#HotD Daemon

[novaursa]

Not Hers, Not His

- Summary: Married to Daemon as a second choice, Princess Y/N Targaryen fled across the sea to reclaim her freedom. Years later, her return reignites old wounds—and when she leaves again without goodbye, Daemon finally gives chase to the one woman he never meant to lose.

- Pairing: niece!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @idenyimimdenial @oxymakestheworldgoround @sachaa-ff @barnes70stark

The sun hung low over the Stepstones, swollen and red like a festering wound in the sky, its light breaking across the jagged horizon of splintered rock and rusting weapons left from too many forgotten skirmishes. Salt clung to the air like a second skin, seeping into armor, rusting blades, and settling in the joints of weary men. Daemon Targaryen stood upon the rise overlooking Bloodstone, the sea wind pulling at his dark cloak, streaked with ash and blood. The clamor of the men-at-arms echoed below—Velaryon sailors shouting orders as more siege engines were hauled into place, ballistae primed to fire again at the fortified Myrish encampments to the south.

Corlys Velaryon approached from behind, his gait slower than usual but not diminished. His armor was etched with sea-worn patterns, and though he had aged, there was no mistaking the fire in his eyes—the same fire Daemon had once seen when the Sea Snake first brought his fleet to these cursed waters.

“They’re digging in again,” Corlys said, his voice low, gravelly, and unmistakably irritated. “They know the tides better than most—wait out our thirst, our rot, and they’ll win without lifting a blade.”

Daemon didn’t answer immediately. His eyes traced the coastline like a hunter watching a wounded animal, calculating. “Let them rot in their holes,” he said finally. “If they’ve taken to burrowing like crabs, then we burn them out. Let their gods sort what’s left.”

Corlys snorted, but the sound carried little humor. “Easy to say when you’ve wings and flame.”

A slow smirk twitched across Daemon’s lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He looked thinner these days, lean and sharper around the edges. War had stripped him of the easy arrogance he once wore in court like a second crown. His silver hair was longer now, tangled and unkempt, curling around the base of his throat. Dark crescents lived beneath his eyes, and though Caraxes waited just beyond the cliffs, the dragon’s presence did little to lighten his mood.

The rider came at dusk.

He was young, pale with windburnt cheeks and a red cloak heavy with dust. The Velaryon guards let him through with mild disinterest, but the boy dismounted fast and bowed deep before Daemon and Corlys without waiting for breath.

“My lord, my prince,” he gasped, fishing out a sealed parchment bearing the sigil of House Targaryen—a three-headed dragon pressed into black wax. “Raven came from the capital. Urgent word.”

Daemon took the parchment with gloved fingers and cracked the seal immediately. His eyes scanned the contents in silence, the tension drawing tighter in his jaw with each line.

Corlys stepped closer, his brows furrowing. “What is it? Not Viserys again?”

“No.” Daemon’s voice was flat. He read the letter again slower, quieter. Then he folded it once, twice, and handed it to Corlys without ceremony.

The Sea Snake read it, eyes narrowing. “The Triarchy stirs again,” he muttered. “More ships spotted gathering off the southern coast—typical.” Then his voice shifted tone, like his tongue caught on something unexpected. “And...your lady wife has returned?”

Daemon said nothing.

“She’s returned to King’s Landing,” Corlys pressed, flicking his gaze toward him. “From Lys, it says. Without fanfare. No dragon. No escort. Just walked through the gates like she never left.”

The silence that followed hung like iron between them. The crash of waves against the cliffs became louder, crueler, more mocking.

Daemon exhaled through his nose. “Did Viserys send for her?”

“No mention of that. Just that she’s taken up residence again in the Red Keep. Your old quarters.”

Daemon’s expression didn’t flicker, but something in him bristled. He turned back toward the sea, fingers twitching at his side. “So she returns now.”

“She’s your wife,” Corlys said carefully. “You should be glad she’s come home.”

Daemon’s laugh came bitter and short. “She left because it was home. Because Viserys made her feel like a concession. Like I’d been thrown scraps after asking for the crown jewel.”

“You asked for Rhaenyra,” Corlys reminded, blunt. “And you married her sister.”

“Not by my choice,” Daemon snapped. “Nor hers. He married us out of spite, thinking he could bend us both into obedience.” He looked again to the sea, as if her face might form in the water. “And I let her go. Thought time would harden her. Temper her pride.”

Corlys crossed his arms. “Maybe it has.”

Daemon turned then, finally meeting his eyes. “Or maybe she returns only because she’s finished running.”

Corlys held his gaze. “Then what will you do?”

A gust of wind tore across the cliffside, salt and sand whipping around them like whispers. Caraxes stirred below, the deep rumble in his throat rising like thunder from the pit of his belly.

Daemon didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

The gods had already taken too much from him—his pride, his brother’s trust, the crown he once reached for with bloodied hands. But this? This woman Viserys gave him as punishment? She had clawed her way free of that insult, turned her back, and flown east like a storm waiting to be reborn.

And now she was back. In his city. In his rooms.

His queen of ash and fire.

“Prepare the sails,” Daemon said coldly. “We return to King’s Landing.”

The morning broke over King’s Landing with a brooding stillness, the kind that made even the gulls go quiet. The fog had rolled in off Blackwater Bay in a low, wet blanket, smothering the towers of the Red Keep and casting the harbor in a murky gray gloom. The city was only beginning to stir—fishmongers dragging their carts through the mud, the gold cloaks yawning at their posts, whores slipping out of back alley doors before the sun could shame them. No horns. No banners. No fanfare.

Just the sound of leathery wings splitting the clouds.

Daemon Targaryen had returned.

The sails of the Sea Snake’s swiftest longship had been furled before the ship could even dock, and Daemon, armor still clinging with the scent of Stepstones ash and blood, stepped ashore like a storm in the flesh. Caraxes was nowhere to be seen—left to circle above the cliffs beyond, for now—but that absence was no comfort to the city. Word spread fast. The Rogue Prince, the exile-turned-commander, had come back unannounced, and with no small measure of fury in his stride.

It was the sound of another dragon that truly sent the court into a frenzy.

A screech—high, furious, unmistakably female—split the sky as Daemon crossed the courtyard of the Red Keep. He paused, head tilting up toward the misted clouds. Through the fog he saw her—she—wings vast and violet-hued, like the dusk over Valyria before the Doom. A she-dragon of unnatural grace and fury, cutting across the sky with her jaws open and fire threatening at her throat. Not a docile beast kept to the Dragonpit. Not a creature of men’s cages. She was free.

“Vaelora,” Daemon murmured, lips parting as his eyes tracked the shape, awestruck despite himself.

She wheeled once above the Red Keep, a defiant cry echoing down into the capital, sending birds fleeing and hounds howling across the city. Then she turned, vast wings beating down against the fog, and flew out toward the open sea—chasing wind and freedom like the wild thing she had always been.

Daemon watched until she disappeared beyond the mists.

His jaw tightened. She had let her dragon fly unchained. Or perhaps, no one here had dared try to bind it.

He moved through the gates of the Red Keep like a blade being drawn, fast and direct, ignoring the startled gasps of the court ladies, the hushed whispers of the pages and handmaidens, the hurried bowing of stewards who scrambled aside with clumsy reverence. His boots echoed against the stone floors, dragging half the Keep into alert before he even reached the throne room. Ser Harrold Westerling was the first to meet him at the base of the steps, face drawn in disbelief.

“Prince Daemon—your return was not announced.”

“I was not inclined to send ravens,” Daemon said, brushing past him.

“His Grace is indisposed—”

“I doubt that,” he snapped. “He’ll be quite disposed once he learns I’ve come.”

The door to the throne room groaned open. Inside, the great chamber was quieter than usual—less bustling with sycophants and flatterers than in years past. But the man on the throne was unmistakable: King Viserys I, aged more than Daemon remembered, thinner, paler, with lines of grief etched deeper into his once-noble face. His crown sat heavy on his brow, and he turned slowly when he heard the approaching steps.

His eyes went wide.

“Daemon.”

The name fell from his lips like a dropped goblet.

“Brother,” Daemon said with a thin smile, stopping at the foot of the Iron Throne. “You look well. Older. But not altogether dead. A miracle.”

Viserys didn’t rise, but his fingers gripped the arms of his seat as if the iron beneath him might suddenly melt. “You were in the Stepstones.”

“I was.” He removed his gloves one finger at a time, each movement deliberate. “But I heard a curious bit of news. A raven spoke of things I could not ignore.”

Viserys shifted uncomfortably, but kept his tone composed. “We received no word you intended to return.”

“I didn’t intend to. But imagine my surprise when I learn that my wife is nesting again in the Red Keep—without so much as a word to me.” Daemon’s eyes gleamed. “Imagine how that might feel.”

The silence that followed was thick as oil. Viserys looked away, his expression unreadable. “She was free to return. This is her home.”

“Oh, now it is?” Daemon said coldly. “Strange, I remember you treating her more like a mistake. A punishment to be bound around my neck.”

“That is not what I intended,” Viserys muttered, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

“You intended to wound me. You succeeded. But you wounded her worse.”

A muscle jumped in Viserys’s jaw. “Daemon, do not twist my words.”

Daemon stepped closer. “I’m not here for your words. I saw Vaelora in the sky. She flies like she hasn’t tasted chains in years. Which makes me wonder—has anyone even tried to leash her since Y/N returned?”

Viserys’s silence was telling.

Daemon’s gaze narrowed. “Good. Let them be afraid of something. If they won’t fear you… they’ll fear what you brought back into your gates.”

And with that, he turned and walked from the throne room, his black cloak flaring behind him like wings.

The Red Keep’s lower halls were strangely silent as Daemon passed through them, his boots soft against the stone. The corridors were still familiar, despite the years—tapestries unchanged, the same dust gathering in corners no one dared sweep. He moved like a shadow beneath the high-arched ceilings, keen-eyed and silent, ignoring the stares of courtiers too cowardly to do more than whisper behind their hands.

It wasn’t until he passed through the royal cloister and emerged onto the outer terraces that he was stopped—by none other than the Hand himself.

Otto Hightower stood like a crow in his fine green robes, that insufferable pin gleaming against his chest. His face was drawn tight with suspicion, not fear—Otto did not fear Daemon, but despised him, and Daemon had always found that far more entertaining.

“My prince,” Otto said, his voice low, disdain barely masked. “I trust your arrival was sanctioned. Or shall I presume you’ve simply decided the laws of courtesy no longer apply to you?”

Daemon didn’t pause, didn’t slow. “They never did.”

Otto moved to intercept him, jaw tightening. “She has returned here in peace. Do not disturb that peace with your temper.”

Daemon smiled, razor-sharp and false. “My temper? Seven Hells, Otto, don’t strain yourself pretending to care for her well-being. You’d have seen her shipped to Oldtown and wed to one of your milksop cousins if Viserys hadn’t bound her to me instead.”

Otto’s lips thinned to a cold line. “You are not the only dragon in this castle, Prince Daemon. Tread carefully.”

“And you are not the only snake,” Daemon murmured, brushing past him like smoke. “But unlike yours, my bite leaves fire.”

He didn’t wait for the response—there was none worthy of hearing.

The gardens were heavy with the scent of late summer roses and damp soil, a tangle of green and gold overgrown in the absence of a queenly hand to tend them. The sun pierced through high boughs and latticed leaves in shifting rays, casting light like bars upon the stone paths. Somewhere a fountain murmured, drowned under the chirp of sparrows and the low hum of bees. And there—among the foliage, beneath the arching canopy of flowering myrtle—was she.

You.

You sat perched along the curved lip of the dry fountain, legs crossed beneath flowing violet skirts, hair pinned carelessly with silver combs that caught the sun. Your dragon’s colors were echoed in your eyes—those unmistakable lilac irises that had haunted Daemon across battlefields and fever dreams alike. You didn’t look at him as he approached. Not as a wife would. Not as a woman who had once shared a wedding bed, or crossed oceans to escape the shadow of a throne.

Daemon stopped a few paces away, folding his arms. “No kiss? No welcome? I thought I might at least earn a glare.”

You exhaled through your nose, expression unreadable. “If you came for performance, go to the mummers on the Street of Silk.”

“You were always better than any mummer,” Daemon said dryly. “Even when you weren’t trying.”

Still, you didn’t look at him. Your gaze remained fixed on a cluster of wilting irises near the edge of the fountain, as if they held more meaning than his entire existence.

“I didn’t come back for you,” you said finally, voice flat. “If that’s what you think.”

“Then why are you here?” he asked, quieter. “I thought you were content hiding behind the sea. Or have the brothels in Lys lost their charm?”

You turned to him now—sharp, beautiful, wild-eyed. “I came because mother’s ashes are being moved to the crypts. No one thought to tell me. Grand Maester Mellos sent a letter two months late. Apparently they assumed I wouldn’t care. They were half-right.”

Daemon blinked. “I didn’t know.”

You shrugged. “You don’t know much about me, husband.”

He studied you—how your jaw clenched, how your fingers toyed with the edge of your sleeve like you were reining something in. “You could have told me. You could have sent word.”

“And you could have let me go when I asked.” You stood now, straightening, letting your words slice clean. “You could have refused Viserys. You could have chosen no one, but you asked for Rhaenyra and got me instead. So don’t act wounded now, Daemon. I spared us both the farce. You should be grateful.”

He took a step toward you. “Is that what you tell yourself? That I was never going to want you?”

You gave a bitter smile, eyes like wildfire just before the burn. “Wanting me would’ve meant wanting something you didn’t ask for. That’s not in your nature. You take what you want. And you didn’t take me.”

There was a pause. The air hung thick with too many unsaid things.

“I’ll be gone again soon,” you added before he could answer, tone clipped. “Vaelora hates the city. I don’t care for it either. Just a few more days. You’ll be free of me again.”

Daemon’s expression twisted, but he said nothing as you turned from him, violet silk trailing like smoke as you walked back through the myrtle arches and away toward the upper steps of the garden path.

And as your silhouette vanished between the flowering trees, another figure entered the clearing from the opposite side—graceful, silver-haired, and wearing a smile too warm to be unknowing.

“Uncle,” Rhaenyra said, approaching, her eyes bright. “I heard you’d returned.”

Daemon didn’t turn to her yet. He was still watching the spot where you had stood. His silence said more than he wished.

“I see you found her first,” Rhaenyra added softly.

Finally, he turned to greet her, though the smile he gave her was strained, and far less triumphant than it once might’ve been.

Rhaenyra watched Daemon closely as she descended the final steps into the clearing, her skirts whispering over the flagstones, hands folded before her like the proper lady she was meant to be. But there was nothing proper about the way she looked at him—eyes drinking him in, searching for something familiar beneath the soot-stained armor and war-worn scowl. Daemon Targaryen had always walked like he owned the world, chin high, gaze bright, daring the gods to strike him. But now there was something quieter in him, something pulled taut behind the eyes, like a blade too long unsheathed.

“Uncle,” she said again, gently this time.

He turned to face her, and for the first time in her life, Rhaenyra didn’t feel the spark of mischief or the teasing heat that always lingered in his presence. There was no sly smile tugging at his lips, no mocking tilt of his head. His eyes were shadowed, unfocused, still caught somewhere in the wake of your voice—still haunted by it.

“Rhaenyra,” he answered, and even his voice was different—rougher, hollow around the edges.

She frowned, stepping closer, her brow furrowing with cautious familiarity. “You’ve changed.”

Daemon scoffed lightly but didn’t deny it. “War tends to do that. Stepstones are not courtly games.”

“And yet you’ve always loved war.”

“I loved winning.” His eyes flicked to her at last, and the look in them made her still. “But some battles aren’t worth the cost.”

She studied him—truly studied him. The Daemon she remembered from before had always danced along the edge of madness and charm. Now he seemed like a man who’d seen something in himself he didn’t want to recognize. A dragon that had flown too close to fire not his own.

“You came back for her.” The words left Rhaenyra before she could second-guess them. They were not accusatory, nor soft. They simply were.

Daemon didn’t answer immediately. He looked past her, toward the empty garden path you had vanished down. The silence stretched between them, weighted with more than time.

“She didn’t even look at me,” he said finally, voice low. “Like I was a ghost.”

“You are, to her,” Rhaenyra said plainly. “She was never what you wanted. And she knew it.”

“She’s everything Viserys didn’t want for me,” he muttered, dark amusement flashing for a breath. “Too wild. Too proud. Too much fire, not enough obedience.”

Rhaenyra raised a brow. “And now?”

“Now I see he was right to fear her.” His eyes sharpened. “And I was a fool to let her go.”

Rhaenyra's lips parted, then shut again. The look on her face flickered, an old wound rising beneath polished calm. “You asked for me,” she said softly. “You stood before our father and asked for me.”

“I thought I was making a move,” Daemon said. “I thought claiming you was how I’d force Viserys’s hand. I didn’t care how much damage I caused. But marrying her wasn’t punishment, Rhaenyra. It just took me too long to see that.”

She looked away, chin tightening. “She bled for you. You never looked back.”

“I look now,” he said. “And she doesn’t want to be seen.”

Rhaenyra was quiet for a long moment. When she finally looked at him again, her expression had settled into something older than her years, something that reminded Daemon—painfully—of Aemma. “She’s not like the rest of us. We were raised to twist, to kneel when it served, to hide the worst of ourselves behind courtesy and titles.”

“She never hid a fucking thing,” Daemon muttered.

“No,” Rhaenyra said. “She never did. That was the first thing you loved about her. And the first thing you tried to break.”

Daemon flinched—just slightly.

Rhaenyra stepped past him then, her fingers brushing his arm in quiet parting. “Don’t chase her unless you’re willing to burn. She’s not waiting to be claimed. Not anymore.”

She left him there in the gardens, surrounded by sunlight and the scent of dying flowers, while your ghost lingered in every breath he took.

The skies above King’s Landing wept ash and sun the morning you left.

The city stirred beneath a bleary haze, thick with the scent of brine and hot stone. From the high terrace of Maegor’s Holdfast, Daemon stood still as a statue carved in blackened steel, one hand resting on the stone balustrade, the other clenched so tightly at his side the knuckles blanched white. Beside him, King Viserys leaned heavily on his cane, the weight of years and regret pressing down into his hunched frame. His breath came slower now, more labored than even Daemon remembered, but it was not illness that sickened him this morning—it was sorrow.

Above the rooftops, you rose into the sky atop your dragon, the she-dragon Vaelora screaming with pride as her wings cracked the wind. Her violet-hued scales shimmered like a living bruise against the dawn, silver light catching the ridges of her spine as she beat a wide circle over the Red Keep. Below, smallfolk gathered in awe, the guards paused mid-march, and even the ravens quieted in their cages. No fanfare. No escort. No farewell.

Just you, flying alone—again.

“She didn’t even say goodbye,” Viserys said, his voice thick and wavering as he followed the dragon’s ascent with dulled eyes. “Not to me. Not to her brothers and sister. Not to her king.”

Daemon’s jaw flexed. He didn’t speak.

“She was always too proud,” Viserys murmured. “Too wild. Like her grandmother. I tried to make it right, binding her to you—” His tone faltered as if he heard the foolishness of it in real time. “I thought it might calm her. Anchor her here, with family. She was so young then. And you…”

Daemon turned his head, slowly.

Viserys trailed off.

Your dragon banked toward the open sea, wings carving through mist, then surged forward, vanishing into cloud and light.

Daemon’s breath left him in a sharp exhale.

“Daemon,” Viserys said behind him, quietly now, almost pleading. “Don’t.”

But Daemon was already walking.

“Daemon—”

He didn’t answer. His cloak snapped behind him as he descended the tower steps in quick, precise strides. Servants scattered in his path, startled by the look in his eyes. He moved like a man possessed—lean muscle coiled beneath the layers of black and crimson, expression locked in something between fury and desperation. The Red Keep blurred past him. He crossed the yard in silence, reached the stables without a word, and threw the reins off the nearest saddled horse without waiting for assistance.

The beast neighed at the sudden command, but Daemon mounted in one motion and dug in his heels.

Hooves cracked against the stone as he tore down the hill road, out past the Gate of the Dragon and toward the black maw of the Dragonpit.

The city’s morning song grew faint behind him. The wind roared in his ears. His heart pounded like war drums, each beat echoing one name—Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.

By the time the Dragonpit gates loomed, the keepers had barely thrown them open wide enough for his passage. The great domed structure rose like a mausoleum, the bones of old stones etched into the very foundation, but Daemon did not slow. He dismounted while the horse was still moving, letting it stumble to a halt as he strode forward.

Caraxes waited in the shadowed inner court, crouched low, his crimson wings curled like a sleeping serpent.

The dragon raised his head before Daemon spoke a word.

Daemon reached him, one hand on the scarred flank, and the old wyrm huffed smoke from his nostrils in greeting—ready, always ready.

“You saw her,” Daemon said softly, stepping closer. His voice was different now. “You felt her go.”

Caraxes snarled in answer, wings twitching.

Daemon climbed the saddle. The stirrups were cold iron, the grips worn smooth by war and wind. He settled himself like a man returning to his throne, then leaned forward, whispering through clenched teeth.

“We’re going after her.”

[puddingdemonlair]

Smooches in Secret 💋🤭🥰 (Daemyra)

[xx-dinah-writing-xx]

Where the cradle lies empty

Daemon Targaryen x reader

angst

A/N: Hi again, loves 💀. Back at it with more Daemon angst because apparently emotional devastation is my love language. If it doesn’t ache a little… did I even write it? Suffer beautifully. 💋

————

They bury your child before the sun rises.

There is no fanfare. No ceremonial rites. No white cloaks or dragon’s cry to send the soul to the gods. Just the sound of earth being shoveled over a box that’s too small. You stand a few paces away, arms hanging limp at your sides, your body hollowed out by too many nights without sleep, too many hours of bleeding on cold stone floors while the maesters whispered things you weren’t meant to hear. You do not weep anymore. You did enough of that when the baby stopped kicking. When they told you that your babe had ill heart and there was nothing they could do. When Daemon didn’t come back in time.

He should have been here.

The rage you once clung to has thinned into something worse. Disbelief. He swore he’d be gone only a fortnight. He left with fire in his eyes and steel in his hand, chasing some fool’s errand in the Vale to prove his loyalty to Viserys. You begged him not to go. You were already so far along. You felt your daughter move like a tempest in your belly and told him she would come early. He kissed your forehead, called you dramatic, and promised he’d return before the first snow fell.

That was seven weeks ago.

You named her alone. Held her alone. Felt her warmth fade in your arms as the sun dipped behind the walls of the Red Keep and you begged the gods, old and new, to take you instead.

When Daemon finally arrives, it is long past the burial. His armor is still bloodstained. His face gaunt from war. He smells of horse and smoke and the salt of long travel. But you feel none of it. You feel only the tremor in your knees when you see him dismount. Only the scream rising in your throat, the one that never makes it past your lips.

He looks at you like he doesn’t understand. Like the pieces haven’t fallen into place.

“Where is she?” he asks.

You cannot speak.

He says her name, the one you carved into your chest with your own voice, syllable by syllable, the one no one else has dared utter. It shatters something in you. You turn and walk back into the keep.

He follows. Of course he does. He always chases too late.

Inside, the nursery remains untouched. You haven’t had the strength to face it. The maids do not dare enter either. The swaddling cloths still hang across the empty cradle, embroidered with little dragons. A silver rattle sits unused on the window ledge, dust gathering around it like snow.

When he steps inside and sees the silence where there should be crying, he finally understands.

His knees buckle. Just a little. Just enough that you almost reach for him.

You do not.

Instead, you say, “You weren’t here.”

His head lifts. There’s blood in his mouth from where he bit down on grief. “I didn’t know—”

“You should have,” you whisper. Your voice is like broken glass in your own throat. “I told you. I told you she was coming. I begged you to stay.”

He steps forward, hands outstretched, as if to pull you close. But there’s nothing left of you to hold. You are cold marble and dried blood and ashes. You shake your head, stepping back into the shadows.

“I held her, Daemon,” you say. “I held her while she died. She was warm, and she smelled like you. And I watched her go cold, and you weren’t here.”

There is silence again. That cruel, gaping silence that swallows everything soft and good.

“I should have been,” he says. It is not a plea. Not an excuse. Only fact.

“Yes,” you say. “You should have.”

The pain doesn’t fade. It never will. It lives with you now. Sleeps beside you. It is the space where your child should be.

Daemon drops to his knees before you. Not like a prince. Not like a warrior. Like a man who has finally been broken beyond repair. His forehead touches your skirts, and he clutches the fabric as if it is the only thing keeping him alive.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “Gods, forgive me. Forgive me.”

You look down at him, at the man who once set the world on fire for you. And for the first time, you feel nothing at all.

Not hate.

Not love.

Only the deep, devastating knowledge that nothing he says will bring her back.

And the even crueler truth.

You are not sure if you can ever let him touch you again without thinking of what you lost.

[sankta-wraith]

Not sure if this is common knowledge or not but I just realized that the reason Daemon was looking for eggs in the first place was so that he would have one ready when Rhaenyra gave birth.

[moonlight-joy]

The Dragon’s Defiance

Fandom: House of Dragon

Summary: Queen Alicent Hightower attempted to humiliate you, the pregnant wife of Daemon Targaryen, by summoning you to the throne room in a calculated power play. However, Daemon fiercely defended you, publicly dismantling Alicent’s scheme and forcing King Viserys to intervene in your favor. Alicent’s plan backfired, exposing her desperation and strengthening your bond with Daemon. Together, you stood as an unshakable force, a reminder that dragons bow to no one.

Pairing: Reader/Daemon Targaryen

The Red Keep had always been a maze of whispers and shadows, but since Queen Alicent Hightower had risen to power beside King Viserys, the castle walls seemed alive with sharp ears and sharper tongues. You had lived within these halls long enough to understand how quickly alliances could shift, how loyalty could be traded like coin. Yet, for all the intrigue that surrounded you, you had never let the weight of court life break you.

You were Targaryen, wife to Daemon Targaryen—the Rogue Prince—and mother to his children. For over a decade, your union had weathered storms that would have destroyed others. Now, pregnant with your fourth child, you carried the latest testament to the strength of your bond. But this time, the storm came not from without, but from the very heart of the Red Keep.

The morning had been peaceful, the sun streaming through the windows of your chambers. You reclined on a cushioned chaise, a hand resting on the swell of your belly as you read. The warmth of the fire lulled you into a sense of calm until hurried footsteps interrupted the tranquility. A servant entered, pale and trembling.

“My lady,” the servant began, their voice unsteady, “the Queen requests your presence in the throne room.”

You frowned, sitting up straighter. “In my condition?” you asked, your hand instinctively cradling your belly.

The servant hesitated. “Her Grace insisted, my lady. She wishes to… address you before the court.”

You understood immediately. This was no simple summons; it was a calculated move. A veiled insult. Alicent had always sought ways to assert her power, to remind others that she ruled beside the King. Now, she sought to humiliate you in front of the court as she had done to Rhaenyra years before.

“Fetch my husband,” you said firmly, closing your book. “I will not attend alone.”

Moments later, Daemon entered, his steps deliberate, his expression dark. The servant recounted the Queen’s summons, and as they spoke, you could see the fury building in your husband’s eyes. His jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides.

“She dares to summon you like this?” Daemon growled. “In your condition?”

“She wishes to make a spectacle,” you replied calmly, though your pulse quickened. “To remind me—and the court—that she is queen.”

A dangerous smile spread across Daemon’s lips, one that never reached his eyes. “Then she will be reminded why I am her greatest threat.”

He helped you to your feet, his hand gentle but unyielding as he guided you. “You will not walk into her trap alone,” he promised. “And if she dares to humiliate you, I will tear her games apart.”

The throne room was filled when you arrived, the weight of countless eyes pressing down on you. But you held your head high, refusing to show any weakness. You were a dragon, and no Hightower would ever make you cower. Your hand rested lightly on Daemon’s arm as he led you into the hall, his presence a shield against the sea of whispers.

Queen Alicent stood near the Iron Throne, draped in green silk that shimmered in the torchlight. Her smile was thin, her eyes sharp as they fixed on you. King Viserys sat upon the throne, his frame frail, his face lined with illness. He looked troubled, his gaze flickering between you and Alicent.

“My lady,” Alicent greeted, her tone sweet but laced with malice. “It is so good of you to join us. I hope the walk was not too taxing in your… delicate state.”

You met her gaze evenly, refusing to rise to the bait. “I am quite capable, Your Grace. Though I admit I was surprised by your summons.”

“It is important for the realm to see the strength of its women,” Alicent said, her voice carrying through the hall. “Just as Princess Rhaenyra demonstrated after the birth of her sons.”

The implication was clear. Alicent wanted you to endure the same humiliation Rhaenyra had suffered years ago, parading yourself before the court mere days after childbirth. It was a calculated move to demean you and remind the court of her power.

Daemon’s low chuckle broke the tension, drawing every eye in the room. “You must be mistaken, Your Grace,” he said, his voice as sharp as Valyrian steel. “My wife is no servant to be paraded before the court like a curiosity.”

Alicent’s smile faltered, but she recovered quickly. “It is a gesture of unity,” she replied, though her tone tightened. “One that would surely be appreciated by the people.”

Daemon stepped forward, his presence consuming the room. “Unity?” he echoed, his voice mocking. “Unity is forged through respect, not humiliation. My wife carries a Targaryen heir. If you think I will allow her to be used as a pawn in your games, you are gravely mistaken.”

A murmur rippled through the court, courtiers exchanging wide-eyed glances as Alicent’s composure slipped. Her cheeks flushed with anger, and her voice rose. “You overstep, Prince Daemon. This is not your decision.”

Daemon’s laugh was cold, his violet eyes darkening with fury. “Everything concerning my wife and child is my decision. And you would do well to remember that.”

The tension in the room reached a breaking point until Viserys raised his hand, his voice weak but firm. “Enough,” he said, silencing the court. “This matter is settled. My daughter-in-law will not be subjected to such treatment.”

Alicent opened her mouth to argue, but Viserys’s glare stopped her. She curtsied stiffly, her expression tight with barely concealed anger. “Of course, Your Grace.”

As you left the throne room, Daemon’s hand remained on your back, his fury palpable. Only when you were alone in your chambers did he let his anger spill over.

“She will pay for this,” he said quietly, his voice cold and dangerous. “Alicent forgets that dragons do not bow.”

“She sought to humiliate me,” you said, placing a hand on his arm. “But she failed. Thanks to you.”

His expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as he cupped your face in his hands. “I will not let anyone harm you,” he vowed fiercely. “Not her, not anyone. You are my wife, my queen, and the mother of my children. Let her play her games—I will burn her ambitions to ash if she dares threaten you again.”

You leaned into his touch, your heart swelling with gratitude and love. “We are stronger together,” you said softly. “Let her see that she cannot break us.”

Daemon kissed your forehead, his lips lingering as if to seal his promise. “Together,” he agreed, his voice low and certain. “Always.”

Word of the exchange spread quickly, the whispers echoing through the Red Keep. Alicent’s attempt to assert her dominance had backfired, and even her closest allies began to waver. The queen had sought to humiliate you but instead found herself exposed as desperate and grasping.

Within your chambers, there was peace. Daemon remained vigilant, his protectiveness extending to you and your children. The tension of the court lingered, but in his arms, you felt safe—untouchable. Alicent had underestimated the fire that burned within you and the bond you shared with your husband.

You were a dragon, and dragons did not kneel. Together, you and Daemon would ensure the world remembered that truth.

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[talesofhightower]

Okay but ..... m o t h e r 😃💗🎀

[aeralux]

"My Sweet Little Niece" - Daemon Targaryen

Summary: You foolishly thought that no one would find you pleasuring yourself in the midnight hours...

Warnings: SMUT; typical targcest (reader is Daemon's niece and it is mentioned a LOT); use of the terms 'uncle' and 'niece' during sex; degradation (slut, whore etc.); light spanking (like one/two spanks); doggy style; quite rough sex (but both like it); breeding kink (Daemon finishes inside reader); dirty talk (use of the words cunt and such)

Notes: Reader is Daemon's niece (Rhaenyra's sister) and has white hair, but nothing else is specified. No specific time frame or mention of marriages/other relationships.

Words: 4.2k

-- aera xx

As Daemon Targaryen paces the cold, stone floors of the council room in Dragonstone, his footsteps echo softly against the walls, a rhythmic cadence that punctuates the heavy silence of the chamber. The room is austere yet grand, its walls adorned with tapestries depicting the sigil of House Targaryen — a three-headed dragon — woven in threads of crimson and gold. Tall windows line one side of the chamber, their panes frosted with a thin layer of ice, allowing slivers of pale winter moonlight to filter into the room and cast ethereal patterns upon the floor.

As Daemon's thoughts whirl in the chill air, his attention is suddenly drawn to quiet sighs and moans from a nearby bedchamber.

The castle was asleep at this hour, and it possibly couldn’t be a maid. Curiousness got the better of Daemon, and he went to investigate against his better judgment.

Once he reached the source of the sound, he smirked to himself. Of course. Who else could it be besides his sweet niece? Acting all innocent and loving before the eyes of the court and making sounds like a whore from the Silk Streets during the night.

He wondered who the lucky man between her plush thighs could be. Was it Aemond, or perhaps Aegon? What if it was Helaena, and this was the only time the two girls could show their desire for one another?

Already starting to walk away, something stopped him. The hardness in his breeches made it uncomfortable to move. He sighed and wiped across his face to compose himself.

Daemon needed to see. He needed to see his niece being pleasured by whoever it was. Be it a knight or a maid. Agonisingly slowly, he pulled open your door. Making sure no sounds betrayed his presence.

At first, you didn’t even notice his intrusion, too lost in the pleasure of two fingers circling your clit and two in your tight hole knuckles deep. But once you heard the familiar creak of the venerable wooden door, its aged hinges announcing a timeless entrance, your head instinctively snapped up. The air around you shifted, thick with expectation.

"Uncle Daemon!" you exclaimed, hastily pulling the sheets up to cover your bare form beneath. "I…I didn't expect you!"

You could feel the heat of embarrassment rising to your cheeks, mixed with a twinge of annoyance at having your private moment interrupted. Your long silver-white hair was tousled against the pillow, strands clinging to your sweat-dampened skin.

"I was just…" you fumbled for an excuse, your voice trailing off lamely. There was no hiding the truth - you had been caught in the throes of self-indulgence, fingers buried knuckle-deep inside your dripping cunny as you imagined being taken roughly by one of the handsome young knights in service to the crown.

Your mind raced as you tried to find the right words to explain yourself, but your tongue felt heavy and clumsy in your mouth. You knew that your actions were scandalous, especially for a highborn lady of House Targaryen, but you couldn't help the thrill of excitement that ran down your spine at the thought of being caught in such a compromising position.

Your fingers were still buried deep inside your sopping wet cunny, the evidence of your shameful desires dripping down your thighs and staining the fine silk sheets beneath you. The air was thick with the musky scent of your arousal, mingling with the faint smell of lavender that clung to your skin from your earlier bath.

Daemon's eyes widened slightly at the sight before him, his gaze flickering over your dishevelled form and the obvious signs of your recent activities. For a moment, he was struck dumb, caught off guard by the raw, primal desire that radiated from his niece's body like a physical force. He could feel his cock stirring to life in his breeches, thickening and hardening as he drank at the sight of you.

But then his training kicked in, and Daemon schooled his features into a mask of stern disapproval. He crossed the room in a few long strides, the heavy tread of his boots muffled by the plush carpet. Leaning down, he grasped your wrist firmly and withdrew your fingers from between your thighs, ignoring the way you gasped at the sudden loss of stimulation.

"Darling," he said, his voice low and cold. "What in the seven hells are you doing, girl? Playing with yourself like some common whore? Is this how you spend your nights, indulging in base carnal desires?"

His grip on your wrist tightened, and he brought your hand up to his face, pressing your fingers against his lips. The taste of your arousal exploded on his tongue, sweet and musky and utterly intoxicating. Daemon's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, savouring the flavour of his niece's essence.

"You're a Targaryen," he growled, releasing her wrist and straightening up. "You should know better than to give in to such shameful appetites. Especially not with your uncle standing right outside your door."

Despite his harsh words, there was an undercurrent of something else in Daemon's tone - a dark, simmering heat that belied his stern exterior. He could feel the pulse of his own need, throbbing in his loins and demanding to be satisfied. The sight of you sprawled out across her bed, flushed and wanton and ready to be taken, was almost more than he could bear.

Daemon took a step back, putting some distance between them. He raked a hand through his golden locks, trying to calm his growing hunger for you.

Your heart raced as you watched Daemon lick your essence from his fingers, his eyes closing in bliss as he savoured the taste. The sight sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins, and you couldn't help but spread your thighs wider, inviting him to take a closer look at your dripping cunny.

The guilt that churned in your stomach was nothing compared to the raw, primal desire that consumed you. You had done far worse things behind closed doors, indulged in darker, more forbidden pleasures. This was merely a taste of the debauchery that coursed through your veins.

“Daemon," you breathed, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation. "Please, don't be angry with me. I… I couldn't help myself. The need was too great, too overwhelming to ignore."

You batted your eyelashes at him, hoping to soften his stern demeanour with an innocent, pleading look. You knew the power of your beauty, the way men were drawn to you like moths to a flame. It was a gift, one you had learned to wield like a weapon.

"You're the only one who truly understands me," you continued, your words dripping with honey.

As you spoke, you reached out with trembling fingers, tracing the hard planes of Daemon's chest through his shirt. You could feel the heat of his skin beneath the fabric, the steady thrum of his heartbeat. It called to you, urging you to press herself against him.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you awaited Daemon's response, your dripping sex exposed to his piercing gaze. You could feel the weight of his stare like a physical touch, sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. The vulnerability you felt at that moment was both terrifying and exhilarating, a heady mix of fear and desire that made your head spin.

Daemon's eyes darkened as he drank in the sight of your glistening folds, his nostrils flaring as he caught the intoxicating scent of your arousal. He could feel his cock straining against the confines of his breeches, throbbing with the need to bury itself inside your tight, wet heat.

He took a step closer, looming over your prone form on the bed. "You're playing a dangerous game, little one," he growled, his voice low and rough with barely contained lust. "Teasing me like this, exposing yourself to me. Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"

Your breath caught in your throat as Daemon reached out, his fingers grazing along the soft skin of your inner thigh. You could feel the calluses on his hands, the strength in his grasp as he slowly inched higher and higher, until his touch was mere inches away from your aching core.

"I… I wanted you to see," you whispered, your voice trembling with need. Although it wasn’t entirely true, you did still however want him to take you. And with these sweet words, he would cave in no time.

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light, his jaw clenching as he fought to maintain control over his raging desires. He knew that what he was about to do was wrong, a betrayal of every moral code. But the temptation was too great to resist, the allure of his niece's forbidden fruit too powerful to deny.

With a low, animalistic growl, Daemon surged forward, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. He plundered your mouth with his tongue, claiming you, possessing you, marking you as his own. One hand tangled in your long, silver hair, tugging it.

You moaned into the kiss. It was like a siren's call, luring Daemon further into the depths of depravity. With a growl, he allowed himself to be pulled onto the bed, his muscular body covering yours as he claimed your mouth with renewed hunger. His hands roamed over your curves, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh like a man possessed.

Your fingers scrabbled at Daemon's linen shirt, desperate to feel the heat of his skin. You tugged impatiently at the fabric, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank the garment over his head and toss it aside. Your eyes widened at the sight of his toned chest, marred only by a few silvery scars from battles long past.

"By the gods, Uncle," she gasped, your hands greedily exploring the planes of his back and shoulders. "You're so strong."

Daemon's lips curled into a smirk as he ground his hips against yours, letting you feel the hard length of his cock straining against the confines of his breeches. "And you, my little girl, are a temptress beyond compare," he growled, nipping at your earlobe. "So soft, so ripe, so ready to be plucked."

Your back arched off the bed as Daemon trailed his lips down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just above your collarbone. You could feel the heat pooling in your belly, the ache between your thighs growing more intense with each passing second.

"Please, Daemon," you whimpered, your hips rocking against his in a primal rhythm. "I need you, I need to feel you inside me, filling me, claiming me."

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light, his control hanging by a thread. With a low growl, he captured your lips once more, swallowing your moans as he reached down and tore at the laces of his breeches. His cock sprang free, thick and hard and throbbing with need.

Your eyes widened as you took in the impressive sight of Daemon's manhood, your breath catching in your throat at the sheer size of him. You had always known that your uncle was a proud, confident man, but now you understood the true source of his cockiness. His cock was a work of art, thick and veiny and pulsing with an almost palpable hunger.

Unable to resist, you reached out with a shaking hand, wrapping your fingers around the hot, velvety length. You licked your palm, spitting into it to provide some lubrication as you began to stroke him slowly, marvelling at the weight of him in your grasp.

Daemon let out a low, guttural moan as your hand moved along his shaft, his hips rocking into your touch. "Fuck, that's it," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Stroke me, princess. Show me what that clever little hand can do."

You smiled up at him, your eyes shining with wicked delight. You shimmied closer to him on the bed, watching with rapt attention as Daemon stood before you, his cock extending out obscenely from between his legs.

The blood coursed hot and heavy through Daemon's veins as you worked his shaft, your delicate fingers gliding over his throbbing flesh in a slow, torturous rhythm. He could feel every nerve ending screaming for more, for the tight, wet heat of your cunt wrapped around him.

"You like that, don't you?" You purred, your hand pumping faster, twisting your wrist on the upstroke. "You like feeling my hand on your big, hard cock. I bet you've dreamed of this, of fucking your sweet little niece, filling her up with your seed."

Daemon let out a feral snarl, his hips snapping forward as he fucked your hand, chasing the pleasure that only you could give him. "You have no idea what I've dreamed of," he growled, his eyes burning into yours. "What I've planned, what I'm going to do to this tight little body of yours."

"Mmh, yeah? Why don’t you tell me then?” Your words and actions grew bolder as you saw his reaction to your touch, your arousal gushing out of you at the erotic sight.

Your daring words and bold actions ignited a fire in Daemon's loins that threatened to consume you both. His cock throbbed and pulsed in your grasp as you started to tease the tip with your tongue, your lips forming a tight seal around his engorged head. The sight of his niece's pretty mouth stretched obscenely around his shaft sent a fresh surge of heat straight to his groin.

"Fuck, you filthy little minx," Daemon growled, his fingers tangling in your long silver hair. He tugged at it roughly, forcing you to take more of him into your hot, wet mouth. "You want to know what I'm going to do to you? I'm going to ruin you for any other man. I'm going to fuck you so hard, so deep, that you'll never be able to forget the feel of my cock inside you."

You moaned around his length, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through Daemon's body. You could feel the sticky wetness of her arousal coating your thighs, the musky scent of her desire mingling with the taste of his pre-cum on her tongue.

"Mmmph, yes Uncle Daemon," you slurred, your words muffled by his thick cock filling your mouth. "Ruin me, use me, make me yours. I want to feel you in every inch of me."

"That's it," he growled, his hips snapping forward, driving his cock deeper into your warm mouth, throbbing. "Take it all, baby girl. Take every inch of your uncle's big, hard cock."

You moaned around him, the sound sending shivers down Daemon's spine. You relaxed your throat, allowing him to slide deeper until the head of his cock was bumping against the back of your throat. Your nose nestled in the thick, wiry curls at the base of his shaft, inhaling the musky, masculine scent of him.

"Gods, you're a natural," Daemon praised, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his release. "Such a good little cocksucker, so eager to please your uncle."

Your eyes fluttered closed, lost in the haze of pleasure as you worked Daemon's cock with your mouth and hand. You could feel the heavy weight of it on your tongue, the pulsing heat of it against the roof of your mouth.

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light, his breath coming in short, sharp pants as he fought to maintain control. He could feel the pressure building in his balls, the urge to bury himself to the hilt in your tight, dripping cunt becoming more and more overwhelming with each passing second.

"Enough," he snarled, yanking you off his cock with a lewd pop. "I can't take it anymore. I need to be inside you, need to feel you wrapped around me like a vice."

With a swift, brutal movement, Daemon flipped you onto your hands and knees, kicking your legs apart to expose the glistening folds of your sex.

The sudden shift in position caused you to let out a surprised yelp. You felt Daemon's strong hands grip your hips, lifting your rear end high in the air. You instinctively arched your back, presenting yourself to him like a bitch in heat. The cool air of the bedchamber kissed your bare flesh, sending goosebumps racing across your skin.

The depraved display sent a bolt of pure lust through Daemon's veins, his cock twitching with the need to claim you, to make you his in the most primal way possible.

"Gods, you're a vision," Daemon growled appreciatively, his emerald eyes roaming hungrily over your upturned ass and dripping cunny. "So wet and ready for me already."

He gave you a sharp smack on the rump, relishing the way you jolted and let out a gasp. The reddening handprint on your skin looked deliciously obscene.

"That's it, present yourself to your uncle like a good little whore," he commanded, lining up his swollen cockhead with your entrance. "Show me how much you need my cock filling this greedy little cunt."

You moaned wantonly, reaching back with one hand to spread herself open for him. Your puffy folds glistened with arousal, practically begging to be stuffed full. The shame of what you were doing only served to heighten your arousal, the taboo nature of your relationship sending electric thrills down your spine.

"Please, Uncle Daemon," you begged, your voice high and needy. "I need you inside me, stretching me, filling me up. I'll do anything, be anything you want me to be."

Daemon let out a low, appreciative chuckle as he stepped up behind you, his large hands gripping your hips with bruising force. "Anything, hmm? We'll see about that."

Without warning, he slammed his cock into you, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. You screamed in ecstasy, your walls clenching around him like a vice as he filled you.

"Fuck, you're tight," Daemon grunted, his hips snapping against your ass as he set a punishing pace. "So fucking tight and wet for me, baby girl. Your little cunt was made for my cock."

You could only moan in response, your body rocking forward with each powerful thrust of Daemon's hips. The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mingling with your cries of pleasure and Daemon's grunts of exertion.

As Daemon pounded into you, one hand snaked around your waist, his fingers finding your swollen clit. He rubbed it roughly, the calloused pads of his fingers sending jolts of electricity through your body.

A broken sob escaped your lips as you felt his fingers rub tight circles around your swollen clit. Hips jerking from the stimulation.

"There she goes," Daemon growled, his fingers working your clit with merciless precision. "My sweet little niece, so responsive, so desperate for her uncle's touch."

You could only moan in response, your head hanging down, your long silver hair cascading over your shoulders. The wet, obscene sounds of your coupling filled the room, a lewd symphony of flesh slapping against flesh and the squelch of your dripping arousal.

You shivered at his praise, your body still humming with pleasure. Despite the shame that threatened to overwhelm you, you couldn't deny how much you had enjoyed being used so thoroughly.

Daemon angled his hips, hitting that sweet spot inside you with each powerful thrust. He could feel your velvety walls rippling around him, milking his cock for all it was worth.

As he looked down he could see a ring of white cream coating the base of his cock, your arousal so evident. He smirked to himself and sped up his pace, fucking you almost brutally.

Daemon's brutal pace showed no signs of slowing, his hips pistoning in and out of your tight heat with relentless force. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed off the stone walls, mingling with your wanton moans and whimpers.

"Look at you," Daemon growled, his voice rough with lust. "My sweet little niece reduced to a mewling, cock-hungry slut. You love this, don't you? Love being used like a cheap whore, love having your uncle's cock stuffing your needy cunt."

You couldn't deny it, not with the way your body was responding to his harsh words and even harsher thrusts. Your back arched, pushing your hips back to meet him thrust for thrust, your nails digging into the fine linens beneath you.

Daemon's hand left your clit, moving up to fist a handful of your long silver hair. He yanked your head back, forcing you to look at him over your shoulder. His eyes were wild, burning with a primal hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

"Who does this cunt belong to?" he snarled, his voice a dark promise. "Who owns your pretty little body, baby girl?"

"You do," you gasped out, the words spilling from your lips unbidden. "It's all yours, Uncle Daemon. I'm yours."

"Damn right, you are," Daemon growled, releasing his grip on your hair to wrap his arms around your waist. He pushed you down onto your stomach and lifted your hips, shifting the angle of his thrusts to strike even deeper, harder, faster.

The new position had you seeing stars, your cries of pleasure resonating off the stone walls. Each thrust sent ripples of ecstasy through your body, your muscles clenching around him like a vice.

"Say it again," Daemon demanded, his voice strained. "Tell me who this pussy belongs to."

"You," you sobbed, your voice high and breathy. "It's yours, Daemon. All yours."

"That's right, baby girl," Daemon growled, his hips slamming into you with renewed vigour.

Your body was trembling beneath him on the silky sheets of your bed. Your tight hole spasming around Daemon's big cock, creaming all over his length. Like a bitch in heat you screamed in pleasure below him, cunt gripping him in a vice.

Daemon's grip tightened on your hips as he drove into you with pure animalistic lust, your cries of pleasure mixing with his grunts of exertion. Bed creaking beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each violent thrust. The feeling of your tight, dripping cunt spasming around him was almost too much to bear. Daemon could feel his release barreling towards him like a freight train, his balls drawing up tight against his body. The filthy sounds of your cries and the obscene squelch of your arousal filling the room only served to heighten his lust.

"That's it, princess," Daemon growled, his hand coming down on your ass in a sharp smack. "Take it all, take every inch of your uncle's big, hard cock."

You moaned wantonly, your hips bucking as he hit that sweet spot deep inside you. Your juices coated his shaft, easing the way as he pounded into you relentlessly.

"Uncle Daemon," you gasped, your voice strained with pleasure. "It's so good, so deep. Don't stop, please don't stop."

Daemon grinned savagely, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigour. He could feel the tension building in his lower belly, the tell-tale tingle in his spine that signalled his impending release.

"Oh, Gods! I'm gonna cum!" You managed to squeal into the sheets, tears starting to stream down your face from the intensity of his thrusts.

"Aw, fuck yes, you are," Daemon growled, his voice a dark promise. "Cum for me, baby girl. Cum all over your uncle's big, hard cock."

His hips snapped forward, driving his cock deep into your convulsing channel. Your cries of ecstasy filled the room, your body shaking with the force of your release.

You could feel your juices squirting out around Daemon's shaft, your inner muscles clenching and fluttering as you rode out the waves of your orgasm. It seemed to go on forever, your vision blurring at the edges, your mind numb from the sheer intensity of it all.

Daemon held you close, his arms wrapping around your trembling form as he continued to thrust into you, prolonging your pleasure. His release was fast approaching, his balls drawing up tight against his body.

"Fuck," he gasped, his voice strained. "Gonna fill you up, gonna pump you full of my seed. Gonna make you mine in every fucking way."

With a final, brutal thrust, Daemon buried himself to the hilt inside you, his cock pulsing as he spilt his hot seed deep within your womb. You could feel it, the way his thick, potent cum coated your inner walls, marking you as his.

As you both came down from your high, Daemon pulled out of you with a lewd pop. He flopped down onto the bed beside you, gathering you into his arms and pulling you close.

You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat as you basked in the afterglow. Despite the taboo nature of your relationship, there was a rightness to being here with Daemon, a sense of belonging that you had never felt with anyone else.

[wholoveseggs]

Homecoming

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen x Reader} You haven't seen your husband since your passionate wedding night, leaving you to doubt his love. Now, three months later, you're round with child and missing him more than ever—until he suddenly returns.

♡♡ This is purely just to get all my daddy Daemon feelings out, I 100% believe he has a breeding kink. ♡♡

3.2k words - Warnings: smut, major breeding kink, slow sex, so so so much fluff, a little bit of angst and Daemon apologizing in bed...

@elijahstwink @starshipcookie @absolutemarveltrash @odairtrqsh @darkened-writer

@cheneyq @fallout-girl219 @nina6708 @evasmlp @sadmonke

@deamonloverrrr @urmomsgirlfriend1 @moonsleep

It was another quiet night, in a bed far too large for one. The wind was gently blowing through the curtains, bringing with it a cool breeze and the smell of the sea. It was late, and everyone was asleep, yet you laid awake, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.

You rolled over onto your side, the silk of the sheets sliding against your bare skin. These days, sleep evaded you, no matter how much you tried. If it wasn't your thoughts keeping you up, it was your changing body and the ever growing life inside of you.

Three months ago you had gotten married to the prince Daemon, a dream of many girls across the kingdom. But your marriage was hardly that. The day after the ceremony you woke up in an empty bed, and hadn't seen your husband since, leaving you to wonder if you had done something wrong.

He had left you no letter, no message. Nothing. Only the memory of your wedding night, the way he touched and kissed you, his sweet whispers of adoration as he made you his. On the loneliest days you would close your eyes and remember it all, his lips on yours, the way his fingers caressed you, the feel of him inside you.

You place your hand on the small bump of your stomach, a smile spreading across your lips. Although it had only been one night, he did his duty and you were pregnant. A piece of him was always with you.

But it wasn't enough.

You longed to see him again, to touch him and be held by him, to tell him of the life growing within you. You wanted so desperately to be with him, but instead you were left with the ghost of his love, a memory that wasn't enough to fill the hole in your heart.

You sighed, trying to push away those thoughts, and attempted to fall asleep, but every time you closed your eyes all you could see was his handsome face. You opened them again and sat up, staring into the darkness.

You could see the light of a torch through the cracks of the door, and the sound of footsteps. You knew exactly who it was, the guard outside your door. His shift was almost over, and soon a new one would be out there, watching over you. There was a muffled conversation, and the sound of someone walking away.

A few moments later the door cracked open, and the torch light poured into the room. Your eyes squinted at the sudden brightness, and as the person entered the room they shut the door.

You were about to give your guard a kindly lecture on waking you up when you noticed that it wasn't the guard who had walked in, but a hooded man. You opened your mouth to call for help, but before you could get a sound out he was at your bedside, his hand covering your mouth.

"Don't scream, my love, it's me." He whispered.

You blinked at the voice, your mind taking a second to process what was happening. Your eyes widened, and you reached for his hand. He took it away from your mouth and intertwined your fingers together, his other hand pulling down his hood.

"Daemon." You breathed, looking up at his face.

The torchlight casted a warm glow on his handsome features, highlighting his strong cheekbones and sharp jawline. His hair was longer than the last time you saw him, hanging past his shoulders, his eyes were dark and clever, looking you over with admiration.

You pulled him towards you, your lips crashing into his. He let out a sigh, a sound that sounded almost pained, and returned your kiss. Then you harshly pushed him away, hitting his chest.

"Where have you been?" You demanded.

"I had matters to attend to." He told you.

"Three months!" You cried. "Three months I waited for you, and you were doing what?"

He smiled and pulled off his cloak, his eyes raking over your form. He reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin.

You wanted to be angry with him, you really did, but the look he was giving you, like he was starved, melted away your resolve. You leaned into his touch and looked up at him through your lashes, a smile tugging at your lips.

"Asshole," You whispered.

"My love." He whispered back, leaning down and placing a kiss to your forehead.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for another heated kiss. You were angry, yes, but seeing him now made all of that fade away. Your ire could wait until the morning.

His lips were gentle and loving, and you were so happy that you had almost forgotten that he had been gone. He kneeled on the bed and pulled you close, his hands cupping your cheeks.

When he pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, smiling and breathing hard.

"I thought you left me," You admitted, your hands gripping his wrists, as though you could keep him there forever by holding on to him.

He hummed, his nose nuzzling against yours and you pressed yourself closer to him, trying to get as much contact as possible.

His large, warm hands moved down to the swell of your stomach. He placed his palms flat against the bump and leaned back, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Did the maesters tell you?" You asked, placing your hands over his.

He nodded, his eyes lifting up to meet yours. "How are you feeling?" He asked, with such gentle kindness that it made your heart melt.

"Big." You answered, laughing slightly. "I can't wear any of my old clothes, and I have to have new ones made all the time. And the way the ladies look at me when I go out..."

He shook his head, a breathy laugh escaping him, his thumbs caressing your skin. It was true that you had changed since the wedding, your body swelling with his child. You were nervous about how he would react, but the softness in his eyes and the way he touched you told you otherwise.

"I wish I could have told you the news myself, it's a shame you had to hear it from some crusty old maester," you said.

"It is a wonderful thing to return home too," he smiled, leaning forward and pressing his lips against yours.

He kissed you deeply, his arms wrapping around your waist. You smiled into the kiss, your fingers weaving through his long, silver hair. You could feel his lips turn up against yours, and you both pulled away.

He looked at you for a moment, his eyes raking over your features, a smirk tugging at his lips. His hands trailed down your sides, sending a wave of heat through you.

"My prince," you said softly, your fingers brushing along his cheekbone. "We've already made a baby. You don't have to do this."

He laughed, and shook his head, a look in his eyes you couldn't decipher. "I forget just how innocent you are," he said, his hands trailing down to your thighs.

“Well, whose fault is that?” You teased, smiling up at your handsome husband.

You sucked in a breath as he leaned down, his lips trailing kisses along your neck, his teeth grazing over your skin.

"It's true, I've been away for too long, my lady wife has forgotten what it is I crave," he breathed against your skin, his lips finding yours once more.

Your hands slid down his shoulders and arms, feeling his muscles. He pulled back slightly and tugged off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor.

"You have gotten bigger as well," you said, running your hands across his chest, feeling the hard muscles.

He smirked, a cocky gleam in his eyes. "Oh?"

"It suits you," you said, a playful smile on your lips.

His hand came to rest on the side of your neck, his fingers caressing your jaw. His thumb brushed against your bottom lip and he leaned in, capturing your mouth with his.

"And you are more beautiful than the day we wed," he said, his voice husky.

"My prince flatters me." You breathed, a blush rising on your cheeks.

His eyes went to the ties on your nightdress, a row of pretty little bows that went down to the valley of your breasts. He tugged at one of the ribbons, the fabric becoming loose.

He pushed it aside and his hand moved up to caress your breast, his thumb rubbing your nipple, causing you to gasp.

"Still as sensitive." He said, a smirk on his lips.

He leaned down and took your other nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, before gently biting down. You tugged hard on his hair, your legs kicking and squirming as he continued to play with you.

"Daemon," you moaned.

He hummed, the vibration causing a wave of pleasure to wash over you. He let go of your nipple, and his mouth moved lower, placing hot kisses along your skin, his hand pushing up your night dress.

"Perhaps a bit more sensitive." He commented, his hand brushing along your thigh.

He hooked a finger into the waistband of your small clothes and pulled them off. You were now naked, your body on full display for him, and he leaned back and admired his work. His hand on the swell of your belly, his thumb tracing over a stretch mark.

"Beautiful." He said, a sincerity in his voice that made your heart skip a beat.

You looked away, suddenly shy. You had only spent one night with him, and now he was here again. His touch, his words, they all still had an affect on you, making your stomach flutter and heart race.

He leaned down, and pressed a kiss to your bump, his hand resting on the side of it, his lips trailing lower. You smiled softly, and ran your fingers through his hair, the silver strands smooth between your fingers.

His hand came to rest on your thighs, gently coaxing your legs open. You watched as he positioned himself between them, his head almost disappearing behind your bump.

His eyes flickered up to yours, and his smirk was all too knowing, causing you to blush and turn away. He leaned forward, his tongue darting out and licking up your slit.

You gasped, your grip on his hair tightening. He did it again, this time focusing his attention on that sensitive little spot he introduced to you on your wedding night. He placed a soft kiss on it, his tongue circling it.

"Dae-ah," you moaned, trying to muffle the sound by pressing a hand over your mouth.

You didn't know if it was the fact that you were pregnant, or maybe that you missed him more than anything, but everything felt different, his touch more intense.

His hands gripped the backs of your thighs, holding you down as his tongue licked and circled you. His mouth moved down and his tongue slid into you, making you arch and cry out. He lapped at your arousal, his tongue going in and out, the sounds he made, the hums and sighs, driving you wild.

He groaned, a sound that vibrated through your entire body, and his tongue went up, swirling around that little spot again, his mouth closing over it.

You moaned his name, your thighs squeezing him, your whole body trembling as your release washed over you.

He placed a few more kisses to the inside of your thighs before rising up, his hair messy and face glistening with you. He wiped his face with his arm and leaned down, his lips capturing yours.

You could taste yourself on him, and you kissed him hard, your hand tangling into his hair, the other reaching down to the ties of his trousers. He helped you undo them, and kicked off his pants.

His hard length sprung free, and you wrapped a hand around it, causing him to let out a shaky moan. He pressed his forehead against yours, his hand cupping your cheek, and his eyes locking onto yours.

You slowly started to stroke him, and he let out another moan, his eyes fluttering closed, his breath hot against your skin.

"My love," he groaned, his hips thrusting into your hand.

You loved the effect you had on him, the control you had. To have the prince of dragonstone, the most dangerous man in the realm, at the palm of your hand, made your heart flutter.

His hand found yours, and he guided it away from his length, a whine leaving your throat. He chuckled and gave you a quick kiss before positioning himself between your legs.

He slowly pushed himself in, causing you both to moan. It hurt a little, just like the first time, but his hands were on your thighs, his thumb caressing your skin, and he slowly pulled out and pushed back in, letting you adjust.

"My love, I'm not going to break," you said.

He smirked and gave a shallow thrust, a gasp leaving you.

"I can't be too careful with what is mine." He said, leaning down and giving you a heated kiss.

He pulled away and rested his forehead against yours, his hand sliding up the length of your leg, coming to rest on your bump, his other hand planted next to your head, holding himself up.

He started to move, his length slowly sliding in and out, the pace slow and gentle. You could feel every inch of him, rubbing against that perfect spot. A soft moan left you, and you reached out, your hands on his chest, feeling the hand planes of muscle underneath his skin.

His thumb caressed your belly, his eyes never leaving your face, studying every detail, memorizing each feature. You felt so exposed under his gaze and turned away, your cheeks flushed.

He smiled, a soft, loving smile, and kissed you.

"How I've missed you, my beautiful wife," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

You looked up at him, seeing nothing but love in his eyes. It was the way he had looked at you at your wedding, the two of you standing there in the sept, whispering promises to each other. The world had disappeared around you, and in that moment you were the only people that existed.

He kissed you again, and began moving a little faster, the sound of his hips meeting yours filling the room. He groaned, his hand still gently stroking your bump.

"I can't believe such a perfect creature could bear my child," he said, his eyes trailing down to where his hand rested.

"Our child," you corrected, giving him a teasing smile.

He hummed, leaning back and wrapping his arms around your waist and helping you into a sitting position. He pulled you onto his lap, and you moaned at the way he was buried deeper inside you.

His lips left open mouth kisses on your shoulders, and his hands rested on your hips, guiding you. You braced yourself on his shoulders, his hands back on your bump as you moved. You knew he liked the feel of it, and he couldn't get enough.

Your name left his lips as you bounced in his lap, his hands cupping your ass, squeezing you. You moaned, your hands sliding into his hair, tugging at the silver locks. You were growing louder, your body humming, that feeling building within you.

"Not too loud, my love," he whispered. "I do not wish for the guards to hear,"

A moan, that was halfway to a laugh escaped you, and he cut it off with a deep kiss. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, as you kept moving, the feeling of your release building.

"For your lovely sounds are only for me," he continued, his voice in your ear.

You let out another shaky moan, his hands squeezing you. He was moving his hips to meet yours, and you could feel him shaking beneath you. His hands gripped your hips tighter, and pulled you harder, his voice soft yet commanding as he talked you closer to your peak.

Your hands gripped his arms and back, and when he said your name, a deep, low groan that sounded almost pained, you toppled over the edge, falling in a pool of ecstasy. All the pent up emotions and frustration that you had been holding in were released, and you let go of a final moan that you muffle in the crook of his neck.

He followed soon after, capturing your lips in a heated kiss and letting out a deep, satisfied moan. You clung to him, afraid that he might disappear if you didn't. His arms were wrapped around your middle, cradling you close to him, his lips pressed to your temple.

The two of you breathed in each other's air, a simple shared breath, your foreheads pressed together, your eyes closed. You could feel his lips on your sweat slicked skin, his fingertips still caressing your bump.

When you both had returned to your senses, he gently laid you back on the bed. He leaned down, the tip of his nose nuzzling against yours, and peppered your face with little kisses. You smiled and let your eyes flutter open, finding him staring at you, a sweet, lovestruck look in his eye.

He grabbed the blanket, and covered your naked form with it, tucking it around you, almost protectively. He crawled under with you,his head resting against your chest, his hand still protectively cradling the swell of your stomach.

You wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and ran your fingers through his hair, smiling. He looked up at you, his eyes sleepy, and he pressed a kiss to your bump.

"I hope it's a boy," you said, continuing to stroke his hair. "With the most handsome features, and a true warrior, like his father."

"Mm," he hummed, his eyes closing, and his arms wrapping around your waist. "I hope it is a girl, a daughter that looks just like her mother."

He was silent for a moment, and you wondered if he had fallen asleep, when his eyes suddenly opened.

"Or perhaps both," he said, his voice serious, a glimmer of something in his eyes.

"Twins?" You laughed. "I don't think I could handle two little dragons running about."

He chuckled, his fingers drawing lazy circles on your skin. "I will be here to help you," he said, his eyes meeting yours. "I am not going anywhere."

"You better not," you warned, poking his chest. "You've kept me waiting long enough."

He laughed again and caught your wrist, bringing your finger to his lips and placing a gentle kiss there. He slid his arms back around you, and pulled you close, your foreheads touching, your noses brushing.

You were content, your heart filled with so much love for him, and as his breathing evened out and his eyelids drooped, you knew he felt the same. You drifted off to sleep, dreaming of what was to come. Of a big family, a happy life, and many more nights just like this one. 

[maidragoste]

Scare

Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader

More of Daemon's Wife AU

Summary: You and Daemon get a scare at Laenor's wedding.

Reblogs, comments and likes are always greatly appreciated. comments always motivate me to continue writing 💖💖

If you have ideas or thoughts for this series you are welcome to share them in my inbox 🤭

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

Daemon is not usually afraid, after all, he is a Targaryen, he has the blood of the dragon, he is "The Rogue Prince", he claimed Caraxes, he fought in tourneys, he was the leader of the golden cloaks and he fought in the war of the Stepstones. A fearful man couldn't do any of that.

But today he really felt afraid at Laenor's wedding. One moment he was talking to his cousin Rhaenys and then the screams were heard. Both of them quickly went on alert and Daemon began to look around the room for you because minutes before you had left the table to dance with one of your cousins. But the prince couldn't find you. Daemon couldn't remember ever feeling so desperate as he tried to get through the crowd of guests to get to you. Irritation grew in him every time someone bumped into him making it harder to find you. Then he finally saw you and got to the reason for all the fuss. Criston Cole was hitting your brother's lover without stopping and a few meters away you were. Daemon saw the determination in your eyes and began to call out to you, but you didn't hear him over the screams of the other guests or you decided to ignore him as you made your way to Criston Cole. You were barely able to hold on to one of the guard's arms before he pushed you away and you ended up on the floor. If it wasn't for Daemon's fear of you and the baby then he would have gone and cut off Criston Cole's fucking head for daring to touch you. But at that moment your husband's priority was the safety and well-being of you and the baby so he took you in his arms and carried you out of that damn wedding while you screamed for Laenor and Joffrey.

Now Daemon and you were alone in his chambers, the maester having left a few minutes ago after assuring the two that the baby was fine.

“I’m fine” you reminded your husband as he remained silent, probably thinking of everything that could have gone wrong. “We’re fine” you took his hand and placed it on your belly despite the baby not kicking yet.

Daemon caressed your belly before leaning down to place a kiss on it, thanking his son for being strong. “You were reckless” he scolded you, turning his attention back to you.

“I was,” you agreed, feeling guilty for not thinking about the baby, but at that moment, all you could think about was helping your brother and Joffrey. You couldn’t stand by and watch them get beaten. But the adrenaline of the moment was wearing off and you were starting to feel overwhelmed by the situation you were in. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to put our baby in danger.”

Daemon’s serious expression fell the instant he saw your eyes begin to fill with tears. If there was one thing he hated, it was seeing you cry.

“Hey, don't cry.” He took your face in his hands and began to tenderly caress your cheeks. “You said it, you're fine and you heard the maester, the baby is fine.” He kissed your forehead. “But if you're so worried about putting yourself and the baby in danger again, then I could lock you in our chambers until you give birth.” Of course he wasn't serious, but he succeeded in his purpose of distracting you.

“Of course you'd like to do that, you want to have me just for you.” A small smile appeared on your lips as you spoke.

“I'm not going to deny it, you know I don't like sharing you with the rest of the world, wife.”

You didn't know if it was Daemon or you who was the first to capture the other's lips. But it didn't matter, what mattered was that for a moment while you kissed and touched each other you were able to forget about the scare you experienced. Daemon and you took refuge in each other's warmth, ready to not let the night end bitterly.

Taglist for all my House of the Dragon works

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[idkyetxoxo]

Daemon Targaryen - Our Little Dragon

Summary - She battles through excruciating labour, consumed by pain and fear, desperate for her husband's presence. As the chaos around her intensifies, his calm arrival becomes her only solace. In the midst of agony, their shared strength will shape their future.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Childbirth, strong language

Word count - 2397

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Daemon! Where is Daemon?!" I cried, my voice breaking, as I clutched the collar of the handmaiden standing before me. Her wide, terrified eyes met mine, but I could barely focus on them. 

A surge of pain ripped through my body, and I moaned, doubling over as another contraction tore through me like a blade.

The girl recoiled from my grip, her hands trembling, and instinctively took a step back. "I do not know, Princess," she whispered, her voice quivering with fear.

I looked around the room, the faces around me blurring in my vision, but their voices grew louder, muddled, a cacophony that only fed the storm of rage rising inside me.

I was drowning in pain, in fear, and in helplessness. My stomach was like a battleground, each wave of agony tearing through my body, but I was determined.

With a growl of frustration, I staggered to my feet. But before I could take another step, several hands reached out to steady me, pulling at my arms, my shoulders, as if they could contain me. 

As if they could control this fury, this pain.

"Back. Away. Now!" I roared, my voice laced with command. I clutched my swollen belly, my body trembling under the weight of another contraction, and my breath came in sharp, desperate gasps. 

The room swirled around me, but I couldn't focus on them. I needed him. I needed Daemon.

Each breath felt like a betrayal, my own body fighting against me, my mind warring with the impossible task of bringing life into this world. 

I had wanted this—had prayed for it—but no one had told me it would feel like this... like breaking into pieces, shattering and trying to put myself back together.

"Find me my fucking husband!" I howled, my forehead pressing against the bedpost, my body quaking with the intensity of it all. 

The frantic movement in the room seemed endless, people darting about as if they could make a difference.

"Princess, perhaps you should lie back down," Nysah, my most trusted handmaiden, murmured gently, her voice calm, almost too calm in the midst of the chaos. 

She stepped closer, her face etched with concern, her hands hovering as if unsure of what to do.

But I didn't want comfort. I didn't want softness. All I wanted was him.

I turned my head, my gaze fierce, and shot Nysah a look that could have withered stone. 

"Nysah, you have served me for eight years. You know me better than anyone in this room. And for that reason alone, I haven't already thrown you out of this chamber," I snapped, my voice low and cold, dripping with the weight of my frustration.

She frowned, taking a step back, and I felt the ache in my body intensify. The contraction was unrelenting, but so was my need to find him. To feel his arms around me. Daemon...

The door to the chamber creaked open, and the room fell into an almost eerie silence. Everyone froze. The air seemed to hold its breath as a figure stepped into the doorway—Daemon.

His presence was immediate, commanding, but there was a certain ease about him, as if he were strolling through a casual afternoon, not amidst the chaos of a woman in labor. 

His eyes flicked over the room, landing on me with an expression that bordered between amusement and concern.

He raised an eyebrow as he took in the scene. "Well, well," he said, his voice dripping with that unmistakable smirk. "Yelling at everyone, are we, my fierce little wife?"

A quiet, collective sigh of relief seemed to ripple through the room as the tension lifted with his words. His command over the situation, even with the chaos around us, was palpable. 

For a moment, I almost hated him for it—he was always so calm, so unruffled—but the sight of him steadied me in a way nothing else had.

I could barely stand, my body racked with another wave of pain, but Daemon was there in an instant, his arms wrapping around me with that familiar strength, his touch grounding me. 

His hand pressed gently to my back, guiding me back toward the bed with the ease of someone who had done this countless times before.

As I sank back onto the soft sheets, the sharp, biting pain eased for a moment, and I allowed myself a deep breath. 

But then, the words slipped out before I could stop them: "Where the fuck were you?"

Daemon's lips quirked, a light laugh escaping him as he carefully tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. 

"Relax, love," he said, his tone warm but teasing. "I was just out retrieving an egg for our little one."

I blinked at him, my mind struggling to make sense of the absurdity of it all. 

"An egg?" I repeated, incredulous, a bitter laugh almost choking me. "How nice. While I feel like I'm being ripped apart from the inside, you're out egg hunting?"

Daemon chuckled softly, shaking his head as he sat beside me on the bed, brushing more strands of hair from my face, his touch gentle, almost reverent. 

"You know I would never leave you if I thought you didn't need me," he murmured, his voice softer now. "But I wanted to ensure that our little dragon has a dragon of their own."

His words, simple yet filled with such affection, made my chest tighten, even as my body screamed with pain. He always had a way of making the impossible seem so... effortless. 

I wanted to snap at him, to remind him that I was the one who had to endure this agony, but in that moment, I couldn't bring myself to.

Instead, I simply closed my eyes, letting the sound of his voice soothe the chaos in my mind. If he could make light of it all, then perhaps I could, too. But only just a little.

"You're insane," I whispered, my hand reaching for his, gripping it tightly as another wave of pain rolled through me.

He laughed again, low and rich, and squeezed my hand. "And yet, I still make sure you're never alone in the madness, don't I?" 

His eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam as he leaned closer, pressing his forehead to mine.

"You're right," I muttered, my breath shaky but steadying. "You do have a way of making everything better."

Daemon smiled, brushing a final kiss across my brow, his voice a soft promise in the midst of the storm. "Just wait, my love. Soon, we'll have a dragon of our own to raise."

The hours seemed to stretch on forever, each one a new battle as the pain intensified, waves crashing over me relentlessly. 

I couldn't tell where one contraction ended and the next began—only that my body felt like it was being torn apart, stretched and strained beyond its limits. 

Yet through it all, Daemon remained at my side, unwavering. His presence was a steady anchor in the sea of chaos, his hands never leaving mine, his voice constantly soothing.

"You're doing wonderfully," he whispered each time I gasped for breath, his fingers gently stroking my palm. "My fierce girl, keep breathing."

His words were a balm, though they did little to quell the fire burning inside me. But I clung to him, to his quiet confidence, because it was the only thing keeping me from losing myself entirely to the pain. 

When the pressure built again, and I could feel the moment coming closer, I wanted to scream at him—ask him why this was so difficult, why my body had to go through such torment to bring our child into the world. 

But I knew he was feeling it too. 

His worry was barely hidden behind his calm demeanour, his eyes darting to the door as though expecting someone to burst in at any moment or perhaps hoping for something that might make it easier for me.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, the moment arrived.

I cried out as the final contraction ripped through me, my body tensing, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I squeezed Daemon's hand so hard I thought I might break it, but he didn't flinch, didn't pull away. His eyes never left mine.

"Almost there, love," he murmured his face inches from mine, his voice a low murmur against the deafening noise of the room.

And then, with one final, soul-shattering push, everything shifted. I felt her—a tiny, warm life slipping into the world. 

I breathed in ragged, exhausted breaths as the handmaiden placed her on my chest, her small, wriggling form warm and soft against my skin.

Daemon's hand gently brushed my damp hair from my face, his voice barely a whisper. 

"It's a girl," he said, his eyes wide with awe as he looked down at the tiny creature in my arms. "A little dragon."

I gazed down at the baby in my arms, her face red and scrunched in that unmistakable newborn way. She had tufts of silver hair, her tiny fingers already clutching at the fabric of my gown. 

Her eyes were still closed, but there was something so perfect about her, so fragile, so ours, that I couldn't help the tear that slipped down my cheek.

"Daeneys," I breathed softly, the name slipping from my lips as if it had always been there, waiting for this moment. It felt right, the name resonating deep within me. 

Daeneys. She was our little flame, our legacy.

Daemon smiled, his hand brushing over her tiny head. "Daeneys," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion, as though the weight of the moment was finally settling over him. 

He leaned down, kissing my forehead gently, and I could feel the quiet pride radiating off of him. "She's perfect, my love."

I nodded, blinking back tears, my exhaustion making everything feel hazy and distant, but there was a fierce joy in my chest that no pain could ever erase. 

"She is," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "She's ours."

Daemon carefully reached over, taking Daeneys gently from my arms. His hands were steady as he cradled her, and I watched in awe as he looked down at the tiny girl in his arms. 

There was a look in his eyes—so full of wonder, so full of love—that I had never seen before. It was the look of a father, and in that moment, I knew he would be everything for her.

"She's going to be a great woman, just like her mother," Daemon said softly, a small, teasing smile tugging at his lips as he looked up at me. 

His voice was warm, full of pride, but there was a spark of mischief in his eyes as if he knew the future ahead of us would be as full of challenges as it was of love.

I laughed weakly, the sound soft and unsteady as I watched him with our daughter. 

"Let's hope she doesn't inherit my temper," I joked, feeling an unfamiliar sense of peace settle in my chest, the weight of the pain slipping away.

Daemon's laugh was low, filled with affection as he brushed his thumb across Daeneys's tiny hand. 

"If she has your temper," he said with a wink, "she'll be a force to be reckoned with."

I watched as Daemon cradled our daughter with a tenderness that left me breathless. It was then that I realized: this little girl, our little Daeneys, was not just the beginning of something new for us. 

She was the bridge between two worlds, a little dragon who would carry both our legacies, and perhaps even forge her own path. 

A new chapter had begun, and I couldn't wait to see what it held for us.

Daemon leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered, "I promise you, she'll never be alone. Not while I'm here."

I nodded, my hand slipping into his as I watched him with our daughter. It was over. The pain, the uncertainty—it had all led to this perfect moment.

Daemon moved gently as if the world might shatter if he moved too quickly. 

Cradling Daeneys in his arms, he carefully walked toward the small cradle beside the bed, where the freshly acquired dragon egg lay. Its smooth, cool surface gleamed softly in the dim light, an unspoken promise of the future. 

He placed Daeneys down, her tiny body nestled comfortably in the soft blankets, and for a moment, he stood there, gazing down at both her and the egg with a look of profound pride.

I shifted in the bed, exhausted but unable to tear my gaze away. 

My heart swelled as Daemon reached out to tenderly adjust the blankets around Daeneys, making sure she was settled, her small chest rising and falling with each breath. 

His hands were careful, deliberate, as though he feared disturbing the fragile peace of this moment.

Then, slowly, he turned his eyes to me, his lips curling into a small, satisfied smile. "She's perfect," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion, as he looked from our daughter to the egg in her cradle.

I nodded, my heart full, my body still heavy from the hours of labour. "She is," I whispered, my voice hushed, reverent.

Daemon stepped back a bit, just enough to take in the sight of the two things that would forever tie us together—the tiny, fragile girl who had changed everything, and the egg beside her, a symbol of the future we would build for her.

He glanced down at Daeneys, then at the egg. "One day, our little dragon will have her own dragon," he said, his tone light, yet full of a quiet certainty. "She'll grow into her name."

I smiled, watching the two of them—Daemon, so sure, so steady, and Daeneys, so fragile yet full of promise. 

I could already see the strength in her, the legacy we would build for her, and I knew without a doubt that she would carry it forward in ways we couldn't even imagine yet.

Daemon brushed a hand through his hair, still gazing down at the cradle, his fingers brushing over the egg. 

"Our little dragon and her dragon," he repeated, his voice soft, almost a vow. 

And for a fleeting moment, the world outside that room faded away, leaving just the three of us—Daemon, me, and our daughter—and I knew that whatever came next, we would face it together. 

Proud, unbroken, and with a future ahead that no one could take from us.

A/n - Not my fav tbh I didn't really know what direction it was going until I finished so it may be a bit all over the place.

[novaursa]

A Flame All Her Own

- Summary: Caraxes always knows how to snatch all your attention for himself. Which leaves Daemon jealous of his own dragon. 

- Pairing: sister!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: the bold and the beautiful

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The morning air is thick with the salt of the Narrow Sea as you stand by the cliff edge, Caraxes sprawled before you, his great, sinuous body stretched luxuriously along the rocks. His scales glisten, the deep crimson reflecting in the morning sun as his slitted eyes, always watchful, follow your every movement. The dragon’s head rests lazily beside you, large enough that one of his breaths could likely knock you off your feet, yet gentle as he huffs softly, nuzzling your hand as you scratch just beneath his horned jaw.

“You’re spoiling him,” comes Daemon’s voice from behind, laced with a tone that’s both disapproving and… sulking? You smirk without turning around, knowing full well what that look on his face must be: arms crossed, brow slightly furrowed, mouth drawn into that familiar pout that’s often mistaken for mere arrogance but, today, has a hint of jealousy.

“Am I?” you respond, your voice light with feigned innocence as you continue to scratch Caraxes. The dragon rumbles in pleasure, tilting his head like a hound angling for more affection. You can feel Daemon’s eyes drilling into your back, but you don’t let up, laughing softly as Caraxes leans closer, nearly knocking you sideways in his enthusiasm.

“Yes, you are,” Daemon steps closer, his dark cloak billowing slightly as he stands beside you, looking down at his dragon with mild disdain. “He’ll be insufferable now, demanding pets and scratches like some slobbering mutt.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” you tease, glancing at Daemon. “You’re as spoiled as Caraxes is.”

Daemon’s eyes narrow at the comparison, though a glimmer of amusement tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Spoiled, am I?”

Caraxes’s head shifts, his large, amber eyes drifting from you to his rider as if sensing Daemon’s displeasure. He rumbles again, a deep sound that vibrates the rock beneath your feet, and Daemon gives his dragon a flat look.

“Not you too, you great overgrown lizard,” Daemon mutters. “I am your rider, remember? Mine, not hers.”

Caraxes blinks slowly, looking almost unimpressed. You swear, for a brief moment, that the dragon’s gaze shifts back to you with what could only be called affection. It’s as if he’s saying, “Oh, but she’s my favorite.” You can’t help but laugh at Daemon’s expression.

“I think he’s simply decided that I give better scratches,” you say, grinning.

Daemon arches a brow, eyes glinting with a mixture of challenge and feigned affront. “Is that so?” He steps closer, nudging you out of the way so he can place a hand on Caraxes’s scales, patting his dragon’s neck with exaggerated enthusiasm. “You like me, don’t you, boy?” he asks, scratching roughly—too roughly, if Caraxes’s sudden flick of his tail and indignant huff are anything to go by.

“See?” you laugh, folding your arms as you watch with a smirk. “Gentleness, Daemon. Perhaps Caraxes prefers a softer touch.”

Daemon looks at you with a pointed glare. “Are you suggesting I’m not gentle?”

“Oh, Daemon, of course not,” you reply, lips twitching as you fight a smile. “You’re a Targaryen knight in shining armor.”

“Knight, indeed,” Daemon snorts, but there’s a glimmer of mirth in his eyes as he takes your bait. He shifts closer, one arm snaking around your waist, pulling you to him with a quick, possessive motion that sends a thrill down your spine. “Tell me, then. Should I be jealous of my own dragon? Or are you so starved for attention that you’ll take affection where you can get it?”

His words are laced with mock offense, but his hand holds you firmly, his thumb brushing against your waist in a way that belies his teasing tone.

“Jealous?” You raise a brow, feigning surprise. “Of Caraxes?”

He leans closer, voice dropping to a murmur. “Perhaps I ought to start breathing fire to gain your favor, then.”

You tilt your head, amused by the thought. “Imagine how well that would go at court,” you muse. “The Rogue Prince, reduced to petty flames for his sister’s affection.”

Daemon chuckles, the sound warm and rumbling, yet his hand on your waist tightens. “I’d reduce more than just my pride to flames if it meant keeping your attention on me.”

Caraxes huffs suddenly, a low rumble that sounds suspiciously like laughter, if a dragon could laugh. He lowers his head to nose at your shoulder, nudging Daemon’s hand away in the process as if to say, “She’s mine, actually.” You burst out laughing, leaning into Caraxes’s scaled cheek, feeling the warmth radiate from his skin.

“Seems like he’s made his choice,” you say with a sly smile, watching Daemon’s face flicker between exasperation and humor.

“Oh, has he?” Daemon drawls, arching a brow as he watches you and Caraxes, clearly unimpressed. “Well, perhaps I should be jealous, then. I might have to fight him for your favor.”

You laugh, raising a hand to smooth over Daemon’s arm. “Poor Daemon,” you tease, your tone laced with affection. “Unseated by your own dragon.”

He rolls his eyes, though the warmth in his gaze softens his expression. “If Caraxes intends to keep you for himself, he should remember who his true rider is.”

Caraxes turns his head slightly, eyeing Daemon with a look that, impossibly, feels smug. You laugh again, patting the dragon’s neck in reassurance. “Don’t worry, Caraxes. There’s room enough for both of you.”

Daemon grunts, slipping an arm around your shoulders, drawing you closer as he casts a sidelong glance at Caraxes. “You’re lucky I tolerate you, you red menace,” he mutters, though the fondness in his voice is unmistakable.

The dragon lets out a huff, almost as if he’s rolling his eyes, and settles his head back down, clearly satisfied with his small victory. And as you lean into Daemon’s side, his arm wrapped securely around you, you catch the slight smile on his lips. For all his talk, the Rogue Prince is more than happy to share your affections—even if it means indulging in a rivalry with his own dragon.

[lonelyvampx]

[xx-dinah-writing-xx]

Let the Dragons mourn him

Daemon Targaryen x reader

angst

A/N: Hi! It’s me again… with another Daemon angst. Oh, how I love to write about suffering. If it hurts, I probably enjoyed it. Sorry not sorry. Enjoy the pain, babes.

————

You wake to the sound of waves crashing against the Blackwater Bay cliffs, though you are nowhere near the shore. It is only the wind howling through the broken shutters of your chamber that mimics the sea. The cold seeps through the stone walls, biting at your skin even beneath the layers of furs piled on the bed. The fire in the hearth has died, reduced to a sickly glow, but you make no move to revive it. There is no point. The warmth you once knew has long since left this room. Left you. Left with him.

The silence is a cruel companion. You used to welcome the quiet moments, the ones where Daemon would rest his hand on your thigh beneath the feasting table or trace the curve of your spine with a lazy, possessive finger while you read in bed. Now, silence is an open wound. It screams louder than any battlefield cry. It reminds you of the emptiness he left behind, the chasm in your chest that widens with every passing day. Every time you hear his name in the Red Keep’s halls, spoken in passing by servants who have no idea they are cutting you to pieces, the pain feels new.

He left with no warning. Not a letter. Not a word. Just the cold imprint of his body on the sheets beside you and the fading scent of dragonfire and leather. The morning after, Rhaenyra came to your solar with downcast eyes and trembling lips, speaking of war councils and rebellion, of allegiances forged in blood and ambition. Daemon had flown to Harrenhal, they said, to gather forces. To carve out a new stronghold for the blacks. You barely heard her. All you could think of was the way his hand cupped the side of your neck when he kissed you. The promise he made, low and rough against your skin, about never leaving your side again. How easily he had broken it.

You do not cry anymore. The tears dried days ago, maybe weeks. You have stopped keeping count. There is only bitterness now. Only questions. Was it so easy for him to forget you? To ride Caraxes into the sky and cast you away like a worn-out sword? You tell yourself he left because of duty, because of Viserys’s ghost whispering in his ear, because Rhaenyra needed him more. But that lie is brittle, cracking under the weight of your aching heart. Because if he truly loved you, would he have left without a single farewell?

The maids avoid you now. You snap at them too easily. You do not eat what they bring. The meat goes cold. The bread hardens. They whisper of madness, of grief turned sour, of yet another Targaryen consumed by dragonblood fire. You do not care. Let them talk. Let them say you have lost your mind. Perhaps you have. How could you not when every inch of the Keep reminds you of him? The training yard where you first watched him fight, shirtless and wild, like a god made flesh. The corridor outside the Small Council chamber, where he once pushed you against a column and kissed you until your legs gave out. The Dragonstone, where you said the words, quiet and fervent, that you were his and only his.

You still are.

You hate that part the most.

Even now, you still feel tethered to him. Bound by an invisible thread that stretches across the realm, tugging at your soul with every heartbeat. You see him in your dreams, eyes burning like twin stars, lips twisted in that knowing smirk that always saw through your defenses. In those dreams, he touches you like he used to, rough and reverent all at once, and whispers things that make you ache. Then you wake, and the ache becomes real. An open cavity where your heart should be.

When the letter finally arrives, it is sealed in black wax and smells faintly of soot. The ink is smudged. The words are few.

I am alive. Do not wait for me.

That is all.

You read it once, then again, then again until the parchment is damp from your clenched fingers. The rage does not come. Only a heavy, suffocating numbness. You wonder where he is. If he wrote it by firelight in some drafty, ancient tower. If his hand trembled. If he thought of you afterward or if he simply went to bed with a sword beside him and sleep untroubled by the ghosts he left behind.

You press the letter to your lips, once. Just once. Then you throw it into the hearth.

The flames roar to life.

That night, you dream of him again. But this time, you are the one who leaves. You walk away from his outstretched hand, his plea for forgiveness, his wounded gaze. You keep walking even when he begs. You walk until the dream burns to ash.

When morning comes, the silence is still there. But it is quieter somehow. Less cruel. You pull on a gown without help, ignoring the dust that clings to the sleeves. You comb your hair. You walk out of the room and do not look back.

He may return one day, cloaked in ash and blood, eyes dark with regret. But you will not be waiting.

Let the dragons mourn him.

You are done.

[anakin-skybreaker]

Ser Criston Cole miraculously survives yet again:

[moonlight-joy]

The Rogue’s Claim

Fandom: House of Dragon

Summary: You are a noblewoman from a powerful Valyrian house that rivals the Targaryens. Your betrothal to another man doesn’t sit well with Daemon, who has desired you for years. On the eve of your wedding, Daemon sneaks into your chambers with an outrageous proposal.

Pairing: Reader/Daemon Targaryen

The grand halls of your family’s estate shimmered with opulence. Gilded candelabras lined the walls, casting a golden glow over the silk tapestries that depicted the glory of your Valyrian lineage. Tomorrow, the estate would host a wedding—your wedding. Yet as the eve of your union approached, you felt no joy, no anticipation. Only dread.

You sat by the window of your chambers, the soft light of the moon spilling over your silver hair, a trait that marked your Valyrian heritage. The weight of your betrothal hung heavy on your heart. It was a strategic match, one that would secure your family’s power and elevate their standing even further. But it was not a match of your choosing.

And it was not with him.

Daemon Targaryen. The Rogue Prince. The man who had haunted your thoughts and your dreams for years. His presence had always been magnetic, his charm as dangerous as the fire that ran through his veins. You had known from the start that he was trouble. Yet, no matter how much you tried to bury your feelings, Daemon had ignited a flame within you that refused to die.

Tonight, that flame would consume you.

The soft creak of the door startled you from your thoughts. You turned sharply, your heart pounding as a shadow slipped into the room. The firelight caught on silver hair and violet eyes, and you knew instantly who it was.

“Daemon,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “What are you doing here?”

He smirked, the corner of his mouth curling in that infuriatingly confident way. “You didn’t think I’d let you go so easily, did you?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, though your words lacked conviction. “If my family finds you…”

“Let them find me,” he interrupted, stepping closer. His voice was low, dangerous, filled with the kind of promise that made your pulse race. “If I can’t have you, no one will.”

You stood, your hands clutching the fabric of your gown as if it could anchor you. “Daemon, please. Tomorrow, I—”

“Tomorrow, you’ll bind yourself to a man you don’t love,” he growled, his eyes blazing with anger and desperation. “A man who doesn’t deserve you. Do you think I’ll stand by and watch that happen?”

Tears stung your eyes as his words cut through you. “And what would you have me do?” you asked, your voice breaking. “If I leave with you, I lose everything.”

Daemon reached for you, his hands warm and steady as they cupped your face. “No,” he said, his tone softening. “You gain everything. You gain freedom. You gain love. You gain me.”

Your breath hitched as his words settled over you. For years, you had dreamed of this moment, of him choosing you, fighting for you. Yet the weight of duty and family loyalty bore down on you like chains.

“They’ll never forgive me,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “My family… the realm…”

“Let them burn,” Daemon said fiercely. “You are fire itself. You don’t belong to them. You belong to me, as I belong to you.”

The intensity in his gaze, the raw vulnerability beneath his defiance, broke something inside you. Tears slipped down your cheeks, and Daemon’s thumb gently wiped them away. “Say the word, and we’ll leave tonight,” he urged. “We’ll run far away from all of this.”

“And where would we go?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

“Anywhere,” he replied. “Everywhere. As long as we’re together.”

Your heart warred with your mind. The life you had been raised to embrace, the expectations placed upon you—they all paled in comparison to the man standing before you, offering you his heart and his freedom.

Finally, you whispered, “Take me away from here.”

The night air was crisp as you and Daemon slipped through the shadows of your family’s estate. Without dragons to carry you, the journey ahead would be long and treacherous. But Daemon had planned for this. Two horses waited just beyond the gates, their breaths misting in the cold night air.

Daemon helped you mount, his hands lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. “Stay close to me,” he said, his voice firm. “No matter what happens.”

“I will,” you promised, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and exhilaration.

The two of you rode through the night, the sound of hooves echoing against the silence. The world seemed to blur around you, the weight of your decision pressing against your chest. Yet, for the first time in years, you felt alive.

As the journey stretched on, you found solace in Daemon’s presence. Around campfires under starlit skies, he spoke of a future where no one could dictate your fate. His words painted a vision of freedom, of a life where you could simply be together without the weight of expectation.

“We’ll make a new life,” Daemon said as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon. “One where no one can tell us who to be or how to love.”

For the first time in years, you felt hope bloom in your chest. The path ahead was uncertain, but with Daemon by your side, you knew you could face anything.

“I’m yours,” you said, turning to look at him. “And you are mine.”

Daemon’s smile was soft, his eyes filled with a love that burned brighter than dragon fire. “Always,” he vowed.

Days turned into weeks as the two of you made your way farther from the reach of your family. Each village and town you passed through seemed to blur into the next, but the freedom you felt was intoxicating. For the first time in your life, you weren’t just surviving—you were living.

One evening, as the two of you rested near a quiet stream, Daemon handed you a small, carved trinket—a dragon made of polished obsidian. “I saw this in the last town,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “It reminded me of you.”

You turned the small figure over in your hands, touched by the thoughtfulness of the gesture. “Because I’m as stubborn as a dragon?” you teased, smiling.

“No,” he said, his gaze locking with yours. “Because you’re as fierce and beautiful as one.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. “And you’re impossible,” you whispered against his mouth. “But I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Despite the joy you found in each other, the shadow of your family’s reach loomed ever-present. One fateful day, as you and Daemon rested at an inn far from the capital, a rider arrived bearing your family’s sigil. You spotted him through the window, the sight sending a chill down your spine.

“They’ve found us,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Daemon was at your side in an instant, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Let them come,” he said, his voice a low growl. “They’ll regret it.”

You placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. “We can’t fight them, Daemon. Not here. Innocent people will get hurt.”

His jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Then we’ll leave. Again.”

And so, the two of you vanished once more into the night, leaving behind the life you had started to build. But even as the road stretched endlessly before you, one thing remained constant: the love you and Daemon shared. It was a fire that refused to be extinguished, no matter how many forces tried to snuff it out.

As the sun set on another day, you turned to Daemon and said, “Thank you. For choosing me. For fighting for me.”

He pulled you into his arms, his lips brushing against your forehead. “I’ll always choose you,” he said. “No matter what it takes.”

And in that moment, you knew that as long as you had Daemon, you had everything you needed.

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[talesofhightower]

olivia cooke in a suit.. absolutely