Chapter:

Swipe Right

Part One of Four


Warnings/Tags: Unconventional Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Omega/Omega,Male!Daenerys, Soft!Daenerys, Soft!Haraella, Mentions of past abuse, brief mention of past rape (Daeron & Drogo and NO graphic detail), Modern Muggle Au, Incest, Praise Kink, Size Kink.


Male!Daenerys & Haraella Targaryen.


I

There was a total of six reasons Haraella Targaryen could suggest that one would use the app Knottr for. The obvious first reason, and clearly why Knottr had been created by sleezeball tycoon Petyr Baelish, was to get laid, and get laid fast. The modern world, with nine to five jobs, twelve-hour shifts, and contracts with no sick pay had made Heats and Ruts arbitrary at best, and a cog in the poverty machine that kept people down and out at worst. So, quick fixes were needed in dire circumstances when Suppressants and Blockers didn't work, when circumstances wouldn't shift, and a boss was a dick -and let's face it, all bosses were dicks-, and in stepped the internet, a beautiful beastly thing.

It got the job done.

Haraella Targaryen, procrastinator extraordinaire, understood how desperate an Omega could get when days out from a looming Heat, the appeal a swift solution could offer, the mental fog that drifted in and stole concern. She knew how horrendous Heats could be when suffered alone, the bone shattering aches and pains and the endless need and mindless want and-

And she knew, alright.

All too well.

That's how she had spent all of her Heats.

While she may be an Omega, Haraella wasn't a very good one.

She didn't do the whole Alpha thing.

In fact, the thought alone turned her stomach something fierce.

Tom Riddle, the man who had murdered her adoptive fathers, James and Sirius, chased her across country, made her life a living hell for the first sixteen years of it, a mad-dog with a god-complex and a penchant for knives, had ruined, along with many other things, Alphas for her.

She couldn't-

No.

Thankfully, her next Heat was still months out, and a problem for future Haraella -hello again, dear procrastination-.

Number two, you were new in town. You've just stepped off a plane, coach or car, or like Haraella, a ferry, to a freshly sparkling yellow brick road, and you were looking to get your footing straight. What better way than to pop open an app and start speaking to the locals for hotspots and best coffee shops, and where exactly all the bands played, and maybe have some company along the way. It was a win-win, and perhaps worth the tidal wave of Knot pics swamping your inbox.

Haraella had met some of her closest friends on the app -after she had made it perfectly clear there would be no beast with two backs, thank you very much-, she had learned about professional horse riding from a show pony owner called Willas Tyrell, and filched a drool worthy shepherd's pie recipe from a giant called Sandor, and had even found her favourite water park from someone who had simply named their profile The Bastard of Driftmark.

Number three was simple curiosity. Although Haraella would always, always, adore Hermione and Ron, sometimes it was nice to see and speak to new faces, and on Knottr they were right at her fingertips. Maybe you could find an old school mate -reconnecting with Neville had been fun-, or stumble across new music -that Ashara Dayne had extraordinary tastes-, or simply see how happy people looked in profile pictures.

Haraella liked seeing people happy.

She hadn't seen so much of that growing up.

Number four was lack of sleep. You've bathed, tossed, turned, counted sheep, binge watched that latest Netflix documentary your friends keep quoting, finished reading that book you always said you would get around to, and still, sweet slumber evades your exhausted grasp. Pop open Knottr, and suddenly there was a sea of insomniacs to join in your plight, and your overactive mind.

Some of the best conversations Haraella had ever had, had been while she was sleep deprived, and most often then not, she was always sleep deprived.

Haraella had terrible nightmares, horrible things, of bone and graveyards, and Cedric Diggory's face right before Tom lifted that blade and-

Most nights, she couldn't sleep.

Most nights, she finds a stranger -because strangers are sometimes easier to speak to than friends and family- to chat the dawn in with.

Number five was straightforward. You're drunk. It's Bill Weasley's engagement party, and your eight inches deep in a bottle of Firewhisky, and bloody Shania Twain was somehow blasting through the kitchen, and unexpectedly the feels hit. Ron and Hermione are slow dancing together. Bill is looking at his Fiancé, Fleur, like she was the second coming of Jesus Christ, even Luna is getting some with Pansy Parkinson in the downstairs loo, and you realize, sitting at that table, all alone, that… Well, you're isolated.

You don't quite fit into the scene anymore.

You're on the outside looking in once again.

Perhaps that example was a bit too personal, but it was fitting.

Funny thing about people was they lived. People changed, grew up, drifted apart and back together again, and it was wonderful, lovely, and-

And painful for the ones who didn't know how to do as those around them did.

People like Haraella, a bit too rowdy for an Omega, a bit too scruffy to be beautiful, a bit too socially inept to be the life of the party, a bit too-

A bit too much of everything, and yet, not enough of the right stuff.

Number six was mere boredom. Knottr had a location setting to limit results only to those in your general vicinity, or however many miles you were willing to travel. Sometimes it was fun to see who was on the prowl, and who exactly you were sitting by, and Knottr could gobble up the minutes.

It was number six that did Haraella in.

Caused all the trouble.

Why?

Because what you don't join Knottr for was to accidently swipe right on your Omega uncle Daeron.

And what you absolutely didn't join Knottr for was to match with him.

Maybe Haraella should go back to the beginning.


II

It had been a closed adoption. Haraella was never supposed to find out about it until she was contacted by a man called Rhaegar Targaryen, president of Dragonets industries.

His daughter, Rhaenys, was seriously ill, in need of a series of specialized blood transfusions.

No one in his immediate family, or his bonded, had the correct blood type.

So cousins and second cousins, and aunts and uncles thrice removed were promptly tracked down.

He had stumbled across Haraella by accident, when digging through the possible candidates of a family tree six hundred years old. Evidently money and power, and a distant connection to the Windsor family, did in fact open a lot of closed doors.

He found her adoption papers.

Haraella Targaryen, born 31st July 2001 to a Rhaegar Targaryen and a Lily Evans. Guardianship signed over to the courts in September of the same year, overseen by magistrate Albus Dumbledore.

Problem was Rhaegar had not signed any papers.

Rhaegar had not known Lily had been pregnant at all.

Rhaegar was bonded with another two Alphas, an Elia and Lyanna, who had, once upon a time, experimented with a fourth Omega.

Rhaegar had been looking for a cure for his daughter and had accidently stumbled across the illegitimate product of a one-night tryst nineteen years ago.

Poor bastard.

Why Lily went to such lengths to hide Haraella became perfectly clear when she was listed as one of Tom Riddle's earliest victims, four months before the deaths of Haraella's adopted fathers, James Potter and Sirius Black, on October 31st nearly a year after her adoption.

How Tom Riddle had tracked Haraella down was anyone's guess, but he did not leave survivors behind.

Even fifteen-month-old babies.

That must have really twisted his tiny balls, that Haraella had survived his initial attack that had seen her adopted fathers dead on a stairwell, for he had spent the next seventeen years hunting Haraella wherever she went.

Nevertheless, Haraella would leave the ins and outs of Tom Riddle's warped mind to the professionals, to the professors debating in lecture halls, to people who could possibly hope to understand the twenty-firsts centuries' most prolific serial killer.

In the end, there had been only one person to have survived Tom Riddles clutches: Haraella. Survived all the way to eighteen years old where she awoke to a voicemail on her answering machine from a Rhaegar Targaryen.

She had spent the first few months exchanging timid emails and letters, and the odd call when Rhaegar wasn't in a conference, and visiting the hospital so her blood could be taken -thankfully not running into anyone, she wasn't ready for that-.

Then she got another email, from a Jon Targaryen asking if she too was going to be enrolling in Kingslanding University in September -no, she was going to the Arryn Aviation Academy-, and one more from an Aegon saying he had spare tickets to an art exhibit he didn't want to go to waste -growing up in foster care in clothes she scavenged from bins, Haraella hated to see things go to waste-, and several from Elia and Lyanna along with boxes of cookies and blankets and pillows and knitted scarfs and gloves because Scotland was so cold -you get used to it eventually-, and one more from Rhaenys, who was fortunately on the mend now and in remission, saying thank you -which was completely unnecessary. What knobhead wouldn't give their blood to someone who needed it?- along with a plushie of a black cat she called Balerion.

Six months after that first voicemail, Haraella was accepting an invitation to a small family get together in Soho for her birthday, and before she knew it, she was on a train to London meeting family she never knew she had.


III

It was nota small get together at all.

It had seemed to Haraella, who had never done well in large crowds, even less when she was centre of attention, especially around so many bloody Alphas, every pale haired purple eyed man, woman, and child had inundated the chosen restaurant.

There were her grandparents, Rhaella and Aerys, squeezing the life out of her in a bone crunching hug.

There was her uncle, Viserys, and his wife Irri, and their three-year-old triplets, clearly tired but smiling and shaking her hand before running off to stop the toddlers from climbing into the lobster tank.

There was Jon, with his cousins, Robb, Arya, Sansa, Bran and Rickon, and a lovely couple called Ned and Catelyn who told her 'welcome to the family'.

There was Elia with her brothers, Oberyn, who had a long line of children himself, and Doran, and his daughter, Arianne, who kept plying her cups with the strongest wine she had ever tasted and filling her plate back up every time she looked away.

There was Lyanna with her own siblings, the aforementioned Ned, but a Brandon and Benjen too, the former grinning wolfishly before saying there's no getting out of it now. We have your scent.

It was meant as a joke, Haraella knew.

A harmless, hapless joke.

They couldn't have known.

But that didn't stop the voice in her head, slick like oil, as cold as snake scales too, from whispering a memory best left forgotten.

Come out Harry… I know you're here… I have your scent…

That was when it all went a bit tits up, if Haraella was honest.

She had stood from the table abruptly, bashing her knee on the expensive mahogany in her haste, with an undignified -and unlady like-

"I have to go take a piss."

Before she high tailed it for the bathrooms.

She didn't hear the ow Brandon gave as Lyanna smacked him up the back of the head.

She didn't hear Lyanna's hissed retort.

"Why did you go and say that for!"

Haraella was too busy freaking out to hear much of anything.

And that's how she met her uncle, Daeron, mid panic attack in the men's' bathroom of a five-star Michelin restaurant.


IV

She must have entered the wrong bathroom in her fright. Must have been nearly blinded by memories she didn't want to think about -Tom's dead, Tom's dead, Tom's dead, remember he's dead, Tom's dead, he can't hurt you anymore-, to not notice the line of urinals alongside the toilet stalls, or smell the stinging bleach from the washed tile.

Instead, she had dashed for the sink, turned the tap on as far as it allowed, and splashed her face with crisp water as if she could wash away her thoughts.

She couldn't, but the cold bite did bring some clarity.

So did her deep breaths, something Hermione had taught her to do.

In, hold, out.

In, hold, out.

"Are you alright?"

Her head snapped up, gaze wide, startled, flickering to the adjacent mirror above the sink.

The man stood a good distance away, behind her, by one of the cubicles.

He was handsome, in a gentle sort of way. Hair so light and blonde it was bordering silver, as with all the other Targaryens awaiting in the restaurant, his lilac eyes were soft between long hoary lashes. He had a hint of stubble across his square jaw, a shade darker than his bright hair, shoulder length and braided away from his face, and it made the sharp, sweeping cuts of his chiselled features rather smooth and graceful.

He wore cashmere beneath his wool coat, Haraella noted, soft cashmere in a softer red, a burst of colour in the black, and-

Sniff.

Yes.

Omega.

Like treacle tarts, and spring honeysuckle, and a taste of something keen but clean like water mint.

It made her feel calm.

It made her feel at home, though she had never had one of those.

It made her feel safe.

"Buggar, am I in the men's?"

He gave her a smile, dazzling teeth in a pretty row, and-

Merlin.

He had dimples.

He nodded over to the door with a little stick figure on a plaque.

"Afraid so."

Haraella kicked away from the sink.

"Sorry, I'll just-"

He didn't let her finish.

"I'm guessing you're Haraella? Rhaegar has spoken about nothing else for the last few months."

Haraella frowned deeply.

"How do you know who I am?"

She didn't mean to sound so accusatory, so severe, but, among everything else, Tom had taught her the positives of being suspicious.

Suspicion kept you protected.

The man's smile stayed firmly in place as he glanced up, above her eyes, to her own braided hair.

Ah.

Yes.

Silver hair.

That would do it.

The lilac eye, just the one, her right one, would too.

Haraella sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck.

"Sorry. It's uh… It's been a long night and, well-"

The man chuckled.

"And those out there are a boisterous lot with no idea how to regulate volume. Trust me, I know."

He leant against the wall, winking.

"Why do you think I'm hiding out in here too?"

Haraella chuckled, laughter that came easy, too easy, after all she had been seconds away from a full-blown panic attack moment prior.

The man dared a step closer, but no further, and held out his hand for her to take.

"I'm Daeron. Rhaegar's youngest brother."

Haraella closed the distance and tenderly took his hand, shaking.

His palm was warm, grasp dwarfing her own. He must have been nearly twice her size, six-five at the least, which was strange for an Omega.

Even stranger that Haraella was not running for the hills.

Tom had been tall, towering, mean and-

But Daeron was warm where Tom had been cold, so very fucking cold, and his hold, like Daeron, was gentle, and didn't cut into her, didn't scar, didn't make her bleed and hurt and… and…

It was… Nice.

"Haraella, are you in there? I couldn't see you in the woman's and-"

The bathroom door swept open, Rhaegar's head slipping through the opening.

He spotted her by the sinks, and then, seemingly, jolted at Daeron.

"So this is where you went to? Have you been in here all afternoon, Danny?"

Daeron snatched his warm hand back, and shoved his hands deep in his coat pockets.

"Needed a breather."

And Haraella understood that.

Alpha's were lucky. They only had enhanced senses closer to their ruts, and for a day or two afterwards.

Omega's were constantly bombarded with it all.

Smells.

Tastes.

Textures.

Sounds.

The lot.

It could be problematic.

It could be hell.

"Well, why don't we head back to the others and-"

She could practically feel Daeron tense beside her, scented a spike in his smell, salty, clearly none too happy with the suggestion, and Haraella did something she didn't do often.

At all.

She lied.

"Actually, I need a bit of a breather too. Daeron just asked if I wanted to take a stroll to Hyde Park for some fresh air. It's not far, five minutes most, and I said yes if he wouldn't mind keeping me company."

Rhaegar frowned as he glanced over to Daeron, as if the prospect of his younger brother offering anything was odd.

Daeron simply shrugged and smiled.

"A little walk never hurt anyone. Vis is giving me a headache from here already."

Gradually, Rhaegar nodded.

"Right, yeah, Vis."

Daeron began walking for the door.

"We'll be back in time for the birthday cake."

And Haraella followed.

They did, in fact, make it back in time for blowing out the birthday candles, but not before ambling around the greens of London, just the two of them.

He gave her his coat when it got cold -London was always chilly even in summer-.

They bought ice cream –mint choc chip for her, and strawberry for him-.

He talked about his job -running a reptile rescue centre-, and she about what she wanted to be when she graduated -a pilot, of course-.

He showed her pictures of his iguanas -Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion-, and she pulled up a photo on her phone of her dog -a black beast Sirius had called Padfoot-.

He promised to teach her how to braid her hair better -it was going to be a bitch to get those tangles out-, and she promised to teach him better hiding places -the men's bathroom was hardly inconspicuous for someone his size-.

They walked.

They talked.

They laughed.

And it was, quite possibly, one of the best evenings Haraella had had in years.

They sat at benches and watched flowers bloom and-

And not once, not a single time, did Haraella feel unsafe.

She did not, once, think about Tom.

Maybe that was why, three months later, when Rhaegar invited her to the annual Targaryen family retreat to the coasts of a small private island called Dragonstone -a tourist hotspot according to google- off the seas of the Caribbean, she accepted.


V

It happened on the ferry ride over.

The boat over from the closest island with an airport to Dragonstone had left Haraella weary, sweaty, and not at all in the best temperament, and that was only ten minutes into her journey across open waters.

Unlike everyone else, she would be arriving a week later than they, having had to stick around London for her Aviation Academy entrance interview.

Elia, bless, had demanded the family stay and wait for her, but Haraella had brushed that idea off.

She could make her own way, and there was no point in ruining everyone's fun because she had an appointment.

She could catch up.

And now she could surprise them with the news that she had gotten into the school.

So, she had plodded onto a ten-hour flight, cramped next to a man who snored atrociously, and had to run for the port with the ferry because they had landed later than expected.

She had made it just in time.

Nevertheless, everybody else on the ferry had been seated by the time she had come wheezing up the runway, and Haraella was left standing by the railing of the top deck, tired, aching, and so, so, so fucking bored.

The ferry ride over would only take twenty minutes.

She just needed something to occupy her mind for that long, to take her thoughts off her aching feet, and it would all be over before she knew it.

That was when she made the dreadful mistake of taking out her phone and opening Knottr.

She was just curious.

Curious and bored, and when had that combination ever caused trouble?

She had limited the results for fifteen miles -she did not know at the time that included Dragonstone, which was only fourteen miles out-.

And then she started swiping.

A man called Dave liked to brew his own beer.

A woman called Sheryl liked 80s hair metal.

An Alpha wanted an Omega fuck buddy to put a collar on him as he barked the showtunes to Disney playhouse.

Nothing too outrageous.

Nothing Haraella had not seen before.

Swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe-

Her thumb stalled over a picture of Daeron smiling toothily at the camera. His iguanas were in shot, Drogon curled about his shoulders, Rhaegal climbing his arm, Viserion perched over his head.

She realized her mistake then, about the miles and how close the island was, and Haraella was determined to close the app and just wait her boredom out, but…

Well, Daeron looked happy.

Very happy.

And looking at his photos wasn't really an invasion of privacy, was it?

He had posted them on a public platform and-

She clicked on the album.

He only had three photos.

The second picture was him at work, clearly, for he was perched over a bloody alligator, wrestling it from some poor sods swimming pool somewhere state side.

You could plainly see the lines of muscle beneath that thin green shirt and-

Haraella moved to the next photo, and promptly froze.

It was from her birthday party.

The lights were out, the faces only illuminated from the orange glow of birthday candles, the original photo, which had contained a whole slew of a Targaryen cast, cropped to fit only two.

Haraella, the Haraella in the photo, was looking to the side, up, grinning-

Happy.

She looked… Happy.

Peering delighted right on up to an equally cheerful Daeron at her side, smiling down at her, eyes crinkled in laughter, in that soft, red cashmere jumper.

Something hot lodged in her throat, and Haraella closed the album.

Which, inevitably, brought up the profile.

Daeron, 26, Omega.

No strings attached.

No commitment.

One Heat Only.

No Alphas.

Fellow Omega preferred.

Females favoured.

Blonde and short is a bonus.

Must be willing to be called by another name.

No alphas?

That was… Strange, wasn't it?

Omegas typically wanted Alphas, the only designation that could knot, and Haraella wasn't even sure how sex between two Omegas would be -had no first-hand experience on how sex in general worked out let alone the sticky, complicated mess of coupling in Heats and Ruts-, and didn't male Omega's generally-

She shouldn't be reading this.

She shouldn't have looked through his photos.

She shouldn't have opened the bloody app to begin with.

Haraella went to close it, just as a mother and a screaming child came barrelling into her back, sending her smashing into the railing, scrabbling to catch her phone before she could loose it overboard.

She had grabbed it just in time, as the small boy heaved heavily over the side of the ship, the mother, as haggard as Haraella felt, smiled apologetically.

"I'm so sorry-"

Haraella waved her off, but took a step back from the acrid smell of bile that assaulted her sharp senses.

"It's fine. Don't worry."

She turned, glanced down, and saw her phone.

The app was still open.

A tacky little star notification flashing on screen.

You've Swiped Right!

"No, no, no, no, no!"

Haraella stumbled away from the son and mother pair, tapping frantically on screen as if her thumbs could snatch back the swipe.

Of course they couldn't.

"Shite!"

She cursed, earning a glare from a few people enjoying the sea breeze on top deck.

She took a deep breath and lowered her phone.

It was fine.

Perfectly fine.

The only way Daeron would find out she had found his profile and swiped right would be if he too swiped right and Knottr declared their match.

And he wouldn't do that.

Why on earth would he go and do that?

No reason at all. Even if he did smell like sin on two legs and-

It was fine.

Hunky dory, in truth.

No harm, no foul.

The phone vibrated.

It was a text, Haraella told herself.

Just a text, likely from Hermione asking if she had reached the island yet.

Haraella lifted her phone.

You've Matched:

Daeron Targaryen & Haraella Targaryen

Send a Message Now!

Oh no.


A.N: No smut this chapter, but it is coming very soon. I'm still ill, and apparently Modern Muggle AUs and ABO fics are my comfort writing, who knew? Don't expect it to change anytime soon lol. This is part one of a four shot I have planned with this plot and pair. I got struck with the idea of a soft Male!Daenerys running a reptile rescue centre and couldn't get it out of my head, so here we are kids!

The next update to this fic is likely going to be Part 2 to the Jon shot I have going, although I won't promise it in case something else pops up.

Hope you all enjoyed this, are looking forward to what's coming, and I will hopefully see you soon as I'm ill and bored and writing is all I have going on at the moment lol. ~AlwaysEatTheRude21