#daemon imagine

[lady-phasma]

I've had this headcanon that if Viserys and Daemon had had a little sister, Daemon would have wanted to marry her, instead of her marrying Viserys, as would have been the custom since he's the eldest. In my mind, he would have done whatever it took to have her.

What do you think of that?

Hi! ilysm! I have been saving this like dessert. You have no idea! Is it my birthday because this feels like a birthday present!

Targaryen weirdness aside, I am so here for this! You have broken my brain but in the best way possible. Why did I immediately think of her as a spitfire, feisty and outspoken like Rhaenyra? What if she didn't want to marry Viserys?

You know, I have this vague headcanon that Daemon really never wanted the crown and if I followed that path I could totally see him telling King's Landing to fuck off and maybe take lil Sis off to the Stepstones or Dragonstone.

My mind is racing and I have all the thots. What if she were the middle child? Born between them? I think Viserys is four years older than Daemon in the book, so what if she were always protecting her baby bro? You have put the most adorable brain rot in my head. I know, I know, you said younger sister, but I just imagined her around 14 tending to her 12 year old brother's skinned knee after he fell in the training yard. How it would probably keep Daemon from being married at 16 if she were older. I love Rhea, but we all know that was a poor match.

But younger or older I had the cutest thought about his first tourney and asking for her favor.

The "he would have done whatever it took to have her" part - 100% agree! I know how much he loves his brother, but he would pull some shady, underhanded shit. Even if him and Sis hadn't slept together, he could easily lie about her being pregnant, we've seen him do it in canon.

Or throwing some helpless female cousin at Vizzy so he could would be distracted and maybe change his mind or fall in love. The possibilities are nearly endless considering Daemon's flexible morals.

I hope you know I am going to be thinking about this all the time now because I am in love with this. You are amazing! I know it's not a new au and other people have written him with a sister but I want to know more about what you see unfolding too. I bet you have some great ideas since you've been thinking about this longer. I am literally grinning from ear to ear.

[aemondtargaryenonlyfans]

NOCTURNAL WORSHIP.

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; dub/non-con, somnophilia, canon typical incest/targcest (uncle/niece), p in v, fingering, possessive and dark (or rather canon) Daemon

WORDS: 1.2 K

NOTES: Something older I had posted with another blog.

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

A deep slumber has overtaken you after a day full of lessons in the tongue of your ancestors, and an hours long flight on the back of your precious mount. Deep enough that not even the creaking door leading to one of the secret passageways of Maegor‘s Holdfast is able to get you to stir awake. 

Not quite so stealthy as one might know him, the man they dub the Rogue Prince steps into your chambers, his heart beating fast with the blood pumping straight down to his cock upon spotting you laying on your side, sound asleep despite his intrusion. 

It’s almost ridiculous how hard his cock gets the closer he stalks towards your canopy bed, straining uncomfortably against the laces in the front of his breeches. “Ñuha dōna lēkianna,“ he drawls with a strain to his voice, the predatory gaze of his lilac eyes taking in your sleeping frame. My sweet niece. 

A devilish smirk that’s usually only reserved to the people that dare to challenge him is draped across his lips, growing as he slowly peels the Quartheen silk sheets off your body. Only a fool would miss the fact that you’re not wearing any undergarments beneath the rather flimsy, creamish nightgown you wear, clearly indicating that you have listened to your uncle prior to your departure to your quarters. 

‘Expect me at the Hour of the Owl, sweet girl,’ he had said to you as your lesson ended. ‘And I shall teach you what is expected of you on your wedding night.’ And the sheepish nod and the blush on your cheeks let him know you truly endorsed it. 

Daemon sits down on the bed next to you and brushes his fingers over your skin, starting at your knee to push the nightgown up and reveal your bare cunt, glistening with your arousal for the long-awaited. His deft fingers drag through your folds, circling your sensitive pearl.

A quiet sound slips past your slightly parted lips, resembling something between a moan and a whimper, and in your sleepy state he finds you snuggling against him to inhale his comforting scent, your hand resting on his stomach and your face buried in his side.

His fingers toy with your pearl briefly before he gently nudges you over to lie on your back, parting your legs to grant him better access to what lies between them. Ghosting the tips of his fingers along your navel, he trails them down again to ease them inside your cunt, pushing in and out to prepare your maiden core for him.  

The thread of restraint he’s held before grows thinner and thinner with your walls starting to clench steadily around his digits, practically sucking them in and begging for more. And when he feels your small hand fisting his tunic, pulling him closer with your hips rutting meekly against his hand? That’s the moment it snaps.

Withdrawing his fingers from your cunt, he brings them up to his lips, sucking them clean of your essence. Any rational thought is quit with the taste of your arousal spreading over his tongue, making him long for more. 

He climbs between your legs, sitting back on his haunches as he undoes his breeches and frees his cock from its confines. There’s not a second wasted by him,  burying himself inside of you with such urgency in one, swift thrust. 

All efforts not to wake you up are fruitless as he increases the pace of his thrusts, snapping his hips in and out of you over and over again, not able to hold back any longer. 

The hazy glimmer in your eyes as you blink up at him indicates that you have a hard time processing what is happening, although your body perfectly knows with quiet moans and whimpers toppling past your parted lips. 

“K… Kepus?” you mumble, having trouble speaking with the burning of your cunt struggling to accommodate his size clouding your thoughts. You blink once, twice, to allow your eyes to adjust to the dim light the moon casts through your chambers windows.  

Daemon doesn’t stop his ministrations, if anything, your dazed reaction only manages to spur him on, feeding the fire that courses through his veins. He dips down, pressing his chest flush to yours and putting his weight onto you, caging you in between his arms with no way to escape. 

Your uncle rests his forehead against yours, stopping his movements briefly. “I told you I would come, didn't I?” 

Biting your bottom lip, you momentarily close your eyes at the proximity. Opening them again, you nod your head and stare up at him with a wide, innocent gaze. “Y… Yes.”

“And you want to learn from me, do you not?” It isn’t a question, more a coercion for you to give him what he wants. “About the… wifely duties you must perform for your future husband.” 

You nod again, speaking in feigned confidence, “yes.”

His words are very much that of truth. More than once have you thought about him in ways that are not proper for the youngest daughter of the King, especially after your older sister has told you about the little foray she and your uncle went on that ended in one of the brothels of the city.

Daemon starts to grind his hips against yours, causing the pressure inside of you to become more and more notable — until your peak catches you in an ambush. 

Your body acts on its own as you arch your back against his sturdy frame, parting your legs just a bit more to willingly rut your hips in rhythm with his, chasing the pleasure. 

Not one coherent thought runs through your head as your body works itself through the several emotions and trembles that soar through you, suddenly not so tired anymore. 

You‘re not so sure what to expect as he proclaims his desire to spill inside of you, yet you eagerly accept, damned be the repercussions, and bite through the overstimulation to chase the addictive feeling of his throbbing cock. 

Tipping his head back, your uncle releases a groan so raspy the bump in his throat twitches, the sight causing a renewed wave of your arousal to drip down his shaft, forming a creamy ring around the base. 

Only once the thrusting of his hips ceases, you‘re able to feel the flimsy pulsating of his cock, spending itself inside of you. 

“That’s it–” His words catch in his throat as his head topples forwards. 

Meeting your gaze, he gets so lost in the blissed out expression on your face that he knows there is no going back now — not when he just got a taste of you, his darling niece. 

He presses a kiss to your temple as he pulls out, the uncomfortable feeling of loss causing you both to grimace. Climbing off the bed to readjust his trousers, he can‘t seem to take his eyes off of you. 

“I expect you, tomorrow night, to come to my chambers,” he states bluntly and nonchalantly, walking towards the door he came through before. “Your husband will not be gentle on the first night of your marriage, lēkianna, and I think it is only fair that I teach you a few more things. So when the time comes, you‘re well prepared.”

With these words, he closes the secret door behind him, leaving you all by yourself. Where you have been in a very deep slumber before, you struggle to fall back asleep again, mind plagued by what tomorrow will bring for you. 

Daemon Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @schniiipsel @avalyaaa @baizzhu @yn-jackson

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Week three of the prompt event by @hotd-bigbang

Pairing: Viserys x Daemon

Themes: angst-ish

Warnings: none

Word count: 238 words

Prompt: “Better to reign in Hell, than to serve in Heaven.” (Paradise Lost)

"So now you call yourself king. King of the Narrow Sea. You cannot have the Iron Throne, so you call yourself king of sand and stone, of barren lands and angry seas."

Viseys was shocked. Very little of his brother's deeds shocked him, but this, what he had gone and accepted, the title he now uses for himself... 

"Yes," Daemon replied with a flourish, his voice thick with newfound authority. He was no longer speaking to his brother as a leal subject; he was now speaking to him as an equal. "I am now a king, as you say, of sand and stone, of barren lands and angry seas. But I am a king still, and I intend to keep it that way. Whether you make peace with it or no, it is of no concern to me."

Viserys would have risen in anger had it not been for the pain that had been plaguing him since before dawn. 

"The Dornish will not take kindly to a dragon so close to their shores," he spat. 

Daemon shrugged. "True. But they may think differently if that dragon guards their backs."

"Why?" This was all too much, even for one such as Viserys. "Why do you do this?"

"Because it is better than spending the rest of my days serving on my hands and knees," Daemon answers quickly, eager and impatient to get on with his day. "Good day, brother."

[dreamlandcreations]

Imagine Daemon being infinitely amused when you make a scandalous comment to Alicent

Imagine Daemon being infinitely amused when you make a scandalous comment to Alicent who was being a cunt during the celebratory dinner that the King ordered for his family in the event of the birth of your sister's third Strong son.

The Queen's prayer was another not-so-sly remark to Rhaenyra but this comment involved you too so your response was deliberately extra shameless.

"May the Mother bless both princesses with many true heirs," she murmured.

Pretending to be in the belief that she finished, you rise from your seat a little, making an intentionally loud noise with the sliding chair and grab the wine from the opposite side of the table, from right in front of her.

Alicent looks at you with dread as you pour yourself a drink and reply to her taunting. "Yes, well, don't you worry about that, dear. Daemon and I are fucking at every chance so it is bound to happen sooner rather than later."

Your husband chuckles openly while Rhaenyra looks down to hide her smile. The Hightowers are looking at you with a mortified expression, even as Daemon pulls you down back to your seat and leans in to kiss you while he is still unable to hold back his laughter.

[buckybarnesb-tch]

Hello

I love your alpha house of the dragon fics.

Please we need more.

So much more Alpha Aemond or Alpha Daemon.

So good. -=]

I want to do more Alpha Daemon and Aemond both, I will probably be writing a sequel to the Daemon one.

I want to write a lot more for Daemon, if you have any requests, just let me know.

[ajthefujoshi]

She's back, if you know who I'm talking about be on your guard and be careful.

[marthawrites]

I just finished reading "The Gift That Keeps Giving" and omg the way you wrote Daemon is just 🥵😘🤌🏽!!! That said, if your requests are open, I can get you an imagine/oneshot rough nsfw Mean Dom!Daemon x wife poc! fem reader, where they have a great relationship, but reader is the bold and sassy type. And one day she ends up doing something (on purpose) that makes him really , like really really angry (the kind of latent anger that almost makes him take Caraxes and burn everything) but instead he takes it out on the person in charge (reader in this case). With a lot of degradation, spanking, choking, hair pulling and all the kinks you want (be as nasty and bold as possible please🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽 I have a very big thirst for this man and I can't help myself, sorry🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️) With aftercare and a fluffy at the end please? (feel free to ignore and sorry for my english)

Hello sweet anon! I love that you enjoyed "The Gift That Keeps Giving". I appreciate your patience and I hope this lil smutty story tickles your fancy!

Punishment

Daemon Targaryen x POC wife reader

Word count: 1.9k+

About: Just because you're in the honeymoon phase with the Rogue Prince doesn't mean you can escape a proper punishment for disrespect.

Includes: Explicit sexual content featuring everything listed in the request, as well as breeding kink

Note: Hello lovely reader! This is porn with very little plot. I urge you to re-read the request to make sure rough themes are something you'll get a tickle from reading. As always, please enjoy! ♥

-

"You're both dismissed. Leave us. Lest you wish to hear me punish my wife," Daemon said curtly to the guards outside your marriage chamber. He held you firmly by the back of your neck, and the tension of his jaw had both guardsmen bowing before scurrying off.

If you could go back in time – even a mere fifteen minutes – you would. You'd seen your husband angry before, but never quite like this.

Before the guards made it to the corridor's bending curve, the heavy door to your shared quarter opened and slammed closed. Silence followed.

Once inside the room, Daemon's grip around you tightened. "I suppose you think you're terribly funny," he sneered at you, purple eyes burning like the center of a flame. Free hand loosened his belt as he maintained a steady gaze with your umber eyes. 

You hissed beneath your breath at the tightness of his grip. The pads of his fingers dug into the smooth flesh of your neck, the slim muscles and tendons straining against his unwavering hold. "You're hurting me. Let go," you said lowly, eyes blazing in a mirror of his own. Both hands lifted to his forearm in an attempt to push it away. It was in vain, however, for he was much stronger than you and he barely budged against your touch. "I said–,"

" –I heard what you said." He released the back of your neck in order to grip the back of your head; your hair a single thick rope of carefully braided tresses. Yanking, he forced your attention up to him. "I've been too easy on you, wife, to think you can run your cunty little mouth like that."

A furious blush rushed to your cheeks. "You Targaryens and your fragile egos," you snapped, daring and bold, glaring at him straight on. A dull ache prickled your scalp and you did your best to ignore it. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing his aggression pained you. 

"Fragile egos," he scoffed and finally released your screaming hair. "Maybe today will be when I fuck a dragon inside you. Grace you with the gift of carrying a silver haired babe. Perhaps then you'll understand the fury of a Targaryen."

Your marriage to the Rogue Prince, thus far, has been fruitless. On any other normal day you two were still under the honeymoon spell; wed for no more than six months. As if fated by the Gods, after the death of his first wife a series of events began and within the span of a few short months, Daemon’s courting led to a proper wedding. You were of a lesser House than his own, and your dowry perhaps modest in comparison to what else his name and title could bring. Yet it seemed to matter little to him. The Targaryen prince was more than charmed by you. He gifted you with silks, jewels, and perfumes, carefully choosing colors and gems to accentuate the lovely hue of your skin. Dark, and rich, and shimmering with its softness, he reveled in the stark contrast of your bodies. Often, when you were alone, he requested you wear only the finest of sheer wispy silks so he could see, and appreciate, all of you. 

King’s Landing was your home now. Daemon was your home.

“You underestimate the fury of my blood, husband,” you retorted, secondhand anger swelling in your chest. What you said in conversation with King Viserys during the midday meal wasn’t even that bad. Daemon was just moody. Cranky. Crotchety about God's knew what. You had seen the way the two brothers glanced at each other with lingering tension, and you didn’t understand why it was taken so personally. In spite of that you never imagined it would lead to what was happening now.

So distracted by your own fury you hadn’t realized Daemon had you over his lap upon your marriage bed. The thick bulk of his thighs were spread to better distribute your weight across his lap. He pulled the hems of your gown up over the swell of your backside, fingers of one hand curling beneath the waist of your smallclothes. Without even bothering to untie the ribbons around your hips he wrenched them down your legs. In a single skillful motion he fisted the material. He shoved the balled up fabric in your mouth. “You don’t get to talk.”

The makeshift gag muffled your sound of protest. Something even more dangerous than fury simmered beneath your surface. Arousal. You hated, absolutely hated, how soaked the prince’s roughness made you.

He laid a smack against the swell of your ass. 

It rendered you speechless, motionless: pulse hammered beneath your chest, behind your ears, and in the tips of your fingers. With the sting and echo of a second smack, your thighs clenched together. And with a third, your fists balled atop the bedclothes as your eyes squeezed shut.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you knew to never pull these shenanigans again. Yet… a tiny part, a drop of rain amidst the ocean, wondered if it would take the same shenanigans, or something more, for him to reach this level of anger with you again.

A fourth, and fifth, landed on you. It stung. Your flesh throbbed and the sight of redness blossoming beneath your skin had your husband grinning all to himself. A sixth. 

You whimpered incoherently behind the gag. It hurt – not only your body but your ego, too – and the slick space between your thighs quivered with desperation.

Calloused fingers dipped to test your reaction to his punishment. They were met with warmth, wetness, and a muffled whimper he was very familiar with. A mocking laugh sounded from above you. “Oh, you like this?” Daemon cooed sarcastically. “My bold, feisty little wife… a soaking, whimpering, gagged mess. You lecherous harlot.” Two fingers pushed into you with little restraint, your reddened ass propping up to coax him deeper.

Pleasure immediately blazed through your senses. The delicious stretch of his fingers had your back arching and fists easing in the sheets. If your mouth wasn’t stuffed full it would have hung open from the sensation. Pain's edge seemed to increase the intensity of your pleasure and he only just started. Between the spanking and degradation a blush burned your cheeks, and now it burned even brighter as the wet sounds of your cunt began to fill the room. You were soaked. He knew just how to work you – where to push, or stroke, or curl – and he did just that. Relentlessly. 

Just as the coil of bliss threatened to snap, he withdrew his digits. “Don’t think you get to finish yet. I’m debating if I should even let you find release today.” 

A dagger rested sheathed on his belt, and he wasted no time in grabbing its hilt and slicing up through the fabric of your dress; its whispered rip nearly lost between your muffled pants. Once it dawned on you, yet another wave of fury rose to your chest. This was one of your favorites! A gift from your husband. Oranges, reds, and blacks, with intricate stitchery and patterns of gold thread. Finally, that's what made you spit out the ball of your slobbery smallclothes. "What the hells!" You glared up at him from over your shoulder, aghast.

Daemon laughed. "It was mine to give and mine to take." He moved you off him and stood. Even though he'd just sliced your dress in half, he removed it from you gently. Somewhere in the back of your mind you thought perhaps there might still be a chance to save it.

You were too stunned to speak, and merely finished disrobing as you watched your husband do the same. God's he was so lovely. Handsome and strong, his body wholly a warrior's with its scars and subtly padded muscles. Once he was nude the state of his own arousal had your mouth watering. His cock, fully hardened and glistening at the tip, was reddened with need. With the angle, you barely had time to admire the sight of his stones, too, before he was on top of you. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist.

"My sweet wife…," he said, eyes dark as he tilted his head and regarded your submissive position. "If only you knew when to shut the fuck up."

You had truly, undoubtedly, pissed him off. His eyes were black and palms rough as he pressed up your belly to your breasts. You squeaked as he pinched your dark nipples, the weight of your titflesh filling his palms. "I'm sorry," you said, eyes sincere. "I didn't mean it like that, husband, you know that."

Glaring down at you, he sniggered. "Disrespect and lying in the same hour?" He slapped your tits, cock twitching at the gasp you made at the impact. One hand pressed into the bed by your head for support while the other wrapped around your slim neck. He knew how to do it without causing any real harm. He squeezed. Choking. "The only thing you're good for is warming my cock." 

In a single harsh drive if his hips, his girthy length split you open. Your legs wrapped around him tighter due the deadly combination of: looming above you, choking you, fucking you. A restrained whine and moan tore from your throat; your eyes half lidded and locked on him.

"Maybe I'll tie you up. Keep you locked in here so I can use you as, and whenever, I wish," he said, purple eyes glinting with darkness and delight. He snapped into you firmer, slower, making sure every inch of him dragged along every inch of your saturated walls. 

Even with his hand around your throat you rolled and moved your hips with him, meeting him halfway on each thrust. This carnal side of Daemon, in all of his shameless glory, always had you needy for more. The edges of your vision began to blur with the restriction of your oxygen. Yet, still, you fucked him as he drove into you, eager and whining and dripping, more akin to a lady of the street of silk than a lady of a respectable House.

"You'd probably like that a little too much though, huh? Yeah… fuck. Look at your greedy cunt sucking me in. You filthy bitch." He finally let go of your throat to instead grip your hips. His fingers sunk into the soft flesh as he railed along your sweet spot, basking in the wanton cries of your pleasure. 

"Just like that…!" you panted, breathless. "Please, Daemon.. 'm so close." And you were.

He didn't stop.

Your legs squeezed around him tighter, as tight as you could, and the obscene noises of your wet slapping skin sent you over the edge. Waves of orgasm washed over you and for a moment you thought you might have left your body. Scratches from your clean fingernails raked down the corded muscles of his forearms.

An inward hiss flared his nostrils and with one final push he spilled against the deepest part of your body. Your panting and his quiet moans melded into one as he relished the deep satisfaction of seeding his wife. He ran a hand over your belly. "Don't move, ābrazȳrys, keep all that right there where it belongs," wife he said as he slowly pulled free from you.

Sweat sheened over both of you and the midday sun sparkled atop your bodies. In the summer heat you laid and relaxed next to each other, content to catch your breath, your emotions, and let the sweat cool upon your skin.

"During dinner you will apologize to my brother," Daemon said after a few long moments.

With a quirk of your brow, you asked, "or what?"

"Or I will make this look like gentle lovemaking."

You knew he meant it.

-

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow and/or reblog and/or letting me know! It would make me vvvery happy ♥

masterlist

Taglist: if you wish to be added or removed, please let me know!

Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @targaryenbrainrot @ruby-dragon @silverwinged @chompchompluke

Daemon taglist: @sahvlren @abbyandizzysmum

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

It’s mentioned that Daemon always planned to wed and bed his stepdaughter, how would he have gone about it if the incident with Aemond never happened?

In the beginning Daemon planned to draw her in, seduce her in a way. He would send her gifts like he used to do for Rhaenyra when she was younger. He would accidentally brush his fingers against hers, or brush his groin against her behind when passing by.

Would give her a taste then draw back leaving her wanting more, starving. This way she would not even feel herself falling for him. If the incident with Aemond did not happen then I think it would have worked because Daemon is not a very patient man and the Reader liked Daemon, Aemond was just someone she thought she loved, and when Daemon's patient would be gone he would lock her in a room and admit his affections.

The reader would be hesitant at first considering he is her mother's husband but then Daemon would remind her of their Valyrian customs. It would take some time like a couple of weeks but he would have her wrapped around his fingers in no time. In other words he would tease her, push and pull leaving her starving for his touch.

[rufflesandbows]

How they React: Sneaking in for Cuddles

It's deep in the night when you come to their room. You don't explain much, but you don't need to. You need them. That is always reason enough.

Characters:

-Daemon, Jace- -Aemond, Aegon-

Daemon He knows when you come in, but he doesn’t bother to move. He’s tired and you know what you’re doing. Carefully you crawl under the blankets, curling up to his side and resting a hand on his chest. Daemon shifts a little so you both can get more comfortable and settles without saying anything.

It’s in the morning you feel hands roaming your body, gliding from your collar, down your chest, your sides, where he gives your hips a squeeze. When you finally stir, he moves up to kissing along your jaw and neck, pulling you flush against him as he grinds into your thigh. You give a small moan, and he teases that you knew what you were in for when you snuck in, and you did. You lay your hands on him, encouraging him closer before his lips take yours.

Jacearys When you sneak in he's deep in sleep. When you gently place a hand on his shoulder to softly wake him, Jace jolts awake as if you smacked him. Once he catches his bearings, guiltily, you ask him if you can stay with him tonight. He burns at the thought, but lifts the blankets and scoots over to give you plenty of room. Gratefully, you tuck in and curl up, falling asleep easier now that someone else was present in the room.

Jace however is staring into the dark, unable to rid his mind from the fact you’re in his bed. His mind keeps running wild with fantasies, much as he doesn’t want it to. It takes a long time to get back to sleep, yet when he wakes he finds you curled up at his back, an arm over his waist. He wants to move, to escape the suffocating thoughts of his own mind. There’s daylight through the curtains but he can’t bring himself to wake you.

Aemond Aemond’s a light sleeper, perking the moment the doorknob turns. He can recognize your figure, your footsteps and scent through the dark. With a grin, he lifts the blankets for you, letting you crawl into the warm bed. You curl up separately, wanting to give him some space as this is always so unprompted and you feel guilty for waking him. Everytime you feel this way, and everytime he moves closer to you, taking you in his arms, burying you in him. You ease and fall asleep quickly, but Aemond can never help but stay awake just a little longer.

Her savors having you in his bed, gently petting along your body, breathing you in, feeling your heat seeping into him. In the morning he wakes up before you and doesn't disturb you, simply taking in the sight of you under the morning sun that seeps through the curtains. When your eyes flutter open, you apologize but he assures you it’s fine. Nothing to worry about. You should never feel guilty coming to him. 

Aegon Aegon often doesn’t go to bed until late, so when you sneak into his room he's actually still awake. It takes him a moment to recognize the surprise visitor, but quickly smiles when he realizes it's you. There's a light teasing in him as he opens up the blankets and demands you hop in quickly. You barely set your hands on the mattress before he's tugging you in and hugging you tight, entangling his legs with yours and peppering kisses on your face because he knows you're too tired to fight it.

The truth is he's always grateful when you come to share a bed. His mind keeps him up for long exhaustive and harrowing hours. The moment you slip in and you both settle, he's out quicker than you are. Somehow he always has a hand touching some part of you, as if to always check you're there. In the mornings you stay until he wakes, so he doesn't wake with disappointment.

If anybody got four more characters they want to cuddle, hit me up and I'll do a part two (͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[akittenwrites]

Queen of Ice and Prince of Fire [8]

Author: @akittenwrites

Summary: Lady Y/N Stark of Winterfell has declared herself Queen in the North. That means war, against King Viserys, and also against Prince Daemon. But the Rogue Prince doesn't want to fight her.

Type: multichapter series

Chapter: eight

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x reader

Word count: 3982

Warnings: swearing, violence, blood, smut.

Part one.

Part two.

Part three.

Part four.

Part five.

Part six.

Part seven.

The ground was covered in white velvet as it had been snowing the entire day. Her eyes rose to the sky, painted pink and orange as the sun descended. The weather had granted them a reprieve.

A light breeze caressed her skin and rustled the leaves of the trees around them. The forest was quiet and only the firewood could be heard as it burnt away. The red-hot flames rose from the small pyre, almost as tall as her. She looked at the man in front of her, dressed in red and gold, standing tall and proud with his silver hair framing his face. He had had it braided for the ceremony. Their eyes met briefly and Y/N clutched the bouquet of winter roses in her hands, anxious. Could an improvised marriage under the eyes of a god neither believed in be enough to heal their wounds?

They had argued about it. Daemon had insisted the answer was dragonfire, not a magic ritual. Yet the red priestess that guided them had made it clear that dragonfire would be necessary, but not sufficient to win this battle. Only the joint forces of ice and fire could, she had said.

Y/N was surrounded by doubt. Lord Umber had argued that Daemon Targaryen was still his prisoner despite everything, which was true to an extent. Lord Karstark believed what was happening in Winterfell could not be ignored, and they had to stop it no matter the cost. Lord Bolton had proposed flaying their Targaryen prisoner as a peace offering to the Old Gods. Lord Mormont hadn't survived the battle of Winterfell, to Y/N's dismay.

The argument had gotten heated between Lord Umber and Daemon, yet it did not matter in the end. Y/N was still Queen and her words were to be followed, especially after she had managed to fight three dragons and survive. She had captured the most feared man in Westeros and had brought him to Lord Umber's doors. They believed in the power she wielded now if they didn't before. And they would listen to her, because they had chosen her and had pledged their loyalty, and their vows were not to be broken.

The problem was that Daemon owed her nothing. There were no vows to be upheld, no promises to be kept, and no debts to be paid. So with him, she had to bargain. She could have him rot in the dungeons until the end of time if she wished, but her priorities were different. She needed him to participate in Vella's ritual and she needed him to ride Caraxes into battle. She needed him by her side.

It had taken them hours going back and forth until Daemon had finally agreed to play his part, even if he believed Vella was nothing more than a jester. Daemon could be incredibly stubborn, yet he was far from stupid. He knew there was a war on the horizon that he would be a part of sooner or later, and he knew which side he was on. His freedom was all he asked for in the end, and the respect he deserved. He was a Prince and wished to be treated as such.

And she granted it all.

They were fighting for a common cause now, and it trumped any other conflict they previously had. Daemon was their ally, not their prisoner. So he would have a seat in her small council to discuss war strategies, as one of them.

What would happen once the dead were defeated? Would Daemon Targaryen attempt to burn them all to the ground?

Those were questions for the future if they had one.

Suddenly, Vella threw some kind of dust into the fire that made it flare and burn even brighter, illuminating the eyes of everyone present. Lord Karstark was by Y/N's side, dressed in simple grey clothes. Vella stood next to Daemon in a flowing red dress and started reciting prayers in High Valyrian, which Y/N could barely understand.

Nobody else was with them.

The maids had helped her with her wedding dress, made of white silk and Myrish lace. Even if it covered her modestly, with a high neckline and long, loose sleeves, it hugged her body so tightly it made her figure the center of attention. With blue pearls embroidered and a train that shined in the snow, it was a work of art.

Her hair had been cut even and styled in a bun decorated with the same blueish pearls, which also adorned her ears. She was wearing her crown as well. It had never felt heavier.

Vella had insisted on the white, for it represented innocence and purity, which sounded ridiculous. Yet it also represented winter and ice, so she had agreed to wear it.

It was Vella's voice that snapped her out of her trance, asking for her presence.

"May the bride approach the sacred fire?"

"She may," Lord Karstark answered, offering up his arm and leading her toward Vella and Daemon.

She stood in front of the man responsible for her love and her grief.

The priestess' red eyes were fixed on Y/N as she spoke.

"Y/N of House Stark, do you come before the Lord of Light of your own free will?"

"I do," she answered, making eye contact with Daemon. He let his eyes wander up and down her figure with no shame. She knew he had always wanted a Valyrian wedding and this was far from one, yet his eyes were shining bright anyway as he took her in. There was even a soft smile on his lips.

"Before entering a sacred union one must rid oneself of curses. Cursed objects, cursed desires, and cursed souls doom marriages. So under the eye of the Lord of Light, Y/N of House Stark and Daemon of House Targaryen shall cleanse their darkness by burning it in the sacred fire."

Y/N took a deep breath as she nodded.

"Where is the old crown that once belonged to a King?"

Y/N leaned down slightly, allowing Lord Karstark to reach for her head and take it off, passing it to Vella's hands. It did not look magical at all, just old, rusty, and jaded.

Vella approached the fire and let the crown fall into the flames. It sizzled and burned brighter.

"Where are your broken hearts? The source of your love and the source of your pain. Bring them forward."

Y/N bit her lip as she took off the ruby ring Daemon had gifted her and handed it to Vella, even if giving it away made her chest feel heavy. The ring had been Daemon's gift to her, the promise he cared about her, and she had worn it as a promise she cared about him as well. It was a symbol of their love for each other. Yet their love had withered the roses and left her only with thorns.

And that was why it needed to burn.

She watched as Daemon wordlessly handed Vella a folded piece of parchment he had inside his shirt. It appeared to be written on. She squinted as Vella placed both tokens above the flames before letting them fall and burn as well. Was that the letter she had written to him? Had he been carrying it with him the whole time?

A lone tear fell down her cheek as she focused on the fire.

He loved her.

He had loved her all this time.

He had been carrying her letter the same way she had been wearing his ring, both holding onto a piece of each other, refusing to let go of what had been. Of what could be. But those tokens did not represent hope at all. The ring was a constant reminder of what she had lost, a painful consolation, a source of memories that did not bring her joy anymore.

She used to smile at the thought of Daemon. At the memories they shared in the Red Keep. Fighting, reading, laughing. And when she was living in Winterfell after her father's death, reminiscing about her time with Daemon had been comforting. She would laugh, remembering how they used to sneak around the castle, avoiding guards and maesters. She would drift to sleep at night wondering where he was, if he was looking at the same moon as her, if he was thinking about her as well.

Things had changed since the war started. Now his name had become a source of anguish and every time she looked at the ring her heart would shrink in her chest, as if her own rib cage was turning smaller, squeezing it. She would cry herself to sleep at night every night. The past months had been torture.

She was free of it now.

And she was ready to start over.

"Daemon of House Targaryen, do you claim Y/N of House Stark as your bride?"

"I do," he answered, locking eyes with her.

"You will be joined forever with the blessing of the Lord of Light," Vella recited, as bride and groom looked at each other, entranced. "Blood of the First Men and the blood of Old Valyria, the magic of ice and the magic of fire, two souls that shall belong to one another for all eternity. A union that has never been seen before."

Vella closed her eyes as she whispered in High Valyrian, making the fire crackle and the flames rise brighter and higher.

Daemon seemed focused on her words, briefly closing his eyes as well.

Then Vella produced a dagger from inside one of her sleeves and presented it to them.

"Now is time to bleed."

Daemon took it in his hands as Y/N passed her bouquet to Lord Karstark and walked a step forward, facing the man that would become her husband. Her soulmate. Forever.

He offered up his hand and she placed hers on top, with her palm facing upwards. She did not look away from his face for a second as she waited, just observing. His violet gaze, his lips, his jaw. She would finally be able to look at him, touch him, and kiss him without hiding. It seemed surreal, standing there in the snow, in a wedding dress, getting married to Daemon Targaryen. How was it even possible?

The sudden stinging pain in her hand made her shiver and attempt to pull away, but Daemon held it in place as blood started gushing out from the deep cut, staining the sleeves of her dress.

He looked her in the eye, nodding, silently telling her to trust him. And she did, as she accepted the dagger with her other hand and, clutching his with her own bloodied one, cut him deep as well. He didn't even flinch as he turned his hand around and held hers with it, joining their blood as it dripped on the pristine, white snow.

Vella took the dagger from them and carefully let it fall into the fire as well.

"You have given back your curse, your pain, and your blood. May the Lord of Light guide you in your future path and undo the evil your heartache has caused." She positioned herself between them. "Now it shall be known that Y/N of House Stark and Daemon of House Targaryen have chosen to bind themselves to each other for eternity, sharing their fire and forever protecting one another. For the night is dark and full of terrors."

The sun had set, yet the fire was so bright she could see well. Vella's red eyes became even brighter, if it was possible, as she finished the ceremony.

"You are now one. You may bed and warm each other tonight, and every night…" She made a pause. "You are now husband and wife under the eyes of the Lord of Light."

And as the last words were said and Vella disappeared into the darkness of the forest, Y/N's focus turned to Daemon. She didn't care about anything else. She had just married the man she had loved so deeply for so long. She couldn't believe it was real.

He didn't waste a second as he leaned forward to capture her lips with his, fervently claiming her as his. She closed her eyes and kissed him back, hugging him and bringing him as close as possible, feeling his strong body against hers, inhaling his scent, and letting herself get lost in him. The pain in her hand was long forgotten as she clutched his shirt, messing it up with her blood. It did not matter. Nothing else mattered. Only Daemon.

She slid her tongue against his, moaning against his lips when he tugged on her hair, undoing her bun and letting it free. His large hands then grasped her waist to pull her even closer to him, as if it were possible, biting her bottom lip to engulf her in another passionate, intoxicating kiss. His lips moved against hers with mindless desire, refusing to let her go, as she clung to his shoulders, giving herself to him. They had yearned for each other for too long. The intensity of the kiss made her forget to breathe, and a minute later her lungs forced her to pull away abruptly, gasping for breath. She kept her eyes closed as she recovered, feeling a little light-headed, and heard him chuckle. She smiled as she stood on her toes and touched his nose with hers, still holding onto him.

"What are you laughing about?" she whispered, as he rested his forehead on hers.

"You, of course," he teased. "The Queen in the North is out of breath after a little kiss."

"Mmm, not Queen in the North anymore. I don't think so."

"Are you sure? I was told I was marrying a Queen. If you tricked me, Y/N, I swear…"

She giggled as she buried her face in his neck, breathing in his scent.

"What will you do? Lock me up in my chambers?"

"Lock you up in our chambers. And I am not letting you out until I am done with you."

"You'll never be done with me," she breathed out.

"You are right about that, love. I will warm your bed every night until the day I die."

She smiled to herself, still hugging him, choosing to remain silent as she took everything in. They were married. They were bound by blood and they still had one last battle to fight. How would Viserys react to the news? Daemon was still married to Rhea Royce under the Faith of the Seven. Would her people be in danger?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a breeze of chilly winter air that made her shiver in Daemon's arms. He pulled away to look at her, the moonlight shining on his hair.

"You are cold," he said. "How about we start with the bed sharing now?"

She leaned forward to give him a peck on the lips.

"That sounds lovely." She looked him in the eye then. "Thank you for doing this."

"Are you thanking me for marrying you?"

She laughed, knowing how ridiculous it sounded.

"I guess," she said, resting a hand on his chest. "For taking part in this whole ritual. I know you don't believe Vella too much."

"I did it because it was important to you. And because I wanted to. You don't have to thank me for that, Y/N."

She smiled at him, wondering what she had done to deserve a man that was both fearsome and loving.

"That's fair. Let's go back then."

They had plenty of worries, but they would have to wait until the morning. They walked back to the castle hand in hand, receiving strange looks from her men camping outside. Her white dress was covered in Daemon's blood, and his attire had suffered a similar fate. Still, they radiated peace as they made their way inside the castle, and were too preoccupied with one another to notice the curious and questioning looks they got from guards, servants, and lords.

Their shared chambers were not bigger than Y/N's own in Winterfell, but it had a fireplace with a warm fire burning, and a bed with plenty of furs, so she had nothing to complain about. Once the doors were shut and they found themselves in private for the first time as husband and wife, Y/N made her way to the mirror.

Even with her hair tousled and her dress stained, she looked like a bride. A real one, not just one for Vella's ritual. Daemon approached her from behind and hugged her waist. His eyes shone with unshed tears as he observed their reflections.

His voice cut through the silence as he picked up her hand.

"You're hurt," he stated, looking at her bleeding palm.

It was true, but the pain had dulled with the cold.

"So are you," she answered, turning around to face him. "Don't worry about it."

He let her go as he approached one of the nightstands, rummaging through the drawers until he found what he was looking for.

"Come here," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Let me bandage it for you."

She obliged, sitting next to him as she offered up her hand. She distracted herself by examining the canopy, made of grey fabric. For a warrior, Daemon had an incredibly soft touch. He was careful not to hurt her while doing a fantastic job, making her immediately feel better.

"Thank you," she smiled, looking into his eyes. "Now let me do you."

Kneeling at his feet, she cleaned his wound with great care and bandaged him the same way he had done with her. Their eyes met once she was done, while she still held his hand in hers.

It seemed like an eternity and less than a second had passed at the same time as they gazed into each other's eyes, until Daemon's voice interrupted their trance.

"Shall we get you out of that dress?"

She smiled, noticing the mischievous look in his purple gaze. She didn't need to give him a verbal answer, as she stood up and turned her back to him, waiting. A few seconds later his fingers were moving her hair to the side while he undid the first button of her dress. He did it slowly at first. Once he got past her hair, he picked up his pace until the last button came undone and her wedding gown was allowed to fall, pooling around her on the floor. She tensed as the cold air around them touched her naked skin for the first time, and turned to face her new husband.

His shirt was already half undone from their time in the woods, but she finished the job and placed her hand on his naked chest. Then she pushed him, making him walk backward until she forced him to sit on the bed again. She wasted no time, climbing on his lap as she threaded her fingers through his hair and guided him to take one of her nipples in his mouth.

He did as asked, sucking on it and using his warm, wet tongue to massage it. His hands found their place at her hips, helping her move on top of him, rubbing her pussy against his thigh. His cock was rock hard under his breeches as he finished sucking on her breast, leaving it with a glistening red mark on it before moving on to the other one. Y/N's breathing became heavier as Daemon buckled his hips, helping her position herself on top of his cock.

"Don't stop," she breathed out, needing to feel his wet mouth on her, as she undid his breeches and finally let him free. She licked her hand before using it to stroke his cock a few times, making him groan and let go of her. She used the moment to take control, pushing against his chest to force him to lie down on the bed, using her hands and knees to stay on top of him.

She leaned down to kiss him again, slowly, taking her time to feel him. Her skin was burning with desire, and she couldn't help moaning into his mouth when she felt his fingers stroking her wet cunt. She continued leaving open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, enjoying the sound of his labored breathing. He placed a hand on her hips while using the other one to hold his cock, guiding her as she lowered herself to take him in, inch by inch. She bit his shoulder as they finally came together, feeling his cock pulsing inside her. He stretched her open so good. She clenched around him, getting used to his size again, as she splayed her hands across his chest and lifted herself up.

Daemon's eyes were dark with unadulterated desire, watching her while resting his hands on her sides. She lifted her hips and sank down on him again at an agonizingly slow pace, torturing him as she got what she wanted from him, looking into his eyes with nothing but wanton need.

"Do you have any idea how much I want to come inside you right now? Fill you up?" he purred.

Y/N bit her lip as she rocked her hips against his.

"I do," she breathed out. "But you must satisfy me first, Daemon. It is our wedding night after all."

She arched her back as his cock slid into her over and over again, swallowing hard as beads of sweat formed on her skin.

He tightened his grip on her hips.

"Are you questioning me, wife?"

Her husband thrust upwards, attempting to take control and increase the rhythm, but Y/N didn't let him, stopping her movements instead.

"Just reminding you," she replied, using her hands to stroke the muscles of his arms, "of your husbandly duties."

Daemon smirked, using the strength of his arms to lift her up and carefully throw her on the bed again, right next to him. She barely had time to react as he positioned himself on top of her, making her lie down with her back to the ceiling.

"And I intend to fulfill them," he answered at last.

She felt his thick cock sliding between her buttocks, downwards until he found her entrance again and buried himself deep inside her. She made a strangled noise as she tightened around him, her body moving on its own as she lifted her hips, giving him easier access.

"Do you like it this way?" Daemon grunted, giving her no respite as she writhed underneath him, fucking her deeper.

She tried to answer but gave him an incoherent response instead, drunk with pleasure as she saw stars every time Daemon filled her completely. She arched her back even more as he kept pounding into her, her vision becoming blurry as her eyes filled with tears.

"Daemon..." she cried out, trying to ask him to fuck her harder, to never stop...

She shuddered as she finally reached her peak, clenching around him harder than she ever had before. Time slowed down as the world shattered around her, her breathing turning irregular as her body went limp.

It took her a few minutes to recover. She felt Daemon's body lying next to her as she realized he had come too, with his cum dripping out of her. She turned around to kiss him, coming down from her high and looking for his warmth. He embraced her, enjoying the feeling of her body against his.

They had a long night ahead of them.

There was a message from Viserys waiting for him on the desk next to the fire, still unopened. The raven had arrived that morning. It was probably a response to Daemon's own message telling him about his future wedding and the magical enemy they faced.

It would have to wait until the morning.

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[aemondtargaryenonlyfans]

A FINE LINE (BETWEEN LOVE AND HATE).

Daemon Targaryen x female!Reader

"I would rather feed my sons to the Dragons, than have them carry shields and cups for your drunken, usurper cunt of a King." Your husband’s words still lingered in the back of your head and drove you mad with fury. 

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; non/dub-con, canon typical incest/targcest, p in v, size kink, choking, size difference, oral (fem receiving), darkish Daemon Targaryen

WORDS: 1.9 K

“I would rather feed my sons to the Dragons, than have them carry shields and cups for your drunken, usurper cunt of a King.” Your husband’s words still lingered in the back of your head and drove you mad with fury. 

Two guards pushed the doors to the Chamber of the Painted Table open to reveal your husband standing in front of it with several members of your small council standing besides him, studying the map. Upon your arrival, everybody bowed their heads, muttering distinct “Your Grace’s” until your voice shushed them. “Leave us,” you announced, an unfamiliar sternness laced within your voice. 

Once the doors fell shut and everyone was out, there was no holding you back. 

You charged at Daemon, fury blazing in your lilac eyes. “You would do what!?” You all but yelled, and as if he was surprised by your outburst, the second son of Baelon Targaryen had to take a step back. “Feed your sons to our Dragons just to not have them at Aegon’s court?”

While the thought of Baelon and Viserys being present at the court of your half-brother was angering you, too, the thought of their father recklessly mentioning to feed them to Caraxes and Silverwing was frightening you. 

Deep down you knew he would never go that far, but just that he deemed it appropriate to say something like that made your blood boil. Especially in front of the traitor Hand, Otto Hightower. You had married the so-called Rogue Prince back then, yes, but that did not mean he had to show that demeanor towards his children. 

You stood between Daemon and the Painted Table, standing so close to him, your nose was almost brushing against the column of his throat with your head tilted upwards. 

“Have you lost your mind!?”

In an instant, Daemon had herded you against the large table, the edge of it pressing firmly into your arse. The gleam in his eyes was mischievous, indicating that–even though you were the Queen–he was your husband and secretly the one in charge. 

“Do not be an insolent brat,” chided his deep voice, sending a shiver down your spine. “You and I know we would never take it that far.”

You scrunched your nose in what one could muster as disgust at his choice of words and his demeanor towards you. “I dare you to speak about us in that consideration again,” your voice was sharp. “It was not I that said those things.”

“Gaoman daor care skoros emā vestās iā daor,” Daemon spat with venom laced within his voice, yet the slight twitching of his mouth indicated that he was amused by your fury. I do not care what you have said or not. “Nyke vestan ziry se nūmāzma ziry.” I said it and I mean it. 

“That Hightower cunt does not deserve the satisfaction of extinguishing your claim to the Iron Throne, and having our children run around court as that halfwits squires. Dārilarossa issi.” They are Princes. 

His large hands had made themselves at home on your waist, squeezing your flesh in a not-so-gentle manner to distract you from the topic at hand. But even though you gasped, it did not quite work. 

You released a dry chuckle, only for him to clasp one hand around your throat instead. If it wasn’t for the unpredictability of his actions and words, you would have found it charming how he switched between the common tongue and High Valyrian while he spoke. But there was little to no charm whenever the Rogue Prince stood in front of you.

“Bisa iksis daor aōha iderennon naejot mazverdagon,” you warned with a strained voice, though you made no attempt to free yourself of his grasp–something in you clearly enjoyed that side of him. This is not your choice to make. 

It seemed your words had hit something in him, because without saying anything else, he hoisted you up to sit upon the Painted Table, the warmth of the candles beneath seeping through your gown, and pressed your back flush down against the surface. 

“Gaomagon nyke jorrāelagon naejot ivestragon ao bona ziry olvie olvie iksis ñuha iderennon?” His looming presence leaned forwards, towering over yours. With his tight grip on your throat you were not able to move, pinned to the table. Do I need to remind you that it is very much my choice?

“Kostilus,” you retorted, the same mischief flickering in the lilac of your eyes, that previously shone in his. Perhaps.

A smug smirk spread across Daemon’s features, and soon enough, he covered your mouth with his, licking into yours and kissing you deeply, standing in stark contrast to his previous demeanor. He waited until you were short of breath, forcing air into your lungs. “You are just as desperate as the other whores before you.” 

When no response was forthcoming, Daemon loosened his grip on your throat slightly, letting you catch your breath. 

You bared your teeth at him, but as much as you had to say, eloquence was not a strength of you in that moment, especially when he put you on one level with the countless women he had taken before you, “Nyke vēdros ao.” I hate you. 

It was Daemon’s turn to chuckle, cocking an eyebrow at you. Deep down he knew you didn’t mean it, not when you always reminded him of just how much you needed and loved him. “Kesā vēdros nyke sīr olvie tolī istin iksan gaomagon lēda ao,“ he teased, raising an eyebrow at you. You will hate me so much more once I am done with you.

With one hand curled around your thigh–the skirts of your dress long bunched around your waist–he pulled you just a tad closer towards the edge of the table and into contact with his body, his hard member pressing against your clothed mound. 

Defiantly, you buried your hand inside the tresses of his silver-blonde hair, dragging him down against your mouth. The kiss was sharp and hard, a scrape of teeth and the taste of blood which caused Daemon to growl against your lips. 

He deepened the kiss and allowed your other hand to make quick work of the laces in the front of his breeches, freeing his hard member from its confines as you pushed his breeches barely down enough to free his stones as well. 

When he withdrew his lips from yours, you couldn't stop yourself from pouting, followed by him tsking at you as if he was scolding a child. “Keligon bona.” Stop that. 

Without sparing you another glance, he all but tore your smallclothes off your body, exposing your slick core to the cold air of the large chamber. As his finger brushed your mound, you bucked into his touch. “So wet, so needy, and not so bold anymore, mh?”

You huffed in return, and when your husband leaned forwards again, trailing hot kisses over the exposed skin of your low-cut neckline, you clasped your arms around the back of his neck to keep him right there. 

The tip of his cock dragged through your folds in a teasing manner, barely pushing in only to pull out right away. 

You were desperate for him to take you right there, and with the heels of your feet coming up to dig into his arse, it was you who forced him into your tight core in one, solid push. As Daemon groaned against your skin, you shuddered, arching your back into his body. 

His cock stretched and filled you exactly how you craved, every notch and vein palpable and brushing the sensitive spot within your core. 

With him being entirely in your grasp, it was your task to move, rocking and rolling your hips against his to get the angle just right, to seek the place that made you see stars. His hands settled on your thighs, gripping hard enough to surely leave some bruises. 

Each of his grunts and groans was muffled by your skin, his mouth occupied with sucking and nibbling on it, leaving marks he would trace with his tongue in their wake. 

The thrusts of his hips were off rhythm with your ministrations, meeting halfway but still amplifying the pleasure you both felt. 

As he fisted your hair to tug your head sharply to the side to grant himself even more access to your neck, you gasped, the sound quickly replaced by a quiet moan.

“Nyke iēdrosa gaomagon daor shijetra ao.” I still do not forgive you. 

Daemon chose to say nothing in return, which angered you even more. Tugging as harshly on his hair as he had tugged on yours before, you dug your nails of the other hand into the back of his neck, claiming him in your own way. 

His other hand splayed across your belly, slowly grazing down to the apex between your legs, seeking your little bundle before his fingers started to circle around it. 

You were so close and ground your hips against his fingers, reveling in the way he seemingly lost himself in the pleasure, too. 

And then, a stinging sensation washed over you as Daemon pinched your pearl, the pain intense enough to have you peaking a few moments after. “Daemon!” You exclaimed a bit too loud, the following sounds shushed by his lips on yours. 

Maybe it was the way you spoke his name in such surprise and despair, or maybe it was his own desire for you and the sweet relief, but his peak hit him shortly after yours, hips arching up as he spent himself inside of you. 

Shards of pleasure, as sharp as the blade of Dark Sister, prickled through your body, intensifying with the twitching and throbbing of his cock. It shuddered through you like the repercussions of both your peaks, his panting just as loud as yours. 

With one hand braced next to your waist, he propped himself up and studied your features with his softened gaze turning back to something sterner in the blink of an eye. You reached to cup his cheek with one hand, gently squeezing it to remind him of what you had said, and he just scowled at that.

“Emagon ao ryptan skoros vestan?” You asked as there came no reply. Have you heard what I said?

“Eman,” he said in an annoyed manner, tilting his head sideways. I have. “Kostilus kesan ērinagon ñuha dāria toliot lēda bisa.” Perhaps I can convince my Queen with this. 

Daemon pulled out of you, tugging his flaccid cock back into his breeches, before he sank to his knees in front of the Painted Table—face on one level with your cunt. He admired the way his seed oozed out of your core, forcing it back inside of you with the pad of his thumb pushing it in.

You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch him carefully, and the wink he flashed you sent shivers down your spine, more so when his mouth found your cunt. 

The chuckle he released as you gasped vibrated through your core, diminishing the uncomfortable feeling of the overstimulation and igniting a new heat to fill your veins.

His tongue swirled over your pearl before he closed his mouth around it to suck, and your legs were draped over his shoulders as his tongue sent a burning pleasure straight through your core again, making you desperate for more. 

Maybe his words were not as bad as you had thought after all.

[certifiedskywalker]

Trapped in the Highest Tower - Daemon Targaryen

The Red Keep is a castle crumbling under the weight of secrets. Everyone hides something...what's a little more if it means you and Daemon can be together?

Hightower!Reader

Warning(s): strong language

“Set your political squabbling with Daemon aside and see what I, your child, see.”

“I see only that he is stringing you along, tying himself to you to get his sword closer to my throat! Do you not see how your base decisions threaten me and all I have built for this family?!”

As they fell from his lips, your father’s words echoed in your mind like the ricochet ringing of the bells outside of the Red Keep. A warning or a death knell, you knew not the difference. Coming from the mouth of Otto Hightower, it all sounded grating. Gratingly cruel too, when he narrowed his cold, grey eyes and furrowed his shrewd brows.

“By dallying with Daemon, you squander every opportunity that has arisen for your sister,” he pressed on, a snarl curling his hairy lip. 

In the pour of poisonous accusation that dripped from Otto’s tongue, you saw your sister: auburn curls like your mother’s and soft brown eyes to match. Your father wielded Alicent’s sweetness like a sword, stabbing madly toward the Throne. Yet, he stood like the Seven’s loyal, infallible Father while he claimed that Daemon wielded you in the same manner. They dueled, even when apart. You tired of the blood and the ache in your bitten tongue. 

It was your turn to snarl, to strike.

“Alicent’s opportunity or yours?” Otto’s stern features flinched before they fell completely at your rebuttal. You saw the battlefield was leveled then, with neither soldier holding any edge. You showed Otto that you had seen through his veil of good intentions, and he showed you his hand of spies, how easily he could work the brick of King’s Landing against you. Against you and Daemon.

Only the bare, bitter truth remained, and neither of you was quite yet willing to face it.

Wordlessly, Otto turned to leave your chambers, green robes trailing behind him like an emerald shadow. With the shutting of the door behind him, you turned towards your bed, trembling hand reaching for one of the wooden poles that held up the canopy. Your fingers closed around the dark oak as you gasped, desperate to fill your lungs and squash the ache in your chest. 

As you wheezed, your fingers squeezed around the wood so tight you feared it might splinter. Your wild eyes watched the flexing of your knuckles before drifting to the sheets, the silky, black robe that sat atop them. Your father caught you post-shedding of the robe, caught you decked in peasant garb, your midnight rendezvous attire. Still struggling for a full breath, you looked down from your bed to your wears. Beige and grey that covered it, hid your well-fed form. 

As you looked, eyed the tears in the clothes Daemon had scourged for you, a dark spot appeared on the fabric of your trousers. It was a tiny dot above the knee, damp to the touch. You rubbed at it with your free hand and only after a second spot appeared did you realize you were crying. Still trembling, you released the canopy pole and wiped furiously at the gathering spots of wetness on your knees.

The edge of your bed caught you as you sank low, legs shaking too hard to keep yourself upright. You curled on the sheets, rubbing at the fabric until your palms began to burn. So stuck in the heat that numbed your hands and in the sound of your rapid, ragged breaths, you missed the scraping of stone against stone. You missed how the candlelight flickered to make way for a shadow that crept toward your bed.

“You’re late.”

At first, it was Otto’s voice, another of his fatherly accusations. The thought made you stiffen, stilled your burning hands. Puffy flesh stung as you looked up and saw the true owner of the voice through tears in your eyes. Daemon saw you then, the streams that raced down your cheeks and the defeat in your brow.

“You are far more than late,” he murmured, softer than his first words. “What happened?”

You felt your upper lip twitching up into a snarl, your body still fired to fight your father, but smothered it by turning your head down. Through the blur of unshed tears, you gazed at the stone floor, the crack in the wall that whispered of Daemon’s secret door. He knew the passages well, and showed you the routes during a night out. How bitter that memory tasted now.

“Darling.” 

Despite the pet name, Daemon’s tone was cold, cut-ice-smooth like the sheets you sat on. Yet, you still did not look back at him. Even when he knelt before you, his knees kissing the kissing in devotion, you did not look back at him. Only when two of his fingers hooked beneath your chin did you consider it.

“Tell me,” he pressed, fingers pulling you by your jaw to face him. When you met his gaze, he clarified his ask: “who did this to you?”

You saw only him, his lightning-strike-lighted eyes and his sharp features, the lines on either side of his lips that whispered of his signature smirk. You saw him until you saw his free hand reach out, trembling as he wiped a fresh falling tear from your cheek. The rough pad of his thumb brushed against your skin with a shocking softness. “My father,” you murmured, “he knows.”

Daemon’s hands fell from your face, his own face unreadable. He remained knelt before you, gaze tracing your features as a hunter might carve the meat from a carcass. His hunter mind was thinking, setting a trap for your father in his mind. You saw Otto then, in Daemon’s narrowed eyes and scheming thoughts.

The bells rang in your ears at the sight. He is stringing you along.

“And you.”

“What?” 

“You did this.”

In a rush, Daemon stood, walking away from you with his back turned. “What the fuck do you mean by that? How am I to blame for your cunt of a father’s-”

Then, it was your turn to stand. “You plot his downfall at each turn. Even now, you use my tears as an excuse to wet your blade and darken your thoughts.”

Daemon scoffed and set his jaw as he turned to face you. His long, silver hair framed his furrowed features as the strands flowed over his shoulders. You could feel his burning rage just as you felt the lingering heat in your rubbed-raw hands. His cloak did little to hide his fire and tensed frame, his large hands curling into fists. Yet, the look of the Prince filled your chest with a lightness that betrayed your words.

“Have you ever held feeling for me? Seen me as any more than a…a tool, a weapon for you to wield for the furtherment of your family name? You’re no better than him, my father.”

“Mind your tongue,” Daemon hissed, stepping toward you with purpose. He closed the distance he had put between you. His hands rose once more and cradled your face. When you tried to free yourself from his grasp, his hands grabbed at your waist and held you to him, close.

Close enough to kiss, and so Daemon did. His lips found yours in a fervor, desperate and wild. It was as if Daemon thought he could scorch your father’s allegations from your mind with his touch. It nearly worked too, as you melted into him. Your body leaned against his, your hands rising to his face to cup his jaw. Yet, just as you were about to surrender yourself to him entirely, retire the accusations that held you so, Daemon pulled himself from you.

Your eyes fluttered open and focused on his kiss-swollen lips before you found his gaze. There was no coldness in his face, only warmth. One of his hands roamed up your waist to your face to trace your features. Daemon dragged the pad of his thumb down the slope of your bottom lip with a tenderness that seemed beyond himself.

“You are my family,” he said, kissing you again, but softer. He pulled away just enough he could speak, his words pressed against your lips. “And I hold far more than feeling for you, darling.”

“Daemon-”

The Prince leaned back to look into your eyes. “Your father will tell no one of us, save for my brother, and Viserys is much too…preoccupied with your sister for much else.”

You shuddered at the thought and Daemon hummed knowingly, his hand brushing over your cheek in an attempt to soothe you. “My father sees Viserys’ grief as an opportunity, for his family.”

“Himself,” Daemon clarified, and you nodded. “And my brother’s eyes are covered by his Hand. He cannot see Otto’s true intentions and has trapped himself in the dark.”

“Yet, we see,” you said, hope in your tone. Daemon tipped his head in interest. “We do not have to watch. My love, let’s not stay trapped here with them.”

“Leave Viserys?”

“I would be leaving Alicent,” you said, and the idea made you ache. She was blind too, to your father. She was perfect for Viserys that way. 

Daemon frowned, his face turning toward the floor before he leaned into you. His head fell against your shoulder and you held him close. His hair stunk of smoke and dragon, but he was yours. 

“We could claim Dragonstone for ourselves,” he said suddenly, his voice muffled slightly by his hunched-over form. “We could wed in the way of my House, wait out the coming storm of succession madness my brother is blindly brewing.”

Daemon lifted his head and met your gaze. You held it, unwavering despite the thought of leaving your blood behind. In the night, you and Daemon saw each other, clearer than before. You leaned forward and kissed him; Daemon welcomed your lips and it tasted like a vow.

Inspired by that one Tweet. You know, the one that read: “The sluttiest thing a man can do is lift your chin with two fingers, brush the tears from your cheek, and say ‘Who did this to you?’ while trembling with poorly contained feral rage.” That one. Only, knowing Daemon, he would do that and be the one to blame…

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Week two of the prompt event by @hotd-bigbang

Pairing: Daemon (against Craghas Drahar)

Themes: Dark

Word count: 153 words

Warnings: Weapons use | Blood | Some gore

Prompt: "I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.” (Frankenstein)

It was rage that led him to this moment. Always being denied, having his counsel go unheeded, and having his love for his brother questioned filled him with icy fury even as he lifted his sword.

Craghas Drahar fell to the cold, wet earth when finely forged Valyrian steel was brought down on him again, and again, and again. He stopped breathing, then stopped breathing. The sword never stopped falling on him. The deep crimson of his blood spattered the prince from toe to head. Daemon stopped, his sword arm throbbing with a welcome ache. It was over. He left the cave, a bloody hunk of flesh trailing behind him like a morbid trophy.

"Is it finished?" Corlys gazed upon the severed remains of what was once a man.

"It is," Daemon answered, "for now."

It was not the first time Daemon indulged in rage. It was not going to be the last.

[fallingstqrss]

heir for a day

summary: after celebrating his claim as heir he gets scolded by the one he cares about the most.

tags: daemon x targaryen reader

warnings: the reader is rhaenyra's sister so there is implied incest. angst.

a/n: this is the first time i'm writing house of dragons so im sorry if its bad. 😩

when you heard of daemon's celebrations you were furious. not even a week had passed before daemon was celebrating his own rise. daemon had opened his mouth once again, and now he was being punished for it.

you were not present when the king was told of his celebrations, however, the moment rhaenyra told you, you marched to daemon's chambers. too overcome with anger to think rationally about anything. your mother's death had hit you hard. very hard. you were very close with your mother, and when she died it felt a part of you died with her. not to mention your brother, who you had come to love in the mere hours he was alive.

you'd always known daemon was self-serving, but you thought for once, he could put that aside for once.

as daemon heard footsteps quickly approaching his door followed by banging on his door, he knew what was coming. he had expected nothing less. he had just received the news that he was being banished once again, being instructed by the king to return to runestone.

he hesitated to open the door, in a way, he was more scared of what you would say to him than anything the king could say to him. he stalked slowly to the door, opening it to be greeted by your tear-stained cheeks. he knew he fucked up. he looked away, it hurt him to look at your pained expression.

"y/n, i-" he started but was interrupted as you raised a hand, slapping him across the face. his head remained turned away from you as he clenched his jaw.

"how could you?" you questioned, voice breaking as you spoke. it was evident in your voice that you had likely not stopped crying since your mother's death.

"it was a mistake. people grieve in their own way." daemon explained, a pleading look in his eyes as he stared down at you. you shook your head at him, a single tear falling down your cheek.

"don't blame grief daemon. celebrating your own rise to power is no way to grieve the loss of a mother and her child!" you shouted at him. the conversation was growing too loud for daemons liking, so he grabbed you by the forearm, pulling you into his chambers, closing the door behind him. you pulled away from his grip, stumbling further into his room. usually, you would cherish any moment in his grasp, but right now you were too angry.

"i shouldn't have said it." he spoke again, trying to de-escalate the conversation. you scoffed as you stared at him, he could barely meet your eyes.

"then why did you say it?" you questioned. as you continued to stare at daemon the anger melt away, only to be replaced by disappointment. it was silent for a couple of moments as daemon waited to speak, searching for the right thing to say.

"if you wish to know, the king has exiled me again for what i said. i'm leaving. if that makes you happier." daemon spoke, taking careful steps towards you.

"that doesn't make me happy daemon. i want you to stay, i just want you to care." you spoke to him in a strained voice as you took steps to close the distance between you two. you stared up at him as you now stood in front of him. daemon stared back down at you his eyes softening.

"i do care," he spoke softly, so softly it was almost inaudible. but you heard it. your face broke into a small smile as his usual cold demeanor broke. he brought a careful hand to your face, using his thumb to wipe away any hint of your tears. his hand lingered on your face for a moment before he brought his lips to meet yours. he brought his other hand to cup the other side of your face, while you leaned deeper into the kiss. after a moment daemon pulled away, and you laid your head on his chest as she snaked his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

"i am sorry." daemon spoke again.

"i know." you replied, not looking up from his chest.

[lady-phasma]

I feel like there's a need for Dom!Daemon so imma just leave these here while I think about that.

When you try to top from the bottom...

not my gif - I'll credit you if you let me know

When you've disobeyed...

When he leaves you to think about your behavior...

When he's pleased with you and smiles like that...

Yes, Sir.

wrote a little Dom!Daemon fluff to go with it

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Imagine Daemon...

Disclaimer: I’m making Balerion alive in here for selfish reasons lol.

Imagine Daemon... Young and smitten by you, a Targaryen, the first born child of your father, and always going against what everyone was telling you to do.

Imagine Daemon... Absolutely perplex, as you were talented in every skill, be that for a man or a woman, just so that nobody could give you shit for neglecting you training.

“Though they speak more than they should, the truth still stands - I truly do believe that people, in general, should know as many a skill as they can, for it may be the difference between life and death, at some point in their life.”

Imagine Daemon... Being afraid for you, once your dragon was eaten alive by The Cannibal, and you just went berserk with anger.

Imagine Daemon... Absolutely flabbergast and positively erect once he sees you running over at Balerion the Black Dread, the dragon that no one dared to tame for so long, the oldest, the most powerful -- And you just marched up to him and patted his snout, before yelling at him with such a loud, booming and authoritarian voice that he almost fell to his knees, ready to pledge his allegiance to you.

Imagine Daemon... Desperately wanting to jump on Caraxes and perform a dragon dance around you, but he could only stare, deaf to everyone’s worried shrieks, as you shoot up in the sky with the fearsome dragon, and instead of throwing you off, the two of you went in perfect sync, doing fire tricks and having fun - Though so far away, he was sure he could hear your excited, thrilled screams... Before you ripped into The Cannibal, as revenge.

Imagine Daemon... Immediately asking your father to have you marry him, because he knew, he would never find another Lady as wild, stubborn, mental and positively fucked in the head - Just like he was.

Imagine Daemon... Smirking, as he witnessed a fight of you and your father, once the idea of having heirs was brought into discussion, but by now, you were too old and too independent to bother with any of the Crown matters - And you were, after all, the great Balerion’s tamer.

“The matters of the Crown have never concerned me. My life is mine own, and mine own alone, and I shall not allow anyone to temper with my wishes. I was born an explorer, an adventurer, and the fact that Balerion accepted ME, while I was a mere child, whilst others were burnt for even daring to approach him - I KNOW I am meant for greatness, but what greatness means, is subjective to mine own visions in life. I shall not be baring any heirs for any stupid petty lord.”

Imagine Daemon... Running to Caraxes as soon as you exited the throne room, pissed off at your father, and following you to whatever mountain peak you wanted to go to - Though you didn’t even bother saluting him, you didn’t tell him to go away either, for he was the only one who understood you.

“What does HE know of being a dragon, any way? All he does is drink and whore around, like a petty lordling with way too much coin in his purse. That is NOT what being a dragon means. It is all about the fire surging through your blood - The adrenaline, the excitement, the wind blowing through your hair, the possibility of dying any second of the day, but conquering it - Winning war after war, exploring new places and making them your own -- If not, then what is the use of being dragon riders and sporting the sigil of our house?! You... You are the only one who truly understood my ideals, Daemon. I am sure you are on my side... Are you not? It is not me, going mental, is it?” though he chuckled, seeing you snapping your head at him, as if for confirmation, and seeing the slightest glimpse of a worry, he could feel his heart beating fast.

“To hell with all of them, my Dear Lady. Who cares what they think? You are the rider of the dragon who spurs fear in every living being. You can do anything you want. Your father wants to marry you? Burn him. Take the throne. Become Queen. Fuck on the throne - Is anything stopping you? No. You want to explore the world? Get enough gold and provisions and soar through the skies, see places left untouched by mortals, and bring back souvenirs of the new place you conquered.” he began to chuckle, seeing you look away, hiding your amused laughter. “Ah, I see, I have managed to make My Lady smile - And what a beautiful smile she has. Won’t you smile more for me, my dear?”

Imagine Daemon... Reaching our his hands to cup either side of you face and leaning his forehead to touch yours, and caressing your cheeks dearly, giving you a sweet, heartfelt smile before his thumb went down to trace your bottom lip, followed by a gentle kiss on those beautiful, pink, plump lips that he wanted to bite and suck on forever.

“Well... If you are by my side... I suppose there is nothing I cannot do, is there... Daemon?” now seated on his lap, and a snarling, overprotective Balerion having taken flight, not wanting to see something like that - Through kisses and touches, you found yourself being placed down, on the soft grass, with not the white clouds, but those gorgeous eyes of his, and that long, silver hair, tickling your face.

“For as long as you’ll have me, I shall remain by your side, be them good or bad times coming.”

----

Imagine Aemond... (Aemond is afraid My Lady will find him ugly) Imagine Aemond... (Aemond is frustrated with the court and My Lady spoils him) Imagine Aemond... (Aemond discovers you pampering Vhagar, the Matchmaker) Imagine Aemond... (My Lady is afraid of the concept of childbirth and pregnancy) Imagine Aemond... (Engaging in a romantic, literal Dance of Dragons in the air ) Imagine Daemon... (Being smitten over an adventurous Lady who flies Balerion)