. You then stood up and got him a bowl of food, placing it on his side of the table.

"Come, don't be shy." You sent him a gentle smile. He eventually gave in and sat on the stool. You observed as he took his first bite, and seeing his eyes light up made you smile wider.

"Are you feeling better?" You asked, trying to make small talk but also concerned about his health.

He looked up and nodded, "Yes, my lady. I feel a lot better."

"Oh, please, call me Y/n." You insisted.

"If you insist, my lad- I mean, Y/n. My name's Lucerys," Lucerys said, nodding his head respectfully.

For some reason, the name felt familiar to you. Sure, you heard it from somewhere before. Lucerys...Lucerys Velaryon, oh gods, he's a prince. The son of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Leanor Velaryon, but he and his brothers were rumoured to be bastards. You knew better than to assume things, although the people in the city were sure of it. Anyway, it's not like your opinion mattered.

"You're a prince." You pointed out, trying to be calm so he wouldn't freak out.

Lucerys looked around before sighing. "Yes, I am a prince. And I assure you, lady Y/n, that I mean no harm to you and your family."

"I am not worried about that, dear." You assured him, standing up from your chair. "Tea?" you offered, placing two cups on the table. He nodded, muttering a small 'please' and 'thank you' before taking a bite of his food.

Another thunder was heard from outside, startling Lucerys a little. You looked out the window and saw the rain getting heavier.

"Lucerys, honey," You started, and the young boy looked at you, "I don't think the storm is going to end soon. Should you stay here for the night until the storm stop, we will figure out how to bring you back to the princess safely," you suggested.

"Oh, no, no. I couldn't intrude, my lady." He declined, shaking his head and taking a sip of his tea.

"Don't worry, dear. You're not intruding." You said, putting away your plate and cup. "I have two rooms and extra clothes for you to be comfortable." Lucerys was undecided, but when he looked at the hardy storm outside, he eventually agreed.

You guided him to one of the empty rooms you had and gave him spare clothes to change into.

"Lady Y/n," Lucerys called before you could close the door.

"Yes, Luke?" He insisted that you call him that instead of his full name just a while ago when you showed him the room.

"Thank you for this, all of this." He said, smiling at you shyly, but there was a grateful look on his face to show that he was completely genuine.

You smiled back at him, but the more you looked at him, he kept reminding you of your Billy. "You're welcome," you replied, nodding your head before closing the door.

You hoped that you could bring him home safely tomorrow to his family.

taglist: @cleverzonkwombatsludge @floralenvu @scarwicht @todod0kii

Cold

{Cregan drops his duties for you when you fall sick}

Hope you enjoy lovelies! 💕

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The north was abysmally cold and once winter pushes through it only seems to get worse, when the sun is hidden beneath the shadowy grey clouds, and the wind rushes through the trees and the castle walls, it was only a matter of time until you would fall sick.

Bedbound is what Cregan told you as soon as the Maesters informed him about your illness, bedbound and not to move a muscle until the sickness was gone, but there were only so many books you could read before you go crazy.

You were wrapped up in furs, thick blankets and the fire was lit, surrounded by nothing but warmth, another thing Cregan had told the Maesters after you woke up practically shivering, and gods, you were so bored.

“Lady Stark please stay in bed” Lyra asks so politely that you almost feel a little bad, you only wanted to go for a walk, just to stretch your legs a little.

You shake your head, akin to a stubborn child, as you ready yourself, “Lyra I’ll be fine, all I want is to stretch, I won’t go too far and I’ll be back before Cregan returns” you tell her, voice hoarse and scratchy.

She looks at you very concerned, “I will be fine, I promise” You smile as you erupt into a coughing fit, your chest aching with every breath.

Lyra is quick making her way to your side, a gentle hand against your back as she urges you to sit back on the bed, “Please I insist lady Stark, you must rest” she panics a little, but you’d rather have to listen to lord Cerwyn’s boring rambling then go back to bed.

“I’m fine Lyra” she sighs giving up on your relentless fighting, you were stubborn and she had learnt that the hard way, she nods curtly before bidding you farewell and Lyra makes her way straight to Cregan.

Cregan had an inkling that you wouldn’t listen to his nor the Maesters words, he knew you far too well that it was hard to really hide anything from him, and his suspicion was only proven correct when Lyra came bursting through the doors, disrupting one of the lords, as she nervously rambles about how you're up and out of bed.

You don’t even get halfway down the hallway of the freezing castle before you’re stopped by your husband, “What exactly are you doing out of bed” You tense up at the sound of his stern voice, a smile teetering on your lips at the slightest playful hint in his tone.

You turn around with a sheepish smile, he wasn’t meant to be here yet, “You’re supposed to be attending to your duties, lord Stark” you tell him, a smirk playing on your lips, trying to ignore the soreness that itches at the back of your throat.

“And you’re supposed to be in bed, resting,” he says, wincing at the croaky chuckle that falls from your lips, he walks over to you with a gentle hand on the small of your back as he guides you back to your shared bedchambers.

You don’t fight him on the matter figuring you would just lose anyway, because If there was anyone that could outdo your stubbornness it was definitely your husband, especially when the matter involves you.

But that doesn’t stop you from complaining, “My dear, I feel fine” you sigh, yet again overtaken by your feverish cough, the burning in the back of your throat causes tears to well up in your eyes.

Cregan’s heart breaks at the sight, how your shoulders shake, and gods, the sound of your painful cough near enough brings him to tears, he hates seeing you in pain, hates that there’s nothing he can do about it.

“My sweet girl, please sit” he says, noticing the way you shiver slightly as a gust of wind whistles through the castle, you groan slightly as you climb back into bed, “Good girl” he teases, chuckling as you roll your eyes.

He fluffs up the pillows before you lay against them as he pulls the blankets back up to your shoulders, “I’m starting to hate this bed” you mumble, you’re tired of being ill.

“I know, but the more you rest-“ he glances over at the cup of herbal tea that’s now gone cold, his eyebrows knitting together, “-and actually drink the tea the Maesters give you, the quicker you will get better” he presses a kiss to your warm forehead, brushing your hair behind your ear.

You smile up at him, “I’m sure the other Lords aren’t too pleased about you leaving them to fuss over your sick wife” You giggle as he takes a seat beside the bed.

His face softens, “They can wait, you, my love, are the most important person to me— you come first” he smiles, pressing another kiss to your temple, and his thumb gently soothes your cheek and you can’t help but lean into his gentle touch.

Your limbs are overcome with a sudden dull ache and everything just seems to hurt, your hand reaches for his and your fingers entwine, “It hurts so bad” you whisper, your eyes closing with pain and you try so hard to ignore the stinging sensation that scratches at the back of your throat.

“Where sweet girl?” Cregan asks, taking your hand up to his mouth as he presses gentle kisses to your knuckles.

“Everywhere” You squeeze his hand slightly, and he looks down at you with worry laced in his eyes.

He looks over at Lyra who’s preparing tea, just like the Maesters told her, she passes the cup to Cregan with a nod, “Here my love, sit up” he prompts and you groan slightly as you do, he hands you the warm cup and you grimace slightly at the taste as the sharp liquid sits against your tongue.

His hand finds yours squeezing them with encouragement, “There you go” he smiles, taking the cup from your hands as you lay back down, nuzzling against your pillows, sleep already hanging heavy over you.

“Can you stay, tell me about one of your great adventures” You give him a weak giggle as he nods clearing his throat before he recalls the one time, with Jacaerys, about how he taught him how to shoot with a bow and arrow.

He doesn’t leave your side, not until you’re fast asleep, and he prays to the gods that you get better soon.

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heyy!! i saw that your reqs are open ans i was wondering if i could ask for an "cregan stark x fem reader" in which the reader is giving birth but she ends up having complications during the birth (blood loss or the baby simply taking too long to come out) and she ends up being unconscious for a while... if that's not ok please ignore it, thank you!! <3

-Cregan Stark x reader

{The birth of your son Brandon Stark was nothing but stressful, and it makes Cregan face some horrible realisations}

CW// descriptions of blood/ reader is giving birth

Hope you enjoy my lovelies!! 💕

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It was early in the morning when it began. You were eating breakfast with Cregan when the sharp shooting pain erupted through your lower stomach, it took your breath away and you couldn’t help but reach over to clutch onto his arm with a gasp.

He stops mid-sentence as he watches your face contort with an awful look of discomfort, panic rising in his chest when your eyes meet his.

“My love? What is it?- what happened?” He asks, standing up from his chair. He helps you up, wincing as you scream out in pain. Cregan guides you to the bed his hand soothing your lower back in hopes it’ll relieve your discomfort, but his attempts are fruitless when he notices the tears that fall from your eyes and his heart drops.

You shake your head, squeezing your husband's hands as you try your best to ignore the blood that pools between your legs, “The maesters- please” You gasp between breaths and Cregan doesn’t need to be told twice as he rushes out the door.

It isn’t long before people start to barge into the room, orders being thrown around as the midwives lay you down on the bed pressing a cold wet towel on your forehead.

Your body aches as a hot flush wash over you, and every sensation is far too overwhelming, it certainly doesn’t help that your skin is sticky with sweat. You can hear Cregan outside your shared bedchambers before walking through the wooden door, much to the dismay of the nurses.

“What is happening?- please” his voice is strained and he can’t bear to look down at you, the sound of you hyperventilating is enough to make him feel sick to his stomach.

The maester looks up at him, “She has started her labour early lord Stark” he takes a deep breath, watching the worry that deepens within Cregan’s eyes, “You must let us work”

Hours have passed since then, the late afternoon sun is peaking behind the curtains and Cregan hasn’t left your side as your clammy hands squeeze his. He chokes back a sob every time you let out an agonising cry, your face pressed into the sweat-soaked pillow as you grit your teeth.

The nurses tell you when to breathe then push, breathe then push and you know for a fact that your body cannot handle much more pain, exhaustion is creeping through your already weak body.

“Almost there lady Stark, almost there” one of the nurses promises, as she switches your cold rag for a new one, and Cregan doesn’t miss the worry in her eyes as she glances down to the blood-soaked sheets beneath you.

“You hear that my love? Almost there” He leans down to press a kiss to your damp hairline, pushing back the wet strands.

His thumb caresses the space under your eye, wiping your tears away as he holds your cheek. “I can’t- Cregan I can’t” you sigh, trying your best to smile up at him.

He shakes his head, pressing his forehead against yours “Yes you can. You are the strongest woman I know” he whispers.

You nod, taking a deep breath before squeezing your eyes shut, pushing one last time as the nurses and maesters all shout praises. “A boy!” You hear someone gasp but they seem miles away, and then you hear your baby cry as the midwives move quickly to clean him, wrapping him up in a clean blanket.

The noise of the room seems to bleed together, muffled as if you were underwater and with it goes your sight, then everything seems to stop and for a moment, for the first time in the last seven hours, there is clarity and the ache in your body ebbs away as your eyes flutter close.

The moment your grip on Cregan's hand loosens his heart stops, and the sight of your limp body covered in sweat makes his whole world come crashing down. He can’t think straight and the feeling only grows stronger as his eyes drift to the blood-stains all over your legs and bedsheets.

There’s a lump in the back of his throat that chokes him, and all the words he wants to say, needs to say, die on his tongue.

“My wife- is-” he isn’t able to finish the sentence as the Maester hands him his son, his cries hit Cregan's ears, a painful reminder that no matter what happens to you he has to carry on, a harsh reality that he can’t bare to face.

Before he has time to even look down at his child he’s already being whisked away from his arms, wet nurses attending to him. It’s almost as if the world has slowed down, and he can’t breathe.

“She has lost a lot of blood, my lord,” The maester says, his tone soft and gentle as he cleans up, taking out some strong-smelling herbs. “The best we can do is let her rest, if she doesn’t wake within the hour hold this under her nose” he nods about to leave the room.

“She’ll live?” Cregan's voice is weak as he gently holds your hand.

“Of course my lord, as you said, she is a strong woman” he smiles before leaving the room, and it’s only when the door closes that his tears fall so effortlessly from his eyes, and he pleads to any Gods who are willing to listen to him that you’ll be okay.

Cregan doesn’t leave your side once as the hours pass by. His hand gently lays over the top of your heart. The feeling of it beating beneath his palm gives him hope. He gently pushes your hair back, tucking the strands behind your ear as he waits on bated breath for you to wake up.

He watches your eyes flutter and immediately sits up, shuffling to sit closer to you. You groan something incoherent, but he can tell from the way you sound it’s out of nothing but pain. He’s quick to hush you, guiding you to lay back down, to your dismay.

“Y/n, please- relax, my love” he pleads with you as you grab ahold of his hand.

“Our son? Is he-?” You panic, voice hoarse as you try to sit up, ignoring the pain that seizes your body.

“He’s fine, I promise-” He whispers, watching your panicked eyes flicker frantically around the room, "But you, my love- please you need to rest” The way his voice trembles with worry makes you listen, that and the unbearable ache in your bones.

You look up at him, tears in your eyes as the heaviness of the situation finally weighs upon you. “I want to see him, please?” You whisper, and the hoarseness in your voice makes his heartbreak.

He wipes away the tears that fall from your eyes, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “You will, I promise.” His voice calms your nerves. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? He’s not going anywhere” Cregan smiles as you nod.

“Okay. I do need a bath” You let out a raspy giggle, relief washing over you as Cregan chuckles beside you.

“Of course, my sweet wife” he smiles, his hand gently caressing your cheek before disappearing off, but not without looking back at you, a sad look clouded over his tired eyes.

The water is pleasantly warm against your skin, your hands grasping onto your husband’s shoulders as he helps you into the wooden tub. There’s a thick layer of silence that falls upon you both, it almost feels suffocating.

Cregan doesn’t mutter a word as he washes you. The water sloshing around, and the harsh wind is the only thing you can hear. It’s you who breaks the silence, catching his hands within your own.

You bring his hands to cup your face, “I’m okay. Cregan? Look at me, please?” You plead, noticing how he hasn’t been able to keep eye contact since you woke up.

There are tears that build up in his eyes, a dam of emotions that burst out of him. “I thought I lost you” he whispers, voice strained as he breaks down completely, the last hour finally catching up to him.

“But you didn’t Cregan, I’m right here” You don’t bother trying to hide your own tears, and he’s quick to wipe them away.

He leans to rest his forehead against your own, “I know” his voice is so quiet that if he were sitting any further, you wouldn’t be able to hear him, “But you almost weren’t, and I can’t live without you” he presses his lips against yours in a gentle, loving kiss.

“You don’t have to, I am right here, my love,” you tell him, kissing him once more before he pulls away. “I love you” you smile, as he goes to start washing your hair.

“I love you more… more than words could ever express” he finishes washing you. His touch is overwhelmingly gentle, so full of love that it makes your chest bloom with warmth.

The way his fingertips graze along your arms, how his lips feel as they press kisses along your shoulders. Small whispers of sweet nothings shared between you both in the candle-lit bathroom only ever to be heard by the pair of you.

You lean on Cregan like a crutch as he helps you from the bath, drying you off and changing you into fresh clean sleep clothes. Your bedchambers have been aired out by herbs and incense, and the bed sheets have been changed.

It feels so heavenly as you climb into bed. The sun was well and truly set. “I have a visitor for you” Cregan smiles, walking into the room with your son in his arms, wrapped in a blanket.

You gasp as he hands him to you. He stirs from his sleep with the movement. His tiny fingers wrap around your own as you admire him. “He’s perfect” You press a kiss to his forehead. Cregan sits beside you on the bed, the back of his fingers caressing his son's cheek.

“Brandon Stark” you whisper, looking over to your husband as he glances over at you with nothing but tenderness in his eyes.

You lean your head against his shoulder, smiling when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer, before pulling the sheets over your legs. “Brandon Stark” he repeats with approval, and you both chuckle as your son gurgles up at you with wide eyes.

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hi, may i please have some cregan stark x fem!velaryon!reader (aka black reader) with cregan helping her take care of her really curly hair when she's tired after a long day?? thank you so much in advance <33333

-Cregan Stark x Velaryon!Reader

{Cregan takes care of you after a long day}

Of course my love! Hope you enjoy 💕

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You are half asleep, lying down on the sofa as you bathe in the warmth that bleeds from the fireplace. Exhaustion creeps upon you sitting heavy against your chest and despite your best efforts to fight it off you can’t help but close your eyes leaning further against the soft furs that draped over the couch.

Cregan had left just seconds ago to ask one of the maids to prepare you a bath, telling you to try and stay awake before leaving, something you were currently failing horribly at.

Your eyes flutter open to the sound of the old heavy wooden door as it creaks open. “Keep them eyes open pretty girl” Cregan smiles as he walks over you, joining you on the sofa and without missing a beat you shuffle closer to him.

“M’awake” you mumble, nuzzling closer to him as he wraps a strong arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he whispers a gentle ‘good girl’ against you as you continue to try and stay awake.

It had taken several weeks to convince Cregan to allow you to go hunting with him, trying to soothe his worry about you getting hurt so when he finally agreed you had to jump at the opportunity, and you don’t regret a second of it even if your curly hair was now dirty and frizzy and all your muscles were aching.

You smile gently to yourself as you start to recall the ways Cregans hands settled against your waist, pulling you closer to him as he guided you to shoot the arrows despite the fact you knew exactly what to do. He’d find any excuse to touch you.

“Come on Sweetheart, let’s get you cleaned up” He whispers in his gravelly voice, pressing his lips against your shoulder as he helps you up from the couch

Exhaustion sits heavy against you and the warmth of the fire certainly doesn’t help. You lean against Cregan, his strong arm wrapped around your waist as he guides you to the bath.

“Here I’ve got you” his fingertips graze against your skin as he begins to undress you, peeling the dirty fabric off of your body before helping you into the wooden tub, the water is pleasantly hot against your skin that it causes a sigh to fall from your lips as you lean in further.

Cregan smiles as he admires you and the way your eyes flutter close, how your soft lips curl up into a gentle smile. The lights of the candles only add to your beauty, how the warm light dusts over your skin making you glow.

“You’re beautiful” he whispers through his rough voice, hand slipping into your own beneath the hot water. You glance over at him, heart blooming with warmth at the sight of his lovesick eyes.

You pull his hand up to your mouth pressing a kiss to his knuckles, “As you often remind me dear husband” You grin against the back of his hand before he pulls away, reaching over to the small wooden bowls that lay beside the tub, full with different ointments for your hair.

“And I don’t think I’ll ever stop” he adds, leaning slightly over the edge of the tub, peppering your shoulders with kisses, lips trailing along your dewy skin. “Can I wash your hair, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice is so tender as he gently holds your chin between his thumb.

His offer makes your chest bloom with a sudden admiration, it melts your heart and you can't help but lean into his touch. “Of course… I’d love that” you admit, and you can’t help but close your eyes at the comforting atmosphere.

Cregan never fails to take your breath away, in fact, he takes pride in the way he can render you wordless with just a simple gesture. “Lean back for me dear” he whispers, as he carefully pours the warm water over your curly hair before gently working the oils into your scalp.

He remembers the night you told him the many steps you take to look after your hair, the prideful look in your eyes made him realise just how important it was to you. He paid extra attention to you and now he knows your routine like the back of his hand.

You lean back into his warm touch as he continues to wash your hair, pressing gentle kisses as he does so. The water soon turns tepid, and Cregan helps you out of the bath quickly wrapping a towel around you securely.

You dry yourself off before changing, sitting down on the bed as Cregan sits behind gently tying your hair wrap around your head, so it doesn’t dry frizzy. “Is it too tight?” He whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, the stubble from his beard tickles your skin, as you lean back against him.

“No it’s perfect, thank you my love” you whisper, smiling as his hands wrap around your waist hands settling against your lap. It doesn’t take too long for you to find sleep, wrapped up in the safety of Cregan's arms.

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-Cregan Stark x Reader

{You learn that your husband is a very affectionate drunk}

I’m so back… Enjoy my lovelies! 💕

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Northern men know how to drink, it’s something you learned from first-hand experience on the night of your wedding. How the lords and ladies danced and drank together throughout the night, slurring their words and spilling their ale.

Today was no different, a celebration for your husband's name day that has been going on since the sun had started to rise. You couldn’t complain about it, it was nice to see Cregan not overwhelmed with his duties.

The dining hall is dimly lit with candles that are littered everywhere, the white wax melts in clumps on the wooden tables that are stained with ale and wine. You notice how much calmer the atmosphere seems to be, now that the evening has approached, as you lean back into your chair.

Most of the guests had taken their leave by now and only a few Lords and Ladies remain, and even their faces were visibly exhausted. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you glance over to Cregan, who is already looking at you with soft, glossed-over eyes.

“You look beautiful” he whispers, his words are slurred from his drunken state, but they still carry so much honesty and love that it melts you.

The smile that teeters on your lips is uncontrollable and it only makes Cregan admire you even more. He leans back in his chair whilst he drinks the sight of you in with hungry eyes.

You rest your hand over Cregans as he squeezes your thigh gently. “Have you had a good day?” You ask as he nods his head, his big hand caressing your thigh lazily.

“The best… thanks to you my lady” he says with a soft chuckle at the way you give him an almost shy smile. He can’t help but adore everything about you… you’re beyond perfect, 'a gift from the gods' as Cregan always says.

“I’m glad, though, perhaps it is time to call it a day now?” You tell him as you take his calloused hand within yours. He hums in agreement as his thumb soothes against your palm.

Getting him back to your shared bedchambers was a very humorous challenge. You were practically dragging him along as he leaned onto you for support, his hands soothing against your hips and waist whilst you guided him through the cold halls of the Winterfell castle.

The fireplace warms your bedchambers, bathing the cosy room in a soft light, as it crackles and pops. Cregan watches you take off your jewellery before changing into your nightgown with a soft smirk, his eyes gleaming with fondness.

“Gods, look at you… an absolute goddess” he says, his raspy voice just above a whisper. He wastes no time in approaching you clumsily, his hands grasping needly on your body as he tugs you closer to him.

The giggle that escapes you leaves Cregan breathless and it certainly doesn’t help when your fingers begin to brush through his hair as you stand between his legs. He looks up at you with a smile as you cup his face gently… he simply can not get enough of you.

“You should sleep,” you tell him softly knowing how awful his morning fog will be. He shakes his head softly as he rests against your stomach, his hand still grasping at your hips.

“Not before I thank you properly… my queen” His tone is teasing as he lets out a soft chuckle at the way you gasp.

“Shh… your words are dangerously close to treason” you whisper softly as your hand moves to clasp over his mouth, you look down at him with an almost shy smile.

"My words will only be treason if someone hears them... and we are alone." He pulls your hand away from his mouth, his fingers caressing your wrist. The way you look when he praises you makes him crazy. Your eyes, your smile, you are beautiful.

He hugs you close, pressing a kiss on your cheek. "But you are my queen. You rule over my heart. No one could ever take that place from you."

The honesty and love that are woven within his each and every word takes you back, your expression softens and your eyes start to well up with tears. It’s an overwhelming feeling that warms your chest and makes your skin tingle.

You take a seat on the bed beside him with a soft sigh. His thumb wipes away your tears as he presses another kiss to your cheek. “Don’t cry… you’re far too pretty for that” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours.

A bright smile teeters on his lips at the sound of your precious laughter, he brushes your hair behind your ears before pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“I love you, Cregan.” The words feel so natural and he absolutely relishes in the way you say it. He buries his face into the crook of your neck with a boyish smile.

“I love you too… my queen” he replies, his tone heavy with exhaustion as the alcohol starts to weigh on him however that doesn’t stop him from pressing lazy kisses all over your face, his hands soothing against your hips and waist whilst he whispers sweet nothings into your skin.

Cregan will soon find sleep, with his arms wrapped around you and his face buried into your neck. You’ll have to tease him tomorrow about how much of an affectionate drunk he is.

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-Aegon Targaryen x Barmaid!Reader

{Aegon, once again, seeks refuge within the safety of your bedroom…}

Enjoy lovelies 💕

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Your bedroom was comforting. The low light from the candles cast warm shadows against the walls, and the warmth of the fireplace spread through the tiny, rundown room. It was an escape from the brothel in which you live above, an escape from the noise and drunken guards who were a little too rowdy tonight for your liking.

Seems the Prince also felt the same because when you walked into your room he was there, lying face down against the cushioned divan snoring ever so softly without a care in the world.

His white and choppy hair splayed messily over the pillow, his lips stained red from whatever cheap wine he had indulged himself in tonight.

It doesn’t surprise you nearly enough as it should, to see him here, a Prince, within the calmness of your own room sleeping and drunk no less.

You try to stay as quiet as possible, moving around the room on steady feet whilst you clean up the mess he had caused by stumbling into your room haphazardly.

But your attempts are useless when the sound of his hoarse voice breaks through the air, “Good… you’re back.” He pushes himself to sit up with a groan, his eyes heavy with a deep sorrow that he’s clearly trying to drink away.

The audacity, the way he thinks he can just barge in here. It frustrates you and rightfully so. “What have I told you about this… look at the mess you’ve made.” You huff with narrowed eyes as you pick up the books he had knocked over.

Aegon stands up with a struggle, his face scrunching up in what you presume is pain. “Where were you?” He completely ignores your complaints with a heavy sigh. His words are all slurred as he leans forward as if trying to spot you out on a lie.

He doesn’t even give you time to respond before he’s talking again through the thick haziness that the wine has caused. “They said you were here… and you weren't, I waited hours for you.” He says, his tone was clearly accusing you of something.

“Not all of us have the privilege to lay around and drink all day Aegon.” You tell him with an anger in your voice that he wasn’t used to, not from you at least.

You watch as his glossy eyes narrow with a turmoil of emotions that he can’t escape from. He’s quick to try and push past you with a dramatic huff. However, he doesn’t make it further than the end of your bed before he’s stumbling slightly with unbalanced footing.

“Seven hells, Aegon… what have you drank?” You mutter as you catch him just barely, an arm wrapping around his torso to help him stand up.

Despite him being completely inebriated he still tenses up at the feeling of your arm around him, keeping him steady. It’s a certain softness that he doesn’t deserve.

“The usual shit… now answer my question, where were you?” He mutters, turning his face towards yours. The smell of wine hits you much stronger now that he’s this close, his breath fanning against your cheek.

With a soft sigh, you cave. Knowing you won’t talk any sense into him whilst he’s like this. You’ve learned from the hard way that he’ll just end up circling back to the same question over and over again.

“I was in the market, I needed to stock up on a few things.” You tell him as he leans further into you for support, his arms circling your waist to try and keep himself upright.

He takes a breath as if he was going to argue with you, but no words follow. Instead, he presses his face into the crook of your neck with a heavy sigh, his fingers fisting the soft fabric of your shirt as he pulls you closer.

Your expression softens and you roll your eyes, your hand soothing his back. This happens a lot more than you care to admit and you can’t help but wonder, at times like this, what went wrong with him?

“You can’t leave… don’t leave me.” The words leave his lips pathetically, so heavy with emotion. His hands tighten, holding your shirt as if he were scared that you might just disappear into thin air.

“I’m not leaving, I won’t.” You tell him, a promise that he won’t believe, because you can guarantee that you’ll have the same conversation with him a couple of days from now.

But your words seem to do the trick for the time being as you feel him smile against your shoulder, pressing his face further into you. “Good, I won’t let you leave anyway.” He says with a certain seriousness in his tone, and in all honesty you wouldn’t put it past him to hunt you down if it came to that. He’s a prince after all, whatever he wants he gets.

You guide him to sit down on your bed, his hands falling to your hips as he collides with the bed with a groan, looking up at you with glazed-over eyes. A warm but strained smile adorns your lips as you rest your hands on either side of his face, his cheeks are warm beneath your palms.

His eyes flutter ever so slightly at the feeling. No one had ever touched him so sweetly, as if he was a piece of art that needed to be revered.

“Lay down… let me get something to eat.” You whisper softly as you guide him to lay against your pillows, his fingers wrapping around your wrist tightly so you don’t slip away from him.

It takes a lot of convincing and patience for you to finally leave your bedroom with the promise of bringing him a small meal. However, by the time you walk back up into the safety of the room he’s passed out on your bed.

His face smushed against your pillow as he curls himself up into a ball, his lips slightly parted. You sigh, placing the metal tray on your bedside table before sitting down next to him. You debate for a moment whether or not you should wake him, deciding it’ll be best to let him sleep off the wine.

With gentle fingers you brush his white hair away, tucking a few strands behind his ear. He could do with a good bath, you think to yourself. You sit there for a while, watching him as he nuzzles into the warmth of your pillow. He will be gone before the sun fully rises, leaving a small bag of coins on your dresser... in thanks?... or maybe as an apology? but for now, you'll enjoy this, the peaceful silence, whilst it lasts.

The candlelight flickers slightly with the breeze that pushes through your room, casting a warm light against his face. In many ways, this room is as much of an escape for him as it is for you.

Disappointed but not surprised… brb while I go cry into my pillows 💔

Would you still be interested in a fic though??? We could just use him as a fancast…. Thoughts??

Gwayne Hightower on my screen… in real life?? I used to pray for times like this…

My half written Gwayne Hightower fic sitting in my drafts is looking at me… calling my name even…

helloo could i request a cregan stark x reader? Where the reader has the ability to see the future or possible outcomes? I hope it isnt to bad of a idea😅 Thank you so much 🫶🏻

-Cregan Stark x Dreamer!Reader

{Your dreams are often plagued by nightmares of events that are yet to unfold, Cregan is always there to hold you}

Love this! Thank you for requesting, enjoy lovelies💕

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It was not lost on Cregan Stark that Rhaenyra’s daughter was… unique to say the least. It was known way before your engagement was planned, a quiet ceremony hidden away in the woods near Winterfell, it seems love still prevails even through war.

Although this never deterred Cregan, he was utterly head over heels for you yet confused at the same time whenever you would whisper cryptic insanities into the cold night air with wide fearful eyes full of knowledge about events that loom over the horizon like dark storm clouds.

He would spend hours brushing your white hair, speaking gentle, loving words against your shoulder when your mind seemed to have wandered too far from your grasp.

He was just as lost as you were when it came to figuring out what exactly it all meant and the Maesters were no help, especially on nights like this when you were awoken by such horrific sights that infest your mind.

“Aliments of the mind are far more trickier than those of the body, my Lord.” Maester Owryn says, still adamant about just giving you tea to help you sleep.

His words only serve to annoy an already exhausted Cregan, he can’t count how many times he has been told the same thing with a look of pity. It killed him that he could not provide you with more comfort, he cannot help but feel as if he has failed you.

“Do you see her, do you?— it’ll take more than damn tea to calm her from this.” Cregan scolds, looking down at the Maester with dark narrowed eyes. He glances back over to where you are curled up on a chair, your fingers buried within your messy locks, clutching harshly as you mutter the same words over and over again.

The Maester shuffles, fiddling with the small piece of parchment, his brows pulled together in confusion. “Might I suggest milk of the poppy?” He whispers, clearly unnerved by the glare that Cregan was scrutinising him under.

“No, bring her the tea.” The Lord settles, his tone rough with irritation. He did not want to subject you to the horrible drowsiness that the sweet milk brings, numbing your mind was not the answer.

With the Maester gone Cregan tries once more to approach you, drawing closer to you like he would with a wounded animal, he wraps his fingers around your wrists in an attempt to stop you from pulling at your hair, his touch is gentle despite the callouses on his palms.

“Not so hard my love… you’ll hurt yourself.” He whispers, eyes searching your face desperately for any signs of the woman you were before you woke up from this nightmare.

Although he finds nothing of the sort, you are all glossy-eyed and chapped lips, blankly staring at the floor like you were miles away.

A moment of silence settles around the room, the sound of your heavy breathing and the soft crackle of firewood is the only thing breaking through it. It takes a few moments and soft words of encouragement before you allow him to lower your hands down to your lap, your fingers still clutched tightly into fists.

“Dragon breath… burning flesh.” You whisper fearfully, a gasp escaping past your red-bitten lips. The same words you’ve been muttering all night, it unsettles him, calling to something deep within him.

Cregan hums, brushing your messy hair behind your ears. “I know my love.” He sighs, grazing the rough pads of his thumbs across your knuckles.

“Come back to me y/n, come on…” he whispers into the backs of your hands, closing his eyes as you continue to whisper the words madly.

The mumblings stop, your breathing coming back down into a steady rhythm as you begin to unclench your fists slowly. Relief hits Cregan like a gust of wind, his expression softening when your gaze meets with his own.

“… burning… bedevilled crown.” You try to explain to him all too quickly, stuttering over your words in a panic-stricken manner. Your hands trembling against his own rough ones.

“Slowly now, breathe for me first, my love.” He whispers, reaching over to cup your jaw to keep you grounded on the here and now, his thumb caressing your cheek.

Your senses soon come back to you making you aware of your surroundings, the softness of your nightgown and the warmth of your husband’s hand against the side of your face.

The Maester walks in with a small cup of soothing tea, placing the ceramic down on the dark oak table before taking his leave with a curt nod. The herbal aroma brings you into the present moment, keeping your mind occupied.

You watch with tired eyes as he gives you the cup, minding the way your hands still shake ever so slightly. He guides you to take small sips, smiling gently in encouragement.

“There were two, but I could not see— the smoke and flames— screams.” The words are a struggle to get out and it pains him to see you like this, the pain and fear in your eyes.

Your words are too vague to try and make any sense of them, after all, it was a war between Targaryens, and the involvement of dragons and their formidable flames was inevitable.

“I want to stop it… to prevent the pain but I do not know how.” You whisper, voice strained with unshed tears.

“That may be beyond you. I won’t have you shouldering blame for anything that transpires.” He says, his tone full of love despite the roughness of it.

You nod softly, looking down at him from where he is kneeling in front of you. The soft glow of the fireplace flickers against his features, highlighting the exhaustion that hangs below his eyes.

“You can go back to sleep…” you suggest softly, clearly feeling too shaken up to go back to bed.

At your words he immediately shakes his head, taking your hands to pepper gentle kisses along your knuckles, his beard tickling your soft skin. “Not until you’re okay…”

You know there is no point in arguing the point, he is as stubborn as a mule. Instead, you shuffle over, giving him room to sit down next to you. The warmth between you, as he pulls you onto his lap, calms the restlessness that has built up within your chest, allowing you a moment of respite.

-Benjicot Blackwood x smallfolk!reader

{The Realm seems to have spiralled into disarray, Benjicot makes promises of protecting you}

Short and sweet because I can’t help myself, Enjoy my lovelies 💕

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The days seem much longer since the crowning of Aegon Targaryen, the Realm quickly swearing their fealty to whatever side could offer up the best deal or come across as the most threatening. Men were quick to take up swords, training all through the day and deep into the night.

Benjicot was not exempt from this, immediately following suit. Although it came naturally to him, a sword in his hand gave him a boost of confidence like you’ve never seen before and suddenly he was ready to take off into battle with an eagerness that would put anyone on edge.

It took up most of his time, unfortunately. The growing space between the pair of you was noticeable, you wouldn’t hold it against him, you couldn’t. Especially not when he visits you at the end of every day with a boyish grin and messy hair.

“Missed you today.” He breaks the silence, standing awkwardly at the doorway, watching you potter around the small kitchen.

Several moments pass and you still don’t even give him a glance, focused rather stubbornly on the task of scrubbing down the already pristine countertops. He makes a popping noise with his lips repeatedly, trying to gauge a reaction or at the very least your gaze.

With a groan he steps over to the dress you have been working tirelessly on, you have a talent for weaving threads and fabrics with your very hands, crafting the most beautiful dresses for the pretty ladies of the Vale for a rather pretty sum.

“Do not touch that with your filthy hands unless you wish to spend coin on new lace.” You tell him, turning around to meet his grin.

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop your lips from curling into a traitorous smile, the sight of him all dirtied and bloodied looked so out of place in the backdrop of pastel colours and the softest fabrics.

He puts his hands up in mock surrender, allowing you to tug him over to the wash basin with a chuckle that passes through his chapped lips.

His expression softens as he watches the way your gentle hands begin to wash the mud and blood from his own, so much more delicate than his, not sullied by violence and battle, no, they only knew needlework and he vows to keep it that way.

“I said I missed you today.” He repeats his earlier statement, tilting his head slightly towards yours to meet your eyes.

“I suppose I should be grateful then, Lord Blackwood.” The words leave a bad taste in your mouth, despite the fact that there was no malice behind them, but still, that doesn't stop the regret that immediately swells up inside your chest at the deflated look he gives you.

“I sense I’ve done something wrong, have I?…” he treads carefully, his eyes searching your expression as your hands carefully work to free them of muck.

You shake your head, drying off his hands as you stare down at them with a troubled look. “No… forgive me I have been rather on edge as of late.”

He hums in understanding at your words, glancing around the room, trying to think about the right thing to say, before finally looking back down at you. In truth, he has never been good at this, words, but for you, he’ll try.

“You got me and I’m better than anyone in battle, you’ve seen it yourself, I’ll protect you.” He states with so much confidence in his tone you can’t help but chuckle, it was true he became a wildly different person on the battlefield, a man possessed by the thrill.

You avert your eyes to the sword that stands, leaning up against the wall with your brows pinched together in worry. Benjicot’s hands immediately cup either side of your face with care, the feeling of his calloused hands keeps your mind from drifting off to every worst possible scenario.

“Hey, look at me.” He whispers, tipping your head up ever so gently. “If anything happens you’ll have refuge at Raventree.” He promises, his tone carrying a seriousness that he does not always have.

“You sound so sure they’ll just take me in…” You whisper, unsure if you’d be welcomed at all.

“I will demand it, and so will my Aunt, she loves you especially after you made her that riding jacket.” His words warm your heart, a soft smile gracing your lips at the memory of Alysanne, the gratefulness of her tone and the excitement in her eyes.

A warm smile spreads across your lips, his rough hands still cradling your face as if you were the most precious thing across Westeros, the pads of his thumbs caressing the space under your eye.

“Now, no more worrying, hmm?” He announces, pressing a kiss against your forehead with a smirk as you agree with a small whispered ‘Alright’

The pair of you soon find comfort in the warmth of your bed, listening to him ramble on vividly about his day, his hands moving all over the place to get his point across and for the time being everything seems to be peaceful.

- Hiya my lovelies!! 💕

Please send over some requests for house of the dragon, I’m dying to write for my baby girls <3

Or you can check out my master-list here! for other fandoms, love you lots!! 💕

Hello! May i request another cute moment with Cregan Stark and his son? Maybe Cregan was starting to teach his son how to use the sword. Idk if this is a good idea.

-Cregan Stark x Reader

I love this!! thank you for requesting, enjoy my lovelies💕

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Summer in the North was not so different from the winter, save for the slightest change in the air and the fact that the sun made an appearance every now and again. The people also seemed happier too, lighter without the weight of worry that sat heavily upon their shoulders.

This meant that Cregan had more free time, the afternoons now spent with his son, Rickon, out in the training yard. The echos of their laughter filled Winterfell with a warmth, it was infectious.

You stand underneath the stony overhang, watching the pair of them with a content expression. Cregan shows him how to hold the wooden sword, giving him pointers on how to stand correctly and how to swing the sword without hurting himself.

“There we go son, getting the hang of it.” He beams proudly, watching Rickon swing the sword against the hay-filled man before ruffling his brown hair with a chuckle. He was so patient with him, never once rushing him.

The sound of your clapping makes the pair of them turn around, each of them wearing the same love-filled expression and dark messy hair.

“Momma!” Rickon giggles, dropping his sword before rushing over to you with a toothy grin and bright eyes. It still makes your heart leap with joy whenever he calls you ‘momma’ despite the fact he isn’t yours you still love him like he is, he’s practically your other half.

You reach down to brush the snowflakes from his hair, your hand brushing against his rosy cheek as hugs you sideways. “Are you not too cold my sweet?” You ask softly, watching as he shakes his head.

“No… but did you see me, did you? I’ll be using real swords soon!” He exclaims excitedly, jumping up and down in pure joy as Cregan joins the pair of you, resting his hand against the small of your back.

“I did, you’re a natural.” Your words only make his smile brighten, his hands clasping together with a giggle. The sight causes Cregan's heart to melt, tenderness blooming through his chest.

It fills him with adoration, the way you treat his son with such kindness, how you’ve learned all about his interests and the way you read to him nightly. The love he harbours for the pair of you was stronger than the winds of the North.

Rickon rushes off back to the training yard, shouting for you to watch him before picking the wooden sword back up.

“Here… you look cold, my love.” Cregan notes, taking off one of his furs before draping them gently over your shoulders to protect you from the chill that lingers in the air. He takes your hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles in hopes of warming them up.

You look up at him with a warm smile, watching as he guides your hands to his mouth, his lips peppering gentle kisses along your knuckles and the back of your hands. “Thank you, always so attentive.” You whisper, your tone carrying a certain twinge of playfulness.

“Of course, you’re carrying my child now, you deserve only the best.” He says firmly, pressing another kiss against your temple, his hand caressing your back comfortingly.

You hum in acknowledgement, leaning against his sturdy frame as he holds you close to his chest. The pair of you watch Rickon as he swings the wooden sword into the straw man with vigour.

“Do you think he’ll be excited?” You ask, tilting your head to look up at him, his hair half tied up to keep it out of his eyes.

“Oh, he’ll be over the moon.” His words soothe the worry in your heart, suddenly replaced by excitement as he continues with a chuckle, “I can already picture him, as soon as they can walk he’ll be dragging them out here.”

You giggle at the thought of Rickon teaching his younger sibling to sword fight, your hand falling to the slight swell of your stomach. The idea of the Winterfell castle being filled with a litter of mini Starks, their laughter and bickering, it brought a giddiness to the both of you.

Rickon continues to practice for a few more minutes, running towards the straw man with the sword grasped tightly in his hands only to slip, falling against the gravel on his knees, you gasp softly in worry as Cregan goes to walk over to him.

“I’m okay!” He calls out to the pair of you, standing up with a bright smile, brushing off his knees before running back over to you.

“Gods be good.” Your husband sighs, shaking his head with a small twinge of amusement flickering through his eyes. “Let’s get you both inside, hey…”

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