The Ballad Of The Raven And The Dragon

The ballad of the raven and the dragon

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!!!! PLEASE KIERAN BURTON ONE CHANCE JUST ONE!!!!!!!!

Anyway, Benjicot ("Davos") Blackwood x targ!princess!reader

Summary: Being the only daughter of queen Rhaenrya and the heir to the throne is not easy, after convincing your mother to let you patrol near the riverlands you come across a battle where you meet the infamous Bloody Ben.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, smut, burning brackens, making out, dry humping, oral (f receiving), oral (m receiving), wine play, vaginal sex.

AN: Originally wanted to do Bracken reader x Benjicot Blackwood but had already seen quite a lot of those so wanted to do something different, buuuttt maybe I'll do one in the future!

It was another grey and windy morning at Dragon Stone. The sea waves crashing against the cliffs, dragons roaring in the sky. War was brewing and so was the tension at Dragon Stone. Being heir to the iron throne was heavier than you thought, the meetings with the black council were getting more dreadful and your mother, the queen, more protective of you and your brothers by the day. Ever since Ser Arryks intrusion she had more guards on watch and you were rarely allowed to leave, especially because you are the queen's only daughter and heir. 

However this morning after begging her to let you patrol the lands, she finally gave in, only for a short while. So your handmaiden quickly helped you change and put your hair up for the flight. Practically running towards the cave, you could barely pace yourself to get to your dragon. She was big for her age and almost as fierce as Caraxes. After getting on her, she felt your excitement and quickly flew out. After a while of flying around Dragon Stone you decided to go a bit further, near the riverlands. 

When you were getting closer high in the sky, you spotted some people near cow fields and a mill, so to take a closer look you descended down enough so you could see them better. Just to check if you didn’t come across the greens knights. Now being lower you could hear some yelling, and then their clothes became more apparent. Around four or so in yellow and brown and the other 4 in black and red, which in the riverlands only meant one thing. Brackens and Blackwoods. However they did not seem to notice you, too caught up in the argument. You were debating on landing out of curiosity but quickly made your decision when swords were drawn and a fight broke out. 

Then you noticed that more Brackens turned up, you knew they declared for Aegon and even though your mother told you not to engage, you never turned away from a fight. You quickly descended with your dragon and she let out a shrieking roar. The faces of the men looked up but there was no time for the Brackens to run as you commanded, “Dracarys!”. Your dragon incinerated a good half of the brackens, the other now starting to run. You quickly turned the two of you around to get on their heels and burn the remaining of them. Your body filled with adrenaline and you dragon roaring with triumph and excitement herself you heard the victorious chants of the Blackwood men down below. 

So deciding to officially meet your allies you landed near them, seemingly their commander already heading towards you. As you stood on the ground you met him halfway and could barely hold in your smile at the sight of him. Never had you seen someone as fierce, unique and handsome looking as him. “My princess, thank the gods for you and your dragon. You saved us many men.” He greeted you with a grin. “It was my pleasure, any green I see I’ll turn black.” He laughed at that, took a step closer and gave you a soft bow with his head. 

“However exciting I find to burn my enemies, this was still unnecessary my lord. I don’t remember my mother giving out orders to kill Brackens.” You lectured, your tone a bit more serious now. Even though it was thrilling, your mother would surely hear of this and get upset. “I understand your grace but those cunts deserve death, anyone who stands with the usurper does.” The fearsome lord gritted out. “But I do apologise, I meant no offence to her grace the queen…or the beautiful princess.” He said that last part softer and with a smile. 

You felt like a little girl again, blushing at his words. “I know you didn't, my lord.” He smiled again and you felt your skin heat up beneath your clothes, there was just something about him...a certain mischief. “Raventree Hall is not too far your grace, I would like to offer you some wine and food for your troubles.” He petitioned. “It was no trouble my lord but I’ll take that offer. I assume you’re on horseback?” You smiled. “Yes your grace, you could ride with me if it pleases you.” He offered. “Have you ever flown on a dragon my lord?” The words left your lips before you could even think about them. The lord of house Blackwood made you say and do things you never thought you would for a man. 

“I haven’t your grace, what are you suggesting?” He looked at you with a mix of curiosity and nervousness on his face. “Fly with me, it’s faster and more fun.” Your words surprised him and he seemed to debate on whether he should. But Benjicot Blackwood was a brave man and at this moment he would do anything to please the princess, even risking his life on a dragon's back. His men cheered behind him and one of them even pushed him in your direction. “Even if I didn’t want to, it looks like I have no choice.” He chuckled. 

“Well let’s go then.” You walked over to your dragon who didn’t seem to love the idea but always did as you commanded anyway. When you were seated, you asked your dragon to lower herself a bit for Lord Blackwood “Ivestragī zirȳla va.” and she did, almost with a grunt.  He climbed on behind you in the saddle as you scootched a bit forward to make room for the tall man. “Ready?” You asked him, grabbing the reins, his men moving out of the way before you. “I think so.” He said, holding on to your waist, which totally didn’t make your heart skip a beat. “Sōvēs.” The second the word left your lips, your dragon started to move, taking some steps before rising into the sky, wings flapping. You could hear the men below you gasp and cheer and felt the lord's hands holding on tighter to your waist. 

After some time of soaring through the skies, Raventree Hall finally came into view. With a loud thump your dragon landed on the ground and you showed lord Blackwood on how to get off, after he got off as well he grinned and led you to the gates of Raventree Hall, the tall weirwood tree looming not too far away. Following Lord Blackwood through his home you were greeted by the guards and servants roaming the place, all with a polite bow or curtsy and a soft “your grace” or “princess”. When you arrived in the big dining hall, it was empty except for you two and some guards. 

Sitting opposite to each other at the table he had a servant fetch some wine, bread, cheese and fruits. “Do you have a favourite fruit or cheese princess?” He asked while removing his gloves. “I wouldn’t want your servants to go out of their way, really anything is fine.” You smiled, cautiously observing his handsome face and veiny hands. He still had some blood on his face, which somehow made him even more alluring. When the food and wine arrived he sent the few guards and servants away and poured you some wine himself. “Thank you my lord.” You said politely, hands in your lap as you watched his tall figure looming over you behind your seat, putting the goblet in front of you. Pouring himself some too he sat back down.

“My princess you needn't call me ‘my lord’, please call me Ben.” His request surprised you but you gave him a smile and nod nonetheless. “Alright... I will.” He took a sip of his wine and looked at you shamelessly. Normally you hated men looking at you like that, but him doing it- made you hot and flushed. “I know it has been a year already but I still wanted to say how sorry I was to hear of your father. I didn’t know him well but I knew he was fierce on the battlefield.” You spoke softly. “Thank you, I must admit that seeing those Brackens today triggered some grief I still had left.” He looked down as he spoke. “I’m so sorry, I know how it feels to have your father taken by the stranger. It will get better, if there is anything I can do for you.” 

He looked at you with kind eyes. “You are too kind, and quite fierce on the battlefield yourself.” He complimented you, now with his mischievous smile back on his face. “Thank you.” You glanced around the empty room before you spoke again. “Do you- have a wife?” You almost stumbled over your words, the question wasn’t disgraceful... but how it was perceived could be. “No, the war and finding my place as new lord of Raventree Hall have kept me busy. It gives me space to...explore and experience, I guess.” He said looking at you once again- did he just look at your chest? “I see. A man is lucky enough to do that, many even continue to explore and experience well into marriage.” You said with a certain jealousy behind it. You seemed to both understand the meaning behind your words, the impure meaning. 

The winds blowing through the cold Raventree Hall made the room cool your heated conversation down a bit but your want for him couldn’t be blown away. Your eyes met each other and you couldn’t help but notice a certain change in demeanour from him. “Have you had the opportunity to explore or experience much in life yet princess?” The way he said the words, low and almost raspy, made your breath catch in your throat. “No.” You said soft and meek. He paused before he dared speak his next words. “Have you ever wondered what it’s like…” His tone was still low and soft. “Yes-” You answered quickly, you wanted nothing more than his touch. 

Before you could protest he rose from his seat, walked to the hall doors and opened them. You thought you had perhaps scared him off but then you heard him speak to the guards outside the door. “The princess has a delicate matter to discuss with me, so take your leave for the night. Make sure no servants pass here.” You could hear a hushed ‘yes my lord’ and footsteps leaving as he closed the doors again. On instinct you stood up and he walked over to you. Looking at each other's eyes and lips once more he surged forward and crashed his lips against yours. His strong grip on your waist and lips moving against yours made a soft moan escape your lips. He moved you tighter against him and your arms were holding on to his back.

His veiny hands moving down to your ass and gripping it tightly caused your clothed pussy and his hardening cock to grind on each other making him groan against your lips. Pausing the kiss for a moment you begged him to do it again. “I have a better idea.” He mumbled against your lips, giving you a chaste kiss as he moved you towards the table. With your ass now touching the edge of the table his hands moved to knead your breasts before lifting you up on the table and standing between your legs. He held onto you before kissing you again, your own hands moving to his dark hair. 

Bringing you close again he started to grind his hard on right against your clothed cunt, making you moan and whine into his mouth. He left your lips to kiss along your jaw, sucking on your neck next. “Please- harder...feels so good.” You pleaded. “Fuck-” He muttered against your neck, now full on humping you like a dog, panting and cussing underneath his ragged breaths. The table was croaking and scratching the floor from the movements. Your hands held on tighter in your hair as you felt your orgasm wash over you, sudden and unknown but you never felt this amount of pleasure. As the pleasure overtook you you held your breath, his moans now becoming louder as well. “Feels good- doesn’t it pretty princess? Just wait until I fuck you on my cock.” His dirty words made you gasp and whine in response before he sadly stopped his movements. Instead he started removing your clothes, you quickly helped, once left in your undergarments and chemise he started to remove his own clothes as well, leaving him in just his breeches, the thin fabric gave you a full view of the big tent that his hard cock created. 

You couldn’t stop your hand from wanting to touch his cock, his breath hitched as your fingers touched his tip. “Does that feel good?” You asked in a seductive tone, you knew what you were doing and this newfound sinful power made you wonder what else you could do to him. “Ohh yesss.” He shuddered, “Just like that-” Your hand now fully grasped his cock moving the skin over his tip underneath the cloth. “S-stop, fuck, before you make me cum already.” Ben said with a breathy chuckle. Setting you back on the table he removed the remainder of your clothes, at the sight of your breasts he paused and couldn’t help but stare. Throwing the rest of your clothes on the floor he reached behind you and grabbed the goblet of half filled wine. “Shall we make this memorable?” He smiled mischievously. You could only nod and look at him with slight confusion, but it all became clear when he tipped the goblet over by your left breast, wine trickling down your nipple before Ben moved to lick it up and suck on the skin. You inhaled at the sensation. 

Moving to your right nipple he once again let some wine flow down your breast before he licked it up again. He kissed you once more. Then he licked your lips and sank to his knees. Your brows furrowed in confusion but you were excited for what he was about to do next. He started to kiss up your legs, kneading your thighs and hips. Your eyes rolled back at the sight before you. His head now moved between your thighs, moving the cup right above your already wet cunt he tipped it over again letting wine spill over your pussy and again he didn’t fail to lick it up. 

But this time it felt a thousand times better than your breasts. A gasp and moan left your mouth and you grabbed his head for support when he repeated the action, however this time he started to suck, lick and devour you. Putting the wine on the ground he grabbed your hips to hold you still as he went in like you were his dinner. “Gods- please- Ben!” You could never keep quiet with the way his tongue was fucking you now. And due to your sensitivity from your previous orgasm, you came undone in a matter of seconds, coating his face in your arousal. 

“Thats a good fucking girl.” He smiled leaving soft kisses on your mound before rising again. “Please, please take me. Bend me over the table and take me Ben.” You breathlessly begged. With a look of pure lust on his face he did as his princess told. Moving you off the table and turning you around he bended you over, your breasts pressing against the hard table. Hurriedly removing his breeches, he lined up his hard cock with your entrance. Using his tip to spread around your juices. “Seven hells-” He groaned as he let his tip slip inside you. You moaned and gripped the table for support as he now slowly sank into you. 

“You okay? Can I move?” He asked breathlessly. “Yes- please I’m fine- just fuck me already-” He wasted no time and grabbed your ass cheeks as he fucked into you. Gaspes, pants and moans filled the room as he pounded harder into you. He couldn’t help but slap your ass and grip it harder making you roll your eyes back in ecstasy. The table shook underneath you and now you understand why he even sent the guards outside away. 

The noises of sweaty skin slapping against each other, the moans, the cusses, the pleading, panting and creaking of the table spurred Benjicot on even more. Lifting your right leg so your knee was resting on the table as well allowed in to fuck you even deeper. His cock now fully hitting your cervix. He had to remind himself who he was fucking and that he couldn’t fill you with his cum. That became an even more difficult task as he could feel the walls of your pussy clenching around him tighter making him moan your name with each pound into you. 

Moving his fingers to your clit while thrusting into you, moaning your name against your shoulder you came with a moan of his name. Benji quickly pulled out and you turned around “On your knees.” He commanded, and you did. You had a feeling of what he wanted and opened your mouth, with a smile Ben put his leaking cock in your mouth as you started sucking. His moans became louder again and he filled your mouth, cussing as he came too, swallowing his cum he caressed your cheek before helping you up. Heavy breaths filled the room and breathy laughs from you both. He pulled you closer and you held each other for a bit.

Until you had to break the silence. “No one can know Ben.” You spoke resting your chin on his chest when you looked at him. “I know.” You shared a solemn smile before you pulled away from him reaching for your chemise on the ground. “Let me keep it.” He stammered. “Why would-” He took it from you. “Because, when you leave I’ll have something of you. And when I am lonely at night...I could relive the memory of my cock deep in your cunt.” He spoke lowly. “Okay.” You smiled, giving him a light kiss before getting dressed. Anxiety filled you as your mother must be worried by now. “I do have to leave now.” You said after Ben got dressed as well. “I know.” You kissed each other one last time before you left with your dragon, soaring through the sky as your heart hurt at the thought of not being with him.

the dear daughter

summary: At one-and-twenty and eight-and-ten, barely a year after their marriage, Ser Laenor Velaryon and Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen welcomed their first child, a daughter, into the world. The girl immediately became dear to the whole court, coddled and spoiled by all, but mostly by her grandsire, King Viserys I. The man saw in his granddaughter her mother, and as the girl grew to look like his late wife, Aemma Arryn, it became even clearer that he doted on her more than he did to his own children or his other grandchildren.

pairings: cregan stark x velaryon!reader (no use of y/n), platonic (familial) relationship between the targs/velaryon and reader

word count: 2.8k

warnings: mention of hard labours, reader is a little shit and everyone loves her for that, language? pretty fluffy chapter if you ask me

author's note: this is my first time writing for hotd, so i hope that you like it lol. it's most likely going to be an AU, and as always, english is not my first language so (kind) criticism is plenty accepted lol

series masterlist

Once her first labours finally come to an end, Rhaenyra Targaryen finds herself blessed with a daughter: a small child with fair eyes and white hair, that in the years would become the only babe actually sired by her husband, Laenor Velaryon.

Rhaenyra watches with enamoured eyes as you latch onto her breast, suckling any milk you can get; your eyes are of a misty lilac, like hers once were, and as you look up at her, she’s sure she has never felt a thing like this before. She’s a mother now, she’s what Aemma once was to her, and she feels like she’s getting back a small piece of her mother as she brushes the small tuft of white hair upon your head. 

“Aren’t you the sweetest little thing?” Laenor, head laid upon her shoulder to have a better look, says. As you sleepily close your eyes, he nudges the hand that lays on Rhaenyra’s chest to seek a reaction from you, who in return wraps the entirety of your small palm around his index finger — not even managing to cover it all. By the look on his face, your mother knows that he is holding himself back from squealing. 

They both know you’re the only child they will ever have together. The months before your conception were made of dreadful nights, tears of frustration and awkward moments, so when Rhaenyra finally came to be with child they both took a relieved breath, and swore they would never lie together ever again. Rhaenyra, though, knows you probably won’t be her last; it’s expected of her to have more than one child, and if Laenor can’t give that to her, she’s going to seek that from someone else. He knows, they’ve talked about it, and he sees no problem with it; all children birthed by Rhaenyra are going to be legitimised, and he will be treating them as if they were his. 

But you’re the only one that’s going to be his. The blood of his blood. Ours runs thick. 

Rhaenyra, with the last forces left to her, delicately hoists you from her chest to give you to your father. “Why don’t you hold her?”

Laenor flushes, embarrassed, maybe not feeling ready for this moment. “Oh– I– I…” 

Despite his initial scepticism, he rests his back on the headboard, getting in a sitting position and undoing the laces of his blouse, as the maester has said that placing a babe on naked skin should calm and comfort them. So he carefully places you on his chest, and your head sits right above his heart, held and caressed gently by his hands. 

She was not born out of love, Rhaenyra thinks, but that shall not make her feel less loved by any means. 

Your dragon hatches in your cradle barely a sennight after your birth, just like every Targaryen worthy of their name, and your mother lovingly names her Merrax as she gives her to the dragon keepers to feed and train until you are old enough to bond with and claim her. 

Two moons after your birth, a feast is held in your honour, so that Rhaenyra manages to recover from her labours to participate and everyone that is invited can make sure to attend. Neither your mother nor Laenor are happy about it, as they would rather spend their time coddling and holding you in their arms, but Viserys is just too ecstatic about his first granddaughter — cooing and showing her around the castle, introducing the babe to anyone who will listen — so they indulge for his sake, and figure that letting him parade you around for just a night won’t hurt anyone. They surely didn’t think they’d have to thank a hundred lords and ladies for the gifts they brought to their firstborn for two hours straight. 

After the first hour, your mother checked to see how the line of nobles was going and paled, nudging to her husband. “This is worse than it was at our wedding.”

Laenor nodded, looking over at his father-in-law, happily chatting with Lord Bracken about the whole new wardrobe of dresses he just gifted to you. “We now have… what, ten cradles? And how many dresses and toy-dragons and dolls do we have?”

Rhaenyra sighs dramatically. “I stopped counting at the twelfth doll. Some Lords really are desperate for the favour of the King, it seems.” She looks over at you; despite the cradle sitting between her and her father for you to sleep in, it seems that Viserys has no intention of letting you stay there. You’re held in his arms, sat atop his legs, wearing a dress made of all puffy lilac silks that basically drown your little body. 

The King actually seems to be paying more attention to you than to the Lords, redoing the ribbon holding together your bonnet when it loosens and shushing you when you start to whine. “It’s actually quite interesting to watch,” Rhaenyra whispers to Laenor, “I don’t think she’s ever been this confused — nor endeared.”

You squeal when you like a gift, while you just stare when you don’t like one, and your grandsire seems to have caught up on it, managing his response to the Lords based on your reactions.

“Lord Rickon of House Stark, from Winterfell,” the page announces. Lord Rickon is a tall man no older than fourty, though his hair is already completely white — it looks like the North isn’t treating him well. He carries a son with him — Cregan, he says, — barely five summers old, and gives him a little nudge towards the makeshift throne where Viserys and you are sitting. “Come on, son,” 

Little Cregan almost stumbles upon the steps, “Your Majesty, it is an honour to be here. This is House Stark’s bestowal for the birth of the young Princess.”

Rhaenyra is impressed. She’s pretty sure no five-year-old can talk like that; Cregan seems to be much taller than the boys his age, too. The boy in question opens the box in his hands, revealing a necklet adorned with purple sapphires and pearls, and it’s so pretty that your mother thinks she just might borrow it from you. It’s not like you’ll notice the absence of it — you won’t be able to wear it for at least another seven years. To match it, there’s also a pair of tear-shaped earrings and an oval ring, all with the same lilac stones. Looks like the Starks have good taste. 

You stare at the jewels, then at the boy, then again at the jewels. You squeal, a hand reaching for the necklet — or at least, it seems. Because you actually reach for the little metal buckle that sits upon the Little Lord’s chest, holding together two leather pieces. It’s of a deep grey — silver or steel, perhaps? — and it’s adorned with the Starks emblem, the howling direwolf. 

Viserys doesn’t let you lean enough to take a hold of the buckle, taking your little hand in his and shaking his head. “No, not that, sweetling,” he chastises. He gently takes the wooden box from Cregan, showing you the jewels. “They are quite impressive, are they not? Clearly, it took an expert hand to make them.” 

Lord Rickon puffs his chest with pride, but as you reach and take the necklet, you don’t seem quite as happy as before. Your little hands wrap around the big, round gemstones and pearls, and you try to chew on it before the King can stop you. The court erupts in laughter, and your grandsire takes the jewel away from your hands as gently as he can. “No, sweetling, you can’t put it in your mouth–” 

But your attention is already elsewhere, towards the Stark boy, and you reach your hand out towards the buckle with the emblem of his House again. You really like it, it seems.

Cregan sends an unsure glance towards his father, who nods, then unclasps the buckle from the leather straps and hands you the little emblem. You eagerly take it, immediately chewing on it — and this time, Viserys chooses not to stop you before you importunate the Stark boy anymore — but you still don’t look satisfied. You reach towards Cregan, again, and this time, pull a chunk of his hair, squealing delightfully. 

Rhaenyra can tell that the child is trying his best not to protest — after all, even if a babe, you are still a princess — as you, with all the mighty force that a newborn has, happily try to make the Stark boy bald. You shriek and gurgle, happily playing with the black strands as the whole court tries not to laugh their asses off. 

Viserys, despite holding back his laugh, decides to take mercy upon the boy, separing you two and hoisting you up, laughing gleefully. “My dear granddaughter!” he exclaims. “Not even three moons old yet, and already terrorising the whole court!” he then looks at Cregan, a playful glint in his eyes. “I think she likes you, boy!”

He sends the Stark boy off with a pat on the shoulder and a truthful thanks to Lord Rickon for the gifts, as clearly, they were appreciated amply.

Further in the evening, they send you back in Rhaenyra’s arms, milk drunk from the wet nurse feeding, and she finds herself surrounded by Ladies and Lords who gape at you, who are starting to get a bit fussy and stirring and whining in her arms.  Your mother shushes you as best as she can, but since there’s a constant buzzing in the hall — it being the bards or the guests chatting — there’s not much she can do. 

You seem to regain your light when Lord Stark — or, more like, his son — enters your vision camp. You squeal happily, even if the boy winces, brushing his hair behind his ear just to make sure you won’t pull it again. Rhaenyra laughs, saccharine and a bit inebriated from the wine she has had, and looks over the child. “It seems that she has taken quite a liking to you, boy. Would you like to hold her?”

Cregan isn’t exactly fond of the idea, but when a princess asks if you wish to hold her child, you can’t exactly refuse. So he takes a seat in the nearest chair as your mother explains to him how to hold you, and once he does, he finds your eyes — big, violet and shiny — looking at him with what he could only explain as awe. The Ladies around him share a knowing laughter, chanting something about love at first sight, and you slowly fall asleep in his arms. 

He is finally relieved of the tremendous weight sitting in his arms as Rhaenyra retrieves you, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple and thanking the boy, before going towards the cradle sitting between the two makeshift thrones in front of the Royal Family’s table, guarded by two knights. She lays you down and murmurs a small promise of taking you back to the nursery as soon as the feast ends, and then sends a knowing look to Harwin, stationed right beside the crib to guard you. 

The rest of the night passes smoothly, and by the end of it, Cregan finds himself peering over the crib as almost every adult in the room is black-out drunk, poking your cheek with his finger. Ser Strong gives him a reprimanding but somewhat soft slap on the back of his head, asking him not to do that. 

And as he looks at you over the crib, stirring but not waking up, the only thing that Cregan Stark can think about is all the trouble you’re going to cause once you grow up.

Sometime later comes Jacaerys. 

You welcome him with a slap on the cheek and a high pitched cry, scared about the fact that there’s another babe in the arms of your mother that’s not you, and Laenor is quick to escort you out of the birthing chamber, shushing you with promises of buying you new dolls and taking you to ride Seasmoke. 

And he does, but that doesn’t seem to put an end to your jealousy. 

Rhaenyra is still strained by her labours, who weren’t so kind to her like last time; she finds herself in much more pain than she was when she had you, and for days can’t even stand up straight for more than a few seconds. This does not help the situation, because you want your mother to play with you and take you riding on Syrax, but she can't — and you end up, yet again, blaming your little brother and taking it out on him.

You start screaming as soon as you see him. You mostly reject the spare attempts of your mother to make you bond with him or even to hug her, and Rhaenyra, already suffering thanks to the stress of a newborn that looks nothing like Laenor holds, feels like a terrible mother. 

“Of course the child doesn’t like her brother,” the maids whisper. “He looks nothing like her, or her mother. She sees him as a stranger; she sees what he actually is — a bastard.”

The maids’ tongues are quick to cut, but whispers are hard to silence, and they continue. Alicent makes sure of it. She always seems to take a liking in making Rhaenyra’s life as hard as possible, thriving in seeing her pain. 

During this time, you don’t throw tantrums with only three people: Laenor, your aunt Halaena and your grandsire. 

Laenor, bless his heart, is a softie for you. He loves Jacaerys, he really does, but he can’t stand to see you cry and feel replaced. You’re young, but you’re smart, and even if you cannot articulate it, he knows you think that with Jace you’re no longer going to be as loved as before. That’s because when Laena was born, he’s pretty sure he thought and felt the same, but he’s also sure that you’re going to accept Jacaerys, so he often tries to persuade you into seeing him. It always ends in a pool of tears and yet another promise to taking you on a ride on Seasmoke with him. 

Helaena has no expectations of you, and she just lets you roam in the gardens, her chambers or the nursery as you like. She’s sweet, feeding you lemon cakes stolen from the kitchens and letting you sleep on her lap, curled like a cat. She makes you dresses — secretly altered by her septa so that they are actually functioning — and sings you lullabies, liking the idea of kinda having a baby of her own without birthing one or having to have a husband.

Yet, your favourite always ends up being your grandsire, the King; it seems that you can barely be separated from him. You become his little shadow, always following him, waddling around and clinging to his cloak. And when the lords in the Small Council ask him why there's a toddler sitting on his legs, playing with his cup and trying to drink from it, he just laughs it off and tells them to go on with the meeting.

He spoils you rotten, buying you all the toys and dresses you spare a glance to, even after Rhaenyra tells him again and again to stop doing that. It is clear that he has a favourite, as Alicent always reminds him, as he is “constantly neglecting his sons in favour of a spoiled brat”, as she says. Viserys doesn’t tolerate such language, and never makes it a mystery to his lady wife, not once backing down from reprimanding her about it. 

And Viserys ends up being a blessing, because slowly, he manages to make you warm up to Jacaerys. You soon begin to ask about your baby brother, if he can play or say your name, and decide that since you lack of male dolls, he’s little enough to make up for it. 

In the year that follows, Lucerys joins you and Jace. This time, you instantly treat him as if he was your own, happy with your newfound role of older sister, trying to play with him even if he can barely roll onto his belly. This time around, it is Jace who is jealous of the newcomer; his dear sister now’s all preoccupied with the new babe and barely even cares about him anymore, it seems. But his jealousy doesn’t last as long as yours, luckily, because soon enough he’s joining you in the quest of dressing up Luke as a dragon.

Rhaenyra is so happy with this turn of events that the rumours about her sons being bastards are almost completely tuned out. And as she sits in the nursery, watching you dress up Jacaerys as a true prince to save your dolls while Lucerys sleeps like the dead in the cradle, she thinks that weirdly enough, she wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.

Eyes of Emerald Green // Vampire!Alys Rivers x Targaryen!Reader

MDNI, DD:DNE(?)

Summary: the woman who once plagued your dream while you were young, reappears.

WARNINGS: slight dubcon, age gap, sexual tension, masturbation, oral (both f), wlw relationship, vampire x human, blood drinking, cunnilingus, blood kink, tiddy sucking, face sitting, canon divergence, breeding kink(?) idk, multiple orgasms. + not proofread

WC: 3.4k

A/N: THE LONG AWAITED FIC LMAO, I've been teasing this since Halloween October 2023 💀💀💀 and now it's finally here 😳❗// divider creds to @cafekitsune

“Spare no man, woman, child or any bastard!” You commanded the guards who were capturing and killing the members of the house strong, this was not your original plan, but after hearing what had happened to king's landing, you vented your frustration on the house you despised the most, house strong.

Recapturing harrenhal was your brother's idea, you simply led the army, yet the city of kings landing was soon attacked, and when you had heard of it, you were stricken with rage.

The sounds of metal clinking, flesh being cut through was like a pleasant lullaby to your ears, you felt a sick sense of accomplishment even though the city had faced a big loss.

You were participating in the massacre too, stabbing the bodies of the members over and over again, covered in their blood, your hair matted as the blood dried up, yet you still did not stop.

But then suddenly you felt a shiver run up your spine and you spun around to see a woman, who appeared to be youthful, standing there in her maids robes, something about her drew you in, and you gasped when you made eye contact.

Emerald green eyes that seemed to piece through your soul, you suddenly felt vulnerable as if she could see through you and you remained frozen in place as you stared at her, you noted how you oddly felt a sense of familiarity with her.

Her eyes reminded you of the woman who appeared in your dreams a few years ago. You remember going to sleep that night and woke up with the feeling of something heavy sitting in your chest and opened your eyes to see the emerald green irises staring at you, you remember not being able to scream, and watched as she bared her fangs before biting down on your neck, you quickly woke up terrified and screamed, the servants immediately rushed in hearing the noise, you had tried telling them what happened and they simply dismissed it as a nightmare.

Those very same eyes were staring at you right now, as you massacred the house she probably served or belonged to.

Yet she did not look scared, but rather a sick expression of relief was on her face, almost as if she was expecting this to happen, as if she knew– that this would happen. You went towards her direction and stopped in front of her, she didn't budge, but merely stared, the blood that had stuck to your armour and hair did not scare her away, but instead, her breathing picked up, almost as if she was sniffing at the stench.

“You– who are you?” You asked and she smiled, “I had expected your arrival, my princess.” she did not answer your question but just stated what she wanted to and you raised an eyebrow, grip tightening on the sword, “And how exactly?” You asked and her eyes drifted to your sword for a moment before she made eye contact with you again, “I saw it in my dreams, my visions.” she replied.

“I hope that in your vision you had also foreseen your death, it would make it less shocking for what I am gonna do to you.” You reply sternly, beginning to shift to a more offensive position, ready to attack her but she just chuckled, “You wouldn't hurt me.” She said confidently and you scoffed, “And how exactly did you come to the conclusion that I would spare you?” You question, “Because princess, nobody knows you as well as I do, after all we've met before.” You just roll your eyes and grab her by the throat, but she doesn't struggle, “You want to be the queen.” the words that leave her mouth makes you halt and you immediately let go of her, eyes wide in shock. “You are but a mere third daughter of King Viserys, much more dutiful than your half sister and your elder brother, you are supporting him for the sake of blood, but deep down, you want the iron throne for yourself, don't you?” She speaks and you remain speechless, wondering how she knows everything. “And your younger brother, is now prince regent, though he was born after you, he was still given preference over you to rule as a regent, even as a kinslayer, he is sitting on the throne in your elder brother's stead. Is that not unfair? Had you not done more than him? Especially being a woman?” You continue to remain silent as she speaks, and how correct she is, “I can help you.” She says and you look at her, “My visions will be of use to you, which is the exact reason you will be sparing me.” She finishes talking and by the end of it, it felt as if you had fallen into her carefully woven trap. You thought about it for a mere moment, you could just kill her and be done with it, fight your own battles, but when has anyone conquered their own selfishness, and just like that, you had accepted her help.

“What is your name?” You asked her and she smiled, “Alys rivers.”

Just like that she was spared.

The news had reached King's Landing, where Aemond was ruling as a regent, he successfully managed to seize the throne back to him and executed all of the black's spies in the city, and regained full control over it.

“Harrenhal has now successfully been recaptured by the princess Y/N, though when she had heard of what happened to the city, she was enraged and directed that anger towards the House Strong, she had successfully eliminated the house, no woman, no bastard, no child was to be spared, except only one was spared, a bastard and a wet nurse called Alys Rivers, it seemed that the princess had taken a liking to her.”

Aemond read the letter of report, eyebrows furrowed, he knew how you would be in anger, impulsive and quick, so he was surprised when he heard that you spared someone, but did not think much of it, he came to the conclusion that though your tastes were different, you deserved to have your own spoil of war, so he did not question anything, and allowed you to be as you are.

Meanwhile, as the days passed, you and alys had gotten closer, she told you everything she saw in her visions and you figured how accurate she was, it seemed as though she was given the sight to see into the future.

You sat in your chair, dipping the quill into the ink before writing it down on the parchment paper, writing down reports of the nearby area, trying to note of any suspicious behaviour to immediately correct until your eye landed on a specific report, “Man found dead at the shore of the God's eye river, there were two bite marks on multiple parts of his body, and his flesh was torn as if though he had been ripped apart by a wild beast.” You furrowed your brows, could this be a result of a beast attack? If so, you have to hunt it down before there are any more victims.

Just then the door opened and you saw Alys, who was now walking towards you, holding a tray of tea cups and, “You had been working since the morrow, I had bought some tea.” she placed it down on the table, and you could help but take note of her attire, a low cut neckline, that almost spilled her breasts outside when she leaned down, you cleared your throat and nodded.

It seemed as if she was trying to do that on purpose.

Things quickly moved, and as months passed by, the blacks had slowly lost the war and the news of Aegon's passing had reached your ear, and though you were sad that you had lost a brother, the line to the iron throne cleared by itself, and you felt a sick sense of satisfaction.

As the situation remained stagnant for a while, you had began your search into the beast that was attacking many people, the victims had increased from when you last heard the report, and what you found odd was how whenever you'd ask Alys for the help in this matter, she would avoid it, or not give proper answers.

And so you decided to confirm your suspicions which were gnawing at your gut as you began to place the pieces together and called her to your chambers in the middle of the night.

Which you should've realised was a bad idea.

“You have summoned me? My princess?” She asked, and you rubbed your thighs together, trying to ignore the sense of arousal that was beginning to drip from you whenever you would see her, “Hm? Yes, I wanted to ask you something.” You thickened your voice.

“I have noticed your behaviour whenever I would bring up the beast attackings, you know something don't you?” You question and she remains silent, “No answer, hm.”

“Alys,, do you know a few years ago, I dreamt of a woman with eyes just like yours? Resembling emerald stones, and she was on top of me and bit down into me” you began to tell her randomly and you noticed how her expression changed slightly.

Right on the target.

“And I remember you saying that you had known me, though I thought it was because of your visions, I soon began to put everything together.” You continued.

“You are the beast in question right? The one that sucks blood for living?” You accuse and she swallows thickly, “Do not lie to me, Alys.” You command and she sighs before quickly accepting the accusation. “Yes, it is me, what am I meant to do? It is the only way I can feed myself, normal food makes me want to vomit.” Her tone changes.

“Why not animal blood?” You question and she rolls her eyes, “It isn't as tasty.” she simply says and you are in disbelief, “If you wanna drink from humans, at least don't kill them, do you not have witchful powers? Why not erase their memory?” You suggest, trying to help her out because you did not want to resort to killing immediately, after all, she did help you in a lot of things.

“If I was capable then I would've done it, there is no other way, and it seems I'd have to kill you too now, I cannot let my secret get out, what a shame, I liked you.” She says and comes closer to you, “Why would I tell anyone?” You question and she stops, confused. “It isn't beneficial to me with you gone, I just wanted you to stop killing that's all.” You tell her and she smirks, “So you're not going to be telling anyone?” she asks and you nod, “It would mean loss for me.” You tell her and she bursts out laughing and you stare at her confused.

“My lady, I knew you were always so interesting and unique, but this was far behind my expectations.” She says and comes closer to you, you take a few steps back before the back of your knees hit your bed, causing you to stumble and sit on it.

You stare at Alys as she looks at you from above and you felt as if your bad dream was coming true, her hands trail towards your neck and to the back of your head before she yanks your head backwards by your hair, exposing your neck. You breath heavily as you stare at her and she slowly bares her fags before biting down onto your neck and you gasp, gripping her shoulders, trying to push her away.

She sucks on your blood for a bit before pulling away and you stare at her wide eyed, her fangs now completely out as your blood drips from the side of her mouth. Her pupils look dilated, she wipes away the blood from the back of her hand and pushes you onto the bed completely.

“Alys– I command you to–”

“Hush princess, we both know that you want this. You think I haven't noticed the way you squirm in my presence? Your skirts don't do a good job at hiding the way you rub your thighs.” She shushes you, you stare at her bewildered. She places one knee onto the bed before slowly climbing it, you try to scurry back but she pulls you by your thigh and yanks you closer towards her, now she is face to face with you. Her arms placed on either side of you, trapping you in between her as she leaned further in before she captured your lips with her own.

Heat bloomed through your cheeks as she kissed you, she swiped her tongue on your bottom lip asking for entrance to which you allowed her, she wasted no time before pushing her tongue inside your mouth, intertwining it with your own.

You cringed at the metallic taste of your blood from before, but you didn't pull away and began kissing her back, she moaned into the kiss when she felt you reciprocating her actions, she pulled away and took deep breaths.

“You're so fucking pretty princess.” She kissed your cheek before trailing downwards to your neck and licked the spot which she had bit before and pressed a kiss to it, before going further down and pressing a kiss to your collarbone.

“I know what you want, princess.” She undid the front lace of your gown and slowly pushed it down your shoulders, her eyes darkened as more of your body was revealed to her, she licked her lips at the sight of your breasts as she pulled your gown further down. You lifted your hips and helped her pull it off from you completely.

“Or should I say, My Queen?” You freeze at those words and you immediately stare at her face in shock, “That's treason.” You retort but she smirks, she caresses your cheek with her thumb before she brings it to your lips, pressing gently. “What's treason is your thought of usurping your own brother.” You gulp as she reveals what she knew and you remain silent, not denying it or agreeing with it. She tilts your head upwards before pressing her lips to yours once again.

The kiss gets heated once again, you tug at her gown, indicating that you want her to take it off but she pulls away and pushes your hand away gently, “Uh uh.” she says, denying you. You furrow your brows and are about to say something but you aren't able to get anything out when you feel her cup your cunt.

You watch her shift, travelling downwards your body and stare as she forces your legs wide open. Your heart begins to speed up, anticipation killing you while you observe her.

She presses a kiss to your inner thigh and without a warning, her mouth is latched on to your count which causes you to fall backwards in pleasure. She wastes no time and makes swift strokes with her tongue against your clit, you moan and whimper at her abuse to your cunt, your hand flies to grip her hair when you feel her bite you slightly, you push your hips forward while holding down her face to your cunt. Her arms around your thighs and she slightly lips your hips off the mattress.

Her tongue prods at your entrance and your eyes widen you feel her push it inside you, her nose nuzzling against your clit, she begins to bob her head in and out, fucking you with her tongue. She licks one long stripe up your cunt and latches herself onto your clit again and suckles on it.

This causes heat to bloom in your lower abdomen, making you gasp her name as you feel every inch of your body twitch in pleasure as your high hits you. You ride your orgasm out on her face and she slowly pulls away. Her lips were coated with your essence and she licks it all up, which further arouses you.

You watch through hooded eyes as she kisses up your stomach and stops in between your breasts, she presses a small kiss to the flesh of teat, and soon she's suckling on your nipple like a babe while staring at you.

You could do nothing but just observe, too caught up in the pleasure, you caress her hair which causes her to smirk as she lets go of your breast with a wet pop. She quickly bites down on the flesh of your breast, sinking her fangs in and sucking the blood out.

You grunt in pain but couldn't help but enjoy the slight pleasure you're getting from it. It feels comparable to when you scratch an itch. You breath heavily and you begin to feel light headed as your body finally registering the loss of blood you're experiencing, you slowly begin to lose consciousness but you are pulled away from it with a harsh slap to your cheek, making you come back to your senses as the adrenaline rushes to your brain.

You noticed that she was no longer drinking blood, but was removing her garments, undoing her clothes until she's bare just like you. Your eyes widened at the sight of her body, her pale body seemed to glow on its own.

You try to get up to feel her body but she pushes you down and shifts positions to where she's hovering above your face, you lick your lips staring at her cunt. She holds your head by your forehead before slowly descending down onto your mouth and you immediately welcome her clasping onto her.

She gasps as you work your tongue against her cunt, “Good girl.” She praises you and you clench your thighs at the praise, aroused by it. It doesn't go unnoticed by her as she chuckles.

“Who knew that the future queen gets aroused at merely being called a good girl?” She ponders mockingly and you freeze at what she had revealed. “Why did you stop?” She begins grinding herself against your face. “Is it because I had revealed that you'd be the future queen?” She asks and you wrap your arms around her thighs as a way to say yes.

“Hmm.. Yes, I'll only reveal more if you put your tongue to work.”

You did not need to hear more and you immediately began putting your tongue to work, flicking it up and down against her clit before sucking on it, the act is making you aroused yourself so you unwrap one of your hands from her thigh and take it down to your cunt, rubbing on the clitoris.

“I've seen it in my dreams.” She begins, slowly humping against your face, “You, donning the conqueror's crown, seated on the iron throne.” you imagined it and that only got you more aroused, you pushed a finger inside your cunt and began to pump it, in and out.

Alys whimpered when you clamped down on her clit, desperately sucking on it. “Yours will be the song of ice and fire.” She tells you and your eyes widen, at the very same moment she reaches her peak and finishes with a loud moan, you peak simultaneously as well.

She rides out her peak but all you can think about was what she had revealed, you felt elevated, combined with everything, you felt as though you were floating.

You watch as she gets off your face and sits next to you, you still lay there, processing and imagining it, “Will you be by my side?” You ask her, before slowing getting up, hair dishevelled as her juices coated your chin.

“Of course, who would father your children then?” Her words make you furrow your brows, “How? We're both women? that sounds illogical.” You try to reason and she smirks, “Do not fret about these things, I have my ways to do it.” She tells you and you nod, brushing it off.

You've seen many things that didn't make sense, having a child with her may as well be possible.

You knew whatever Alys had said would come true, and they did all come true, though it cost your brother's life, you did not feel an ounce of guilt as you slayed him with your own hands, deeming you a kinslayer, though the curse did not matter to you, cause you would be the ruler of the seven kingdoms for ages to come.

— !  ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

“Fires of Fidelity”

Rhaenys Targaryen x Female Reader

wc : 4800+

cw : ambiguous relationships // description of violence which i wouldn’t call graphic but it depends i guess // there’s smut towards the end, also not very explicit but then again, it depends :’)) // i am OBSESSED with her hair, so it would only make sense that my reader is also obsessed

rook’s rest doesn’t exist for me 🥰 fuck rook’s rest, and happiest of birthdays to my absolute badass of a queen 🥳🎂 but fuck her too (affectionate)

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The market is teeming with hustle and bustle of common folks. A cacophony of vendors shouting and shoppers strolling around, alongside an undertone of your lady’s heeled boots kissing gravel throbs inside your ears, softened only by the cloak that you are currently shrouded under.

Overhead, clouds hang heavy, a grim portrait of gloomy greys and ivory whites, the sun but a vague presence in the silver-lined edges. No shadows paint the ground aside from you who is hot on your lady’s heels. Everywhere she walks, you follow, akin to a shadow perpetually casted on the ground.

Meanwhile, a few children scamper around you, shouting, laughing, and one comes astray, collides with your lady before she continues scurrying on her jolly little way, blissfully unaware. The sudden jostle has the precarious effect on the body in front of you for you notice the break in rhythm of the feet that are taking graceful steps. All at once, you are directly behind her, the gentle sway of her body braced by a stable palm across her back.

“Careful, Prin-” Eyes, a milky-way of green and brown, render you quiet. You are, after all, accompanying your Princess on her covert little trip to town.

Nevertheless, a token of her gratitude follows in the form of the tiniest hint of a smile that beautifully graces her features. Disguised beneath the cloak though her head is, given the close proximity of your bodies, you are granted an audience with wisps of moon-kissed locks caressing the delicate plane of her forehead.

“Walk next to me.” She says, and donning a playful smile, you drop a whisper directly into her ears. “As my lady commands.”

Aloofness shrouds her mien, lips a firm line, although it is not lost on you that there is a twinkle in her eyes, the cause of which dawns on you as soon as a sly hand disappears into the privacy of your cloak. Two of her digits waste no time in pinching your flesh through the fabric of your cloth. Pain blossoms, bringing with it a small wince to your face.

When her fingers remain unrelenting, a grumble flies past your lips, “I jest. I jest.” And only then does she relent with a hum, feet never faltering as you walk abreast, her body the very picture of cool and collected save a smile touching her lips.

“I have promised gifts for my granddaughters. What do you think would delight them?”

“Well, I’m afraid I’m the worst person you could have turned to for such suggestions.”

“Indulge me, then. Go on.”

Ever the woman of queenly manner, even her cadence oozes charisma. It colours your cheeks rosy, bringing forth memories from which the delightful utterance has graced your ears under more intimate circumstances.

“I don’t know.” You begin by clearing your throat, a shrug on your shoulders as you walk. “Perhaps a kiss on their cheeks would suffice? I know for a fact that it would delight me greatly.”

Being both a Princess and a Dragonrider, your lady looks every bit the epitome of poise and gravitas. Seldom does she wear her emotions on her face, head held high and spine ram-rod straight, always an enchanting enigma except to trained eyes which, as a matter of fact, are few and far between, although an aura of authority is effortlessly, perpetually crowned on her Targaryen head. However, having spent a better part of your years by her side, during formal as well as more personal occasions, you have mastered the art of unravelling the subtleties of her features and nuances of her words.

It is how you find yourself now, raising a hand in faux surrender along with a defensive arm across your waist by merely a slight tilt of her head and a gaze to your face.

“Again, I jest.”

In the vicinity of the place where you currently stand, a ruckus suddenly arises, a heated argument between two vendors, it appears, which quickly fans the flames of a full-blown uproar. A crack of thunder is a prelude to the heavy drizzle that descends upon the crowd as fists are thrown, and like a carcass attracting vultures, the fight lures those who have an innate thirst for violence.

While the chaos unfolds, your sole focus is solemnly fixed on the Princess by your side, all the more so because a plethora of people are darting around in panic. You do not know, have no time to seek what your lady’s wishes are as instinct forces you to act. Taking her waist in your arm, you tuck her body into a nook as delicately as possible.

A desperate attempt on your part to narrowly escape the wagon that whizzes past leaves your bodies fitted together, your lady’s back pressed against the wall with your hand behind her head softening the impact. Her breath caresses your face, and the perfumed air is tentalising, fruity with sweet floral notes alongside something that is entirely her.

Meanwhile, the downpour has become more merciless, and you commit to memory the way raindrops cling to her lashes like tiny diamonds.

“Have anyone ever told you that you have such beautiful eyelashes, Princess?”

An arch of an eyebrow accompanies the dainty little rain-soaked lips as they curve into a dizzying smile.

“Evidently, I have.”

“So it seems.” You chuckle, step away, although not before you have adjusted her cloak in such a way that it will offer her face more protection against the rain. “I’m afraid you’ll have to cut your trip short, my lady.”

“It would appear so.”

“Shall we return to the castle then?”

Rivulets of rain travel down your cheeks, and your lady invites herself into your space, mirroring your movement from a while ago as fingers fix the hood on your head, supple in their movements.

“Yes, let’s return home.”

Home.

Home to you is not a place, but rather, a person. A person to whom you have sworn loyalty, to protect, to kill for, and should the need arise, to give your life for. Simply put, your home is by your Princess’s side, and hence, the subtle admission that the castle is as much a home to you as it is to her becomes the culprit behind the joyful little swell of your heart.

The short journey back to the castle is taken by way of a detour, in which you lead your lady through quiet alleyways, except that they are too deserted, almost suspiciously so. Once you reach the town square, you guide your lady to the exit on the other side, a hand on her back as you match her pace.

Beyond the archway, a hooded person is looming out of the darkness, and no sooner have you registered their dubious presence than your hand is grabbing your lady’s waist to urge her behind your body.

“Well, well, look who we have here.”

You recognise the voice to be that of a person from your life before your Princess, a thug who has had unsavoury history with you.

“I don’t have time for your tomfoolery.”

Mockery drips from your lips as you turn, taking your lady by her arm to leave through another archway, but to your vexation, you find that more hooded hooligans have obstructed your path. Hidden beneath your cloak is a sword attached to your hip. Closing your fingers around the hilt of it, you scan your surroundings with a surreptitious move of your eyes. There is a total of five people, six if you include the man standing behind you.

“Don’t you mean, you have no time at all because you see, me and my boys, we’re about to end you right here.”

He taunts you with his words, his insufferable tone grating on your nerves, and irked, you unsheathe your sword, just in time to swivel on your feet and parry his slash, a clang echoing through the alley when your blades collide. At the same time as you hold your stance, a strong kick is unleashed to his chest. The force of it sends him sprawling across the ground, and you let loose a snicker.

“All bark and no bite, eh?”

From your left and right, two of his lapdogs charge at you, and your blade effortlessly cuts through the air in a blur of sharp counterattacks and swift manoeuvres. You make quick work of them, one stab through the abdomen, another through the chest, and they are nothing but marionettes severed of strings, drowning in a pool of their own blood. Following in the wink of an eye is a shower of three more swords that descends upon you in full force, and you block them with your blade, raised horizontally above your head. No matter how well-trained you are, the combined strength of three against one is proving to be a little beyond your endurance.

Your knee has barely braced against the muddy ground when all of a sudden, one of your opponents drops dead, the Velaryon seahorse adorned hilt of a dagger which is embedded in his back letting you know that it has been a product of your lady’s great finesse.

Until now, all of their attention has been fixated on you, but now that your lady has divulged her capabilities, the two lapdogs disperse, one rushing towards your lady with a cry while the other swings his blade at you with renewed vigour. Every inch of your body screams at you to rush to your lady’s side, but the wretched little demon in front of you is giving you no leeway, lavishing you with onslaughts upon onslaughts of attacks, one of which, in your desperation to end him quickly, manages to catch you in your cloak.

“Stay focused, tigress.” As if sensing your distress, your Princess calls out to you. “Don’t worry about me.”

One touch of her voice and fire meets gasoline, the flame within you burning so fiercely that you let out a loud roar.

“Come on! Come at me, you cunt of a coward!!”

Having his feather ruffled by your gibe, he charges at you once more, but when the blade comes, rather than avoiding it, you catch it between your arm and body, trapping the sword and its wielder in place as you push your blade through his chest so hard that a good few length of it escapes through his back. Blood pours out of his sorry little mouth, and retrieving your sword from his body effectively drops him to the ground.

Your lady’s strikes, not as refined though they are as yours, can easily withstand a vermin whose attacks are disorganized at best. Furthermore, she is swift on her feet, wielding the agility of a crane whereas you possess the strength of a tigress, or so your Princess has whispered into your ears, your strikes always heavy, deep and precise.

Speaking of the Princess, your gaze catches her in time to feast your eyes upon her magnificence. The vermin has swung his blade at your lady, but she has gracefully swept down, and before he can recover, her dagger has made his stomach its temporary case, a snug fit. You watch, morbidly fascinated, as blood spills forth the hole once she pulls out her weapon before bestowing another swift stab upon his neck.

Out of five lapdogs, two lie dead at the hands of your lady, and three at yours which leaves only the old hound who at present, is eyeing you with contempt. When he starts advancing however, instead of lunging at you, he opts for your Princess, but having predicted his dirty, old tricks, you easily intercept, swift and light on your feet as your blades clash. You dance around each other in an exchange of onslaughts until once again, you are forced to maintain a firm stance to keep his sword from bearing down on you.

The rain has thinned and through the clouds, the sun’s rays has spilled across Driftmark. In the corner of your eyes, you discern a glint. You notice it a second too late though because one moment, both of his hands are keeping a firm grip on the blade, and the next, one hand has disappeared into his cloak to retrieve a hidden dagger. Nevertheless, his strength barely wavers, and so engrossed in keeping the looming threat at bay you are that you have not been able to stop in time the dagger that stabs you.

Although its sharp tip has scarcely pierced your flesh before you lock your fingers around his wrist, the struggle that pursues leaves a crimson slash across the plane of your stomach. Gritting your teeth, you swallow the pain in fear that it will upset your Princess who apparently has seized the opportunity to deliver cuts to the backs of his knees. Immediately, he falls to the ground with a grunt. Meanwhile, you waste no time in kicking the dagger away from his hand and throwing his blade across the square.

“Bagged yourself another degenerate like yourself, huh? Or did you whore yourself out?”

You are not as perturbed by him making a ridicule out of you as you are livid by his insults towards your lady, but when you have poised to throw a punch to his face, a gentle hand on your arm stops you.

Pulled free of the hood and kissed by sunshine, a waterfall of liquid starlight almost appears to be glowing.

“Lady wife of the Sea Snake.”

She remains silent at his observation, staring him down, but something about him not addressing your lady by her individual title rubs you the wrong way. Still, you will not interfere, for after all, you dance to your lady’s every desire.

Entwined hands resting just below her waist, your Princess has donned intimidation as though it is regalia, a goddess to be worshiped oozing effortless allure.

“I- I didn’t know. Have mercy.”

“I can be merciful if I so choose, but I can’t in good conscience have a vengeful man pouncing on my sworn shield at every chance he gets. And what’s more, you have thrown insults to my face. I could have your tongue for it.” She blinks, sly and languid, slow and deliberate, alongside a small tilt to her head. “So, what do you propose I do, hm?”

“My tongue. If- if it would appease you-”

The old hound in the face of the dragon is like a lamb to the slaughter, grovelling at the feet of the exalted creature who slowly approaches him.

“Insults are insignificant.” So, she drawls, and before he can register a word, a dagger has been plunged so deeply into his throat by way of his mouth that blood gurgles. “Keep your tongue.”

A squelch accompanies the recovery of the dagger. While she wipes it clean off blood on his cloth, you carry out your own retrieval of her other dagger buried in the back of another body. It, too, is wiped clean before being sheathed on her hip.

“Are you alright, my lady?” Your question is answered with a query. “Are you?”

Her gaze, beneath the dapple of daylight, holds the warmth of sunlit amber, flecked with whispers of forest green, and when it caresses your body from head to toe in silent observation, the wound hidden beneath your cloak throbs in harmony with the beat of your heart.

“I am.” You say, and your lopsided grin garners a small smile in return. “It’s high time we returned home then.”

It is only when you have escorted your lady into the safety of her castle that your false bravado comes to light. Your fingers touch your stomach and they come away wet, viscous, and overwhelmingly red. While you are lost in your head, the voice that caresses your ears comes in the form of your name, and you look up to find your lady standing in front of you.

Stickiness clings to your palm as you curl your digits into a fist, but your sorry excuse of an attempt is proven futile when lithe fingers lock around your wrist. A tug coupled with a look from her is all it takes for your fist to pour open. You can almost pinpoint the exact moment when realisation dawns on her, in the delicate lines on her face that have all but calcified into rocky plains.

“Uncloak.” Her tone harbours an icy ring to it by the time she speaks, releasing your hand at the same time, although when you stand unmoving, she demands instead. “Now.”

Pulling your dark cloak open reveals to your lady the cut across your stomach in all its scarlet, grisly glory. There is a twitch to her jaw as well as a tiny tilt to her head, and when she looks at you, a tempest brews in her eyes, but beneath the blaze of storm-tossed sea, dark and churning with a blazing anger, you find a shadow of concern.

“Pay a visit to the Maester, get it treated, and by nightfall, I want you in my chambers.”

And so, that is how you find yourself in your lady’s chambers after getting the crimson slash properly cleaned, stitched and wrapped in fresh linens at the masterful hands of House Valeryon’s Maester.

The door shuts with a soft click, and a greeting falls past your lips.

“Princess.”

You have crossed paths with her handmaiden in the corridors leading up to the chambers, and she must have helped your lady get ready for bed, you conclude, for the Princess is now comfortably clothed. Oddly enough however, her braids are not yet unwoven which is how you find her now, sitting in front of her vanity desk, a waterfall of white silk flowing down her back.

As if possessing a mind of their own, your legs carry you towards your lady before depositing you directly behind her back. Immediately, reverently, your fingers make a descent onto the intricate little bun perched atop her head, during which the Princess regards you silently through the mirror’s reflection. With much delicacy, you unbind the thick braid that is keeping the bun in place, and doing so spills another layer of those silken locks in an effortless cascade down her back.

“You would do well to remember-” It is amidst you undoing one of the smaller braids that her voice graces your ears for the first time since you have set foot in her chambers. Meanwhile, her gaze finds yours in the mirror. “-that your fealty to me is to no avail should you lie wounded and are unable to fulfill your duties.”

“But what good is a sworn shield who cannot…well…” With a sigh, you drop your gaze to your hands before seeking her eyes once more. “…shield?”

“And what good is a sworn shield who cannot stand?”

“I am perfectly capable of standing though.”

“Are you?”

And then, she is turning on her seat, a lock of her star-kissed hair slipping through your fingers like liquid silver, as she seizes you by your tunic. In the wink of an eye, dainty lips collide with your own, all but sucking your soul out of your body, and your witty remark, which you have been intending to let loose, dissolves on her tongue altogether.

Such marks the epilogue to your little repartee.

While one hand holds a fistful of fabric, another wanders, ghosting along your thigh to then settle on your stomach, fingertips dancing across the gauze before it grabs your waist. A wicked pad of a thumb presses onto your side, and the outcome is just shy of agony, a whimper being fed into your lady’s mouth as your knees very nearly fail you.

“Kneel.”

With a mere touch of her murmured breath branded so deliciously onto your lips that are presently bearing the fruit of her ardent assaults, you are instantly reduced to a puddle at her feet, eager to worship your goddess.

“Hmm, I thought as much.”

“Well,-” Your tone is tinged with a whine, whereas a smile blossoms on your face. “-that was unfair.”

“Are you questioning your Princess?”

You tuck your face into her stomach, dropping a little kiss onto the spot where you think her navel lies.

“I wouldn’t dare, Princess.”

In the meantime, fingers trace patterns on your cheek, caress the outline of your jaw, and closing your eyes, you revel in the luxurious sensation up until a palm that cradles your face coaxes you out of your sweet sanctuary.

“It would be cruel of me to have you remain kneeling.” As she speaks, her thumb maps each curve and contour of your lips, which, swollen by now, speaks of whispered words and the heady waltz of fervent kisses. “I believe improvisations are in order.”

“Strip.”

And strip, you do, for at present, you stand only in your loose trousers.

Gracefully, tentalisingly, your lady arises, and even though a few braids remain in place, her hair, now freed from its confine, flows freely past her hip, a cascade of luminous waves shimmering like moonlight upon a still lake. Her gaze, on the other hand, is fixed on the linen that is entirely wrapped around your waist. The seepage of blood from the wound paints the white fabric in a vague vermillion which offers a glimpse into the extent of the injury.

“It will heal in no time, my lady.” Your attempt at soothing your lady is received with a gentle threat. “I do not tolerate imprudence. Nor deceit. It would do you well to remember that.”

“I will, Princess. But it doesn’t mean I won’t do it all over again if it concerns your safety.”

“Stubborn as ever.”

“My Princess likes me stubborn though, doesn’t she?”

“With that bold tongue of yours, count yourself lucky that I do.” Although she has leveled you with a glare, the blaze of which can very well put the sun to shame, you smile a cheeky little grin, looking every bit the picture of a cat that has eaten the canary, or rather, a tigress who has eaten the dragon. “That I agree. My tongue is capable of doing unimaginable wonders after all.”

You feel her hands move, and fearing that her fingers are once again going to subject you to those ruthless torments, you quickly raise your hands in surrender. She proves you wrong however by snaking her fingers into the waistband of your trousers.

“These need to go too.”

Your Princess has said her command, and like the very devotee that you are, your hands make swift work of getting rid of the only piece of clothing that is covering your body. Meanwhile, what enters your line of sight is a heap of white fabric that pools at your lady’s feet.

A breath catches in your throat, your heart beating with an awe so profound that it borders on reverence. She is a nymph of old tales, a creature of myth sung by the bards, born of the elements and graced with the beauty of the divine. Her presence, lucid and otherworldly at the same time, seems to draw the very light towards her, bathed in a halo of celestial radiance.

Your lady’s bare frame, delicate and strong, speaks of both grace and power, a goddess in her own right. It is a sight that will never tire you, and despite having seen it before, you are awed anew by such glorious vision. Your gaze lingers, admiring the soft curves and the rise and fall of her chest, enthralled by the sheer wonder of her existence that stirs the deepest corner of your soul.

Fascinated, you go to take her hips in your hands, but a push from her, and pliantly, you let yourself fall onto the mattress, for after all, a dragon will always be a dragon no matter the circumstances. You have not so much as blinked when she climbs atop the bed to straddle your body, toned thighs, befitting a dragon-rider of her caliber, on either side of your ribcage.

Your lips collide.

Amidst the clash of tongues and teeth, your hands find home on her waist, flesh supple and soft beneath your fingertips, as you move to sit up, lifting your lady slightly to reposition her on your lap, a special throne fit for your Queen.

Wetness oozes, and as soon as you feel the heat of her core on your thigh, you moan, but given that you are locked in place by a hand grabbing a fistful of your hair and an arm around your neck, it tumbles directly into her mouth. There is a sway to her hips, her essence coating your flesh, and all too eagerly, you encourage the dragon-rider to ride your thigh to her heart’s content, hands sliding into the delicious little dip of her waist as you help her maintain the rhythm that she has set.

Her lips part from yours with a delectable little mewl. Those delicate buds, once dainty, now beautifully bears the bloom of passion’s visit. Each swell hints at the fervor of love’s embrace, leaving them a charming, rosy hue, a testament to moments of rapture. Coated in a layer of dew, they glisten softly in the warm glow, as if kissed by dawn itself, promising the sweet ache of desire.

Like a siren’s call, they lure you, and enchanted, you give in, raising a hand to gently trace the curve of her lips beneath your fingertips. A gasp escapes your lips once your wrist is caught in her hand. Another catches in your throat when two of your fingers are sucked into her mouth.

Every ridge and bone is visited by a velveteen tip of a tongue, licking, prodding, and by the time she guides your hand between her legs, your fingers are as equally soaked as her core. They slip inside smoothly to be enveloped in luxurious softness. Curling your fingers into a cruel, little curve seems to drown your lady in sweet suffering if the way her forehead falls atop your shoulder to muffle the sounds, that very nearly spill out of her, with a bite to your flesh is any indication.

Beneath the soft folds of her belly, you can see muscles straining, hidden little pearl, hard and sensitive, grinding against your palm to seek friction. Meanwhile, your love-struck gaze is busy admiring the lovely little freckles that are scattered across her chest, a spillage of stars, and upon chasing them with your lips, syrupy sweet kisses blossom in their wake.

The sight of her trembling frame as she rides your fingers is a scene worthy to be immortalised in art form, but at the same time, you frankly doubt that bards and painters all across Westeros can truly do your lady’s ethereal beauty justice. Swelling to near bursting with adoration, you hold her to your chest, fingers doing their job in the warm cavern of her core, and in doing so, you earn yourself a nibble to your neck, lips closing around your pulse point, sucking, kissing.

Hot air escapes your mouth as you bury your nose in the healthy mane of her hair.

“You seem awfully fond of my hair, tigress.” She pants, whereas you smile, nuzzling her silky strands that are not only smooth but also addictively fragrant. “Fond is an understatement, Princess.”

“What is it, then?”

“Love.”

“You love my hair?”

You abandon your happy, little haven in favour of taking her face in your hand. Tiny pearls of sweat blooms on her forehead while her lips are slightly parted. A knit occupies the space between her eyebrows while her eyes, usually an intense hazel brown, are now hazy with hunger.

“I love you,-” It is into the delicate lines forming at the corner of her mouth that you breathe your admission. “-and everything you have to offer.”

She says nothing, but you doubt even a thousand spoken words will be capable of touching you the way you feel deeply touched by being made aware of the effect it has on her in the fluttering of her folds as they clench your fingers. Your lady has died that sweet little death in your embrace, head collapsing onto your shoulder. It is only when her muscles have relaxed, and her core has released its grip on your fingers that they can finally slip out.

“And my dear tigress.” Fingers lazily toy with your hair. “Yes, Princess?”

“Don’t you dare hide your wounds from me ever again.” Your arms wrap around her body to hold her a little closer, a little tighter, into which she happily melts, rare moments where you can witness her softer, more affectionate side.

Nevertheless, you must have taken too long to her liking because the delicate flesh of your neck falls victim to her teeth.

“Do I make myself clear?”

Although she has left you throbbing in pain, the happiness that swells inside your chest easily prevails over anything and everything, burning so fiercely that you feel as if you can conquer the Seven Kingdoms to offer it to her on a diamond platter. Suppressing your silly little urge, you content yourself instead with a delicate press of a kiss to her bare shoulder.

“Delightfully so, Princess.”

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Tyland brought his youngest daughter to a meeting one and she was absolutely fascinated with the ball. Only this time he had an even harder time getting it back from her. He thinks that it’s worse than when Jaehaerys took it, because this time it’s his baby.

He got stern with her exactly once, but then her eyes started to well up with tears and he immediately gave it back to her. He’s lowkey relieved when his wife comes to get her for a nap. His wife also teases him when she sees how stressed he is, she says you couldn’t say no to her could you? Let me guess she started her crocodile tears didn’t she and you just gave in? While she kisses his cheek and makes him blush.

!!!!!!

Tyland cannot win at all; he gives everything to his girls and can't say no to them for anything.

His wife loves teasing him; a smirk on her lips as she brings the now nearly asleep babe into her arms whilst their daughter clutches at the ball still

❛ 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 , benjicot blackwood ❜

⌗ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 , you were the apple of your family's eye a rare gem they would do anything to protect but sometimes even the purest doves crave something bloody

⌗ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 , benjicot blackwood x fem! velaryon / strong! reader

⌗ 𝐬𝐨𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 , benji with the 10 seconds of screen time ateee tbh or wait is it not benji cuz I've heard some people say it's not so plz explain cuz I'm so confused lmfao !!

house of the dragon masterlist

⌗ you were a bastard. born from a night of passion shared between you mother and father. rhaenyra and daemon. but no one would ever call you a bastard. as you bore all the features of a targaryen unlike your siblings. white hair purple eyes. the seven kingdoms called you aemma reborn. as your striking resemblance to your late grand mother was uncanny.

⌗ growing up life was easy. your mother and grandsire doted on you. your siblings would go to the ends of the known world for you. ser harwin and leanor though not your real fathers stepped up and were there for you whenever you needed them. and though you had never met your real father your mother told you that he would love you.

⌗ truth be told there was nothing that daemon more than to be with you. his daughter. his oldest. but he settled for watching from afar for now. hearing about all of your achievements in pentos. how you had claimed the creeping death amaris. a dragon that had never been claimed and was rumored to be from balerion's final clutch. and it showed. as amaris was the largest dragon around. making vaghar look petite. and while daemon couldn't help but be the proudest man in the known world. part of him breathed a sigh of relief that his daughter didn't get hurt.

⌗ life was good. as you grew older tales of your beauty spread far and wide. from winterfell to dorne. you had suitors from all over flock to offer their hand. from dresses to castles. they offered it all. but were ultimately shut down by either your mother or grandsire. even the queen alicent tried offering the hand of one of her sons. but that idea fizzled out after diftmark. though it was still obvious that both of the queen's son's still bore a certain mixture of fondness and lust for you.

⌗ the deaths of harwin and laenor broke you. and after the the harrowing night of having to watch aemond lose an eye. you were exhausted. your eyes red and with no tears left to cry. you walked off to find your mother after having just finished packing. only to find her with an unfamiliar man. "mother?" you asked approaching with caution.

⌗ "my darling girl I want you to meet someone this is daemon your father" and for a moment your heart stopped as you looked at the man before you. you had dreamed for so long for the day that you would finally meet your father. and now it was here you didn't know what to do. but fear not as daemon took matters into his own hands. pulling you into his embrace which you gladly accepted. finally you left complete.

⌗ after that time seemed to fly by. your mother and father got married. your brother got betrothed to your half-sisters. and all of you lived happily on dragonstone together. with you and your siblings going for frequent dragon rides together. teaching them high valyrian. listen to your father's many stories he gained from his travels. and letting your mother braid your hair while the two of you giggled about the newest gossip.

⌗ though there was one topic she would never touch. and there were suitors. as princess rhaenyra had received hundreds if not thousands of offers for her daughter's hand. which she all denied. at one point there were so many that daemon restored to using a large chunk of them as kindle for the fire in their room. claiming "none of those vile pig's are good enough for my daughter" to which the heir agreed. the last thing she wanted was for her beloved daughter to be used by some lord as a broodmare.

⌗ but rhaenyra knew that she would have to wed her daughter off at some point. and that scared her. though her eldest was the blood of a dragon. you were gentle and soft. the apple of her eye and the thought of you being hurt. by a man nonetheless made her heart clench. and daemon agreed swearing he would rip any man. regardless of who. if they tried anything with their daughter. which was easy to say as the royal couple were under the impression their daughter's interest hadn't been caught by anyone. but oh how wrong they were.

⌗ see you had indeed had your eyes set on someone. who's name happened to be ben. the first time you saw him was at your name day tourney. where he jousted against a lannister. and won much to your joy. before going on to win the tournament. after asking for your favour. which you gladly gave. and you couldn't help but blush. as you couldn't deny he was attractive. even if he was covered in someone else's blood.

⌗ and so began the beautiful friendship between the two of you. as you went from secret love letters sent by ravens. to flying to see him whenever you could. truth is you were head over heels for him. just as he was for you. you were two half's that made a whole. twin flames if you will. and ben had made it clear that he would give you the world and that all you had to do was ask for it. a sentiment which you reverberated. the two of you had talked about a life together. married and with kids. now all you had to do was tell your parents.

⌗ but oh boy when you decided to tell them. was that an interesting conversation. your father nearly unsheathed dark sister. your mother nearly passed out in horror. your brothers were either confused or looking at benjicot like he was dragon food. and your sisters were smiling from ear to ear. but after they had all settled down you spoke. and the two of you made it very clear that you were madly in love. and after a few more threats from your father and brothers. a couple more happy tears and hugs from your mother and sisters. everyone had made peace with the fact and were overjoyed for the both of you.

⌗ and within the week news had spread to every corner of the seven kingdom's of your betrothal to the blackwood. and with was also said that the men of the kingdom's morned the loss of the chance to marry you by descending on brothels to drink and lay with whores. your uncles included. but you paid little mind. as you enjoyed life within your little bubble. spending your days with your family and benji. life was perfect. and you couldn't wait for the wedding.

⌗ and once the day finally arrived. you were jittery with nerves. dressed head to toe in white. you looked the spitting image of duty. as you walked arm in arm with your father towards the alter. the eyes of hundreds of highborns fixed on you in awe. but all you could focus on was. ben. your ben. as the two of you recited your vows with joy you sealed it with a kiss. and after the celebrations of the night. and your new husband threatening to behead anyone who dares mention a bedding ceremony. the two of you joined select family. from both side. to join for another ceremony. a traditional valyrian wedding. and as you sealed your love once more with a bloody kiss. you now truly had it all.

anon , May I please have a targaryen! reader, daughter of daemon and rhaenyra, born after jace like she looks so much like Aemma, and the kingdom would speak of her as Aemma reborn, being favored by Viserys and her people. Can imagine her claiming a dragon that was rumored to be from the late Balerion’s clutch, a stark contrast to the other she-dragons, with her own being a ferocious creature of black scales and fire of black and red. While she is loved in her kingdom, she is also loved in her family. Much like Helaena, the reader is the apple of the kingdom’s eyes and dearer to her family more than anything. And when the topic of suitors comes, all of them are horrified when the one that catches her eye is the Bloody Ben himself, Benjicot Blackwood. ps. I’m a sucker for a beloved character whom loves someone that is the exact opposite of her 😭💖 Requesting for more familial and platonic fic with the Benjicot romance just maybe being small 😩☝️