#daemon targaryen blurb

[darilarostarg]

To Taste

Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

Summery: Daemon sees a pretty little Lady at a feast, and cannot help himself. 

Warming: SMUT, this is literally just pussy eating lol episode five took a toll on me

Words: 686

He didn’t mean for it to happen. His plan was to take his fill of wine and then somehow get himself to the nearest brothel. But then he saw you. Sitting alone at the end of a table, as your older husband gorged on the feast and ignored you entirely. Last time he did this, he was banished for nearly six moons after nearly causing an uprising in the Westerlands after he was caught balls deep in the daughter of Lord Reyne, two moons before she was to be wed. But you just looked so pretty, so soft, so lonely…he honestly couldn't help himself.

So here he was, on his knees, your skirts gathered around your waist, under a damp and drafty stairwell in the Tower of the Hand, with nothing but the sound of dripping water and your pretty moans. With ease, he hooked one of your legs over his broad shoulder, forcing it to wrap it around his neck just as he sinfully runs his tongue between your gooey folds; it's just as much a treat for him as it is for you. Daemon enjoyed eating out for his own pleasure, he got off on how responsive ladies were to his fingers and tongue.

"Such a sweet, little cunny," he muses as he comes up for air, eyes flitting up to your face just before he's enveloping your clit to his mouth. Your juices continue to coat chin, making it easier for him to slip his tongue downwards and glaze over your needy hole. He loved how your body melts into his ministrations, searching for more pleasure by carding your fingers through his long silver hair to press his face further into your folds.

“My Prince,” you sigh, head lolling back into the wall when he stiffens his tongue to then dip it inside of you. His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs and ass, making sure he can keep you spread enough for him to slightly nudge his nose against your clit as he moves his tongue within you.

Your fingers tighten on his roots, pushing his head back a bit and pressing him closer to you. At the same time, your hips are bucking softly after he slips two fingers into your heat, pulling his tongue from you to flick it against your clit.

Daemon can feel your leg start to weaken in stance while your other does as predicted: tightens around the back of his neck. He wouldn’t be able to pull away from the taste of you if he tried.

He continues to curl his fingers inside of you, gliding over that soft spot that has your knees buckling and breath hitching in the back of your throat. He knows how to toy with you, giving you more and more but making sure you don’t fall over the cliff without his permission. The art to his pleasure was menacing, but one he’s learned to master throughout his time in brothels, and his own, as well as other Lord’s beds. Daemon had always taken his time with his lovers… to explore, to satisfy, to taste.

The decision is split second: Daemon places your other leg onto his shoulder and keeps you pressed to the wall for him to devour. You let out a small gasp of shock at the sudden movement, but that is soon overshadowed by a long moan escaping due to him managing to slip three fingers into you while his ring covered pinky ghosted over your other hole.

However, this wasn’t your undoing, for that only arrived when he pulled his lips back a bit to spit on your clit before tonguing down the bundle of nerves and continuing to open you up on his fingers.

“Daemon! Oh, fuck! oh, fuck! Ohhh, fuck,” you whine as quickly as you can muster, both hands sinking deep into his hair so your nails scratch along his scalp as your thighs clamp tightly around his head. The feeling causes him to groan into your pussy, reeling in the pain as he plunges you into the fiery pits below.

Authors Note:

Little mini blurb as a treat in celebration of the season finale! I am currently re-working my OC story, so I haven't been writing much else recently, but trust a sex scene will always make me wiggle out of my little dark hole.

My masterlist can be found by click here!

You can add yourself to my taglist here or ask in the notes!

Taglist: @yn-jackson@ilikechocolatemilkh@velathaheigeros@anthonys-viscountess@multiversemayhemme

[rhaenyra-storms]

for fluffy saturday, can i request daemon and wife!reader spending time in bed with their newborn?

Daemon is sure nothing can fill him with happiness like time with you and your baby boy does. The Prince has been there for every part of your pregnancy, protecting you and caring for you where he could.

It’s a reward of sorts, a manifestation of peace and comfort, when he finally gets to lay in bed with you, his beautiful wife, and your child that you both already love more than anything else in this world.

You’re in your night dress, Daemon in a thin shirt and loose pants, your baby laying between you on the soft mattress. The room is illuminated by burning candles and you can hear the crackling from the fireplace.

“He’s so beautiful, isn’t he?” You ask your husband, a smile on your lips as you gently brush over the little baby’s head. “He is. Just like his mother,” Daemon replies with a smile as well, letting your baby grab his thumb with his hand.

All the fighting, all the wars and the blood that has been shed doesn’t matter in this moment. Daemon is here with you, keeping you safe and seeing the joy in your eyes every time your little baby lets out a tiny laugh.

This is what peace feels like to him.

You watch as your son holds tighter onto his dad’s thumb and there’s another laugh coming from the little boy between you two. It’s the nicest sound in the world for you and simply warms yours and Daemon’s heart with ease.

“I think he has your nose. And will surely have your hair as well,” you grin at your husband who replies with a soft laugh and then uses his free hand to brush over his baby’s head. “He’ll have his dad’s hair, nose and a dragon like his father.” You can’t hold back a smile when you see the proud expression on Daemon’s face. Your husband’s eyes drift over to the dragon egg on the other side of the room.

“As long as you’re both home for dinner in time,” you joke, leaning over to press a kiss to Daemon’s forehead.

“We can’t leave you waiting for long, can we?”

[house-strong]

༄࿔ witchcraft and treason

summary ; drabble requested by anon for my 1k follower celebration.

“can I request no.23 from the confessions prompt list for daemon?”

“23. after everything you've done, i still love you. with all i am.”

pairing ; daemon targaryen x reader

notes ; couldn’t figure out how to work in a way that the reader and daemon are lowkey enemies to lovers,, but this is that trope 🙈 wrote this at work so spare me 🤲

objectively speaking in the eyes of anyone at court, daemon targaryen was everything short of a good man.

sure, the dragon prince did have his fair moments; he defended his brothers life, smashed the triarchy resistance, and effectively reasserted control over kings landing in the name of his brother – or was it for self glory?

but, sometimes the bad outweighed the good, plaguing any positive notion and cursing it with woe. he promoted obscenities about his family after the death of prince baelon, he evaded his duties as a husband, and took action without the kings leave.

he was a rebel, a scoundrel, a prince without honor.

but by seven gods, he was charming, good, and passionate to yourself. undoubtedly, it was very hard to resist his looks and charm, and you succumbed to them like surely any other courtly lady would.

it was the talk of court, of course; about how the fleeting moments you had, the passionate, angry intimacy shared in a linen closet, or the late night adventures he took you on were enough to compel the prince to preform uxoricide. those brave enough to make such allegations against the prince, never failed to mention your name and how you bewitched him into treasonous behavior.

he had summoned you to his chambers; publicly, in front of your lady friends at court. you’re sure it was some spiteful way to get back at his brother – he knew the ladies of court would not fail to spread gossip; like wildfire to a dry forest. at his command, you made the journey to his room in the apartment tower of the red keep. how he was still hanging on to his duties at court, you didn’t know, but you assumed he would be booted sooner or later.

“daemon.” your voice is bordering a warning, a small, fleeting reminder that this was considered unholy, and could lead to embarrassment if caught by the wrong people. but, it feels so good; the way his lips hungrily suck on the soft skin of your neck, sending tingles down your spine and into your toes. it’s electrifying; sharp shoots of pain that he soothes with practiced licks, a hum leaving him as you say his name.

he retreats, face removing itself from the crook of your neck as he looks at you with half-lidded eyes, lips pink, “do you love me?”

“admittedly, i do, still,” you hum, licking your lips and playing with short, growing ends of his silver hair.

there’s a flash of certainty that reflects in his eyes when his search yours. he looks shy, almost, when he moves away, allowing you to relax against the cold marble of the wall – the warmth he shared leaving you.

“despite everything you’ve done,” he responds, sitting on a nearby chair. he rests an elbow on the table adjacent to it, his hand running through the quiff of his hair as if to soothe his own nerves. your legs carry you to him and gently run your hands up and down his bicep, trailing up towards his shoulders and the nape of his neck. he relaxes into your touch, closing his eyes to enjoy the comfort and warmth it brings. “every insult, every argument.”

“i still love you, with all that i am.”

pairing the soft poetics of the sentence, there’s a mellow silence that blankets the space between you. a glimmer of excitement, mischief, and a wickedness shines within his eyes. his quiet confession is heart-rendering, tenderizing your heart with its foreign sincerity.

“am i a fool?”

you bite back a smile, shaking your head as heat floods to your face as the next words fall with a teasing remark, “no, but i must say, what treason have you committed now, daemon?”

his lips curve into a smile, one that’s knowing and reciprocating the jest that’s being shared. he looks up at you, hands roaming freely over the clothed skin that he’s deemed his. there’s butterflies that flit in your stomach, and with his lingering touch, warmth spreads where his fingers splayed.

“if this is treason to be with you,” he purrs, a wicked smirk widening his once innocent grin, “so be it.”

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hii, loved what you wrote!! I would like to request something else about Daemon.

Reader is Rhaenyra's older sister but is overlooked by Viserys, choosing her as heir even if she's younger than Reader and during the years she gets a bad reputation, like her children with Harwin and bad attitude over anyone.

Reader is married with Daemon, who's in love with her and nothing happens with Rhaenyra and he doesn't get exiled seeing as after the weddong they live on Dragonstone.

On Driftmark after Leana's funeral, where the children fights with Aemond, one of reader and Daemon child gets hurt, on the confrontation in the hall Daemon demands justice for his child and Rhaenyra shows her true colors, seeing as she was always jealous about them.

Viserys sees Rhaenyra for who she truly is and finally does something, like disinheir her and choosing reader or sonething else.

You choose the finale. Thanks

Although you did not specify what writing of mine you loved, i am glad that you love it. <3 im not taking requests right now my love. i still have many in my req that i want to write but cant seem to bring myself to do it, which is why i have been distracting myself with pedro pascal HAHHAH.

I gotta say, i'm really intrigued (slightly concerned) a lot of you seem to enjoy pitting sister!reader and sister!rhaenyra together T_T since i cant wont be writing this, let me tell you how i think this would play out.

visy is a girl dad™ and i see no reason for im to favor rhaenyra more than his first born daughter!reader, because she would have been his and aemma's first child. thus, i would think, he purposefully skipped her because perhaps she has always been a wild spirit, a true dragon, and her traits were more roguish (remind you of anyone) ah yes, which is why she ends up with kepus evil daddy daemon HAAHH

"you and i can rule the world together in fire and blood," -daemon at their wedding probably

then when push comes to shove and that confrontation scene happens and sister-sisters fight, i feel like viserys wouldnt outright disinherit rhaenyra, but yn would 100% use the same line rhaenyra did to alicent, 'it must be exhausting... etc' she would then basically say to everyone, 'you may resent me for not inheriting the throne, you may envy me for my freedom, i may have became the heir and i the spare but you will not hurt my children."

smth like that.

perhaps a third faction would arise in support for them, the greens, the blacks and the rogues, maybe daemon would be like BABE ITS UR BIRTHRIGHT but idk reader might just smack him in the face for wanting to start civil war with her sister, his niece. no no no baddies only we do not star civil wars not us.

DAMN i hope you like this nonnie <3

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

OMG no way are you going to write an AU of Daemon's visions at Harrenhal??? I know its AAAAAGES away from where you are in the current story but desperate hos wanna kno ;)

Ask, and ye shall receive!

until i bleed myself dry

Note: This is technically using the characters/characterisation I have established in my terms of endearment series, but really you only need to know that the Reader is Rhaenyra's younger sister and that, instead of marrying Laena, he spent a decade ho-ing it up in Pentos before coming home and getting dazzled by his niece before deciding to wife dat gurl.

WARNING: Please note this is dark, dark stuff. Discretion is advised. Please use your judgement wisely before engaging.

Triggers: graphic depictions of violence, violence against children, character d*ath, MAJOR hallucinations, sexual scenes including visibly underaged character/s.

There is something fucking wrong with this place.

Daemon feels like a skittish child as he withdraws to his chambers, covers drawn up to his neck like the fabric will keep away the very worst of midnight evils. He does not know if the steady drip, drip, drip he hears is in his head or if the stone ceiling is cracked enough to let through the rain. Knowing Harrenhal, he would hardly be surprised by the latter. Still, the noise only serves to speed the racing of his thoughts, turning them fearful as he has not felt since the weakness of his youth.

In this moment, he curses his own doings. If he had stayed his hand—if he had held his tongue—the boy would not be dead, and mayhaps you would not be so wroth with him. He would not be alone in this shithole of a keep a world away, chilled to the bone and miserable as he thinks of you warm and safe in your bed with the children. Without him.

When he finally falls asleep, he dreams.

He knows it is a dream, for he can hear your humming. Soft, sweet, the kind of tune you sing to Daeryx after one of his tantrums. His head lifts from the pillow and he finds himself back in your shared rooms on Dragonstone, eyes finding you in the chair by the hearth. Your hair, unbound, shines like molten amber in the firelight, swaying softly as you tend to business that is concealed from his gaze. Enthralled, he rises, making his way to you.

Drip, drip, drip.

He pauses. That sound… it doesn’t belong here. He calls your name. You ignore him. He moves closer, tentative.

“Come look,” you murmur suddenly, startling him. “Come, kepus.”

His feet move unbidden, out of his control.

Bile pools at the back of his throat, gut curdling at the sight of the boy—the boy—cradled in your lap. You and he are wet with blood, and it drip, drip, drips to the floor, echoing eerily. His eyes are open, face petrified, and Daemon realises that the dark at his neck is not in fact a shadow but a gaping wound, made jagged by the weapon used.

You look up at him, skin shining with sweat and expression exultant. “Look at him, kepus. Look at what you made.”

Memory flashes—he brings his son back down to rest beside his daughter on your lap, two moonshine miracles side by side. “Look at them, kepus,” you whisper, spellbound. “Look at what we made”—and his lungs constrict. You make to lift the child up, but the movement jostles his head off its perch, and it rolls to the ground to stop by his feet. He cannot move. He is frozen, horrified.

You smile, tucking the headless corpse under your chin. Gore pulses against your throat as your chin settles to the yawning maw of the child’s open neck. You rock in your seat, a faint squelch each time your shifting weight disturbs the sodden cushion beneath you.

“I love him,” you whisper, lips pressing to where flesh meets innards. Your mouth comes away red. “I love him so much.”

Daemon awakens with a yell. He swallows once, twice, and then—

He leans over the side of the bed, retching violently. When it is over, he curls up on his side, shaking, staring at his hands. They are wet with blood.

It does not take long for terror to settle in his bones like a longtime companion. It follows him each day, in every waking moment, manifesting in strange visions that he knows—he knows—must be untrue, cannot possibly be real, and yet… And yet. There is a sort of verity in them.

Dark Sister feels like a leaden weight at his hip as he stalks the keep, a reminder of his earlier encounter with Rhaenyra. Only she was not the Rhaenyra he knows, and instead a strange sort of blend of child-queen, the face of the girl peering out accusingly from under her father’s too-large crown, exclaiming all manner of hurt as she stepped from the Iron Throne upon which she perched.

“You put me on that throne. And you love me, and you hate me for it. You created me, Daemon. Yet you are now set on destroying me. All because your brother loved me more than he did you.”

And, without warning, he had taken his blade up in arms and struck off her head, a puppet on strings pulled by another. As her body fell, it morphed into the boy again. Jaehaerys. The child he had murdered. He heard your humming even while Simon Strong’s voice filtered through his unconscious mind, alerting him of the raven that just arrived.

The healer woman’s concoctions have helped little. He still wakes to strange noises, still finds himself stalking after his monstrous one-eyed nephew down the halls, only to find that it is himself he is pursuing. He hears the words you yelled at him in that last great quarrel— “get away, leave before you turn on us and murder us like you murdered that boy”—interspersed with the sound of your screams, and perhaps they are the screams you let out when birthing his children, or perhaps they are screams of a different kind, a version of himself making good on the implication of your words, steel in hand and pursuing his love, his life, his blood—

These figments blur with reality to the point that he becomes unsure of what is before him and what exists only in his head to haunt him. He comes to dread the resting hours, only to find their horrors bleeding into daylight. Whatever strange power has come to roost in his mind serves only to bring him torment.

Perhaps this is why he is not immediately suspicious when he comes face-to-face with you once more.

You stand by the window, the dim light filtering weakly over your bare form. Your back is to him, curls spilling to brush the tops of your buttocks. Their gentle sway—the barest kiss to your skin—is tantalising, and his mouth dries even as he watches your neck crane, sly smile tossed back over your shoulder at him.

“Daemon,” you beckon. Like a cuntstruck fool, he is helpless to resist the call.

His hands settle to the familiar divots of your waist, up and up and up to cup the fullness of your tits. You lean into him, a quiet huff of pleasure escaping as his fingers squeeze and his lips fall unbidden to the slope of your jaw. He inhales deeply, stirred even now by the simplicity of your scent, a throbbing line straight to his groin. You turn in his hold, nose nuzzling against his chin.

“You were right,” you say, eyes shining. “You were always right.”

He is under some enchantment, surely, for he is incapable of coherent speech. All he can do is feel the satisfaction heat his veins, allow it to tug at the corner of his mouth. I knew it, he thinks. I knew her will would bend eventually.

You speak still, even as he backs you toward the bed. “Papa was weak. Rhaenyra is weak. Only you are the true blood of the dragon.”

You shift backward onto the mattress, legs parting invitingly. The split of you opens, revealing flushed folds and the teasing glimmer of want, shining slick for his hungered gaze.

“Fearless”—your hand trails down your belly, fingers tracing around your pearl—“brave”—you venture lower, pressing teasingly at your cunt, your lip caught between your teeth—“strong.”

Daemon drops to his knees before you, tongue licking through the spill and catching on your finger. He bullies it out of the way, arms locking around your thighs as he gluts himself on the sweet tang of you, senses clouding and narrowing to a singular point of existence. You grip his hair, the arches of your feet digging against his back.

“It is not my place to question you,” you breathe, twisting and writhing with his ministrations. He watches your face, enraptured by the toss of your head and the shape of your lips as they form moan after moan. Your release is quick, a final sobbing yelp followed by a flood of slick warmth. When your eyes reopen, they are blazing with reverence. Reverence for him. Your knees flex up, your lower half folded almost to your chest. Your cunt contracts, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. “I live to serve you, my king.”

His head feels heavy as he rises just barely to crawl over you. He frowns. When he lifts his hand to extricate yours from his hair, he finds not flesh, but cool metal. A crown.

“My king,” you coo below him.

Your surroundings are changed. It is not the meagre offerings of Harrenhal that frame you now, but the sumptuous trimmings of the king’s chambers in the Red Keep, only brighter, more lavish than they ever have been. Jewels sparkle at your throat, in your hair, at your wrists. The sheets are molten gold against your silver-pale, and you wind your hips up at him provocatively, catching his cockhead against your opening.

“You belong on the throne, husband,” you say, fist closing around his shaft and pumping once, twice. You lead him back to the core of you, nudging him just inside. “Uncle. My love. And I belong at your side—at your feet—under your body.”

“My queen,” he gasps, driving forward with a grunt, and oh, he has missed you, missed this, missed the clutch of your walls like a mother’s embrace and the sound of your breathy cries as he plunges deep. Plunges home.

“My king,” you call out, rising into him with unrestrained abandon, precious gems clinking frantically with each fevered hitch of his hips against yours. “My lord. My master. I was made for you.”

“Yes…”

“Chain me to this bed, my king.” Your spine arches toward him, hands grabbing for his own and leading them above your head. He takes this for the encouragement it is, pinning your wrists to the pillow and rutting harder. You shout, elbows flexing to no avail. “Give to me my purpose. Give me your heirs.”

He is helpless to stop the noises escaping his mouth, feral and uninhibited, fucking with near painful intent. You take it all, curving yourself deeper, holding yourself more open so that he may lay claim to his conquest. As only a king can.

“And when I have birthed one,” you say, though now it is more a prolonged keening sound, “give me another. Never stop. Oh! Make me—make me take it—”

He does not know if he is imagining it or if it is happening before his eyes, but he can see it: ruling the Seven Kingdoms, sitting the Iron Throne the way his brother never could, striding down the halls of the keep as the commons bow and scrape to their sovereign, bursting into his chambers after small council to find his queen, to find you where you always are, naked in his bed and belly round and leaking milky white between your thighs, for it is his kingly law that the only part you play here is this, waiting for him to find you and fuck you and fill you and keep you, his little niecewifequeenpet—

He snarls, pulsing and burning. You squeal as he pushes past onslaught and straight to violence, bodies colliding so forcefully that his bones ache and his brain feels like jelly wobbling in his skull. What leaves his mouth can only be bestial in nature now. “I’ll make you—”

“Yes, make me take it until I cannot. Until my cunt is ruined by you.” He feels his end rushing up with every word you wail, his joints locking and grinding and gut roiling with the anticipation of it. “Until my womb is destroyed. Until I bleed myself dry, my king. Only for you.”

“Wha—”

The horror of it escapes him, for it is too late: the release crashes on him like a tidal wave, shoving him below its surface and imprisoning him in its current. He makes a noise like a wounded boar, chasing through the high despite the alarm in his mind, so at odds with the soaring rhythm in his loins.

You laugh, tilting welcomingly to receive him. “Make me bleed, my king. Make me bleed like my mother.”

It is enough to chill the heat in his blood to ice, destroying any semblance of enjoyment. But he cannot stop the unsteady eking out of what remains of his peak. He tries, but he cannot stop.

“No,” he says, a contradiction to the enthusiasm of his flesh prison. “No, no, I cannot. No—”

“What do you mean?” you ask, a strange quality to it. A duality. It crystallises into something comprehensible with every word that comes from your lips. All at once, it is not your voice he hears, but something much higher, younger, blending and overlapping with the cadence he recognises. “You already have.”

He looks down as he makes his final groaning thrusts, only to feel his stomach drop through the floor. Your thighs are soaked in blood, his cock sluicing a path through it all the while. All that flesh covered in red, and he glances up, only to see that you are gone, you are replaced by someone so small, so frightfully small, and he realises you are not replaced, it is you, but it is a you he has not seen for well over ten years, eyes wide and frightened and gleaming like game stuck through by an arrow and taking its final breath.

Daemon rears back, but it is too late. You begin to cry. A dark patch spreads out from underneath your broken body, from where he had torn your fragile opening apart. What have I done? he thinks.

“It hurts, kepus,” you say. “It hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, fixed to stillness by revulsion. “I’m sorry. I never meant to—”

“But you did,” you insist, childish pout despite your obvious agony.

Your hands reach out, and he leans away, too horrified to touch you—and he doesn’t know if it is you or he that he is more afraid of in this moment—but you are not searching through the air for him, no. Instead, a bundled weight is settled in them, and you bring it into the crook of your arms, gripping it as though it is the most precious of objects. You smooth the fabric from the top of it to reveal a tiny head of silver hair. The babe gurgles and roots at your flat chest, absurd and awful.

“This is what you wanted,” you say, eyes filled with betrayal. “Am I going to die now, kepus?”

Your Grace…

He shakes his head, but he is no fool. You are too little to withstand the sheer volume of blood you have lost if the bedding is anything to go by. He feels it stain his legs. He feels it drying on his cock.

“Your Grace?”

“I will, though. I’m too young. You’ve killed me.” The babe begins to suckle, and you cry harder. Your body isn’t built for this task, not yet, not like this. He wants to protest, to tell you that this is not his work, cannot be, for he has and would never do something so foul, so wholly inhuman, that the you he has gotten with child has only ever been a woman grown, but it is like you know his thoughts for you scoff and say, “You’re lying to yourself. I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He stares down at you, immobile, unable to even think. The metallic scent of your life leaving you fills the air, floods his nostrils with stinging heat.

“… Your Grace?”

Daemon jolts, blinking. Ser Simon Strong looks back at him. “Is the duck not to your liking, Your Grace?”

All at once, you are gone. The king’s chambers are gone. He is not even within his dank chambers at Harrenhal. Instead, he sits at the table in what passes for the dining hall here, a plate full of food steaming before him. The smell makes him ill.

“There’s also goose, if you’d prefer…”

He swallows, trying to ground himself in the present. Voices waft all around him, but he finds it difficult to pay attention.

“I’m not hungry,” he says shortly. It sounds stronger than he feels.

A pause, and then—

Simon clears his throat, turning to his companions. “I was saying, given the rather dire news…”

Daemon tries to concentrate. He does. He knows the others are speaking of matters of utmost importance. Of  Rook’s Rest, of his nephew, of the war. But his mind can only turn over his encounter—his vision? His nightmare? Or is it merely truth finally unveiled to unworthy eyes?—with you, the last of your words haunting him near to madness.

“I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He has grown restless here, revolving between the frustration of securing an army from those who see naught in him but the very worst and the torment of these terrible visions that seek him out at their pleasure, heedless of his duty or desire. Tedium or terror—when he is entrenched in one, he wishes for the other, and there is always a sick sort of irony in the granting of said wishes. In truth, he is able enough to tolerate the resistance of these riverlanders, insulting as it is. The phantasms that pursue him have almost become too much to bear.

What is worse? The accusations from the mouth of a juvenile Rhaenyra, full of admonishments for the way he’d so thoroughly undermined her claim before she ever got the right to exercise it? The condemnations from Viserys, a retracing of steps trod so long ago, brought to life once more and forcing Daemon to relive the very worst of his brother? The boy’s laughter darting through the stone halls, an ominous prelude to the sickening sound of steel sawing through skin and the rolling of his head, landing always at the feet of the one responsible for his fate?

They are all bad enough as they are, but for the simple fact that they do not surprise him. Monster, they call him, and he wears the name well. In most all aspects, he is a monster. But never has he thought himself monstrous to you.

He has come to despise the sight of you here, sometimes docile and worshipful, sometimes angered and raving. Sometimes you appear as a siren come to lure him to iniquity, and like a fool he always falls into the trap. Other times, you are battered, caged, a shell of yourself. No matter how it begins, the end is always the same: bloodied, beaten, fading from the world, and it is always his hands he finds the cause of it in. A new reminder every time of all the ways he has thought of taking you, owning you, keeping you. Always, he thinks to save you—to protect you. Always, he destroys you.

Just as he thinks himself finally driven to the edge of all reason, the Rivers woman beckons him to the godswood.

“When you came here,” she says, “you were a closed fist. You wished to bend the world to your will. But you’ve discovered, I think, that… this world will not be governed. There are omens here for those who seek them.”

She pauses. The air seems to whisper, to creak in the dark. Daemon suppresses the urge to shiver. Her eyes move to him, an odd little quirk to her mouth. Amusement, he thinks. Or pity.

“You do not scoff?” she asks.

How can he, after all he has seen here? He has been brought to the very edge of sanity by these omens. What irony, it is, after the great complaints he has made of superstition in past weeks (and months, and years).

“I’m no longer inclined to,” is his short reply.

She laughs. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

She stops before the heart tree and turns to him, expression solemn.

“Do you wish, then, to learn what is given to you?” The answer must lie in his face, for he cannot do anything but stare, silent, tense. “All your life, you have sought to command your own fate”—she takes his hand—“but today, you are ready.”

Gentle pressure at his wrist, and something in him knows to move past her, to take those final few steps so that he is close enough to make out the details of the face carved into the wood. His arm raises by itself, acting on its own power, or perhaps some higher power, his fingers brushing bark and the hot pulse of… blood? But he has no time to truly question it for—

He is flying—

No—

He is a raven, staring at the face of a pale-haired man with a wine-dark stain on his face and he flies into the forest, towards an army, only there is something wrong with the soldiers, they are blue and their eyes glow ice-cold and their breath is frosted with death and their bodies carry the look of corpses stood upright once more—

And then the dragons are dead, all of them, the ground wet not with water but with blood and he walks through it, falls straight into the ground and he is drowning, steel plate armour dragging him down into the depths and he looks up at the sky—

A red comet bursts through the air, hot like fire, and he sees eggs embroiled in flame, a girl sat in ash cradling the bodies of three newly-hatched dragons, a whisper of a memory on the air, “we are the only ones able to bring the fire to life… It is the secret”—

And he is before the Iron Throne, suddenly silent.

Rhaenyra stands before the seat. Viserys’s crown is in his hands. She moves toward him, down the stairs of the throne. He hears her speak.

“From my blood…”

But she does not finish. A roaring conflagration engulfs her and she screams, twisting and warping before him, burning, only not, because you step from the flames, unburnt, voice mingling with that of your sister’s, a haunting echo.

“… come the Prince Who Was Promised…”

You are before him, taking the crown from his grasp and retracing the steps your sister took, and then you are stepping over a charred body, Rhaenyra, oh gods, and ascending the steps. You sit. You lift the crown. You place it on your head.

“… and his shall be the song of ice and fire.”

He is on his knees now, right on that final step at your feet. He feels the warmth of you as you bend forward, your palm caressing his jaw. You look otherworldly in the shadow, backlit silver and gold and wearing a king’s accoutrements far better than any of your predecessors.

“You know what must happen now, Uncle,” you say gently, kindly. “You know what you must do.”

He bows his head to kiss your ring—the seal of the king—no, the queen—and then wind is whistling in his ears, chilling him to the bone and spraying his hair about wildly, so much so that he can barely hear the words yelled at him by the boy sitting astride Vhagar.

“You have lived too long, nuncle.”

—and he wrenches away, panting, body collapsing before the heart tree like a puppet with its strings cut. The world comes back to him in fragments: the scent of dirt and woodlands, the sharp sting of cold, the ache in his muscles that has since settled like sludge at the bottom of a river, ever-present and persisting. Finally, finally, he withdraws with hands washed clean, free of his many sins.

At last, he has come to the crux of it. At last, he understands.

He sits at the base of the tree, stunned and overcome, as faint words slither on the breeze, a final knell from the liminal space of prophecy. Your name. A cheer.

“Long live the queen! Long live the queen!”

Read on AO3:

Taglist:

Now in the comments!

To be on the taglist:

Click here to apply for the general taglist! Click here to apply for the terms of endearment taglist!

[purple-1995]

Imagine that boyfriend that is always the hornier one in the relationship. Imagine him being extremely aroused offended when he catches you touching yourself. Like, why would you do that??? 😭 You have him! His cock, his mouth, his fingers! Anything you want! All you have to do is say the word and he is ready to go 😢 Why would you deprive him of your wetness, your warmth, your pretty sounds? 🥺 Oh, the betrayal 😫 .........

Can he join you, pretty please? 🥹🙏🏻

Horny!Boyfriend

[multi-fandom-imagine]

☀️eternal Sunshine || Daemon Targaryen ||

A/n: I am finally writing something for Daemon again.

He didn't deserve you, well it was what kept telling himself but was he going to let you go?

Of course not.

He loved you far too much to just hand you over to someone else. Grasping your hand he guided you on Caraxes, his arm weaving around your waist.

"Where are we going?"

"Just for a ride my love...I know how much you enjoy them." Daemon whispered then placed a kiss to the top of your head. With your heart leaping into your stomach you clutched your husband's hand tightly as Caraexs flew into the sky.

Fully relaxing into his embrace, you smiled as your eyes slipped closed. It was nice, to finally have a moment with the man you loved. It was hard for you and Daemon to slip away so for him to do this for you meant everything.

Eyes finally opening, a smile formed on your lips as the sun slowly started to set. "Thank you for this Daemon."

A soft hum left his lips as he then placed another kiss to the top of your head followed by one to the nape of your neck. "You do not have to thank me for anything my love....I would have you in nothing but jewels if I could."

Biting back a giggle, you shook your head as you let your gaze focus on the setting sun. "I would be awfully cold you know."

"Then I will keep you warm my love."

[stxrshxpxd]

🐉 fic friday

the nights were ours

daemon targaryen x reader

secret relationship, soft daemon & caraxes

I had spent the last month in The Red Keep as my older brother was well on his way to be betrothed to princess Rhaenyra. He had insisted it would be a nice change of scenery for me and he couldn’t have been more right.

Rhaenyra’s uncle Daemon had stared me down across every room we’d been in the first week, and I had walked as if on eggshells around him. It wasn’t until he first spoke to me that I realised his heavy gaze was of something quite different than hate.

That same night he had insisted I stay up when the rest of the kingdom went to sleep. There was something about his presence that had made me unable to decline his advances when he had kissed me against a cold tree in the dusk. He had seen something he wanted and taken it.

Soon the nights were ours. That was when we came alive. And I had never felt so alive before. Exchanging discreet looks across rooms in the daylight, and sneaking into his chamber at night. Feeling his sturdy fingers curl into my flesh amongst his sheets and watching his pleased smiles flicker in the dull candlelight. Waking up with his heavy arm caging me in against his bare chest and wondering when and how I would have to sneak back to my own bed chamber.

Tonight we were outside. It was dark but there was a fire in Daemon’s eyes as he led me down a terrain of uneven stones. I could see the outlines of a massive dragon begin to form in the dark. Even more so I heard its heavy breaths and felt the heat hit me in intervals. He had promised I would be safe as long as I stuck by his side.

“My brother would have your head if I was burned by dragon fire,” I reminded with a soft giggle and squeezed Daemon’s hand. I only saw the back of his head but I could almost make out the beaming smirk on his lips.

“I’d quite like to see him try.”

He was right of course. I had recognised quickly there was probably no one I knew that could measure up to Daemon in a fight.

With every step I got more and more nervous, as details of the dragon’s vicious face grew more visible. He flashed his teeth in a casual manner and my instincts almost made me halt. I had only ever seen dragons in the sky. From that far away I hadn’t been able to tell that their teeth were the same size as me.

“He’s gracious to those who deserve it,” Daemon said in an attempt to ease my anxiety. I grimaced with uncertainty and he gave a small smile.

“You are the sweetest girl I have ever known,” he declared in a hoarse whisper and caught my face in both his hands, staring down at me from his significant height. My gaze flickered between his moonlit face and the bored looking dragon behind him.

“He would never think to harm you. Trust me.”

Trust him. Somehow I did. He placed a gentle kiss on my lips and my stomach fluttered.

He turned around at last and gave me a vague gesture to stay still for now, as he closed the distance between him and his dragon.

“Caraxes,” he spoke his name in a steady and warm tone, laying his palms and forehead against the angular nose. The dragon huffed softly and closed his eyes for a moment. I held my breath as my heart softened.

“Come,” Daemon whispered and glanced back at me. I grabbed his extended hand and walked on wobbly legs the last steps up to the calm beast. I held my breath again and felt nearly lightheaded as I allowed Daemon to place my smaller hand against the side of Caraxes’ face. His eyes opened in curiosity and it felt as if my heart stopped for a moment. I could feel sweat begin to form on my top lip.

Daemon hushed softly into the quiet night but I couldn’t tell who he was trying to calm down, me or his dragon.

Caraxes’ scales were rough to the touch and cold despite exhaling incredible heat with every breath. I was absolutely astounded at the power he held in his body. With every long inhale he took I watched his torso expand and I felt the vibration in my finger from his throaty exhales. At last he closed his eyes again and I could release my own breath.

“I told you he would like you,” Daemon mumbled and I laughed breathily. I caught a softness in his eyes which I had learned was rare to find in him. Maybe only in the heavy darkness could he allow himself to smile at me so purely.

[ribbonprincess]

hey!!! I can't find your bots, they don't seem to appear on cai either on the web or app :( ❤️

:((( thanks for letting me know🫶🏻 I'll put a pic of my profile maybe it'll help

[goldsainz]

MASTERLIST.

A/N: this is based on a request @ateliefloresdaprimavera sent me!! so thank you sm for requesting, hope you all enjoy [gif cred: @colewald]

WORD COUNT: 1,1k

──────────

Y/N Smith and Matt Smith React To Your Tweets About “House of the Dragon”

You were excited to do an Interview with Matt after such a long time. You’d done a couple talk shows spontaneously over the years, but this was formally about a project you were both so enthralled by. 

In a way, the mood was different. You were now a married couple who had two beautiful kids, and had been friends for over ten years. Time really flew by.

As the interview began you were sitting next to your husband, a bowl full of papers in front of you.

“I am Matt Smith,” You started, looking at Matt expectantly.

“And I’m Y/N Smith.” He continues, a victorious smile on both of your faces. The multiple failed takes definitely made its way into both of your minds. 

“And we’re here to react to your tweets about ‘House of the Dragon’!” You both say in unison, high fiving each other as you let out a laugh.

━━━━━━

“We were told you guys many things to say about the show when it's not even out!” Your voice was amused, while Matt looked at you with a small smile.

“The internet is truly surprising” Matt lets out, making you shake your head.

“Okay, so here’s the deal. We’ll both be reading some things you’ve posted, and we’ll react on the spot.”

“No judgment on our side.” You shot Matt a look, “Maybe just a little.”

“Can I go first, please?” You ask, slightly pouting so he would say yes. You knew he could never truly refuse you if you made that face.

“Of course, my love.” The grin on your face at his words was all Matt would ever need in return.

You reach for the bowl and shake it, “So nobody can say we cheated!” You tell the camera, pointing your finger like you would when warning your children about something.

“Nobody’s going to say that now, Y/N.” Your husband says amusedly, finding it adorable that your tendencies as a mother made its way into other moments.

“@/ynmywife says “Whoever casted Y/N as a Targaryen in the show, will have my therapy bills delivered to their house😭” and then there’s a crying emoji.” You then roll the paper and throw it in a basket below the table.

“First off, I’m her husband so she’s not your wife,” Matt points out, jokingly placing his arm around your shoulder to show off his ‘dominance’, “Secondly, I agree with that statement.”

“You don’t even go to therapy!” You exclaim, looking bewildered by his words.

“The point still stands, but seriously, how did being cast feel?” He turns the conversation around, trying to bring back some seriousness, his arms still placed around you.

“It was surreal. I actually hadn’t auditioned to be a Targaryen, but I guess my vibes were those.” You started your answer, “My agent called and said I got the role of Valenya Targaryen, I remember being so shocked but I accepted instantly because I knew the experience would be amazing, and it was!” 

“My story for being cast is much more boring compared to yours.” Matt murmurs, a small laugh leaving his lips as he reaches for the next paper in the bowl.

“I’m sure it's not.” You tell him, kissing his cheek.

“@/valyrianbiatch says “Are we gonna talk about how hot Daemon and Valenya look in those teaser pics???” with three question marks, it seems like they really want some answers.”

“We should talk about it more, tell us Matt, how does it feel to be married to such a hot person?” You teasingly say.

“It feels amazing.” Matt responds, as you make an “aw” sound that some of the crew backstage copies. He just places his hands in a way that is supposed to show you off, like he doesn’t need to further explain his answer.

“I think Daemon and Valenya exude this badass energy, which instantly makes them attractive to the eye.” Your words are slightly more serious, trying to actually get the interview somewhat correctly done. But you’re sure the fans will only concentrate on the more unserious bits.

“Plus they’re interpreted by stunning people, what’s not to like about that?”

“Exactly!” You exclaim, taking another paper from the bowl.

“@/dracaryss_ says “It feels illegal to watch HOTD knowing Matt and Y/N were casted as siblings!!” with two exclamation marks at the end.” You read out the paper, playing with it while thinking of a good answer.

“It’s definitely less weird now, the Targaryen family tree really is a circle of incestous people.” Matt answers jokingly.

“I feel like we’ve been in this job long enough to separate our actual lives from fiction, which I feel everyone should be able to do.” You say, looking at Matt after.

“That’s also very vital to the process, and they don’t really behave like siblings so most of the time it wasn’t as awkward.” He ends with a laugh, as you smile in return.

“The show may not be to everyone’s taste, so please be cautious while watching!” While you speak Matt reaches for another paper. 

“Let 's see… @/lannisterlions says “And when I faint from the beauty of the Targaryens? Then what?””

“I would recommend some water, some ibuprofen even.” You were being sarcastic, but your voice had a motherly edge to it which made Matt almost melt in his seat. 

“I fear they’ll be fainting a lot, they’re the stars of the show.”

“That too.” You agree, chuckling slightly.

━━━━━━

You’ve already responded to a couple of tweets, some responses more serious than others in which you’ve just taken the piss out of their silly comments.

“I feel like I’ve answered tweets for a lifetime now.” You let out, your head resting on the shoulder of your husband, his arm wrapped around your waist. 

“I know I have.” Matt tells the camera, nodding slightly at his own words.

“It was very fun, though.” You add while smiling.

“We had a blast, thank you for all of the amazing tweets.”

“And don’t forget to tune in every sunday for a new episode of ‘House of the Dragon’ available on HBO.” You end, blowing some kisses to the camera as Matt waves his hand.

The video ends with Matt whispering something inaudible to your ears, making you throw your head back in laughter as the video fades to black.

━━━━━━

COMMENTS 29k

username1: oh to be in a healthy loving relationship like theirs…

👍 72k

username2: hbo is sick and twisted… i’m making a subscription as we speak btw

👍 26k

username3: can they adopt me?????

👍 44k

137 REPLIES

username4: me too pls

username5: they look so caring😭

username7: i’m so excited to see them in action, the trailers already look amazing

👍 10k

username8: my favourite milf and dilf

👍 35k

username9: stop i hate that i know the ending to their characters’ story

👍 19k

56 REPLIES

username10: shh i wanna see them slay without wanting to cry

taglist: @paprikabadger @edtomh @ateliefloresdaprimavera

[factorydefaultlu]

Oh my gosh! I just read that message about the reader under the table. Can you please write that Daemon x Alicent’s daughter under the table!!

Dinner

Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Reader x Rhaenyra Targaryen

TW: voyeurism, public sex, oral (fem and male receiving)

"Where is she?" Alicent paced near the door. The whole family was sat at the large table, a beautiful spread of food laid out infront of them.

"Perhaps she isn't feeling well. Come, sit. We can bring a plate to her chambers later." Rhaenyra pushed the chair out next to her, offering for Alicent to sit. The queen sighed and did as her friend asked.

Daemon glanced at Rhaenyra, then gave a small smirk. He knew that the princess was feeling more than well. He shifted in his seat, and Viserys stood to make a speech.

"I am so happy that we could put aside our differences and come together as one family. I'm sure my youngest daughter would have liked to be here, but she hasn't been feeling well as of late. So let's drink to her health and be merry for her." the king lifted his cup in a toast and took his seat again. Aegon and Aemond gave eachother a knowing look, hiding their smirks in their cups.

"Well said, brother." Daemon lifted his cup as well.

Beneath the table was the princess, unbeknownst to all but her brothers, Rhaenyra and her secret lover Daemon. Her pretty lips were wrapped around his cock, she teased with her tongue.

Rhaenyra's foot was slid between her legs, a welcome relief for the girl as she desperately rolled her hips against it. Her cunt throbbed as she moved. Rhaenyra slid a hand beneath the table and pushed her sisters head down, Daemon's cock hitting the back of her throat. He cleared his throat, and began an idle conversation.

The princess continued to suck at his cock, grazing her teeth over the shaft. The way her throat pulsed around him was divine, and it took everything within Daemon to not moan. Her tongue rubbed and curled against his sensitive skin, and drool was dripping down her chin.

Rhaenyra gave him a mischievous glance. She knew he was getting close, her hand went beneath the table once more, holding her sister's head down. The princess choked, and Daemon took in a deep breath as his seed spilled down her throat.

She drank it all down, pulling her mouth off his cock and licking her lips. The half the patrons of the dinner had no idea about the pornographic scene at their feet. It was thrilling.

Daemon discreetly put his cock back in his pants, glancing at Rhaenyra who smiled at him. She lifted her skirts a bit, then gripped her sisters hair, demanding she get the same treatment as her husband.

The princess happily obliged, settling herself between Rhaenyra's thighs. Her hot tongue pressed against her sisters cunt, and she tasted of bitter honey and lemon. Divine.

She lapped up her slick, then placed her lips around Nyra's clit. Sucking feverishly, as though she couldn't get enough.

Rhaenyra's poker face was just as good as Daemon's, and the two relished in the fact that they had the princess wrapped around their fingers.

[rhaenyra-storms]

daemon is bathed and washed by female reader and has his wounds treated by her after a battle - she does it all in a very loving and caring way

Thank you!

Daemon would absolutely love that treatment. Your hands are so soft on his skin and it feels good that someone else is cleaning his wounds and caring for him. You do it precisely and with a lot of care.

Sometimes, you plant a kiss or two on his hair and it leaves him with a warm feeling inside his chest. When he finally gets out of the bath, he feels cleaned and a lot better than before. You make sure to wrap him up in a towel and keep the room warm enough.

Then you grab some ointment, thread and needle to stitch up potential wounds. Daemon lays down on the settee while you sit down next to him, your fingers being careful as you start cleaning each wound individually again.

You tell him that he did a great job and is a good warrior, to which he responds with a genuine smile. He couldn’t describe how it actually felt for him though, to receive this praise and this lovely treatment. So much care.

You start stitching up the first wound, checking in with Daemon again and again. When all the worse wounds are done, you help him with some bandages, placing kisses on every single one after it was properly held in place. Daemon doesn’t even know how to thank you after this. A ‘Thank you’ could never be nearly enough.

Got some fluffy thoughts of your own? Send them here

[house-strong]

༄࿔ trepverter

summary ; drabble requested by @nyctophilic0vitnir for my 1k follower celebration.

“Another celebration request with Trepverter for DAEMON please!”

“trepverter: a witty response or comeback you think of only after it's too late to use.”

pairing ; daemon targaryen x reader

notes ; you know that moment when you’re bantering with someone and you’re both smiling at each other and there’s a moment of romance that’s sprinkled in and you’re distracted so you can’t say some smart ass remark in response so the other person is smug about winning? yeah this is that enjoy my pining and my pain and poor depiction,, DIALOGUE HEAVY

“nuha kep kirin isa.”

“nuha kepa kirine issa,” daemon corrects, the valyrian language rolling off his tongue with expert pronunciation. you huff, settling on the chair across from him with defeat.

“i can’t speak it the way you do,” you complain, setting the book on to the table beside you. your hands move to rub at your temples, the beginning of a headache starting to set in. “my tongue forbids it.”

“there’s always lessons in failures,” daemon muses, flipping absentmindedly through the pages of his book that he was supposed to be reading – though he seemed more adamant to skim the pages.

you inhale deeply, settling back into the chair when the throbbing in your temple slowly subsides, “i’m sure you’re very wise by now then, daemon.”

the man beside you shoots you a look, his eyes narrowing and a sly smile creeping on his lips.

“you think you’re clever, don’t you?” he retorts, looking back down at the book as if he wasn’t interested in conversation.

your hands tent together, thumbs rubbing against one another as if they were the legs of a cricket, “i do, actually.”

“not as half as you think you are,” he hums.

“more than you still, i reckon.”

there’s a teasing grin that widens your small smile. teeth gently bite your bottom lip, trying you best to conceal your delight from the banter. daemon gives you a look and raises his brow, shutting his book. he leans forward, head tilting.

“do you really want to start something you can’t finish?” he asks, voice low and taunting. the smile was evident in his tone.

“like you couldn’t finish rhea royce?” you jeer, hand moving over your mouth to stifle the giggle that was surely about to come out. it was childish really, but daemon was the perfect bantering partner – there were no limits and certainly no ill-will.

his mouth hangs in surprise, both his brows raising to knit together in the middle of his forehead. he gives a short chuckle, one that sends a sweet tingle down your spine.

“maybe i should have your tongue then,” he hums.

“you’d miss me too much daemon – i’ve been told i’m wonderful company.” your fingers dance along the edge of the table.

daemon moves forward, “i wouldn’t be so presumptuous.”

with his retort, you laugh. the two of you lock eyes; both faces gentle and enlightened by the jests you were sharing. there’s a glint in daemon’s eye; something akin to mischief. the stare you share is unwavering, met with kindness and something that almost resembles adoration. the stillness dances between you, almost as if you’re both the only people in the world.

this is the side to him that he doesn’t show often, but when he does, you love the thrill it gives you. he enjoys that you’re able to keep up and even throw him off his tracks.

except this time, you’re the one thrown off your game by a single look and phrase.

you open your mouth but no sly comment comes out, only a stammer that’s incoherent to the ears.

with no witty comeback, daemon grins triumphantly and gets up, moving past you to rub his hand on your shoulder. the action sends butterflies spiraling in your stomach.

“i did warn you wouldn’t be able to finish.”

frustration gnaws at you and you chew on the inside of your cheek. you were on top of him, figuratively, and he somehow found a way to dismantle yourself. it was irritating how wittily sneaky he was.

you think long and hard, trying to find a response that will match his and cause him to come marching right back in.

in a sputtering last attempt, you yell, “neither could you!” you mentally curse yourself for the rather lame comment.

instead of marching back in like you had hoped, his chuckle echos in the hall outside the room as he leaves you.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hi,if you’re taking requests would you consider another part of your daemon x stark reader story where she did get pregnant and they are witnessing their “pup” bond with Havoc & Carerax (idk if I spelt the name correctly 🙈) ?? Thank u either way xx

Pups & Dragon Eggs

[Blurb II for the Stark!Reader Universe]

Daemon Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Summary: Daemon is eager for his children to bond with the beasts of his house.

Word Count: >500

Warnings: super mega ultra soft!daemon, puppies, babies, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: Hey nonnie lol, don't worry about misspelling caraxes it's pretty hard to spell lol. and well i FUCKING GUESS ITS CANON THAT STARK!READER AND DAEMON HAVE MULTIPLES FML T_T i thought i could make myself write something else entirely cause this what not what i had in mind, but i cant THANKS A LOT NONNIE WHO REQUESTED THAT LAHSFHALSHFAS LOL Tagging: @deniixlovezelda @pinksirensong @nyctophilic0vitnir Blurb I Blurb III

"Surely if I can put dragon eggs in their crib, I can put a pup."

"Daemon, if you do that I will make Havoc bite your hand off."

Daemon gives me a pleading look, which I answer with a dark gaze. He is defeated, and decides to walk off.

Havoc was lying on the floor panting happily as her pups played and pranced around her.

I watch from the bed as Daemon tuts the pup who attempts to go to the blankets he was putting on the floor.

"Daemon," I call.

"I want to introduce them," he mutters as he walks over to me, claiming one of the babes who had just finished nursing. The other two were still at my breast, suckling.

"They're bound to bond either way. They are Starks," I turn down to my babes, "even though all three of them turned out blonde."

Daemon coos at his baby before turning to me, "we can always try again. I'm sure my magic cock will allow your dark hair to pass on at least one of our spawn."

"You are so lucky that I am nursing right now."

Daemon grins as he places our child on the blanket on the floor and beckons one of Havoc's pups closer. I pout, feeling my heart soar at the sight of Havoc urging her little ones near Daemon.

I cannot hold back my tears.

Daemon makes an excited face, dropping his jaw low as he speaks to the child in High Valyrian. After a moment, he giggles like an excited child himself, "look, my love, they're playing!" he calls, turning to me. His brows raise at the sight of my sobs.

He promptly stands, "alright, that's enough nursing for the lot of you," he walks over to me, "her breasts are mine more than yours."

"Daemon you left our child on the floor!"

Daemon gets both babies from me, and my heart pulses quickly fast when he walks away with them.

"DAEMON!"

"I'm not going to drop my children," he says, uniting the triplets on the blanket on the floor, "now, meet your pups, my pups."

I rub my face before I fix my dress, rolling my shoulders back as. One of the puppies howl, making the rest of them follow in suit.

Even Havoc begins to give hushed cries.

Daemon grins as he mimics, puckering his lips exaggeratedly as he howls and looks down at his children. He is alerted when I come up behind him slowly; my name leaves his lips with a concerned tone.

"You have just given birth-"

"Which does not equate to me being paralyzed."

He leans up against my thigh and rubs his cheek on my dress. Daemon watches the pups as their howls cease and begins to roughhouse with each other. I stroke his head and smile at the sight of my kids surround by Havoc's.

"We should have more."

I immediately shove Daemon by the head, "I literally just gave birth."

He is undeterred, "the maesters say the chances of conception are higher during this time"

"If you would like to keep your tongue and your cock, you will stay silent."

Daemon purses his lips, looking at his children. I love a good challenge.

[bellstwd]

love story | jacaerys velaryon

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

synopsis: you and jacaerys love each other, it's a shame others cannot know.

word count: 112

notes: no warnings, just sad fluff

requests: open

Your love with Jacaerys is confined to your chambers and the godswood. Even though, you have to love eachother in secret, even though Jacaerys is betrothed with Baela and you with Aemond, you both couldn’t find yourselves caring.

Even though your days together are limited, with a war brewing you still spend every waking minute together.

In another universe, where you could love who you want, you and Jacaerys would be married by now, baring his children.

You will meet again. No, not in this lifetime. In another, where your stars align without fault.

You may be on opposite sides of the war, but your love for each other will never fade.

links:

nav, masterlist, hotd masterlist

[endless-ineffabilities]

About Aemond (and Daemon) ...

I understand I've got about two too many unfinished series, and your frustrations have not gone unnoticed. I won't go into specifics anymore on when I'll be updating them - I simply can't set out a posting schedule right now.

But Maroon will come soon enough... then Sapphire-Hearted... then Fire Like Yours... and eventually, my first-born child, Heart on Fire.

Thing is, I don't have it in me to write half-heartedly just for the sake of putting up timely updates. If I'm just not into the story for the time being, it will get stalled.

So those stories are NOT abandoned! Just rekindling the embers that only Aemond (and Daemon) can ignite. I owe all my readers too much 🖤