Chapter:

Swipe Right

Part Two of Four


Warnings/Tags: Unconventional Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Omega/Omega, Male!Daenerys, Soft!Daenerys, Soft!Haraella, Mentions of past abuse, brief non-descriptive mention of past rape (Daeron & Drogo), Modern Muggle Au, Incest, Praise Kink, Size Kink, slight Daddy kink.


Male!Daenaerys & Haraella Targaryen


I

Bed and Breakfasts at Dragonstone were a far cry from the dreary cottages of coastal guesthouses of the English coast. Open spaced, the apartments were made for luxury and opulence, not the harsh rainy weather, with four poster beds swathed in silk, free champagne waiting in buckets of ice, Jacuzzi's out on glass enclosed balconies, and a sauna on every floor.

It was, of course, not the Targaryen Villa situated in the heart of the island, and definitely not where Haraella Targaryen should be, but there she was, rolling a squeaking suitcase down the corridor, sweaty and jetlagged, frantically scrolling down her contacts in her phone. Finding the right contact, she pressed ring, balanced the phone on her shoulder, and waited for the line to click.

It only took three rings.

She was in trouble, and who did Haraella perpetually turn to when she got herself into a heaping pile of self-made shit?

"Harry? Are you alright?"

Hermione Granger's voice was rocky, still brushed with hastily lost sleep.

Shit. The time difference.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good. Real good-"

"You don't sound good. You sound panicked… And ringing me at three in the morning. What's happened?"

What a loaded question.

203.

205.

207…

"Honestly, it was a mistake. I shouldn't have rung. I forgot about time zones and-"

"Harry, cut the shit."

209. Bingo.

Hustling for her back pocket, Haraella knocked over her suitcase, handle banging against the limestone wall, cursing as her wallet was, too, pulled free along with her room key card, falling to the floor at her feet and spilling change and notes across the expensive marbled floor.

"Fuck. Bitch-…"

She crouched, hastily collecting her things, red-faced and embarrassed in more ways than one as a woman came down the corridor side-eyeing her, clearly ready to dip into the pool out back of the hotel, murmuring about drunken disorderly.

Haraella wasn't drunk, but boy, did she wish she were.

"I've done something incredibly stupid, 'Mione. So very, very, very stupid."

Fighting with the door to jam her key card in, getting more and more frustrated with every swipe and blink of red, Hermione sighed deeply from the other end of the phone.

"I can get Kingsley down here in twenty minutes and we'll-"

Green.

Go.

Haraella snatched at her suitcase and slipped into the tidy, spotless, too expensive room.

Rose petals were on her double bed, balcony curtains fluttering in the open breeze, chocolate covered strawberries on a silver platter next to champagne on ice.

Merlin on a pyre… She had asked for a king-sized room not the bloody honeymoon suit.

"Jesus, Hermione, I haven't killed anyone. Not that kind of stupid that I need Britain's best defence lawyer. Just the kind of stupid…"

The line crackled.

"The kind of stupid that?"

Too frazzled to go downstairs again and try and change rooms, Haraella kicked the door closed behind her, dropped her suitcase with a resounding thud, and slid down the wall until her idiotic arse hit gold speckled marble, head lolling on her shoulders.

"The kind of stupid that means I can never show my face to my recently discovered family again, especially my Uncle. The kind of stupid that sent me running off a ferry in a blind fright, booking the closest hotel room I could see, and contemplating when the next flight out of here will be as I panic called my best friend. I've really… Really fucked it up this time."

There's a notification on her phone, Haraella knew. A notification she had felt come vibrating in, but couldn't bear to check.

It would be from Knottr.

It would be from Daeron.

Had he shown Rhaegar already? Elia? Lyanna?

Hey look who's on the Heat hook-up app and swiped right on me? Bit of a nutter, that one, isn't she? Are you sure she's safe to be around? You know that whole Tom ordeal and now she's matching with her Uncle… Something isn't quite right with her, is there?

She was fourteen all over again, with Draco sodding Malfoy handing out Haywire Harry badges at their boarding school, calling her crazy and-

"Harry, love, you're going to have to take a deep breath, and then take ten steps backwards and start at the beginning."

Haraella does just that, and through a, slightly, disjointed rush, she tells Hermione everything.

The ferry ride over to Dragonstone, browsing Knottr because she was bored, because, strangely, and Haraella knew how strange it sounded, she liked seeing other people happy, even if it was sanitized happiness in three photos and a hundred- and fifty-word bio, finding Daeron on there -minus her reaction, reaction Haraella didn't want to think about let alone discuss, about said photos of him in the green shirt-, accidently knocking into that kid, swiping right, and the great flee into the hotel.

For a while, it was quiet over the other side of the phone, until Hermione finally put her out of her misery.

"And you matched?"

"I know-… I swear I didn't mean to, but now he'll think I'm some sort of deranged pervert and-"

"No, Harry, you aren't listening. You matched, right? As in… To match he would have to swipe right too, correct? And he wouldn't have been able to see you had until he, himself, had done so."

Haraella's head thunked against the door at her back.

"I didn't think about that."

A breathless chuckle that crackled.

"I didn't think so… And why worry so much? Just tell him it was an honest mistake. Unless… Well… Was it a mistake?"

Haraella lurched away from the door, frowning darkly at the finery around her, feeling as if she had just been plucked from her comfort zone and parachuted straight behind enemy lines.

Enemy lines where enemy soldiers wore enemy green shirts too tight for their enemy muscled arms and-

"What do you mean was it? I told you it was. I explicitly remember telling you about the vomiting kid and-"

"Yeah, you did, but you also seem particularly paranoid that Daeron will think you did this all on purpose, which makes me think you believe there's a reason he would think that at all. And, don't take this the wrong way, Harry, but you were our schools top Hockey player. Coach Hooch used to say she had never had a goalie with your reflexes before, remember? I've never seen you miss a Puck in seven years of games and-"

Haraella's voice skyrocketed to an almost yelping pitch.

"Are you really suggesting I swiped right on my Uncle on purpose to-…to… to-"

"And again with the Uncle. You know people use words to distance themselves from uncomfortable situations? They do it all the time, a verbal reminder of detachment or isolation or prohibiting vernacular. I mean… Bonded family pairs are rare, but they aren't none existent, especially in families already prone to the practice. A new study has found it's actually beneficial for some families to do so. Alpha's and Omegas naturally carry seventeen duplicates of genetic coding, making inbreeding defects impossible, and-"

"I'm not speaking about this."

A huff.

"Can't or won't?"

Haraella had no answer.

"Look… I know how hard you find physical conta-… I know what Tom did to you-… I know. I know and I love you. And I just want you to know that. No matter what, I love you. You're my best friend and I just want to see you happy and… Message Daeron, tell him it was a mistake if it was, and I'm sure he'll understand. If not then… There's nothing wrong with you Harry. Tom was wrong. Albus was wrong. Petunia and Vernon were wrong… Not you."

There's nothing wrong with you.

How long had it been since someone had told her that?

Never, really.

How bloody sad.

Haraella's fingers tightened around her cell phone.

"I love you too."

A suspiciously wet sounding sniffle, and Hermione was, thankfully, back to her stern self.

"Now, get some rest. You're clearly tired, and, please, ring me at a respectable time tomorrow?"

"I can do that. Tell Ron I said hi and… Thanks Hermione."

Haraella hung up the phone, but kept the screen lit.

Hermione was right.

Not about swiping subconsciously on purpose and using the kid as some excuse, Merlin no, no, definitely not, that was just Hermione's psychology degree research going into overdrive, but about just telling Daeron it was a mistake.

In all honesty, his message lingering in her notifications bar was likely asking her what time she was arriving at the Villa, or asking what she was doing on Knottr at all, and not questioning her every motive, thinking her crazy-

That's what Tom had done.

That's what most Alpha's in her life had done.

The sweet, poor, orphaned Omega. Too fragile. Too delicate. Obviously, she was making up Tom being back for attention, clearly she had hallucinated him killing that Cedric Diggory boy in the graveyard because of how weak an Omega's mind was, that's just how frail Omega's were-

It was far easier to blame the victim than it was to question how the culprit could do such a thing. That kind of societal questioning led to not so easy answers, and as people had proven time and time and time again, humanity was a creature of comfort.

Merlin forbid people begin being held accountable for their actions.

No, it far easier to pretend no problems exist.

Haraella did that herself a lot.

Not this time.

Squaring her shoulders, Haraella resolutely flicked open her phone, slipped down the notification bar, and pressed on, as she had suspected there would be, the Knottr symbol.

A blink and the page was up.

Daeron's face smiled in the icon by the strip of white on blue text. It was short. To the point. Angry.

Take down this profile, or I will have my lawyer contact you for infringement of identity.

For a sentence only sixteen words long, it took a while for them to compute fully.

Once they did, Haraella could only laugh.

Infringement of identity… Catfishing.

Daeron thought she was a catfish.


II

Daeron locked his phone and slipped it into the pocket of his jeans.

"Are you really still mad at me? I was only trying to help you out."

Doggedly keeping his back to his brother, Viserys, Daeron continued clearing out the ball python cage at his hip, hoisting up the bag of cypress mulch and pulverized coconut husk he kept on hand for the shyer snakes on the conservation at Dragonstone.

"No. What you did was steal my phone, invade my privacy, and try to fuck up one of the only good things I have going for me right now, Vis."

A long, suffering sigh was Daeron's answer.

"Oh, no. You were fucking it up all by yourself. You're the one who, by your phone history, kept looking up her socials. I was simply the one who swiped when you couldn't. You're getting close to your Heat, Daeron. I know it, you know it."

Don't do it.

Don't punch him.

Don't do it.

Think of the animals.

If Viserys starts wailing, it will distress them.

Don't do it.

Viserys, of course, did not know when to stop.

"If I have to hear another Haraella said this, Haraella said that, oh, look at this picture of this weird exotic snake she sent me, is Haraella going to be at the Villa, have you heard Haraella blah, blah blah again, I'm going to pull my hair out by the roots! By the Seven, since you two stumbled back from that walk around Regents Park, that's all I've heard. I thought if I took the step you were too afraid to, it might just stop you moping about."

The bag of handmade bedding thudded to the floor as Daeron whirled.

"So you stole my phone and went through my history? Do you realise how psychotic you sound?"

Viserys held his hands up in the universal sign of surrender, but his pale brow, sharp and keen, slanted high in challenge.

"As psychotic as visiting her profile page forty-seven times?"

"It wasn't forty-seven-"

The brow, impossibly, shot up higher.

"Alright. But I was just looking-"

"forty-seven times-"

"And I like seeing her, but I don't want to bother her all the time, so I look at her profile-"

"The thousands of texts you refuse to delete from your inbox says she enjoys texting you back so-"

"Sometimes. Is that a crime? And now you've gone and-"

"Sorted it all out for you so you can stop pussy-footing around and-"

"Swiped right, and now I have to deal with a Catfish who-"

"Who should be thanking me for… Wait, catfish? What catfish?"

Now it was Daeron's turn to sigh sufferingly as he shouldered past a momentarily stunned Viserys to the draws with the heating bulbs stored within.

"The catfish that swiped back!"

A splutter coughed out at his back.

"Haraella swiped back? Well what's the issue then-… Catfish. You think the profile is a catfish-…. Why?"

Daeron refused to look at his older brother.

He had thought it truly was her before, her bio sounded like her, witty, short, a little bit self-biting, but then she had-

"Of course it's a catfish. She swiped back. How many times do I have to repeat myself?"

A lingering moment of sweet, sweet silence.

And, obviously, Viserys had to break it.

He couldn't leave it well enough alone.

He never could.

"And the jump from swiping right to catfish is…?"

Daeron slammed the draw shut so hard he heard the sound of glass breaking inside.

"Because it's Haraella and it's… Me. I'm a recluse, Vis, not an idiot. What good would she get from swiping right on me? I can't offer her a mansion like that Stark boy, Robb, could. I can't offer her flowers and caskets of gold like that Tyrell boy, Willas, who keeps asking after her could. I can't even give her a normal life with a white-picket fence and two-point-five kids, like any other Omega or Alpha could. I'm-"

He chokes here.

He always does.

He thought of that name, the partially healed bonding scar on his shoulder, the one that had, thankfully, missed the gland in his struggle, in the numerous struggles, the one that had seen him two-years of nightmares in court, on the stand, reliving his worst memories, that-… Man, Alpha, glaring from the defence bar.

Daeron remembers, and he chokes on it, and it all tastes like ash.

"I'm broken goods. I know what I am. Haraella… She doesn't deserve that."

Viserys is soft now, calm and gentle in a way Daeron could not remember him being for years, not since the little house with the red door and the lemon tree, as he tried to take a step closer, and Daeron did not quite recall when he had turned to face his brother, when he had, exactly, got damp in the eye.

"You're not broken, Daeron-"

Daeron marches for the tank, dipped his hands into the glass, ruffled out the bedding and moved the water bowl and the bathing rock and… And anything to keep his trembling hands busy.

"Don't. Please."

Another stretch of silence, but this one felt dry and tight, and filled with words left unsaid.

Words better left unsaid.

"Fine. Just… Message her. One message… And maybe you'll see what we all see."

Daeron does not know the we Viserys is speaking of and for, is half afraid to ask, but he does get the point.

You're not broken.

That's what the court appointed Omega therapist had said. It was natural to feel that way after what he had been through, but feeling something did not make it real.

Funny, how real it felt, however.

Your broken now. Nobody else will want you.

Daeron shook the repulsive memory off, but it still felt as if it had stained his thoughts, his skin, his soul.

"I already have. I told them to take the profile down or I would contact my lawyer."

Viserys, sensing a losing battle, left with the click of a door.

He would be back in an hour or two. Like a bad penny, Targaryen's always came back.

Daeron's pocket vibrated immediately. He huffed, and he puffed, and he pulled the damned thing out.

Knottr's symbol flashed upon opening.

He clicked the icon.

You think I'm a catfish?

Daeron scoffed heartily, wiped his hands off on his stained jeans, cocked a hip on the table, and typed back.

I know you're a catfish. Now take the profile down.

Is that why you swiped right? So you could message me that?

Daeron had not swiped right at all. That had been Viserys in all his sparkling intelligence. Nevertheless, he did not exactly want to tell a stranger, possibly some sixty-year-old looking for a bit of fun using his Nieces face, and that thought alone turned his stomach violently, the ins and outs of his brotherly relationships. So, instead, he settled for something simple.

Yes.

You could have just reported my page.

That would take months for Admin to get around to.

Had many run-ins with catfish before, then?

Daeron could not help himself at this, he chuckled. Runs ins? Yes. Rhaegar, CEO of Dragonet and one of the wealthiest men alive in the world, seemed to have his own army of catfish using his face on their profile. Viserys had his fair few.

Now his Niece, who was barely three years his junior, and that was something Daeron didn't need to keep reminding himself of, seemingly had one or two lurking in the world wide web waters.

Daeron didn't… like that last one. He found the others amusing. Funny even. But the thought of someone using Haraella's face as a lure, without her knowing, people being sucked in with a smile that was not meant for them, but him-

Not him. Somebody else. Anybody else.

It didn't sit right.

It wouldn't sit right, no matter the Tetris logistics Daeron tried to move the thought into.

Enough to know one when I see one.

Well then, you might need glasses.

I don't know if you know this, but the photos you are using are my Niece.

No, really? Haraella? I heard she's super intelligent, you know. Mensa level. Dashingly good looking too, I've gathered from the grape vine.

If this is your attempt at convincing me that you're Haraella by sarcastically circumventing the situation, it's pointless. This is the last time I'm going to ask. Take this profile down.

No can-do buckeroo. I have friends on here that I can only speak to on this blasted app. There's nothing I can say to assure you it's actually me, is there?

Three dots appeared, disappeared, reappeared again in quick concession. Whoever they were, they were a fast typer.

Haraella was a fast typer too, always managing to get a quip in between texts before Daeron could respond but-

This wasn't her.

Why are you so convinced it's not me?

And Daeron wasn't going to fall for the me usage either.

Because you swiped right on me.

Quickly, he followed up. He didn't want pity, didn't want to seem like he was fishing for compliments either, he wasn't, but it was fact.

It wasn't Haraella.

She hadn't swiped right.

That… Felt bitter. Good thing Daeron was used to the taste.

Now are you going to take this profile down, or do I need to take this infringement further?

Of course, of all times, Jorah decided to poke his head through the door before the reply could come, wincing, using the Andal nickname the Mormont had given him what felt like ages passed.

"Dany? That new fer-de-lance rescue is acting strange. Thought I'd give you the heads up. You might want to head down to the viper pit and check it out. I signed up for helping with the security, not animal care."

Daeron slipped his phone home into his back pocket, catfish, Nieces and misbegotten feelings long forgotten in the face of suffering.

"Strange? Strange how?"

But Daeron didn't need an answer, as unlikely as Jorah could offer a helpful one in regard to the reptiles in the rescue centre on Dragonstone, as he was already making his way down and out the door, missing, completely, the buzz of his phone.

There was no rest for the wicked, and perhaps no love for them either.


III

Because you swiped right on me.

Haraella stared down at her phone for a long while, scanning those words. Between renditions of rereading, she had showered, dressed for the night, she may as well use the hotel room she had already paid for, called Rhaegar to let him know she had landed but would pop over in the morning because she was jet-lagged and no, she didn't need to be picked up and drove to the villa, it was a nice offer but she was just going to pass out any way and not be much company at all, and-

Off track.

Because you swiped right on me.

There was so many ways to take that sentence.

Because you were swiping at all.

Because you were on here.

Because you swiped right and not left.

Yet… Yet, Haraella thought, there was something… Poignant in the me included.

And maybe, just maybe, she was reading far too much into it, putting in intentions that weren't there because… Because?

Because she wanted an intention to be there?

No. Of course not.

Definitely not.

Hermione was wrong and-

Jet-lag. She was bloody knackered. A good sleep, far away from thoughts of Knottr and Heats and Uncles in green shirts-

Sleep.

She needed sleep.

Sleep she got for the entirety of four whole hours before her phone started ringing. Blearily, she reached over to the hotel nightstand, patting, grasped something that felt square and made of metal and glass, and brought it to her ear, hitting the estimated area of the pick-up symbol.

Luckily, this time it was her actual phone and not the alarm clock like the dozen times before.

"This better be bloody good."

Daeron's voice came gruffly through the receiver.

"Rhaegar said you had landed and… I'll call back in the morning-"

Haraella sat up in bed, wiping away the sleep from her eyes.

"Is something wrong? Is everyone okay?"

Daeron was quick to answer, wiping away thoughts of car-crashes and hospital runs and Tom Riddles back for vengeances away.

"Yes! Yes-… I uh, I have a snake, and you seem pretty good with snakes, he's acting up, and I can't get him to feed and… Shit. Sorry. I just realised the time. I'll-"

Haraella was already rolling the blanket off, shoving feet into slippers.

"It's fine, I was just napping. I uh… Text me the address and I'll pop over and take a look."

Perhaps seeing Daeron at-

Four-thirty in the morning wasn't the best of ideas, particularly after the confusing day she had, but Haraella hated seeing suffering, and she was good with snakes, and maybe he wouldn't mention the whole Knottr thing at all, and they could pretend nothing had gone on and-

And Haraella could keep pleasantly digging her head into the sand.

"I've already messaged it. The centre is not too far from the hotel you're staying at. A two-minute walk. Dragonstone isn't very big and-… I'll meet you out front. You should be able to see me waving after you leave the hotel lobby."

Kicking open her suitcase, Haraella didn't bother with her clothes, merely digging out Sirius's old leather jacket to don and keep the night sea chill from her bones.

"I'm on my way."


IV

Haraella really could see him from the hotel lobby, dressed in jeans and a tatty t-shirt, blue this time, blue like the waters out at deep sea, almost glowing underneath the starlight with his white-silver. Jogging over the road, down the rocky trail, she slipped through the gate and up the path to Daeron waiting by the door.

He glanced down at her, down some more, and-

Flushed.

Haraella frowned.

"The-… There-… The jacket-…"

She followed his lilac gaze and-

Flushed too.

She was still in her pyjamas.

Her very small, very silky nightdress meant only for the hot Dragonstone heat and not any eyes. Swiftly, she haggled the leather jacket around her tighter, zipping the front up all the way to her chin.

"Sorry! You said snake and I just came running."

Haraella played it off, as she always did, with a joke. It was easier that way.

Daeron, however, averted his gaze and stepped away from the door, nodding her in, refusing to meet her eye again with a cough.

When he spoke, his voice was just a dip too deep.

"This way."

Haraella followed him into the moderate building, noting that he kept his distance from her.

That... Stung a little.

A lot, if she was honest.

Had he seen her final message then?

Poor bastard had likely only called her as a last resort and-

Calm.

If he wanted to keep his distance, fine.

Fine and dandy.

Fine and dandy and perfectly good.

It was small, square building, a half-way house between the docks and the real reservation at the back of Dragonstone where those animals transported by plane or ship could rest before being homed, and it wasn't long before she was led to heated room in the belly of the brick and mortar.

Perhaps the leather jacket was a bad choice.

"It's over here. I can't get near him. He keeps rearing and presenting the S-coil. Best not to tempt fate when the cure would be five hours by boat out of reach."

She journeyed over to the glass tank, Daeron momentarily forgotten for the beauty before her, peering in the low light.


V

Daeron stood by the door as Haraella moved towards the tank holding the fer-de-lance, careful to breath in through the mouth and out through the nose.

It did very little help his not so… Little problem.

He could taste the scent now, sitting at the tip of his tongue like a bee could sip at pollen on a petal, and how he had ever thought he could do this was beyond him now. Honey, and spice, and something too nice, tempered by an older scent, musky, alpha, emanating from the leather jacket and-

Get it off her. It doesn't belong there. Get it off and throw it away and pre-

Daeron shook his head, only realising too late he tipped his chin a bit too far back, presented the scarred gland on his neck a little bit too cleanly, clearly, and-

Viserys was right.

He was getting close to a Heat.

Too close to be in company, especially this company, hence setting up a Knottr account at all before he stumbled across the catfish, but then one of his rescues were sick, and he couldn't leave them that way, even for a night, and Haraella, from what she had shared with him, was good with snakes, the closest thing to an expert around these parts, and… There was nothing more to it.

Truly, there wasn't.

Nevertheless, everything would be fine Daeron told himself.

She would check the fer-de-lance out, Daeron, for twenty minutes, could hold himself together, she would leave, and Daeron could hide out in this small building for his on-coming Heat, miss her trip entirely, and-

And Haraella reached for the zipper of her jacket, shouldering out the leather.

"What are you doing?"

She didn't glance back as she threw the jacket down at her feet, careless and thoughtless, eyes locked on the tank.

"It's too hot and the leather and zippers might aggravate the snake if they're shedding."

But it would only aggravate the snake if she were to-

Haraella already had the tank top off, reaching in.

"Don't! Fer-de-lances are extremely dangerous! You need protective gear and-"

She pulled the snake out, calm as a bubbling brook, the broad flattened head of the snake loping up pale arm to hiss gently at her shoulder, dark brown scales glinting in the night lights for the cages, the occipital blotches indistinct with a soft pale-yellow belly.

She tickled the tip of its flat snout as one would scratch a kittens chin.

"There we are… Now let's have a little look, shall we? Nice and slow and calm."

Almost as if he were entranced, as much as the snake clearly was, Daeron found himself shuffling closer, voice soft like downy feathers.

"How are you doing that?"

Haraella smiled at him from over her shoulder and, here, now, Daeron thought he might always remember that moment. The hot heat of the room against his own heat, the bare, pale flesh of a nimble arm sparking off the glinting scales, the hiss and wisp of voices, both human and none human, and the smile, dimpled, silky given so easily to him.

Yes, he thought, he would remember this for a long time.

Remember and ache.

"It's all in the touch, really."

Thankfully, Haraella did not notice his absent mindedness, and squinted back to the snake, hand scaling down from head to tail in a smooth sweep, clever fingers twisted, searching.

Daeron retreated back to the doorway.

He needed space.

Lots and lots of space.

Before he did something stupid.

"Mmmm… He's not shedding. Have you-… Ah. Yep. There's your problem."

Daeron cocked a brow as Haraella popped her Ps.

"You've found out what's wrong with him?"

Gently, Haraella unwrapped the snake and lowered it back into the cage, humming with one last stroke to its long abdomen.

"That's it. It's not a he… It's a she. I'm guessing you rescued her from Costa Rica?"

Daeron's hand rose to his neck, fingers reaching for his gland, readying to itch at the sudden sharp throb echoing there.

He dropped his hand almost immediately.

That would have been… Inappropriate.

Inappropriate and desperate.

By the Seven, desperate and tender and-

"We got her from a set of poachers caught out in the forests. They wanted to use him-… Her as a lure for the Goliath birdeater spiders they were selling on the black market. The locals didn't want us releasing her back into the wild, they wanted her put… Down. I… I just couldn't do it, so I brought her back here."

Locking the top of the tank back into place, Haraella chuckled lightly, and the sound throbbed deeper than the abrupt itch in his skin.

"It's around rainy season in Costa Rica right now, yeah? How long you had her? Barely a week, I'm guessing."

Again, the gland pulsated, and again, Daeron reached but never touched.

Never touch.

Instead sweeping to the side to bashfully rub at the back of his neck.

His gland wasn't throbbing. It was a trick of the light. A lapse in judgement. A by-product of the fact that he had spent the last seven hours in this room looking at that snake trying to figure out what was wrong with it and kept coming up blank.

Even in the worst of Heats, an Omega's gland would throb for no one or nothing but their mate.

Even forced bondings couldn't compel that reaction.

"Three days."

Haraella nodded.

"That would do it. She's pregnant. Got a good set of eggs in her stomach if my fingers are right. Fer-de-lances in Costa Rica primarily go through their reproduction cycle in seasonal patches tightly related to rainfall patterns. She's got a clutch on the way and is just feeling a little protective of herself and them. Give her some space, plenty of water, and she'll calm down in a week or two. I wouldn't move her to the preservation area, though. It might stress her out more. Let her nest her clutch here. Afterwards, I wouldn't put them with the others in the main conservation either. They're an aggressive breed, prolific too. You'll have a hundred hiding in the trees before you know it. You might need to square off their own little space somewhere separate and keep an eye on their breeding."

Daeron winced.

"Any tips?"

Haraella's own hand raised, heading for the slender neck before it diverted course and instead scratched her chin.

And Daeron wasn't looking. No. Certainly not at her neck, at the white slope where neck met ear, small enough to fit his hand around, where finger could meet thumb at back, stroke at where a small gland might be swelling-

Nope.

"They're normally nocturnal and solitary, less active in colder and drier periods but… if you have a body of water around, a river or stream, they'll like that. They'll need to bask someplace. A rockery or something similar. They're ambush animals, preferring rats and mice, but they are defensive against other predators, and seen as they're semi-arboreal, they will climb trees, and seen as they're both excitable and unpredictable when disturbed, and can move very quickly, other rescues might be seen as fair game in their eyes. They mainly eat small rodents, bugs, insects, invertebrate, frogs, but they will eat other snakes and lizards, even dabble in cannibalism if the need required."

He sighed.

"What size clutch are we looking at then?"

Haraella shrugged.

"Given her size? Somewhere between thirty to forty eggs. Some might not make it, but your going to be a snake daddy to about twenty-odd fer-de-lances in… Oh, about four months, give or take a week. When I said prolific, I meant prolific."

Daddy-

Daeron jolted back, choking on spit, his tongue, perhaps his leaping heart, struck his hip against the door frame, and winced.

Haraella frowned, slightly coiling in on herself at his sudden reaction.

"Not a big snake person?"

No, not really. Daeron preferred lizards and reptiles, as he suddenly found he much preferred how daddy tumbled from those lips-

"I suppose there's no time like the present to learn."

Haraella shuffled on her feet.

Her feet in little rhino slippers.

Despite everything, or because of it, Daeron smiled at the sight.

"I could help… If you want? Scout the place for a good area, help set up the nursery for the eggs… If you want to just wash your hands of it all, I could take her in?"

No, that wasn't Daeron either. He didn't just abandon an animal because it proved difficult. He still had a scar on his arm from Drogon and their early years-

But, if Haraella was going to help, that meant she would be around, lacing her scent everywhere, and that was, indeed, a very foolish thing to let happen, to let be, to have around when he could barely think a full sentance and-

"I'd like that."

And then Daeron reddened, and jumped to right the hopelessly desperate hint in his already low voice.

"I mean it would be a great help."

Haraella smiled brilliantly, bending down to scoop up her jacket, a flash of heat as neck tilted, and hair curled and-

"I should be off and let you sleep. Give me a call in the morning and I'll pop over with a list of things we're going to need and-"

"Stay."

Again, he was speaking before he was thinking, and again, he couldn't stop himself, couldn't bring himself to feel too sorry for it either, despite knowing he should, he should.

"What? There's isn't-"

"It's dark out. Late too. Kip here, and we can get to work in the morning. There's spare bedrooms upstairs. You can have it."

You can always have it.

"If you want?"

It was dark out, dark and late, Daeron reasoned, and although there were primarily only their family on the island currently, tourist season still months away, there were still a few stragglers, someone having invited Willas, yes, Willas Tyrell of all people to the week long get-together, and what if he was out there, waiting for a chance and-

It was the Uncle thing to do.

The kind thing.

Nothing more.

"And you have bedrooms in the halfway house because?"

Bedroom.

Sole.

His.

But she didn't need to know that. She could take the room, and he would take the couch in the lounge. It was only a half truth.

When had those ever caused trouble?

"I work late sometimes, and instead of driving back to the villa it's just easier to…"

Again, he winced.

By the Seven, he sounded pathetic.

"I… I'd like that. Cheers."

Daeron nodded.

It was the only thing he could do, less he dig himself deeper into this hole.

There was a tension in the air, thick and heady and unnameable. Until Haraella smiled, and it somehow, always, felt lighter.

"I don't suppose you have a kettle around here too?"

Daeron grinned back.

"I'll get you a cuppa."


Next Chapter: Things Heat up in more ways than one as our two-dunderheads dance around, and Rhaegar finds a peculiar sight when he goes to check in with Daeron in the morning…


A.N: I'm not going to lie. I have had a really shitty last few months. Writing soft!Daeron and disaster!Haraella has sort of made it feel a little less shitty, so this is all I have right now in terms of updates. I hope most of you don't mind. I am working on my other one-shots, and other fics, it just might take me a while to get there.

As always, thanks so much for reading, favouriting, following, and reviewing! I hope you all liked this chapter, and if you can, don't forget to drop a review. I shall all bid you good evening, and I will see you all soon! Until then, stay beautiful. ~AlwaysEatTheRude21