Chapter:

Dark Burnt Honey

Part One


Warnings/Tags: Size Kink, incest, thigh riding, smut, loss of virginity, mentions of war, death and nightmares.


Maegor Targaryen & Haraella Targaryen


I

In the beginning Maegor's size frightened her, although Haraella Targaryen would never admit it. The sheer vastness of him that could eclipse those within his vicinity under his shocking shadow stretching across the courtyard was… Well, startling.

Startling and frightening.

And that was without considering his impressive glare.

He was her brother Haraella knew, her estranged brother sure, she had grown up in Scotland and he Dragonstone and neither one, due to the machinations of Albus Dumbledore, knew the other had existed before a few months back, but he was brother all the same, and certainly there was no reason to be afraid. And yet…

Uncle Vernon had been a big man, certainly no match for a man of Maegor's size, but he had been big in his own way, and Haraella knew how fast and harsh those fists had been. A punch from someone Maegor's size, and she was sure she would simply vaporise.

Of course, Haraella's caution could be easily brushed off in the beginning. She was in a new land, with Lily, her mother, very much alive and not dead as she had previously believed, and a father called Aegon she now had a face for, and, surprisingly enough, another two mothers, Visenya and Rhaenys, and now brothers and dragons and-

Caution could be mistaken for being overwhelmed, and Haraella had been overwhelmed… For the entirety of two weeks.

Six months after her arrival in Westeros on the back of her dragon, Kilgarrah, Haraella was still avoiding her older brother for anything more than pleasantries and nods in passing.

Just the one.

She got on splendidly with Aenys, much to the consternation of the way Maegor glared at them from the balcony when he spotted them breaking fast in the gardens below.

That changed, however, with Aenys's betrothal banquet to the Alyssa Velaryon.

The feast had been going magnificently. Haraella had wished the betrothed couple all the good luck in the world, made merry with the bride-to-be's father, danced with her own father Aegon, who laughed so loudly when she stumbled over his feet. She played with the bards, and sang with Rhaenys, gossiped with Visenya, though the older woman would never concede to doing such a thing as gossiping, fixed the flowers her mother wore in her hair, and-

And then Maegor snuck up on her while she was on a balcony, taking a breather on the fringes of the festivity.

Merlin knew how he had done such a thing, given the magnitude of the man.


II

"Haraella."

She turned at the sound of the voice, dark like burnt honey, and looked up, and up, and up, and up…

There he was. Maegor, for once out of his leathers, cut an imposing, towering figure in black velvet against the night sky of Kingslanding, silver hair glimmering underneath the starlight. So close, Haraella had to crane her neck backwards uncomfortable, just to meet his amethyst gaze with her own mismatched stare.

He lifted a hand out to her, fingers flexing in the warm space between them.

"A dance?"

Haraella's gaze slipped down to the hand, a paw, broad and nimble fingered and free. She had seen Maegor training with swords outside the stables once, a few weeks past. She had seen how that very hand could snatch out, wrap itself around the entirety of a mans face, and smash it backwards into stone like she could grab a tennis ball and bounce it off a court.

But here… Here it was a soft thing, an open thing, not so alarming in its brutality.

The swallow bobbed in her throat, but Haraella smiled, as brightly as she could with her heart jack-hammering in her chest, and she reached out, laid her palm in his, fire meeting fire to blaze.

His fingers began to close, draping, hand devouring her own inch by inch. Circe, what in the name of the Seven did Visenya feed this man as a child?

The fear came as the fingers closed fully, the fear that was no fear at all yet Haraella had no other name for it, a biting urgency in the bottom of her belly, a pound of a heart, a blister to her face and a trembling breath.

She expected them to leave the balcony, to amble back through the crowds, through the throngs of couples and children and bashfully blushing maidens, to the dance floor at the feast in the hall to their backs. However, Maegor did not move, not how she expected him to. Fast, hard, viciously.

He held out his other hand, another stumble, another fold, and then, well, they swayed to the music drifting through the open balcony door.

Gentle, softly, Maegor didn't move abruptly, not like how he did by those stables, but like water in sand, like sunlight across the floor creeping in the dawn. Haraella found herself a little bit entranced by it all.

She stepped, he strode, she slid, he slipped, she dipped, he sank, an ebb and a flow and a rushing warmth. Soon enough, that was all there was, dancing beneath the moonlight.

That was the first time Maegor did not scare her, his size did not frighten her, but made her feel safe.


III

Three weeks later, when Haraella awoke in sweats from another nightmare, a murky mess of Voldemort's laughter and Severus's Always and the gnashing of Greybacks teeth, she did not go for a walk like she typically would have done before back in England, back in another world entirely. She did not go for a midnight flight either. Neither did she go for a long soak. No.

Haraella found herself outside Maegor's bed chamber door, the Fates only knowing how she knew it was his at all, in the wee hours of the morning, knocking before she could truly think it through. His voice came tumbling out the dark, gruff with wrenched away sleep.

"Who is it!"

Haraella did not think, she had not been thinking since awakening in the panic she had, bile bitter on her tongue, she merely opened the door and peaked her head through. He was there in his bed, perched as if he were readying to leap out the sheets, samite curtains drawn open, moonlight silver mist in the hollow as if everything was made from ethereal dust, the bare expanse of his chest pale in the slumber, blankets bundled at his waist.

"Haraella? What is wrong? Is mother-"

His silver hair, gloomier than her own, stuck up in funny places and angles, and for the first time since waking in the blind panic she had, Haraella found herself smiling as if it were as easy as breathing.

"Sorry, I couldn't sleep and I… Well.. I thought you might be up, but I can see I was wrong, and I didn't mean-"

Maegor eased back into his bed and waved her in.

"Come then, and shut the door before the warmth escapes."

She did.

As she did not mention that his room was not warm at all, no fireside to sit by, and therefore no chance of heat seeping into drafty halls of a castle still being built.

The door clicked shut. She pressed her back against the cool wood leaching through the linen of her shift.

Maegor lent back into his mountain of pillows, the only soft thing in his chamber, and smirked.

"Are you truly going to stay all the way over there all night? You'll get a chill, and then who will Aenys break his bread with?"

Her bare toes curled into the frigid flagstones beneath.

"It's not my fault you don't have any chairs in here. Where else am I supposed to go? The bloody window ledge?"

Maegor did not answer her, but he did slap at the downy furs draped over his bed. He made no other move to usher her over. Just a pat-pat and a sinfully soft smile. It was her choice.

Haraella shouldn't.

She had never had siblings before, but she doubted this is what they did, sneak into each other's rooms at night and huddle beneath furs. Perhaps there was a line she was not seeing, a line drawn somewhere between the door, back to her own chamber, and Maegor's pillows, and once crossed…

But she remembered the dance, she remembered her hand in his, she remember how the fingers closed and how gentle they were, and remembered, most of all, for the first time in her life feeling safe.

She wanted that feeling back.

She wanted it so much it hurt.

And perhaps it would only be wrong if she, herself, made it wrong.

Haraella padded over, through the dark, to the looming bed.

Maegor greeted her by capturing her in the fur, settling into the pillows, smiling moonlight and stardust. Haraella buried herself down into the blankets beside him.

He wrangled a pillow beneath her head, and steered her closer, furs separating flesh. And then there was him, just him and the night, and warmth, and the smell of peppercorns and spice and something deep and dark.

He drew up tight against her curved back, looping, enfolding, and… Safe. She was safe.

"Rest."

And she did.

They did.

Together underneath the furs.


A.N: Most of my fics are getting to a point where smut is going to start trickling in. Coming to this realisation, I remembered I have hardly any experience writing said smut. Hence this creation. This is just going to be smut. Smutty-smut-smut. Nothing more, nothing less.

This is part one of a three-part shot. The second part should be out tomorrow.

After that, each chapter will include Haraella Targaryen, but the pairings are going to change with each new post. So some might come back to Maegor/Fem!Targaryen!Harry, other's might include Jon/Fem!Targaryen!Harry, Oberyn, Willas, damn, likely whoever I'm feeling on that particular day lol. It too will always be a Targaryen Harry, no Fem!Baratheon or Stark or Greyjoy. A predominant amount of my fics are about Haraella, and that's what I like writing.

Each chapter will likely standalone unless it has an explicit Part Two in the title. They will also change in kinks and themes, so keep an eye on the warning for triggers before reading. Some will be serious, some will be silly, and some will be outlandish, but all with have glorious smut and much needed practice for me!

If you want a pairing, or have a specific kink you want to see, I don't mind taking suggestions! (Read: please help a lass out and send much needed muses), and I hope you liked this one. Hopefully, I will see you all soon, until then, stay beautiful! ~AlwaysEatTheRude21