#daemon targeryan x reader

[allkordelia]

The Funeral Pt. 1

The wave of Gullet crash into the rocks that surrounded Driftmark, the sky was covered by grey clouds. The wind blew subtly as house targaryen and house velaryon stood outside listening to lord vaemond speak, everyone wore black and grim looks.

Today was Laena Velaryon's funeral. The only thing left of her was her char burnt body that was hidden by the driftwood sarcophagus that was made by corlys, only a few knew what really happen to laena while others speculated, but rhaelle knew so did daemon and their two children, maekar and alys, as well as jaenara.

It was hard for the three children to sleep, every time they close their eyes all they could see is vhagar fiery breathe and hear rhaelle cries for her baby sister. Noneof the witnesses had a decent night of sleep, and it showed on their faces especially rhaelle.

She had bags under eyes and hollow cheek, she barely eat when it was time to daemon dismay and when he have to tell her to she ignore him and move her food around her plate with her fork, and when night came she would sleep for bit before waking up in cold sweats and leave to the garden where laena and her girls like to spend their free time. Sometime she would go under the tree that laena who be with gaela and gaemon reading them a tale, and curl up in the spot next to where laena would usually sit and cry herself back to sleep.

Her late night trip would result in a argument with her better half, as daemon worried for her health rhaelle tried to handle the unexpected death of her little sister. She and laena never grew up together, rhaelle was sent off to marry otto before her sister could understand why her big sister wasnt leavijg with them anymore, rhaelle always felt like a stranger to her sister but laena never did. Laena saw Rhaelle as her big sister that she never got a chance to be raised with because of their father, but they made up for lost time when she decided to live with daemon and rhaelle.

Rhaelle found out so much interesting things that she never knew about her sister, like laena favorite flower was gillyflower or how she hated the taste of squash. Or how she would wiggle her nose when she was anxious or sad or the fact she always wish to sail the world like their father did when he was young.

So much she found out about laena in the course of a few years, and just like that she was gone, rhaelle didn't expect it or prepare for it. She never thought about the stranger taking her sweet sister, rhaelle always imagine she die first so she didn't have to watch the people she love fade away. There was times when she was laying under the tress that she wish the stranger would trade her soul for laena's own, her sister didn't deserve to die so young, laena deserved to live her life and explore before being trap in a palace with a husband like daemon and surrounded by children.

Rhaelle felt like she failed her sister in many ways than one.

As both house stand in silence near the cliffs of High Tide, rhaelle glance around at the familiar and unfamiliar faces that should to pay their respects for her sister. Her children was gathered around her while daemon stood off to the side away from his wife and children, gaela was in front of rhaelle with her mother's right arm around her shoulder with her cane in hand while rhaelle's other arm was holding gaemon to her side. Alys lean against her older brother, Aemon, while holding Alyssa's hand, Maekar was next to Alyssa with his arm around Baelon's shoulder while the young boy focus more of the water than anything else.

Valaena and Aeron was there with their sons and adrielle aa they stand behind their mother, Corywn was inside in his chamber looking out of the window of High Tide, corywn's sons were with their cousins next to Valaena. Baelor was there as well with Marra and his wife beside his mother and gaela, baelor had his head on top of his wife's head as he tries to keep in the tears.

Baela was next to her grandmother with her head on rhaenys's shoulder, while Rhaena was being held by Corlys. Laenor was standing with his daughter with both arms around her holding her to him as he shed tears for his older sister, rhaenyra stare at laenor and jaenara with a hint of anger as she stood holding her two boys close to her. She glance away from her husband and jaenara to look across from her to daemon who stood alone with his hands clasp together in front of him, he flicker his eyes up to look back at rhaenyra who cast her eyes away as her heartbeat fast in her chest.

"...Salt course through Velaryon blood. Our runs thick. Our runs true..." Rhaelle glance away from her sister's coffin to her uncle to see him staring down rhaenyra and her children making her wrinkle her nose, before rhaelle could snarl at her intolerable uncle, her heart clench when she heard daemon. 

Aeron look over at Daemon with a sneer as well as Baelor, the children furrow their brows in confusion or anger as they look at their father before they look away back to their great uncle.

Daemon had his bent as he giggle at the audacity of vaemond, he lift his head up again with a hint of a smile, he glance at rhaenyra before he look over at his wife and children. His smile fade when he caught rhaelle's wet eyes, she sniff and look away from him to look back at her uncle with a glare.

"...And ours must never thin–" Vaemond says.

"Dīnagon va, kepus." Rhaelle hiss making the older man look at her for a moment taken back before he bow his head and let out a apology. Move on, uncle.

"...To the sea we belong, and to the sea we return..." Rhaelle bite the inside of her bottom lip as she turns to her sister's coffin.

"Kostagon ziry emagon nykeā ȳgha voyage." Vaenond said in high valyrian, rhaelle pull her arms from her children and step forward making laenor do the same. May she have a safe voyage.

Rhaelle held her brother's arm as they step close to the coffin, she let go as they go on either side to look at the carve face of their sister. She bends down to kiss the head before pressing her forehead against the wood, she whisper a prayer before leaning up straight to watch her brother to the same thing. Rhaelle and Laenor step back holding onto each other as they watch with blurry eyes as their sister get push into the sea to be with her ancestors. Laenor turns his back to the scene as he hugs rhaelle burying his face in his sister's shoulder crying, rhaelle hold her brother tight as the loud splash of water indicates laena's departure.

Rhaelle stood in the corner looking out at the sea as the guests give out condolences, she turn her eyes down to the stone balustrade before glance to the right of her to see daemon further down leaning his hip against the balustrade as he watch her subtly. She drag her eyes away from him and back at the deep blue sea, while rhaelle was wallowing in despair, her brother was off somewhere grieving alone. As she leans forward she rest her chin on the palm of her hand as her elbow rest on the stone balustrade, she heard whispers making her turn her head slightly to hear jace and rhaenyra talk.

"...we should be at Harrenhal paying our respect to lord strong and ser harwin–"

"Jace. Enough." Rhaenyra says as she flicker eyes around to make sure no one heard him, she caught rhaelle's empty stare making jacerys follow his mother's gaze to see his aunt.

A sudden anger and resentment spir in her stomach making her scowl the two before turning away to push herself off the railing and limp away with her cane snapping against the stone floors, daemon move away as well following after his wife as she heads towards the table and grab a cup.

"What are you doing?" He ask standing next to her, rhaelle didn't pay no mind to him as she stare at the red liquid that's giving off strong fragrance she tried so hard for years not to touch.

"What do you think I'm about to do." She said monotone as she swirl the liquid in the cup.

"Don't do it, rhaelle." He said as he watch her smell the wine.

"Why not? I think I deserve a little taste of oblivion just for one night."

"You work so hard to stay clearheaded all these years, don't throw it away, laena wouldn't want you–" A low bitter chuckle pass through rhaelle's lips before she finally look at daemon.

"Really? My sister have barely been down there, and you already using her to guilt me. It's one drink." She says.

"That will turn into two then three then four then your pass out somewhere chocking on your own vomit." A flicker cross between rhaelle's eyes.

"You would like that wouldn't you." Daemon look taken back by her words, "I bet you have a good laugh at my funeral as well, huh." Her words cut deep making daemon bow his head in contempt.

"You know I didn't mean anything by it, you heard what he said, I was just trying–" Rhaelle hit his chest making him look at him.

"I don't care what you were trying to do, your fucking daughters just lost their mother and rather than standing by their side and comforting them, you thought giggling right in the middle of it was a good fucking idea." He glare at rhaelle at her tone.

"It was your uncle who started it going on about true blood and whatnot."

"They are words, daemon. Those words mean nothing to their ears–"

"So, I should have just allow him to shame rhaenyra and her sons."

"Did you not think for a second I would have stop it," Rhaelle's words brought silence between daemon and her, he stare at her searching her eyes before glancing away, making her scoff, "So focus on her that you forgot I was there, that I have been defending her and her children for years. Just because I been a bit depress you thought I was going to allow that fool to make this about legitimacy rather than my sister." Daemon was quiet making rhaelle slam her cup down with a look of disbelief.

"Your unbelievable, daemon."

"I'm sorry–" she put her hand up.

"Don't, I can't." Daemon gave rhaelle a pleading look before reaching for her hand only for her to slap it away, "I need space. Watch the children and make sure they get to bed. I will come back to tuck them in." She said making daemon frown before he watch as she limp away to go back to the castle.

Rhaenyra watch from her spot near the other table as rhaenyra and daemon got in an argument, she watch as rhaelle limp away before she turn her eyes to her uncle who was watching with a dejected look.

Daemon felt someone watching him making him glance around at the guests before his eyes landed on his neice, he stare at her as she stare at him, before he could step forward to go to her gaela walk up to him.

"Papa, I'm hungry." Daemon kept his eyes on rhaenyra as she look away from him.

"Go find your brothers." He said.

"But, aemon is busy with baela and rhaena, and maekar..." Daemon let out a agitated sigh before he look down at the little girl, his bastard, his mistake and rhaelle's child.

He never understood why rhaelle wanted to keep her, daemon was fine with shipping her off to the silent sisters or whoever. Gaela was one of daemon's biggest mistakes, she was the fissure that made rhaelle regain her distrust in daemon.

"Then go ask your sisters, I can see you list off every damn flower in the garden but you can't think to ask your other siblings for help." Gaela step back with a bow head at hed father's harsh words, "You must learn to do things by yourself, your brothers and sister nor I and rhaelle will always be there to help you."

"I'm sorry, father." Gaela mumble making  daemon huff as he turn his nose down at the little girl.

"You know how i hate when you mumble, speak up."

"Daemon." Rhaenys hiss, daemon look away from the girl in front of him to his mother in law, rhaenys been watching him the entire funeral after that giggle he made, she could see from where she stood with her grandchildren that daemon was belittling the little girl.

"Princess." Daemon acknowledged grimly, rhaenys look at daemon with distaste before turning her soft look to her granddaughter.

"Gaela. Alys is looking for you, why don't you go and keep her some company." Gaela swallow before glancing at her father wore a empty look as he stare at rhaenys, a rumble in her stomach made her look back at her grandmother.

"Okay, but can we...get food first." She ask timidly making daemon roll his eyes and rhaenys smile at her.

"Of course, my dear. Come along." Rhaenys held her hand out for thr little girl to take, gaela gave a small smile to her grandmother and grab her hand.

Rhaenys didn't spare her son in law a word or a look before she walk away with her grandchild, daemon watch them with a empty heart before he look for rhaenyra again to find her talking to Valaena. He'll wait for them to stop talking before going over but for now he went back to his spot by the balustrade to be alone, it didn't take long after for viserys to go over to his brother and talk.

As daemon was busy, his children were all huddle together with their cousins in silence as they watch their parents and adults socialize. Aemon had gaemon in his lap as he sat next to baela, baelon sat next to rhaena with her holding his hand while her head laid on his shoulder. Alyssa was standing next to Maekar as he had his back to the party and look out at the water in deep thought, Alys was on the ground with adrielle and daeron keeping helaena company as she mutter to herself and plays with a spider. 

Aegor, Balaegor, and Vesemir are valaena and aeron' sons, the two oldest, aegor and balaegor were talking with corwyn's sons, Ronas and Romarn while Balaegor was holding on to Vesemir's hand as they stand near their cousins, Aegon and Aemond. Aegon was two cups in swaying a bit as he looks at adrielle as she talks to helaena, aemond notice his brother drunken state and decided to walk away from him to stand near the fire pit with his nephews and neice.

He stand close to his neice before looking at her to see jaenara looking in the fire with a empty look and misty eyes, aemond move his hand to brush against jaenara's hand making her hand flinch slightly and make her look to her uncle. He gave her look making her look away and back at the fire pit, aemond cast his eyes down crestfallen before he felt jaenara's hand grab his own. He look at her as she continue to stare at the fire, a small curve of his lip make him go back looking at the pit before stepping close before squeezing her hand.

Valaena walk up to them catching their attention, she stand their with a handkerchief in hand, her messy white hair was in a bun away from her face showing off her tear streak cheeks and red eyes.

"Hello, children. The sun is going down, you should all head up to bed now." She says.

"Where is mother, sister." Aemon ask.

"Mother is taking care of laenor, so I will need you and Aegor to put your siblings to bed." Aegor step forward making valaena put her hand on his shoulder.

"Where are you going, mother?" Valaena sniff moving her handkerchief to dab her eyes.

"I must attend to your uncle corywn, he is...unwell and needs me and your father." Ronas and Romarn share the same look as they look at each other before looking back at their aunt.

"Okay, sister." Aemon says making valaena give them a watery smile before leaving.

Gaemon move off aemon's lap making the older boy stand up with his sisters following along, Alyssa nudge Maekor's arm pulling him out of his thoughts and look at her before he look at the others getting up or moving from their spots. He watch Alyssa leave only to stop when she saw gaela and their grandmother, they shared a few words before Alyssa grab her sister other hand and wall with her inside.

Maekar stayed outside along with aemond, jacerys, lucerys, aegon, baelon, ronas, and romarn. He wasn't tired, well he didn't want to sleep more like wouldn't be able too. He turn his eyes to glance around the guests to try to find his father, when he did he saw him leave down the stairs, probably to find mother, maekar turn his eyes away from where his father went to rhaenyra who came to tell her sons to go to their chambers. Maekar turn back around to look out at the sea toning their voices out, and focusing on the waves that crash against the rocks of the castle.

"...we should go."

"...do you think anybody there."

"....definitely not but we should wait until it's nightfall."

"...fuck that we should go now before our parents get back."

Maekar turn to see his brother trying to convince their cousins to leave, maekar pull away from the balustrade to wall up behind his young cousin, Romarn.

"What are you talking about." Romarn along with his brother flinch at maekar sudden appearances making the boys look at him.

"We're going to go flying." Baelon said, "You wanna come? We gonna need a look out." Baelon wiggle his brows with a smirk making maekar just stare at him

"You should be in bed. All of you should." He said making baelon roll his eyes.

"We go to bed when we finish flying, so are you coming or what, because my dragon isn't big enough to fit aemond." Aemond glare at Baelon, making Maekar think about it for a minute, he didn't want to be the only one awake and flying did soothe him.

"Fine, but only for an hour." Baelon smirk while ronas and romarn smile along with aemond.

Maekar look around before motioning for them to follow him, they went to the stairs were his father left not too long ago before they stop. A man with a  beard and pin on his chest drag aegon up the steps, the boys move aside as the older man didn't pay no mind to them as he drags aegon away. They continue on down the steps to the sandy ground, and headed to where their dragon's slept.

@beggarsnotchoosey @cleverzonkwombatsludge @avidreader73 @green-lxght @spderm4nnnn @supermassiveblackhope @watercolorskyy @stargaryenx

[fabled-fiction]

requests open for:

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON

Im back with a vengance,,,

My requests are open but Im putting a call out for House of the Dragon requests just to put my name out there!! I have ideas but I also wanna fill in any ideas people have!!

Aka Im gnawing at the bars of my enclosure to write for this show.

People I will write for:

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Daemon Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen

Aegon Targaryen

Cregan Stark

Jacerys Valeryon

+ MORE!

If the character is a minor I will only write Angst/Fluff/Friend

-

Note: I tend to write gender neutral/appearance neutral to be inclusive but I will go into specifics if requested!!!

[wooobuddyletsgetnasty]

daemon targaryen x lifelong friend! reader

no one told me to shut up so i am blaming this on you all.

⚠️: canon-divergence, reader is a childhood friend of the prince, reader is considered high-class but no detail as to which house they belong to, hints to reader’s mother being absent/deceased, canon typical treatment of women (fem! presenting reader), mentions of unwanted marriage (reader is going to get out of it, no matter the cost), talks of virginity, mentions of explicit sexual contact (some of this takes place in a brothel but probs not what you think), sexual tension, kissing, dry humping, mutual pining, daemon is a warning by himself, reader is a menace and determined not to be wed to anyone that isn’t the rogue prince and uhhhh i think that’s it.

it is times like these, times when you bite your tongue and smile prettily like your mother taught you to, times when you swallow back what you truly wish to say, that make you miss being a child.

you miss running through the gardens, playing with the horses, sneaking away from your father— you miss the warped sense of freedom that childhood had brought.

‘but you are a woman now, you are no longer a child’, a voice echos in your mind, more like a memory than anything, ‘and women do what they must for their families.’

you feel nothing but bitter when you smile at the Lord your father is planning to wed you to, nothing but bitterness and despair.

your father had thought that one day, the prince you grew up with, the Rogue Prince himself, would ask for your hand. secretly, you had hoped that he would as well— but he had not.

with age, you had become wiser and it was when you were on the cusp of your womanhood that you realized he would never ask for you.

the Rogue Prince would never ask for you, even though you had wished for it— dreamed of it.

it felt like your world would come crashing apart when your father had given up the idea of wedding you off to the prince and started searching for other men to take your hand.

your father had said you were only growing older and with that, your time unwed was shorter with each passing moon.

————

out of all of them, all of your suitors, you despised this one the most.

the Lord whose name is a loss to you— an older one who had lost his second lady wife nigh four moon cycles ago; the one that knows nothing of you, of what you like, of what you wish for the future.

all he knows is you are young, untouched and malleable— he knows he can bend you under his hands and shape you into a perfect lady wife, one in his image.

your father favors him, thinks that he will be more than able to provide for you.

but this man, he is wretched when he leans down, yellowed teeth burning a hole in your memory, rank breath making you swallow a gag, “you are not a real woman just yet, but i will make you one.”

you feel sick, like when your prince had insisted that you could eat one more slice of sweet bread when you were children.

you remember looking up at him, like you always had, a boy who was only a few summers your senior but had enough of a hold on you that you believed every little thing that spilt from his lips.

he had said that you could stomach it so you had swallowed down the last piece, despite the churn of your stomach.

he was wrong, and you had retched up that piece of sweet bread on his shoes almost immediately afterwards.

that is how you feel in the presence of this man, sickly— your stomach souring more with each passing moment.

hot bile rises in your chest— all you can imagine is shackles, heavy and painful.

you will not be the wife of a man who is only after you for your virtue.

————

“i will not wed him.”

your voice is quiet, quieter than you would wish for it to be.

your father halts on the steps of your home, shoulders squaring in a way you know means he will not listen to your worries, “you will do as i say, daughter.”

your voice comes louder this time, more courageous than you truly feel, “i will not be wed to a man like that, a man who is only interested in what is under my skirts, Lord Father.”

your father turns on the steps, a look in his eye you have not seen before, “enough,” with the tone of his voice, all you hear is the lock of your shackles clicking in place, “you will wed who i say.”

his voice is definite and that feeling of despair comes rushing back.

your heart pounds loudly in your ears, and even if you wish to object further— you do not.

you swallow the words of protest down, and rush to your chambers.

later, after the moon has just barely peaked in the sky, that despair— that very hopelessness morphs itself into something else.

this new feeling is white-hot and fucking suffocating, thrumming through your veins until you are sure you will implode.

you have no sadness, no acceptance for your future with that old pig.

all you have left is your anger and it feels biblical.

you devise a plan, one that is irrational and childish— but you do not care. you grab your cloak, fastening it tightly to your shoulders before pulling your hood up.

you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you toe closer to your window, nodding in content. you look unrecognizable enough with the hood shadowing your face.

you steady yourself, swinging your lower half out the window, preparing to climb down and make a break for it, while you still have your nerve.

————

sneaking away from your home is no small challenge, but somehow, you still manage to get away unscathed.

it takes little time for you to find yourself in front of a man of the City Watch, and you pull your hood tighter to mask your features, “where is your leader?”

the way his face pulls tells you all you need to know, but you push forward, asking again for confirmation, “the prince, Ser?”

he answers slowly, like he is unsure he should give the information out to you, but he relents, “the brothel.”

not long later, you weave your way through the streets of the King’s Landing, determined to stay out of trouble, stay out of the push of the people moving along. you manage to avoid any danger quite well, in fact, you find that you move fairly quickly when you are motivated by nothing but pure spite.

it does not take long for you to find the brothel. you gaze at the doors, and for a very brief moment, hesitation heavies your feet.

you should not be here, you know that well.

your eyes linger on a couple seated by the door, their hands groping blindly at the fronts of each other, their clothing in utter disarray. it is a lewd show, and you find yourself more unsure of your plan than ever.

however, you bring yourself to swallow your nerves, hands stopping their fiddling with a stray edge on your cloak. the sooner you go in, the sooner you come out.

you steel yourself, you will not leave here with your virtue in tact.

the people outside do not prepare you for what it will be like inside. outside, there were few— inside, there are many.

it is nothing but bare bodies, writhing against each other in the throes of passion. all you can hear are the sounds tearing from their lips, ones that seem more animal like with each passing moment.

you feel diseased, tainted with each step forward.

you shoulder your way through the crowd, dodging the wandering hands trying to grab places they should not be. you ignore the looks of beckoning from strangers that grip at your skirts in an attempt to see what you are hiding under them. you keep your head down in an attempt to seem unwelcoming to any advances, trying to make quick work of finding what you came for.

by mistake, you make eye contact with a man as he laps at the confection of one of the common whores, and you fight off the urge to hastily run away from this place.

you are growing impossibly more uncomfortable with each passing second, but the feeling of imaginary shackles tightening around your ankles spurs you onward.

finding the Rogue Prince might be a more difficult feat than you originally thought.

————

time is lost to you and with that, also is the way you entered. you cannot recall how much time you have spent wandering when you finally catch a glimpse of the telling white of his hair. you make your way to the room you saw him being led to, shoulders lifting in an attempt to keep your identity concealed.

the room is secluded in nature, but not hidden enough for you to not see him over the crowd before the door closes.

and when you peer inside, hesitant in your movements, he is surrounded— three women flanking his sides on the bed, one mouthing at his throat, the other two grabbing blindly at the front of his trousers, too caught up in each other’s mouths to really pay attention to where their hands are.

they are nothing but a blur of bodies, writhing together in a way that makes you wince.

you feel foolish for coming, your hand tugging nervously at the fabric of your cloak again— but you decide you will not turn back now.

you let go of your hold on the cloth, press the door open farther, and step into the candlelight.

the creak of the door does not pull them away from each other, and you feel irritation suffocating in your chest.

you clear your throat in an attempt to draw their attention, it echos off the stone walls, louder than you expect— but it does exactly what you want.

the woman closest to the door, the lone one, turns to look at you, eyes every bit sultry and proud to have a prince in her grasp, “ah.. looks like we have brought an audience, Your Grace.”

you inhale deeply, hands pulling at your cloak once again, despite your desire to seem sure of yourself, “afraid not, my lady. i do, however, need a moment alone with the prince.”

her eyes narrow, features turning sharp, “the prince is occupied, whore. you can see yourself out, or you can wait until we have finished,” she pauses, mouthing again at his throat before finishing, “but that might take all night.”

you feel it again, that biblical anger, the one that makes you feel able to call upon a plague. your tone carries in the room, less kind than the one you had used previously, “you misunderstand. i am not asking you to leave— i am telling you.”

it is enough to draw attention of the other parties in the room, including the prince himself, who says your name in a tone that sends heat prickling down your spine, “well then.. what ever do we have here?”

you raise your chin, a show of defiance, “i must speak with you, Your Grace,” your gaze moves to the woman, “without the presence of harlots.”

when your eyes meet lilac, all you see is amusement, “i am otherwise occupied, sweet one.”

his mouth parts in pleasure at the feeling of one of the women finally making contact with his straining cock, and your irritation returns at his dismissal of you.

when you speak again, your tone is enough to worry him, ringing through the room with an anger he has not heard in ages, “i did not come here to jest.”

when Daemon gazes at you again, he must see something he finds displeasing, every hint of mirth disappearing from his features, “out.”

the three women, the whores, they think him talking to you— but you know better, moving further into the room, no longer blocking the door.

the woman closest to you, the one you find wholly unlikable speaks next, “you heard his highness, get out.”

“not her, whore— the three of you. get out.”

the smug little grin that pulls at your mouth does not leave your features until after the door closes.

————

you give the prince a few moments to collect himself, but he speaks before you can, “now then, after you have taken all the fun of my night away— what is it you need so urgently?”

Daemon settles himself on the edge of the bed, peering up at your restless form from his perch, and all you see when you look at him is your dearest friend— the only man you would ever trust with the task you are about to ask of him.

you pull down your hood in response, licking at your lips in the way he recalls is a nervous tick you have had since you were small, “my father wishes to wed me to a man,” you pause your pacing, anger melding back into hopelessness, “and he is just fucking vile, Daemon. he only wants me for my maidenhood. he does not care for me.”

you take in a deep breath, shoulders quivering with the movement, and in that moment, you remind Daemon of your younger self.

you remind him of the bright eyed nuisance that followed him everywhere like a little shadow, back when things were far more simple— back when his every thought was of one day being your husband.

“do tell, my Lady— what does that have to do with me?”

you answer with no hesitation, hands pawing at the latch of your cloak that rests at your throat, “i want you to take it, Your Grace.”

your cloak hits the ground with a muffled noise of rumpling fabric, “he will not take me as his lady wife if i have laid with another,” you halt your words, making heavy eye contact with the prince, your hands making quick work of the lacing on the front of your bodice, and when your words return, it is quietly, with a tone that makes the Prince’s head swim with thoughts of how you would look spread open at his will, “make me a woman, Daemon.”

he stands, moving towards you, wearing an emotion you do not recognize and a slow heat lights in your veins.

you answer him quickly, moving to meet him in the middle of the room, hands abandoning the lacing on your chest to feel at the broadness of his shoulders.

when he does not stop you, your head tilts in an attempt to press your honeyed lips to his. he does not let you, head moving so your lips press at his cheek and your irritation returns, hands opting to knead at the muscle on his shoulders. your gaze turns every bit tempting when you look up at him, trying to seem cloying with the words you speak, “have me, Daemon— my virtue is yours.”

he captures your hands in his own, his grip tight when he wrenches them away from his frame to hold them above your head and you shudder a noise of pleasure, figuring that he would finally do as you wished.

you do not miss the noise that pulls from his mouth, echoing your need for him back to you in a husk, one that makes slick drip between your thighs.

then, before you have the chance to try anything else— he is pressing you away from him, a sharp “no,” ringing through the room. it reminds you of the way he would scold when you were smaller, when you would do something he did not like.

he did not want you and you pause, your lustful haze disappearing immediately, shame replacing it, slithering down to settle deep in the base of your spine, until you feel nothing but embarrassed at your actions, “no?”

you jerk, attempting to get away from him, from this feeling of rejection. he lets you hastily remove your hands from his grip, turning your head away from him.

when you look back up at him, lip quivering with an emotion he cannot place, he feels guilty for turning you away, but he stands steadfastly, echoing the refusal back at you.

Daemon watches desperate little tears line your bottom lashes in the way that reminds him of the tantrums you would throw when he could play with you no longer, “i will not sully you.”

you turn away again, whole body moving this time, feeling foolish at your measly attempt to seduce your oldest friend, the only man you have ever thought of, the only man you have ever truly wanted, “very well then, Your Grace,” something changes in your tone, something so cold it makes him stiffen, “i do wonder if some of the men in your City Watch would be interested in sullying me.”

there is a sharp intake of breath before he speaks again, voice carrying a reminisce of how he used to protect you when you needed it, “you will do no such thing— if any of them touch you, they will lose their hands.”

you turn, eyes lit with something that Daemon finds wholly attractive, and he cannot help the flicker of his gaze to the heave of your almost uncovered breasts, “you do not have the right to threaten that. if you will not take me, then i will find someone that will.”

you do not see the way his hand raises to grip at the chub on your cheeks until it is too late to dodge him, his hand pressing into the fat on your face until it is almost painful, “watch your tone with me, sweet one, i am not a man that will bend to your requests.”

you move your head in an attempt to get away from his grip, but find yourself unable to shake him off, and despite his remark about not bending to you, his lips are on yours before you can retort something back.

the scent of him— of leather, and dragon fire is so thick you swear you can taste it on his tongue.

it is so delicious, he is so delicious— and this, this feeling, the sharp bite of his teeth against your bottom lip is your salvation.

you find yourself pushing him back towards the bed before you truly realize, but the bed is where you fully intend to push up your skirts and mount him.

your voice is saccharine with desire, with need, “please, Your Grace— take me.”

you find yourself speaking between sloppy, inexperienced slots of your mouth desperately against his, “i want you to take it— i want you to have me.”

his back hits the bed first, your body following his dissent clumsily.

his hands move to your hips in an attempt to steady your weight against him, your own hands caging him between the softness of you, and the softness of the bed.

you wiggle against his iron grip until you are fully straddling him, wasting no time before you begin grinding your weepy cunt against the heat of his groin.

you press against him harder, desperate little jerks of your hips that feel good enough a noise that is nothing but depraved pulls from your throat.

he stops you steadily, with more force than necessary, his hands bruising against the doughy fat of your hips to prohibit the drag of your cunt against the seam of his pants.

his voice is clipped— dripping with barley there restraint, “i will take you, sweet one, when we are wed.”

you stare down at him, doe-eyed, debauched, and dripping with something so heady that it makes his cock jump against the smothering swelter of your cunt.

his eyes flutter, threatening to close, at the very feeling of finally having you after all these years and despite himself, Daemon shoves back the urge to push you face first into the bed and do as you ask, as you had plead for him to do.

instead of doing what he truly wishes, he brushes the fallen wisps of your hair from your eyes, tenderly, like a husband would.

he leans to press a kiss to your lips, saccharine and dripping with promise, and then his voice comes softly against the side of your mouth, something you have only ever heard in your dreams of him mingled in the tone, “i will come for you with the rise of the sun.”

you hope he means that.

[moonymoons-blog]

i need more fanfics/imagines dark daemon targaryen, as much as i love the cute and romantic side i want him to be a complete bloodthirsty passionate obsessive/possessive lunatic please isn't it too much to ask??? as far as in my head the same is a canon yandere

[naregmzz]

*being obsessed with fictional blonde psychopaths is a crime*

me:

[fragileheartbeats]

Targaryen men and their child in modern au

Aemond: Alright, here's your knife. Let's review what you learned. What do you do if someone touches you?

His child:...

Aemond:...

His child: *stabs Aemond's arm that's holding them*

Aemond: *wincing in pain* P-Perfect! Now, remember, always smile when you do it. It freaks them out more.

Daemon: Can you go to sleep already?

His child: Why? So you can hurt mommy?

Daemon: Hurt mommy? What are you talking about, child?

His child: I heard her screaming last night.

Daemon:...

Daemon: Oh, that. Mommy just saw a snake. A very... big snake...

His child: Mommy sure screams a lot because of snakes.

Aegon: *drinking alcohol*

His child: Can I have some, daddy?

Aegon: No!

His child: Why?

Aegon: Because it hurts your body and slowly kills you.

His child: So you're gonna die and leave me?

Aegon: *starts crying and hugging them* NOOOO!!! I WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU!!! I'M SORRY!!! I'M SUCH A SHITTY DAD!!!

His child: *patting his back softly* There, there. It's okay, daddy. But maybe we should get you some juice. And a therapist.

[shuichiakainx]

Matt is too adorable in this photo 🥺🧡

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

Skyfall

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warning: Death, mention of miscarriage, mention of rape, forced marriage, angst, smut fluff, post-Dance

Summary: Daemon was the only surviving, elder Targaryen to wear the Conquerors Crown. His heir was a broken little boy. Driven by spite, he took the widow of the nephew he had slain as his wife.

A/N: This fic was inspired by this fic game from @ewanmitchellcrumbs

He felt the crash hard. It was unlike falling to the ground. Water was more resistant, and firmer. He wanted to groan, the pain shooting from his back to his whole body. But as soon as he tried to breathe, water was already filling his lungs.

The weight of his heavy armour pulled him down to the ground of the lake. But he resisted as best as he could. His head broke the surface of the lake, coughing, and spluttering as he took deep breaths.

He crawled out of the water with difficulty. His wet jerkin was adding to the weight of his chain mail and dark armour. His body was protesting against every move he made. Crying out for him to give up, to surrender. But he was too stubborn.

Tears of frustration threatened to spill down his cheeks. His hands were muddy and full of cuts from the stones on the shore. Left shoulder, where Aemond’s sword pierced him, burned from the exertion. He could feel the pumping from his heart in the gaping wound.

He gave up in the middle of the cobblestone shore right where the grass line began. He was heaving heavily. He was trying to get enough air into his lungs to breathe, but all his body wanted was to shut down and succumb to the darkness calling him.

The last thing he remembered where men of his army rushing to him. Carrying him to a cart.

He woke up surrounded by maesters and servants. All fussing as he tried to sit up. He was stronger than any of them if it wasn’t for the milk of the poppy the maesters had given him in his unconscious state. His movements were sluggish, his head fuzzy. He roared out for the hands around his body to unhand him. He threatened them to behead them in the name of his wife, Queen Rhaenyra.

The room grew quiet at his mention of Rhaenyra. He looked around, his eyes hardening. “What is the meaning of this?” Everyone in the room averted their eyes. His anger burned brighter with every quiet moment passing by. “Talk!” He boomed.

A maester hesitantly came closer to his side. He bowed deeply. “My p-prince, the Princ-Queen Rhaenyra was killed by the order of King Aegon. She burned in the fires of Sunfyre.” The elderly man became quiet at the end. Everyone in the room waited with bated breath for his reaction. Fearing the worst.

Daemon’s nostrils flared as the words sunk in. The usurper green cunt burned her alive. They had their flaws, but he cared for Rhaenyra deeply. She did not deserve to die like this. “Where is he now?” The servants looked down. The maester, an elderly man with a bald head and dark brown eyes, looked at him with sympathy. He looked like a Great Dane, with his sad dark eyes and the deep wrinkles around his face. “He is dying, my prince.”

Satisfaction spread through his body as he got the news about Aegon dying. “Who else is still alive?”

The maester looked up at him, fixing his posture as he had been bowing the whole time. “The Dowager Queen Alicent, Princesses Jaehaera, your son, Prince Aegon the younger and…” The man trailed off.

Daemon impatiently looked at him. His fingers drummed on the bedding. “Who else?” He growled. “The widow of Prince Aemond, my prince.”

A wide, nearly sadistic grin spread on his lips. Good, he thought. He takes further revenge on his naïve nephew.

The day Daemon was announced King, was the day Aegon the Second died. He took it as the opportunity to announce not only his coronation as king, as he was the only elder male Targaryen left. He also announced his betrothal to the widow of Aemond.

He saw in the corner of his eyes how she stood next to the Dowager Queen. Her eyes cast down as the herald announced the news. The corners of his lips lifted at her reaction. Alicent broke down, another triumph for him, as he knew the Lady had become like a daughter to her.

She stood in her chamber with her maids flittering around her. They had already undressed her out of her heavy wedding gown. Lifting the weight from her shoulder, but not from her chest.

She had heard stories from her late husband about his uncle. He had admired the man. But his arrogance and his ignorance had led to his death. She had mourned him, even though in the end he didn’t deserve her tears.

She had heard of the witch of Harrenhal. How he had bedded her time and time again. Maybe he had been under her spell, maybe he did it out of his free will. But she was with his child, not her, the witch.

She stood in front of the mirror of her room. Seeing the maids working on unbraiding her hair. How she wished they knew how to unbraid the coil in her stomach.

Her hands shook slightly as she touched the fine lace of her night dress. A gift from Daemon. “The lace was made in Myr, my lady.” One of her maids whispered in awe. She only nodded. Her mind was blank. Her soul had gone to a far-off place.

She was led to Daemon’s chamber. Her steps were so stiff she felt like a puppet being moved on strings. Maybe the gods took control of her, leading her to her slaughter. She had been Aemond’s wife, now married to his killer. From one kinslayer married to another. But who had not earned that title in the Dance? No one's hands were untainted with spilt dragon blood. Not even her own hands were clean.

Daemon sat in front of the lit fireplace, a goblet of the finest braavosi wine in his hand. He held the conqueror's crown in his hand. Looking at it with indifference. He was king now. A king with a broken heir. Aegon had seen his mother being burned alive. Being scared for his life.

He had always been a guarded boy. Keeping to himself most of the time when Viserys wasn’t next to him. Viserys, his other son, was taken by the Triarchy. Believed to be dead.

He took a large gulp from his drink. He was staring into the flames with a blank stare. He needed a new heir. Aegon would not be fit to rule. He was too broken, too much grief and darkness surrounded him. He would break under the weight of the heavy crown.

He pursed his lips and chuckled humourlessly. Would he break too? He had lost much too. Laena and their son, his brother, Rhaenyra, their younger son Viserys, their daughter, his dragon, his trusted life companion he had fought in plenty of wars with. Caraxes was nowhere to be seen. His guards searched far and wide for any signs of his beloved dragon. But until now, he was believed dead.

His chamber door opened and a maid of his new wife stepped in, announcing her presence. He did not turn as she entered. Did not acknowledge her. It seemed she did not do the same. Maybe she was scared of him? He fought with amusement.

He heard her move before he saw her stand next to him. She was dressed in a thin robe covering her shoulders. It was opened, probably a maid’s work. She looked like she wanted to close it again.

"Should I lay on my back, lord husband?” She whispered so softly. He looked up at her, seeing the hidden fear in her glassy eyes. “No.” He spoke softly. A softness he hadn’t felt in a long time. “You are not willing to lay with me.”

Her eyes widened at his words. He chuckled and drank the rest of his wine before putting his cup and crown on the table with the jug of wine. “Did the Dowager Queen tell you I would take you without your consent? I think she has lived too long with her rapist of a son and sadly, my brother too. I am not too obsessed with having sons like he was. I have a living son, even if I see him as unfit. I also have two daughters from my dear Laena. If one of them marries and has a son, he will inherit my throne.”

He stood up and looked at her for the first time. She was beautiful, he had to admit that. He was not blind. “I think you would appreciate it if you were to be left alone. You do not only mourn Aemond, do you?” Her body stiffened. “How…?” He smiled softly. “I have my little birds everywhere. They told me about your … misfortune. No woman should ever feel that kind of pain.”

She bit her lip and looked down at the stone floor. Her arms wrapped unconsciously around her empty womb. A few months ago she had felt the flutter of life there, but the gods were cruel to her.

“I could order my men to hunt her down and kill her,” Daemon murmured. His lady wife looked up with shock. “Do not kill Alicent! Jaehaera needs her!” Daemon shook his head. “Not that green snake. I mean the witch. Aemond’s mistress who is with his child. I could let her be killed if you want.”

She stared at him with wide eyes before she shook her head. “No, let her be.” “Even if she was the one who caused you to lose your child.” She took in a sharp breath. Her answer was still no. Even if the rumours were true, she didn’t want more blood on her hands.

Daemon nodded, walking past her to the open balcony doors. He heard music and the cheering of the smallfolk. “Why did you marry me? I am not of Valyrian decent.” Daemon grinned softly. “You are not, little dove. I married you to spite your late husband. I want him to look from beyond and see you filled with my child. Caring for my children. I want him to see what he has neglected.”

He turned to her, seeing her wide eyes. “Only if you want. I will not force you. I am not my brother and certainly not my nephew. If you want, I can give you a child.” They stared at each other. The room is quiet.

It had been a year since that fateful night. The realm slowly regained strength under Daemon. No one thought he could become a good king. But he listened to his small council and had competent and trusted advisors. One was his lady wife. She was beautiful but had a sharp tongue that matched Daemon’s wit.

He looked down at her as she writhed on top of the wooden table of the small council as he drove his member over and over into her warmth. Her mewls and moans floated through the empty room. Only the noises of their sticky skin slapping and her moans filled the room.

His stones slapped against her buttocks as he leaned over her. Holding both her wrists over her head. “Who is fucking you this good, little dove.” He looked into her pleasure-filled face. Seeing her struggle to keep her eyes open. “You… Daemon!”

He clicked his tongue and slapped her thigh harshly. “Wrong answer, dōna ābrazȳrys. Who is making you feel this good?” (Sweet wife)

Her soft lips opened and closed like a fish out of the water until her soft, pleasure-filled voice gasped. “You, my king. Ñuha dārys!“ Daemon smirked at her words. “Good, you are learning, little dove.” (My King)

He drove himself over and over into her tight warmth. “Will you give me another one? Another little girl.” She nodded softly. “Kessa, ñuha dārys!” (Yes, my king!) Daemon chuckled softly at her words.

His pace slowed down as he felt his end approaching. His thrust became hard, pushing into her with force. Her gasps grew louder with every push. “Such a good, little wife. Taking her king's cock. Ñuha sȳz dāria!” (My good queen) He groaned out loudly. Filling her with his warm seed.

Her body began to tremble as she approached completion. Her body tensed until it went limp under him.

He looked down at her. Her chest heaving. The sun rays streaming from the window made her sweat-covered skin glisten. He was far from a religious man, but to him, she looked like the personification of the maiden. So innocent and vulnerable. If he weren’t so possessive he would commission a painting of her in her post-orgasmic state.

He leaned down, kissing her softly before helping her sit up. He was still inside her, his softening member keeping his semen inside of her. His arms were tightly wrapped around her. “I heard you had coaxed Aegon out of his room and walked around the garden.” He smiled softly at him.

His wife smiled at him. “We talked. I wanted him to know I would never replace his mother. Then we talked about his studies. He is a smart boy.” She grinned up at him. Daemon chuckled. “Good. He told me he feels safe with you.”

His wife looked down, playing with the embroidered dragon on his doublet, heat spreading across her face. “I feel honoured.” She mumbled.

Their bubble was broken by hurried steps coming closer to the small council chamber. Both turned as a knight entered the chamber. “My king, my queen.” He bowed deeply. “There is a boy at the gates claiming to be your son, my king.”

Daemon looked up from his wife to the knight. “Go.” His wife whispered. She pushed him softly from her. He hissed at the loss of her warmth. Whining slightly as she closed his breeches with nimble fingers.

With a fast pace, he rushed into the courtyard, seeing Viserys riding into the gates. He had grown since the last time he saw him.

Daemon was at the horse's side, pulling his son down from the animal. He held him to his chest. Viserys wrapped himself around his father. Both Targaryens couldn’t hold their tears back.

Another body crashed into Daemon’s side. Aegon sobbed loudly as he wrapped his hand around his father and little brother.

With tears in his eyes, he looked at the steps, seeing his wife standing with their daughter in her arms. A gentle smile on her lips. He nodded at her, thanking her for bringing Aegon down from his room.

[zephyrrr101]

Not like her

Pairing: Daemon x niece reader

Warning: Targcest/incest, DUBCON?, size kink and breeding kink light, mention of somnophilia, slight manipulation, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, first intercourse, sweet Daemon, Daemon being a soft uncle hubby.(Because I simp) All ASOIAF warnings. MINOR DNI (but do with hungry bitches care?) also not proof read. High Valyrian translation might or not be wrong.

You looked around the Throne Room which had now was filled with hoards of people, All the nobles have made there way to King’s Landing to attend your sider sister, Rhaenyra’s wedding to your cousin Ser Laenor Velaryon. It was a match made out of convenience, you had known that.

Father had not told you much, nor had your maids and lady companions, all having been sworn to silence by your father. But it didn’t take much for news to not get to your ears. Red Keep was never able to keep gossips.

Apparently, Rhaenyra had been seen beyond the walls of Rad Keep during hour of wolf with someone in unseemly situations. There were no proofs that anyone had, but it had been enough for your father to set this betrothal to push the rumours away.

They weren’t rumours.

It was your sister’s sworn shield who had been the man who Rheernyra had shared her bad with that night. She had spoke to you of this a week after, since you broth were always close, your mother’s death bringing you even closer. You did not mind. Several lords went around having bastards, women too laid with men before marriages, you knew of it, why must Rhaenyra be kept from something she wanted But your sombre mood was not for your sister’s situation. Rhaenyra was strong and she welcomed things in her life with courage, even this marriage. Your issue was that your father, after he had talked with Rhaenyra, had a conversation with you too. You will be wed by the next year to a man of your father’s choosing. He did not seem to want another one of his daughters going and finding trouble.

You had hoped your father would give you the same liberty of choosing your husband that was given to Rhaenyra. You would not had minded choosing, you weren’t picky. You were a second daughter, getting many in a good family was always supposed to be your job. But you would have rather preferred if you could have a little bit of choice in it.

Thank you, Rhaenyra, I love you. But you fucked it up for me, Fuck you.

“Something on your mind, sweet niece?” You turned to Daemon who sat on your right. You were given the seat beside the Queen Alicent, not your preferable place, things between you and Alicent were awkward. She was your sister’s friend turned step-mother. You didn’t talk much, it was weird.

You sighed, turning to your uncle, who had come back from his trip to Stepstones a few days back. He had proven is determination when it came to the barren land. He had won it and now with your father’s blessings looked after the protection of Westros from there, visiting the place some times. “Father is setting up my betrothal.”

Daemon frowned, you could tell he was not happy, Daemon had been a constant in your and Rhaenyra’s life even of he was banished half of the time, more to you. While Rhaenyra had your father, you had your uncle. “Who?”

“I cannot say,” You fiddled with your cup of wine, you had lost your focus, drifting off in solace of solitude. “Father has not told me. But he says I will be wed by this time next year.”

Daemon did not reply. And you turned your attention to middle of room, Rhaenyra and Laenor had started to dance. You tipped your cup up, finishing your wine in one go you did not notice anything after that.

You did not notice how Daemon’s hand clenched around his cup as he glared at anything he could see, how his lilac eyes would fall over you, locking at your distressed race, how he counted each line that marred your forehead, how your tongue had slipped out of your mouth to catch the stray drop of wine and how licked it, your red tinged tongue moving over your lips wetting them. And you certainly did not notice the way he gripped Dark Sister’s pommel when Ser Harwin had come to ask you for a dance and you had agreed, leaving with the large dark haired knight.

No you did not.

You danced with other lords but again found Your way to Ser Harwin, or he did to you.

He spoke something to you, learned down so only you could hear him, Daemon could only imagine how he would be taking in your scent of jasmines, such a calming fragrance.

You nod.

He could not hear you from the distance but he had been around you for a lot longer to imagine how sweet your laughter must be in Strong knight’s ears.

This was it.

Daemon slammed his cup on the table, gathering attention of a few people around him and walked away, his brother’s cautioned words, blurred in his ears.

Ser Harwin was telling you about his tales of City Watch, how he sometimes sees the most hilarious things. Your favourite being the one where a certain lord was hit and thrown out of a pleasure house by one the workers and Ser Harwin had found him crying drunk with a bruised cheek. You had not noticed Daemon’s presence until he asked Ser Harwin if he could have a dance with you.

Who was he to say no to a seasoned warrior and dragon rider who could burn him to ashes if declined what he wanted.

“Ziry issa?” Is it him? Daemon asked you, you had well spotted the frown on his face and anger that was flowing in his lilac eyes. Something you could not comprehend.

“Skoros?” What?

Daemon takes your hand his, you let him guide to where ever he wants to, which happens to the farthest part of the dancing area, lesser people are here and you understand that whatever it must be that he wants to speak of he doesn’t want other to hear.

“Harwin,” He looks away from you and you follow his eyes, finding them on your father. It takes a moment for you to realise what he is asking.

“gimin daor,” I don’t know. You sighed. “It doesn’t matter does it, kepus? I must trust Father in his choice.”

“Your father’s choice?” He whispered, you could feel his breath tickling on your neck. “Look at this choice of his. Laenor is a good man but he will bore your sister senseless. And let us not forget his tastes.”

“It’s not that I don’t wish to marry, kepus,” You mutter, you suddenly found his doublet more interesting than the music or the dance. “But...”

Daemon hummed, his hand softly drew circles on the small of you back, you felt a shiver going through you.

“I understand politics but... I’d rather not be used as a pawn for gain without my say. At least without me knowing who I will be tied to for my whole life. I love my father, I really do,” you sighed, your eyes fell on your father and Alicent sitting beside him in a green dress. This wedding looked more like a disaster. “Look how miserable Alicent is. I do not wish to be another Alicent, kepus.”

Daemon listened to every word that left your mouth keenly. He embedded all of them in his very soul. His niece, his sweet and young niece who had been nothing but kind to him despite everything he might have one that could have hurt her. Even when his brother had sent him away for giving a moniker to his dead nephew all those years before. She had come to say good bye to him. Told him how she did not care for a boy who she didn’t even knew and wished him a safe journey, His little doll who always came to him when she didn’t like the braids her maid would put in her hair and have him redo everything.

I do not wish to be another Alicent, kepus.

And he imagined you, sitting beside some very aged lord, with life span of no long than a few years, who didn’t seem to be caring about anything but the cup of wine in his hands, children standing beside you and one in your hands, all while you looked sullen.

No. He couldn’t let it happen, Not when he knew how marriages like that ended up being.

He smiled at you, one his hand grabbing yours and other one caressing the soft skin of your cheeks, He looked at you with such intensity, with such fondness that you couldn’t help but feet the heat crawling up your neck.

“You won’t end up like her.” He told you and you knew better than anyone that his words were not hollow. It was an unsaid promise.

The wedding did turn out to be a disaster. Rhaenyra’s sworn shield had murdered Ser Joffrey Lonmouth, an event which had led to a rushed marriage between Rhaenyra and Laenor. As soon as the chaos erupted, your uncle had pulled you away towards the doors of the hall since you both were closer to it than the royal table.

The stress had caused your father to collapse and another thing had come to light some disease was eating him alive and now he had lost his arm.

In all, the day had been a like riding a wild dragon.

From what you could tell it was past midnight. And you could think of nothing better than trying to put yourself to sleep. It hadn’t taken much too. As your head hit the pillow and darkness engulfed you.

You had been sleeping deeply and peacefully. The tiring and stressed moments of the wedding had lulled you like an infant after having drunk a tummy full of milk.

You could not understand what it was that had woken you up. You felt hot. Surely it wasn’t winter and days in King’s Landing were hot sometimes but not so much to cause her such bother. Though it was not enough to cause you to get out of your sleepy reverie.

You let out a whine when you felt something moving over you leg and your shoulder, making you pull your leg away and shake your shoulder to put whatever was causing you discomfort away. The point between your legs felt wet, making you a bit worried about your moon blood but you were too far gone in sleep to care.

It was the wine you had drank like water before going to sleep. Curse the fucking thing.

It was a sound, something like a chimes that hit each other when wind flowed, that made you snap out of our daze a little bit. You forced you eyes your to open as much as they could which wasn’t a lot. You were drunk and sleepy. But you could recognise that voice and figure even in your blurred sight.

“Kepus?”

Daemon smiles at you. There were very few people who had seen him really smile genuinely. You were one of them. But this smile was different. There was something different about it. You couldn’t comprehend it.

Daemon hushed you, his hand softly laying you back again, It was then when you slowly started to come to sense. He was hovering over you and you felt his other hand between your legs, right on your...

“Kepus, what are you doing?” You almost shrieked, understanding what was going on, “Kepus, what—"

“Be quiet, sweet girl,” Daemon whispered, and leaned down, his lips falling on your cheeks, so, so close to your lips. His fingers circling your cunny, a place that was not supposed to be bare to anyone but your husband. “You didn’t want to be a pawn, right?”

“But-but Daemon—” whatever you were thinking of saying was long forgotten when you felt his his finger entering you, your breath hitched at the foreign sensation. “We shouldn’t.” You whispered, you weren’t sure if you had spoken it or if it was in your mind only.

“And why?” His voice low, you felt as if you were speaking of some centuries old secret with him. “I promised you that I wouldn’t let you be married just like this. I will keep my promise, sweet niece.”

“Daemon,” you whispered, your denial was dying on your lips with him adding another finger in you, his thumb rolling around your nub and his lips on your neck. He hummed and those were the sweetest vibration you had ever felt on your skin, a shiver passing from the junction of your neck and shoulder to your core. Some cold wind had not caused this. This you know. It was him, your kepus who did this.

Your hands went to his shoulders, bare shoulders, he did not have his tunic on. Your skin touching his warm one. He was always warm. Like a dragon. “Please,” you gasped feeling his fingers go deep in you and you squeezed his shoulders.

His fingers moved faster in you, his teeth biting at your ear, “Is this what you are asking, sweetling?”

If only you knew what you wanted. Whatever it was, you didn’t want to let go of this feeling. “Yes-fuck-kepus!” You moaned feeling his fingers curl in you. And then another on being added.

“Don’t worry,” Daemon kissed your forehead, and you realised how really small you were in front of his tall stature. Even laying he could easily reach you forehead when his fingers were far down. “Kepus will take care of. Always.”

You knew he would. Mayhap, it was that fact that you had not called out for someone.

You felt your lower abdomen clenched, you weren’t sure it was. It felt as if someone was pulling at it but from inside. And somehow it felt good too. “Kepus, Kepus, there...”

“I know, sweet girl,” his fingers moved in you even more faster, and that was all you could feel. “Let go. Just let go.”

His thumb softly pressed on your nub and you gasped.

Something washed over you, something ecstatic. You felt free. Just like when you were on dragon back.

You panted, feeling as if you were knocked out of breath. Maybe you were. You look at Daemon, as he softly pulls his fingers out of you, putting them in his mouth, you couldn’t help the heat on your face when you remembered that it was your arousal that he was happily sucking off his fingers.

You looked at him in daze, everything seemed hazy for a few moments. Daemon leaned over you, his knuckles brushing your cheeks before his lips dropped on yours.

They were surprisingly soft, you had always imagined him having a hard touch but here he was, touching you as if you were made of glass, that you would break at the slight wrong caress. You felt his tongue on your lips, and you opened, letting his soft muscle of his mouth melt into yours.

You let him do what he wished to for some moments, unaware of what you were supposed to do but it didn’t take you long to catch up and you moved your tongue against his, you felt losing breath by every moment though nothing seemed to matter. It was heaven where Daemon was taking you. And you did not want to fall down from there.

“Fuck!” You heard Daemon curse as he parted from you, and his lips fell on your jaw and something hard rubbing your core. Your hips bucked up, unconsciously and you moaned. “Stop doing that, sweet girl,” Daemon spoke, his lips were moving down and down from your jaw to your neck, his hands pushing the sleeves of your slip down, his mouth leaving wet trails between your breast.

“kepus,” you were too lost. Your uncle looked like one of those Gods of Old Valyria. So beautiful, his burnt skin like stars on the dark sky. Your hands wrapped around his arms, feeling his full strong muscles, your finger traced the healed wounds, you felt your inside twist and turn. “kepus,”

Daemon pulled away, his eyes were dark, almost pitch black, he was sat between your legs. When did that happen you weren’t aware. You chest heaved as you took each breath greedily and watched his hands moving to his breeches’ laces, pulling them and he shed off them off. You eyes were on him, whole of him and your breath hitched.

So lost in the sight of him you didn’t know when he came back and kissed you, until his cock rubbed into you and you moaned. “Kepus,”

“Shh. It’s alright.” He whispered, his hips moved, you could feel him even when he wasn’t inside you. “Fucking hells, you are wet. You want this just much, don’t you?”

You didn’t get to answer him, feeling his head on your entrance, at this moment.

“This will hurt, sweetling.” Daemon kissed your forehead, his hands brushed your cheeks and hair just like when he wanted to comfort you at any peril of your. “but it will become better. I will make it all better.” And with that he pushed inside you, slowly, and you felt yourself stretching around him as he moved in slow, sucking in breath sharply and curses leaving his mouth, all faded to you.

He wasn’t lying when he said to would hurt. “kepus,” Your nails dug into his shoulders and he kissed your cheek with caressing your head all the while.

“Good girl, such a sweet girl, taking my cock so nicely.” You could hear his groans loud and clear even when he was speaking softly and slowly. “so tight, so firm. But you will take it, won’t you?”

You didn’t answer but hid your face in his neck, tightening your hold on him. You felt tore apart, yet you didn’t want to let go. “so big, kepus,” you whispered as he continued to bottom himself inside you and he kissed your neck saying words of praises.

It felt like hours when he stopped, Daemon by then had bit on your neck several times, you felt as if you’d had bled, but there was no worry about it. He won’t hurt you. You knew.

“Open your eyes, love,” He whispered and you did, he was just a hair width away from you and you could look at his eyes so clearly, his pools of lilac, light than that was your. You wished to have his eyes in your childhood.

He kissed you again and you kissed back. You couldn’t have enough of his mouth on yours, the taste of yourself and the wine mixed in both of your mouth was so sweet to you.

“Come to Dragonstone with me,” His forehead touched yours. Both of you were breathing each other in, “Take me to husband and I will take to you wife, in tradition of our house. You won’t be like her. Ever.”

You won’t be like her, he said. And you knew he was true to his words. He will be. He will not. Not like Alicent.

Not like her.

“Avy jorraelan, Kepus.” I love you, uncle.

Daemon smiled. It was the most beautiful sight you had ever seen in your life. “Avy jorraelan, donus rinus.” I love you, sweet girl.

Daemon moved in you, slow at first, so deep, you moaned at each stroke, every time his hips met yours, you couldn’t help but cry out first in discomfort and then in pleasure.

His lips descended upon your breast, taking your nubs in his mouth, he suckled at one like a babe hungry for their mother’s milk, his other hand playing with your other and his hips pushing into yours. You couldn’t hear anything but his grunt and groans and your moans and whimper.

Daemon held your legs, putting them around his waist. If you thought he was deep before, he was reaching way inside you.

“This cunt, your cunt was made for me, sweet girl. Look how good it take me. Even when you were asleep. Getting wet for me. It knows it’s mine. You know that too, don’t you?” you ought to feel humiliated and offended at such words. Being owned by some was not something you liked. But the way Daemon said it only made you clench harder around him making him groan, “fuck, yes. Yes, you do.”

“Yes. Yes, Kepus.” You whimpered at his fast pace inside you. Lost in the world of pleasure you were, you couldn’t hold your noises anymore. But of course you uncle would remedy it for you, putting his lips on yours, drinking every single sound in which left your mouth.

You clenched, your hands in his hair, pulling at them, feeling the tugging feeling as before in you. Daemon knew it all well.

“Going to give you my seed and you will swell with our child, sweet,” Daemon muttered in your ear. You felt yourself liking the prospect. Even imagining it in your head as your uncle rutted in you.

Our child.

“Yes”, you nodded, kissing his neck, “a babe, Kepus. With your eyes. I love your eyes.”

“Whatever, my sweet girl wants.” He grunted and you clenched on him again.

“Fuck, kepus.” You moaned, you were sure by now you had scratched his back bloody. “I... I feel it. It hurts.”

“I know, sweetling,” he muttered, “Let go. Just like before. Let it go.”

It wasn’t long you felt the same bliss wash over you and you felt warmth fill you in. Daemon’s seed, you knew it was as you both panted. Daemon stopped moving inside you after a few more strokes, but he did not pull out. He lowered himself to your bed and pulled you on him.

You rested your head on his chest, some silver hair, rubbing against your cheek, you took in the scent of his sweat, his skin glistening under the moonlight that fell in your room.

You felt him pull the sheet over the both of you, his hand running over your hair and exhaustion began to take over you. Your eyes drooped but you kept blinking the sleep away.

“Sleep,” Daemon kissed your head and you fell asleep just as quick as you had woken up, you hands wounded around his neck.

You prayed it not to be a dream.

[thebadboyfanclub]

I Will Never Leave You (Daemon x Reader)

I think this more a love letter to Rhaenyra than anything but I’m really proud of this one cause I adore writing characters like this, I hope you guys enjoy it

Rhaenyra adored her mother since she drew her first breath, yet the woman she admired the most and desperately seemed her nod of approval was her beloved aunt (y/n) Targaryen, the middle child of prince Baelon and princess Alyssa, the seat between the brothers suited her, (y/n) had the good heart and the bright mind of her older brother that went hand in hand with the wild spirit and the constant need to protect the ones she called her own that she passed down to Daemon.

(Y/n) had been by Rhaenyras side when she needed her the most, wrapping her arms around the shaking frame of the young princess burying her face at the crook of (y/n)s neck.

“Dracarys”

Even though the dragon was not (y/n)s, beautiful Syrax complied whilst Rhaenyra broke down at the arms of her aunt, (y/n) ran her fingers through Rhaenyras long hair to offer her comfort as she whispered the lullaby she would sing to her when she was little.

She had also been the one to almost harass her beloved brother and king to name Rhaenyra his heir.

“As much as I love my lord husband, he is not fit to lead, the weight of the realm will crush him until he bursts into flames, we can prevent this, you can prevent this”

“And name Rhaenyra my heir? A queen has not sat the iron throne”

“Why not name the princess your heir? She is the second born”

Otto had questioned, (y/n) side eyed the man before she looked down to collect her thoughts, the wound of her brothers digging their claws on that piece of metal had brought such mental combat between them, turning blood against one another, if she had taken a go at them then all efforts for a harmonious family would have gone to war ages ago.

“I am afraid it is too late for me to claim what could have been or some could argue “should have been” but the time is just right for my niece, Rhaenyra is the result of the love you shared with the late queen Aemma, you have already wronged her, do not turn your back on the only thing you have left of her”

(Y/n) and Daemon had wed a fortnight after Viserys and Aemma, their wedlock’s were as similar as the sun with the moon, Daemon and (y/n) mirrored one another, their fire burned bright and their thick skulls could cause the the strongest storm to lash, still at the end of the day they ended up in each others arms, holding each other tight and whispering words of love and admiration.

(Y/n) was the only one that could keep Daemon on a leash, staying by his side as he raged for the “disrespect” their brother had shown, in a delicate manner (y/n) would always grab his hand and bring it up to her cheek to ground him.

“I love you and your bravery, however I do despise when you let your rage overtake everything that’s good in you, let me fix this for you”

Daemon would always take her in his arms and kiss her lips with all the might he could master. (Y/n) was his life line, her eyes were like a much needed breath after a deep dive, her smile resembled the feeling of the brisk air on the early hours of a summer day, her hair was as soft as a birds feather as it brushed on his skin, and her touch, oh that touch of hers…like a soothing balm on Daemons wounded heart.

“What is the matter, my love?”

“We must fly to kings landing by the morrow”

“Has something happened?”

“Lucerys’s claim is at question by Vaemond, Lord Corlys has not even passed and they are already circling around Rhaenyra like crows”

(Y/n) half mumbled half explained whilst her fingers rubbed circles on her temples, (y/n) had never voiced it still a pang of guilt ate her soul as slow as the carnivores ate their dead prey whenever she exchanged letters with Rhaenyra, she gave up on her, she left her alone to fight against those Hightowers, withering away as the bastards started to tighten the rope around the heiress’s neck.

Daemon puffed out a breath, the conversation had always been the same, (y/n) would often bring up her concerns over Rhaenyras well being, asking Daemon if mayhaps they made a mistake by leaving her, fabricating elaborate scenarios of how things could have been different.

With caution Daemon approached his lady wife and once he reached her he placed his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs rubbing circles on her aching shoulders as she slouched back and a grunt of pleasure left her, the flames from the fireplace licking her face in such a complimenting light, had he not touched her he could assume she was just an extremely accurate portrait from the hands of an exceptionally gifted artist.

“Rhaenyra is strong, she will overcome this”

“Rhaenyra is alone, our brother is barely able to make a sentence, she cannot stand alone at court”

“And what do you think our presence will do? We have been cast away for far too long, no one will pay attention to what we have to say on the matter, besides, driftmark is none of our responsibility”

After the birth of their first born daughter Enora Daemon and (y/n) decided to leave kings landing and reside in Pentos, granting protection with their dragons they were gifted with land and lived like the Targaryens only knew how to live.

“It is under the Targaryen rule, our closests bond to old Valyria”

“Dragons are our bond, which we have our own”

(Y/n) stood up from her chair to face her lord husband, fury that intertwined with confusion painted across her face as her eyebrows furrowed and her lips half open from the shock that his dismiss had caused.

Daemon resented when they fought, he did not enjoy his love being cross with him, though he loved a battle he would hang on dear life on anything and say whatever to make her curl up in his arms with content.

“You do not want to come with me” (y/n) stated

“I do not believe we will change anything”

“You believe that? Out of all I thought you would be the one to get on your dragon the fastest”

“You are with child, our other children are happy here, must we indulge in that mess?”

“That mess? Our brother has been crippled, our niece tortured by the Hightower and now she asks for our aid and you think I will just ignore it”

“You are emotional”

“I am, and proud of it, I will fly to kings landing with my children, you can choose to stay and hide behind our thick and tall walls of this castle. I will not leave our legacy, our blood, to slowly perish. It is your decision at the end of the day”

Daemon puffed out of breath before he reached for (y/n)s arms to which (y/n) stepped back to avoid, her eyes that spewed fire starring right into his soul.

(Y/n) was the diplomat out of the pair, one can imagine the surprise of her stubbornness when it came to this, which also revealed how important this was for (y/n).

“You mustn’t get upset in your condition”

“That is something you should remember, I was fine until I saw that the years turned you into a coward”

(Y/n) spat inches away from his face, with hurried and swift motions she intentionally bumped his shoulder as she made her exit of their chamber, Daemon did not catch a wink of sleep, (y/n) had never slept at another chamber separately since they had wed.

As the sun started to shyly make its descent (y/n) was assisting her three children on their dragons for their journey to kings landing.

“Hold on”

(Y/n) looked over her shoulder to find her husband with his dragon walking towards them, she had to admit that leaving without him would have costed her a great deal, she wanted him by her side, to help her, to hold her, to have her.

“What made you change your mind?”

“My astonishing devotion to you and your stubbornness, I won’t leave you alone with the wolves”

Daemon reassured her before he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, a smile making its way to (y/n)s lips as she gazed at him with love, that sparkle of joy was what kept Daemon alive, he would risk anything to see her well.

A giggle that came from their youngest children interrupted their sweet moment, Daemon and (y/n) looked up as the twins sat on their dragons, admiring the deep affection that oozed out of their parents, Daemon only winked at his children in response and turned back to his lady wife.

“Allow me dearest”

A shriek was heard when Daemon swiped the princess off her feet and lifted her up at her green dragon Zephyr. The family landed unexpectedly since they had not given any information to their visit, Otto and Alicent were fuming upon their arrival, the pair would stir the pot and cause chaos all in the princesses name, Otto was certain of it.

However no one could expect the ever defiant (y/n) holding Viserys by his right arm and the stoic prince Daemon holding the king by the left.

“King Viserys of house Targaryen, first of his name, king of the andals, and the rhoynar and the first men, Lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm, with princess (y/n) Targaryen and Prince Daemon Targaryen”

Time stood still as they entered the throne room, (y/n) had persisted on visiting her brother, encouraging him to stand and back Rhaenyras claim, begging him to find his strength and sit on the iron throne.

“I will sit the throne today”

Viserys was able to say to Otto who only bowed his head and stepped aside. When (y/n) gently assisted her brother to sit comfortably his crown managed to move and fall, Daemon was the one that caught it and placed it back on Viserys head. As the pair took a step back (y/n) was the first to curtsy in front of him.

“My king”

She whispered before she smiled, Viserys managed to get a hold of her hand and bring it up to his deformed lips, as cold and slimy the weird texture of his lips left on her hand (y/n) looked back on that memory until the end of her days, as many times as they fought (y/n) held a spot for Viserys, one of loyalty and respect.

Daemon snaked his arm around her waist as they went down the steps and took their place next to a baffled and ecstatic Rhaenyra, (y/n) subtly nodded and side eyed Rhaenyra letting her know she is her for her.

As Viserys reaffirmed Lucerys claim and Rhaenys announced the betrothal of Baela and Rhaena (y/n) was ready to turn and hug her dear niece when Vaemond stepped in front of the king, interrupting the glorious moment.

“You break law and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir, don’t you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon, No, I will not allow it”

“Allow it? I do not think anyone hear asked for your opinion Ser…. Apologies I haven’t been at court in so long, what is your name?”

(Y/n)s words sliced through Vaemond like Valyrian steel and Rhaenyra struggled to hide her chuckle, Daemon stood proudly by her side though his grip tightened around her waist when Vaemonds eyes fell on her for a brief moment before he pointed to Lucerys.

“THAT! is no true Velaryon and certainly not a nephew of mine”

Rhaenyra as the mother that she is took a step forward to stand closer to Vaemond and in front of Lucerys, what no one had seen was an important question that (y/n) had whispered at her husband.

“Which side is your sword on today?”

“Go to your chambers, you’ve said enough”

“Lucerys is my true born grandson and you are no more than the second son of drift mark”

“You may run your house as you see fit, but you will not decide the future of mine, my house survived the doom”

“To which you owe it to much greater men than you Vaemond, men that knew their place and played their part in history, something that you refuse to do”

“And you think that you can tell me what my place is? Your brother skipped over you and gave the name of heir to your niece, the gods know what you have done to make him skip over you and your… husband, my name survived and gods be damned I will not see it ended on the account of this”

“Say it, say it”

Daemon antagonised the man, (y/n) assumed her position and slipped away from Daemons grip, her hand gliding from his back all the way down to his sword, dark sister, and pulled it out the sound of metal brushing against its scabbard was enough to make (y/n) grind her teeth in annoyance, thankfully no one seemed to pay attention to what she was up to.

Except Daemon whom had already a mischievous grin tugging at his lips as he internally thanked whoever blessed him to change his mind and was now going to be a witness on this wonderful event and as he viewed it “important milestone” in his lady wife’s life.

Vaemond was caught in his own fury and sense of entitlement to see his end coming, even if he had seen (y/n) with a sword he would pay her no mind, a man of such ignorance wouldn’t feel threaten by a woman with a swollen belly or any woman for that matter.

“Her children are BASTARDS and she.is.a.whore”

“I will have your tongue for that”

Daemon watched with pride as his wife lifted the sword and with one clean slice Vaemonds head was cut right above his tongue. Enora was taken aback by her mothers acts while her two siblings Alastor and Aelia hid behind their fathers legs to avoid witnessing the gruesome sight of the corpse at such a young age.

(Y/n) stood still as the sword touched the ground to support her, glaring down at the man that had so much to say, a man that thought himself as indestructible and yet he laid on the cold floor as his blood gushed out of him and pooled on the ground.

“He can keep his tongue, to explain his treachery to the gods”

“Disarm her”

Otto commanded as his voice boomed through the throne room like a proper king that would command his kings guards to obviously attack (y/n), though the real king -Viserys- had just opened his mouth to stop this when Daemon took only a step forward.

“Don’t you dare”

Daemon warned them, in a rather surprisingly composed way for the situation Daemon approached her and took the sword from her, wiping it away at his clothes lazily before he placed it back on its original spot, his hand brushed a few strands of hair that had moved and let it glide behind her shoulder, he preferred it when her hair was out of her face, so he can fully take in her beauty.

(Y/n) was seen smiling brightly, basking in her accomplishment that was so grotesque that some reported that a numerous ladies that had been witnesses had fainted or vomited at the sight.

“You must rest, my love”

“Before that”

(Y/n) proclaimed, she left her husbands side momentarily only to stand before Rhaenyra, her hands going up to cup her nieces cheeks and place a kiss on top of the heiress head, a gesture that held such affection and compassion, (y/n) had Rhaenyra in her heart and her mind as her own daughter, images of the princess running careless on the grass and finding refuge in (y/n)s hug flashed before (y/n)s eyes.

“My dear niece”

“(Y/n)” Rhaenyra breathed out

“I will never leave you, ever”

Requests are open!

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Capital (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You think you married the plainest woman on earth, and you look away for one second and suddenly she is not. Typical. At least, for Daemon.

Warnings: Mature language, sexual thoughts, canon typical violence.

Requested: Yes! But since I am particular about my aesthetic, I didn't answer there. Jealousy + arranged marriage. Brought to you by the seven deadly sins.

Gluttony /ˈɡlʌtəni/

​the habit of eating and drinking too much.

Claw Island is as good as getting vanished from the court. You know it. Your Lord husband knows it. Even the tenants know it. Why else would the King order your marriage to Daemon Targaryen?

It was not as much of a punishment as the King had hoped. The Celtigars are a prestigious family, one of the few left with Valyrian blood. While not ones to flaunt their riches or seek for great power, you led a luxurious lifestyle.

The finest wines. Myrish rugs. The newest books. And of course, the riches from the surrounding sea. Beautiful pearls, a fleet that, while small, sailed with speed. The best foods.

The small island was your perfect little world, sequestered away from the troubles of the mainland. What else could a person long for, when they lived in a paradise? Claw Island had it all. Miles and miles of tempestuous sea, soft sands and gorgeous wildlife not seen anywhere else. Humble, but good people. Natural riches enough to last a lifetime.

But as of late, your breathtaking lands did nothing to bring you peace. Sometimes, in truth, as you walked along the shoreline, you wished for a tremendous sea wave to swallow you whole.

It would be better than this. Among the crabs, the sea life and wreckage of old ships, you would feel at ease. At home, even. And finally, finally untroubled. But things were not as you wanted them to be. With your Lord Father at court, someone had to mind the island. And no one knew the lands as you did.

You shuddered to think of something happening to you. In that case, the island, and its people, would go to your husband. Considering how much he hated it here, Prince Daemon would make a poor ruler.

You glare. He glares right back. Remembering your manners, you serve him a cut of spider crab seared in butter. The meal is rich and decadent, a show of the best Claw Island has to offer.

“Crab, Lady Wife?” Daemon raises both eyebrows. “Again?”

“What else does the Prince wish to eat?” You do your best effort at keeping your tone even. You try hard to not raise your voice at him, remembering the rumors about what happened to his last wife. So far, it seems to be working. Despite being older than you, the man behaves as a child. You have found he benefits from being managed as one, too.

Ever since you got married, he has been desperately trying to rile you up. The Prince always seemed to deflate when you refused to engage. He was clearly itching for a fight, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“You seem too willing to indulge in cannibalism for my tastes.” Daemon, in what he surely believed to be the absolute demonstration of cutting wit, smirks. You smile at him, sedate. You have heard enough remarks about crabs to last a lifetime. “It’s worrying.”

You could answer him. Perhaps make a mockery of his inability to perform in bed and the behavior of the female praying mantis. You do not. Instead, you force yourself to give him a tight smile.

“Don’t worry. I will ask the servants to bring you fish.” You took your napkin out of your lap and placed it on the table. Dutifully, you rang the bell to call for a servant.

“Again?” Daemon complained, sounding much like a petulant child. You smiled and went back to your seat. Your crab was getting cold, and it would most likely be by the time your husband’s fish was served. But good manners dictated you could not start eating without him. You resigned yourself to another night of eating a cold dinner.

“You should write to the King, my Prince. I would serve you venison, were it not for the fact that your dragon has nearly extincted the population here.” While you were by no means poor, feeding a dragon was an expense you didn’t care for, especially one so picky as Daemon’s was showing to be.

While a dragon was a marvelous creature, and having one guarding your lands was a great perk, it was also hard. Caraxes ate the same as five grown men in a day, if not more. He didn’t eat just anything you served him, either. Much like his owner, he was picky. He had come with dragon keepers, and needed to be built a shelter.

You had hoped that his serpentine appearance would mean that he would eat a lot in one sitting, then hibernate, but no such luck. Your island couldn’t keep up, no matter how hard you tried. Animals didn’t reproduce at the pace required.

“Of course, my Lady. Of course.” Daemon says, in a dismissive tone. It’s then, when a servant comes in with his fish.

Your crab is cold. Again. Daemon is not pleased with the fish, but seems wary of extending dinner even more. For once, he doesn’t complain.

Dinner is eaten silently. In your head, you make plans for tomorrow's meals. Perhaps oysters, served cold, will withstand the wait better. You finish dinner and settle down to read some before bed.

When the time comes for it, you close your book. Daemon departs with a cold kiss to your cheek. You go to your bed, just as cold and empty as the kiss was, and fall asleep.

It’s around the witch's hour when he comes back to you, getting into the bed next to you. He stinks of cheap perfumes and oils. As he pulls you closer, to be able to hide his face on your neck, you can feel the smell of sex and alcohol induced sweat. It comes from the clothes Daemon hasn’t even bothered to shed before getting in bed with you.

You don’t like him drunk. He gets sloppy. You do better when he hides his indiscretions, the proofs of your failure as a woman. As a wife. He seeks his pleasure from other bodies, never yours. With you, he is unable to perform to completion.

Perhaps the same happens to him with others, on nights like these. That thought soothes you, and it’s the only reason why you allow Daemon to seek comfort in your arms. Sometimes, he has nightmares. It’s expected then, too, that you are the one to soothe him back to sleep.

Shifting in his grip, you rub his back, gently. You card your other hand through the matted strands of blonde hair, as a mother would do to his child. In many ways, you guess he is one. You pity him, your husband. A man with a void so deep, not even all the vices in the world could fill it.

You are unable to fall back asleep. You lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling. When you hear the rooster’s first crow, you roll out of bed. Sleep is not coming for you. Daemon, unperturbed in his slumber, only sprawls more. You tuck him in.

When you get to your vanity, you catch the servants leaving the correspondence for the day on it. She giggles when you point at the bed and the mess of clothes, gesturing for silence. It makes you feel better, that they think your husband comes from the pleasure houses straight into your arms for more than just cuddles.

One of the letters catches your eye. It’s written in the strange alphabet used for High Valyrian, bearing both the royal seal and the King’s name. You don’t mean to pry. In fact, you open it because you are worried your husband has upset his brother even more.

Marriage is like being tied to a ship. When the tides are good and the ship strong, you soar above the sea. But no one wants to be tied to a sinking ship. It’s that fear what leads you to heating a knife on your candle’s flame and lifting the seal.

You read as you brush your hair, unrushed. You know Daemon won’t be awake for at least six more hours. But the more you advance, skipping polite greeting, the more your stomach sinks, and you jump from sentence to sentence.

“And while I understand your dislike of Claw Island, it is a less harsh punishment than you deserve. Much you complained of wanting a Valyrian bride, and now the opportunity presents itself, ripe for the taking. Yet, you do not seem keen on it. Is it, again, the lack of a throne you find off-putting? Perhaps, the lack of a child bride you can manipulate? Your Lady Wife might not have purple eyes or silver hair, as you mention, but she is a maiden in the bloom of youth. Tales of her beauty have graced the court, shared among the eager mouths of her family and previous suitors. Both Lord Velaryon and Lord Mooton agree that the woman is a delight, well-mannered and easy on the eyes. She has impeccable breeding and education. I will not grant you the annulment. I will not allow you to go back to your whore.”

There is a coppery taste in your mouth. Blood, you realize. From biting your tongue so hard to avoid letting out a scream of rage. It feels like being stabbed, countless times. In your back, and in your heart. Betrayal and deep, hurtful sorrow.

What have you done to deserve this? To be blindsided so? You have stood firm through all the humiliations your husband puts you through. Never once reproaching the way he goes out after dinner and does not come back until sunrise. Never complaining of his audacity to search comfort in your arms when he is drunk and stinking of whores. Never once raising your voice at the insults to your people, your home, your family.

But for Daemon Targaryen, it wasn’t enough. You would never be enough. Childishly, when you had first heard of your betrothal to him, you had hoped for companionship, if not love. At least, you thought, you would have a friend. But you hadn’t been enough of a woman to keep him in your bed, you had not been enough of the blood of Old Valyria for him to give you children, and you had not been enough for him to stay married to you.

He took from you, and took from your island and from your family, and not once was he satisfied. Not once, he was sated. And now, Daemon has done the unspeakable. Not satisfied with making a mockery out of you, with his constant unfaithfulness, he seeks to ruin you further. It’s only King Viserys who protects you and your family from further embarrassment.

You have underestimated him, pitying him while he planned your demise. The ruin of your house. You have been sharing your bed with the enemy. The thought frightens you and fills you with anger at equal parts. What will happen, when the King dies and the awful Princess with whom your husband was so taken ascends? Will you be put to the sword, accused of an imaginary crime to get you out of the way? Treason, perhaps? Hands shaking in anger, you fold the letter and reseal it as carefully as you can.

That is the day you decide you will retreat into your shell, like any good crab. You will close yourself over, put up walls and keep him as far away as you can. And you will wait for the day to stab at his heels until his physique reflects exactly the useless kind of man he is inside.

One day, this man might kill you. You will have to make sure he does not get away with it.

Envy /ˈenvi/

​the feeling of wanting to be in the same situation as somebody else; the feeling of wanting something that somebody else has.

It’s not often you are summoned to the court. But your father is about to be named Keeper of the Keys, a prestigious position often held by members of your house before being promoted to Master of Coin. The implication is clear. Soon, another Celtigar will be handling the finances of the Kingdom. It’s a ploy, to intertwine you further with the Royal Family. As soon as King Viserys dies, it will be your father who serves on Princess Rhaenyra’s council.

Hence, the need for a celebration. Traveling from Claw Island to King’s Landing is exhausting, especially considering that you do the journey by ship while your husband does so in his dragon. He seems overjoyed about it, but you can only think of how much the separate travel is costing your purses.

Daemon arrives early, because of course he does. Meanwhile, you spend your time preparing to put on the play of your life. You must be the most dutiful wife in the Seven Kingdoms, or else he might find a reason to get rid of you. Setting apart your most fashionable dresses, preparing gifts for the King and Queen and otherwise looking radiant.

Knowing Daemon, he is already whispering poison in his brother’s ear. You need to dazzle the King and the whole court, convince them you are not only an adequate wife but a perfect one. No stain must be perceived in your reputation.

You arrive punctually, just in time to prepare for the feast. It’s inside the Hall where you meet Daemon, and greet him with a kiss on the cheek. Chaste, but affectionate, performed under the King’s approving look. You are radiant in your house’s colors, with subtle references to Targaryen’s ones.

The feast is torture. Viserys, Daemon and Rhaenyra are all seated at the same table. They get along wondrously, while you, Queen Alicent and Ser Laenor are ignored despite being next to them.

The only thing that calms your heart is watching your father, sitting at the table of the Master of Coin.

“My Queen.” You say to her, hoping to curry favor. The Gods knew you needed as many allies as you could. “I brought you this.”

You take out a beautifully engraved rendition of the Prayers Book. It’s a gorgeous edition, with a gold finish. You hope that at least, if she doesn’t like it, she would think it is a gift to the babe she carries. It’s a thoughtful gift, the kind of thing you excel at.

“Oh, Lady Targaryen!” The Queen says, and takes it, admiring it in the light. Fortunately, she seems truly charmed by it. “It is the most wonderful thing!”

“I have one myself.” You tell her, as if you had not purchased it for exactly this moment. “When I heard you were from Oldtown, I couldn’t think of a better thing to bring.”

“It’s lovely.” Alicent says, as your husbands ignore both of you. Viserys and Daemon are too busy having their fun to care about what women are doing. “Will you join me in prayer tomorrow?”

“I would be delighted to.” It’s the first genuine smile you wear since your arrival. And it’s the first time that someone from the royal family smiles back.

You do attempts towards Rhaenyra and Laenor. They both ignore you, and so, you decide to keep strictly to conversing with Alicent. You decide to leave Viserys out of it, despite your gratitude to him because you would rather not look like much of a sycophant.

Your happiness at finally making a friend between your in-laws makes you oblivious to Daemon’s silence. During the whole dinner, he barely taunts you. None of the crab-based insults he so favors are present, either. That should have warned you. If you have learned something about your husband is that there is never a time when he is quiet.

He bides his time. The desserts are already served when Daemon delivers his greatest insult up to date. Some couples are even swaying to the rhythm of the music already, no matter if the tables have yet to be cleared.

“I wish to dance, I think.” Daemon says, getting up from his seat. You start to get up too, knowing you cannot refuse him, but he turns towards Rhaenyra. “A dance, niece?”

Rhaenyra preens under the attention and takes his hand. For a second, you stay frozen, hand falling uselessly by your side just when you were about to reach for him. You feel like you are being stabbed. Again.

The humiliation is so great you wish for some great disaster, perhaps one of the couples bumping against a table and overturning it, just to get the attention away from you. Half the hall has now seen you get rejected by your husband. In a celebration meant to honor your father, nonetheless.

You struggle to keep your face emotionless, curved into a polite little smile. You have made a fool of yourself. Hot tears gather in your eyes, threatening to spill.

Noticing your despair, Alicent places a hand on your arm, softly.

“Thank you, Lady Targaryen.” She exclaims, loudly. “With the babe getting bigger and bigger every day, I find it harder to stand. You are very thoughtful.”

Her rescue, as she stands and walks down the dais, helps you save face. Your smile turns more genuine.

“It’s but good breeding, my Queen.” You answer, just as loud. “What kind of noble could see a Lady of your station and not aid her?”

Alicent smiles, and she cradles her stomach.

“Indeed. Only a savage, I would think.” Her glance at her own husband is unmistakable. But Viserys is too busy watching Rhaenyra and Daemon dance to help his pregnant wife. His eyes never leave his brother and daughter, his expression twisted into one of annoyance.

Alicent makes her way towards a table where a few knights sit. Most of them are from Oldtown, and you cannot help but smile at her doing the rounds her husband so neglects. But her rescue, and quick exit, leave you in an uncomfortable position. King Viserys and Ser Laenor are engaged in conversation, including you only when they remember your presence, which means once every half an hour.

Without Queen Alicent, you have no conversation partner. The only thing you can do is watch. Daemon twirls around the room as if he were not a married man, taking every eligible bachelorette in the room for at least one dance. He is enchanting, pulling blushes left and right. He dances twice with Rhaenyra and Laena Velaryon.

You play your part to perfection. Each time he glances your way, you give him an indulgent smile or a sweet tilt of your head. Even when he dances again with Rhaenyra, your expressions don't shift. Instead, you lift your cup to them and even find it in yourself to give a small clap.

It’s torture. It’s exhausting, having to play the devoted but never jealous wife, when he is doing his best to embarrass you. Finally, the King retires, but orders that the celebrations do not stop. You consider making your way towards your father, uncaring if leaving Laenor sitting on his own is rude.

Just as you are getting up, a knight, dressed in a fine green gambeson, steps in front of you. You look up at him, wondering what he could possibly want.

His voice is soft and eloquent, with the barest hint of an accent. His voice reminds you of someone, but you cannot quite place who.

“Lady Targaryen. You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.” You answer him, politely. Is he about to ask you for a dance? Is this a ploy for your husband to embarrass you further?

The knight smiles. He is tall and slender, very different from your husband, yet handsome just the same.

“If I had a wife as pretty as you, she wouldn’t be sitting here.” He compliments, and startles a laugh out of you. It has been months since the last time a man complimented you so. Before marrying, you had quite the suitors, but no one dared practice courtly love with the Rogue Prince’s wife. And your husband never once spoke to you kindly.

It’s a thrill, to feel wanted and appreciated again. You love having his eyes on you. It fills you with a forgotten kind of confidence. As the daughter of the man whose star in court is rising, as a beautiful woman and as the wife of a Prince, you deserve to be admired. It’s not your fault your husband can’t see it, you are desirable. People should be currying for your favor. You shouldn’t be begging for the scraps of a man whose only interest is his niece.

“Would she be on the dance floor?” You tease the knight, falling back into the practiced flirtations that had made you so popular before. You feel like you are glowing again.

The knight shakes his head, a hint of mischief appearing in his brown eyes.

“I would forbid her from leaving my chambers.”

At that, you laugh again, blushing. Despite how charming he is, you are still a married woman. You cannot give anyone reason to suspect or judge you, else Daemon might have basis to rid himself of you.

“I am not your wife.” You say, politely. The knight gasps, as if wounded, making you laugh again. You do not realize someone is glaring daggers at you, entranced as you are by him. “But perhaps a dance might suffice?”

The knight gives you a cheeky grin. He takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, gently.

As he leads you towards the dance floor, you barely notice Daemon looking disgruntled on the edge of it. You look over and see Rhenyra dancing with some tall and broad knight. He is probably jealous of him.

“You must give me your favor, for tomorrow's tournament. We are, after all, celebrating your family.” The knight says, making you focus back on him. His eyes are brown and kind, so soft. They remind you of someone, but once again, you can’t tell who.

“Ah, I see you are a tough negotiator.” You tease, your tone turning slightly more girlish. This time, it is the knight who laughs.

“What can I say? It’s in my blood.” The man winks, as he starts to twirl you around.

“I think, my lord, you have yourself a deal.” You grin.

It’s only when a Hightower knight approaches the stands the next day and offers you his lanze, you realize the mistake you have made.

Wrath /ræθ/

​extreme anger.

Daemon can’t believe his ears. Out of nowhere, a sweet sound reaches him. It’s the sound of a Lady’s laughter, but something about it makes him turn his head.

Perhaps, the fact that the sound has managed to catch his attention at all, despite the loud music, chatter and other laughs. Perhaps it is that the sound is familiar to him. He doesn’t know what it is, but as the piece finishes, he steps aside and tries searching for the source.

It’s then he sees you. His wife. Glowing and laughing on that Hightower cunt’s arm. And no, it’s not Alicent he is referring to. Otto’s spawn seems to have a proclivity for you because this is the other one. The elder.

Gwayne. His hands all over you, a gentle touch to your lower back to guide you forward. And are your eyes brightening? For him? As you pass by Daemon, you barely spare him a glance. He manages to hear a piece of the conversation.

“Your favor, for tomorrow's tournament…” The man has the gall to ask, as if he could win you the flower crown! The nerve of that Hightower pup, to think himself able to win. It’s clear he doesn’t remember the last time he faced Daemon, and while he was already planning on entering, now he knows with absolute certainty he is competing. Gwayne Hightower seems to have forgotten his lesson. He needs to remember his place.

“… Tough negotiator…” Your cheerful voice answers. Probably telling him he has to win if you do so because you are Valyrian and proud like him. Surely, the idea of getting crowned Queen of Love and Beauty appeals to you. You want a flower crown? Daemon will get you the damn thing.

When he was no more than a boy, his father used to have a particularly overzealous hound. Daemon had taken great delight in setting him free just when ladies were visiting. The dog loved sniffing beneath the ladies' skirts and humping their legs. The whole scene often ended up with Daemon getting yelled at, either by the ladies or their husbands. Now, as he looked at the proverbial dog humping his wife, Daemon understood why the ladies' husbands were so enraged.

He should cut his hands. Hightowers. No sense of shame at all, with their whorish ways. They were all the same. There went Alicent, throwing herself at Viserys when poor Aemma was not even in her pyre. There went Gwayne Hightower, placing his paws all over you and trying to charm you when Daemon was still in the room.

Couldn’t he tell you are his? It’s not that Daemon likes you, but it’s an affront to his honor. You are the wife of a Prince. The mere fact that a measly knight thought he could compare it’s outrageous. And the fact that he dared touch you! The nerve!

It’s Daemon who shares your bed, back in Claw Island. It’s Daemon you hold during the night, who pays for your silly little dresses. It’s for him you have clearly gotten all pretty today. How dare he, that Hightower fool.

He can’t have you. Gwayne Hightower is not allowed to just swoop in and try to steal his woman. You are meant to sleep by his side, be his solace. You are not the kind of woman for whom a simple knight would be enough. Just like him, you love the lush life. Could Gwayne Hightower buy you a dress like that? Could he use a dragon to protect your little island?

Daemon clutches at his cup so hard, he thinks he might bend the metal. You are his bride. He is the only one allowed to have you. If he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to, but it doesn’t mean someone else can.

Rhaenyra approaches him again, no doubt wanting another dance. But not even her allure, which is usually so hypnotizing to him, manages to get him out of his bad mood. He hates when other people touch what is his.

Daemon decides to retire for the night, before she can reach him. He needs to think. How he longs for your shared rooms back at Claw Island. At least that way, he wouldn’t spend the night tossing and turning, wondering if the Hightower cunt escorted you back to your rooms, and if so, at which hour.

Strange, isn’t it? Such a small act can cause such a big shift in perspective. So many months, he had spent thinking of Claw Island a prison, longing to be able to come back to court. Now, he sees it as it was. A shell made to protect the most valuable pearl the sea had produced.

Had Daemon known men at court would try to steal his bride, he would have never authorized this trip. Your father could have been named Hand, but you would have never stepped foot outside your castle if Daemon had known. You would not be taken with Gwayne Hightower if he had a say in it.

He had a plan. The knight would make a fool out of himself. Daemon just had to encourage him in the right direction.

Daemon is up and about as soon as the sun is. He strolls towards the space prepared for the tournament, armor in hand. He changes slowly, giving plenty of time for Gwayne Hightower to arrive.

The foolish knight does. So do you, sitting next to your father in the stands, all pretty and glowy under the sun. You wear a red gown that compliments not only your skin tone, but pays homage to both of your houses. After all, both House Targaryen and Celtigar have red on their coats of arms. A clear show that you were meant to be his, and his alone. What would you even look like, if you were married to a Hightower fool? Red and green would look hideous in a dress.

As the highest-ranking competitor, Daemon gets to make the first challenge. To no one’s surprise, he picks Gwayne Hightower.

Daemon waits with bated breath, already seated on his horse. Does the man dare? Oh, he dares! The Hightower cunt gallops towards the stands. You don’t rise, looking towards the Hightower whore. It’s then he realizes you must be truly innocent. You are either doubting the boldness of the man or are not aware of his house, and do not recognize him under the armor.

But as Gwayne Hightower reaches the stand, Daemon close on his heels, he takes off his helmet. You gasp.

The Hightower whore makes a move as if to get up. Her brother’s voice cuts her off.

“I was hoping to get a sign of your favor, my Lady.” The man says to you, and your eyes widen. You stand, shakily. You look at Daemon, then at the cunt, then at him, then back at the cunt. Daemon arches an eyebrow, visor lifted. “For you have already struck me with your beauty, and the fact that you cannot be mine. Allow me the consolation of placing a crown of flowers upon you, and soothe my wounded heart.”

You gasp at the bold declaration. Daemon has to admit it, the cunt has some nerve. Not only has he praised you in ways that are too bold even for a couple courting, but he has slighted Daemon in front of the whole court. He has made explicit mention of your marriage to him.

Viserys eyes him warily. Daemon scoffs. The distrust is unnecessary. Why would he slaughter the Hightower now, when he has the chance to plummet him into the ground without consequences in just a few minutes? Besides, it would be in bad taste, slaughtering the brother of his sister-in-law.

Your father urges you forward, with a forced laugh. You grasp one of the favors from your box, which has only two, and place it upon the Hightower’s lanze. The pretty ribbons sway in the wind. White and red from House Celtigar proudly displayed.

Daemon clears his throat, and presents his own lanze.

“How touching.”

You ignore him, as Rhaenyra approaches. Surely thinking how he will want to wear her favor, after his rejection of last night. Curse him, Daemon thinks. He should have danced with you. If he had known that up jumped son of a rat was going to try his luck, you would have not left Daemon’s arms the whole night.

“Thank you, niece. But today I fancy wearing my wife’s favor. For it would be a shame for her to be lacking her crown once her champion undoubtedly disappoints.” He loudly declares, uncaring if his niece’s face falls. Rhaenyra will get over it. But this has turned into a manhood competition. He can’t let Gwayne Hightower, of all people, win.

“Can I do that?” Daemon hears you whisper towards Viserys and his whore. “Can I have two champions fighting each other?”

Viserys, as if this is the most fun he has had in a while, answers cheerfully.

“Of course, my dear girl.” It probably is the most fun he has had in a while. Really. It must be very amusing to him, after hearing Daemon complain about you for months. Who would have known he would have to fight some Hightower for your attention? Laughable, really. A Prince groveling. “Double the chances for you to get the flower crown, is it not?”

“Of course.” Your father jumps in, clearly trying to prevent a scandal. “Go on, love. Give the other one to your husband. If more are needed, we will get more ribbons.”

You approach Daemon, pretty little favor on your delicate hands. You smile at him, pleasantly. But this close, he can tell you are shaken by the power play happening right in front of your eyes.

Daemon lowers his lanze as you stretch to place your ribbons. You give him a confused and hurt look. He stretches closer.

“Save that one.” Daemon says, as he places a hand on your hair and pulls out the red ribbon that holds it back. “I’m your husband, I get some privileges.”

His gesture makes you laugh. Daemon feels on top of the world. He gives a superior glance to the Hightower cunt, as if saying: Look at me, I do not need half your effort and get double the results.

Daemon is not so deluded as to think the laugh is more than half nervousness and half playing the part of the dutiful wife you are, but to Daemon is still a win. He can see why the other lords want you. With your hair loose, smiling and with your skin glowing from the sun, you are actually quite pretty.

He ties the ribbon around the pommel of the lanze.

“A kiss, for good luck?” Daemon knows he is pushing, but cannot help but be smug. His pretty wife gave him her hair ribbon to tie around his chosen weapon, for all the court to see. Smugness radiates out of his pores.

Without any expectation, the sweet peck you give him is even more of a delight. Even more sweet is the disgruntled look on Gwayne Hightower's face.

Safe to say, the man gets unseated so fast, it has to be the quickest defeat ever registered. The crunch he makes as he falls from his horse it’s the most satisfying sound Daemon has ever heard. The crowd gasps and cheers. The man does not get up.

That will teach him, he decides. Gwayne Higtwoer will never again even look your way. Daemon turns his horse back around, ready to face his next opponent, but it’s stopped by the pages.

“Ser Gwayne Hightower has requested to continue with the sword.” At that, his blood boils. He nearly jumps off his horse, discarding the lanze and unsheathing Dark Sister.

“What will it be, boy? First blood?” He saunters towards the man, and the sight of him this close only serves to anger him more. He shares Otto’s slender build, tall and slight. In Hightower armor, he even looks like him. Daemon is going to enjoy this.

“Why stop there?” The knight asks, hatefully. “Until one of us yields.”

“As you wish.” Daemon charges, forgoing his shield. He is just too angered for politeness. This is not jousting anymore, it’s his hate for Higtowers, and the fact that this man has tried to take something that’s his. He should have never looked your way. Never. And if it’s up to Daemon, perhaps he will leave the arena without the ability to repeat the feat.

The fight is quick and dirty, but even when he has disarmed and cornered him, Gwayne Higtower refuses to yield.

“What are you..?” Daemon asks, utterly confused because the little savage is grabbing Dark Sister with gauntled hands and pulling.

“Just as marriage is not an excuse for not loving…” He grins, teeth bared in a feral little grin, and Daemon lets go of his sword in surprise at the boldness of the fool. “No weapon is no excuse for yielding.”

He loses it, then. Later, he will only remember red. Daemon throws himself at him and starts punching him, until the asshole goes limp on his arms and has to be pulled away from him.

Only the fact that the Hightower fought back is what allows him to keep participating in the tournament, instead of being exiled again. The split lip and bleeding eyebrow do serve to build a case in his favor.

He wins the tournament without any opposition. With bloody hands, he places the flower crown on your head. Your horrified look is not as satisfactory as he would have thought.

Pride /praɪd/

the feeling that you are better or more important than other people.

Daemon manages to get a hold of you before you vacate the stands. You are trying to avoid the crowds, waiting patiently in your seat. He doesn’t allow it, urging you towards his chambers with a firm grip on your wrist.

Some other ladies titter and giggle, pointing towards the two of you. No doubt, they think he is about to ravish you. They are not wrong.

It’s not often Daemon feels desire for you. In truth, while you have a pretty mouth and a soft body, you do little for him. But today, you are enchanting. The flower crown still sits atop of your windswept hair, making you look like a forest nymph. There are a few red stains along your temple, left there by Daemon’s hands when he placed the crown on top of your hair.

Never has there been a woman more deserving of the title of Queen of Love and Beauty. As you walk with him down the halls, he feels a smug sort of satisfaction. Here is the woman half the court wants, Daemon wants to scream. Here is my wife.

The feeling is not unfamiliar to him, but it is in relation to you. His possessive nature so far has only extended towards members of his house. The lust is new, too. Daemon has experimented it many times, but never towards whom he should.

As soon the door closes after you, he kisses you forcefully, only for you to shove him away.

“What are you doing?” You ask, as you spit out some of his blood. You are remarkably strong, having been able to push him while still in armor. But what shocks him the most is the fact that you did it at all. Months of marriage and you have done nothing but smile, regardless of what Daemon does.

“Shh, Lady Wife. Nothing unusual, I assure you.” He pulls you back in, kissing along your neck. This time, you push him even harder.

Daemon stumbles and blinks, hard. Are you rejecting him? He sits down on the bed and takes off his helmet. He has beaten the Hightower fool half to death and won you the silly flower crown. Why would you reject him?

“You prefer him, don't you?” That has to be the answer, surely. You must be having an affair with the cunt. Why else would you reject him? It’s not allowed. While Daemon is not particularly keen on forcing you, you are his wife. He has a right to your body, and you shouldn’t deny him. You know it. Never before have you refused him, due to the same reason. So this must be something else.

“What nonsense are you on, now?” You barely lift your eyes from your work, busy with pouring some water in a bowl and taking out clean linens. Efficiently, as if a seasoned healer, and not a soft lady from Claw Island, you rip them apart.

“Don’t play daft, wife.” Daemon reproaches, scowling. Your innocent act is starting to tire him. You can’t possibly believe him so dumb. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“If this is about Ser Gwayne…” You start and he feels the urge to scream. He can’t help but cut you off.

“Of course it is! Of course it is about that fucking Hightower.” Daemon’s voice goes high-pitched, imitating yours. “Ser, Ser.” He rolls his eyes. “How easily they hand titles now. Is every scum in this realm a knight?”

Your face doesn’t even twitch. That is one of the things about you that drive him to insanity. No matter what Daemon says, he never seems to get a reaction. It’s infuriating. You are all manners and dimples, even in the face of the most vile insults he throws your way. You either have no honor, letting him stomp all over you, or you think him right. Pathetic. Even the Bronze Bitch bit back.

His nostrils flare. Softly, you step between his parted legs and dab at the cut on his brow with a soaked linen. Ever dutiful.

“You do know adultery is a crime.” Daemon says, in a low, threatening tone. You give him a pleasant smile, squeezing water out of the cloth. It runs red and fast down your wrist.

“So is incest.” Your voice is far too cheerful for someone who just got accused of a crime that’s punishable by death if he so chooses. And not only that, but you have the nerve to threaten him.

“I am a Targaryen.” Daemon practically growls. You glare at him. He should be angry, but instead, his loins seem to heat up. Who can fault him? Any man would feel the urge to take you over and over, when faced with those eyes and those lashes.

Surely, after it, you would understand you were his and not Gwayne Hightower’s. It was not such an ambitious plan. Perhaps a lesser man would have trouble with it, but not Daemon. Give him ten minutes between your legs and you would be singing his praises.

“And I am a Celtigar.” His pause has allowed you enough time to form a retort. You press down on the cut on his brow with a viciousness that startles him. Daemon winces in pain. No getting distracted, he notes. Less you murder him when he is not paying attention. “To stifle the blood flow.” You explain, but Daemon can see the bloodlust in your eyes. You want him to hurt. The past few months have not gone in vain, it appears.

“Mine, you are mine.” He replies, gruffly.

You let go of the cloth, hands on your hips. Your mouth opens and closes, astonished.

“You don’t have any right to speak those words to me.” How he longs to grab you and show you exactly who is in charge. There you are, screaming! You! The woman who Daemon doubted knew how to make sounds louder than polite conversation. “Am I not the bride you never wanted? Your chain? Well then, sail free. Go!” You scream, and Daemon needs to pick his jaw off the floor because never has he seen you this angry.

Are you screaming at him? He feels the urge to pinch himself, to see if he is dreaming. But the way you are pointing your finger towards the door seems very real. Still a bit confused by the sudden personality change, Daemon does not obey.

It feels like a dream. Like stepping into a parallel world. The words that come out of his mouth are spoken by a stranger, and he can only watch as you turn more and more furious.

“No. Come here.” Daemon grabs at your gown, trying to pull you into him. He doesn’t really know what he is going to do if you budge. Place you in his lap and placate you with a kiss? He doesn’t get to find out. Grabbing you has clearly been the wrong move.

You slip out of his grip with a harsh jerk. Daemon is not as young as he used to be, but the sight makes his lust bubble up. You are alluring when angry, all passionate lines, and bloody temples. Valyrian, in a way you had never been before, with your darker coloring and soft manners. Yet, when mad? You are a conqueror goddess made flesh.

“No! I will not. I am not yours. We might be married but I will…” You stomp your foot at him, all angry little crab. For the first time, he sees fire in you.

Such a shame this is the moment you chose to grow a spine. He couldn’t understand where you had been all this time. So many months wasted with the meek little wife, when he could have had you instead.

Why had you decided to show you had a personality now, of all times? It was not fair, if it was for that Hightower cunt.

“Why Gwayne Hightower? Out of all the men on earth?” Daemon mutters, clearly not low enough because you answer him.

“This is not about Gwayne Hightower.” You glare, crown of flowers balancing precariously on top of your head. As you move, a few petals fall down. Angry little dryad that you are, you bat them away.

“If not, what is it about?”

“You!” You scream at him. It’s hateful, it's rage filled, it’s everything you are usually not. A true Valyrian goddess, letting mere mortals feel her might. Daemon would have enjoyed the display more if he wasn’t the mortal in question. “I forgot what it felt like to be wanted. To be looked at as someone who was desirable. Do you know how I have felt? Begging for scraps of attention, trying to make this work?”

“Wife…” He pleads because now there are tears in your eyes, and while Daemon doesn’t do begging, he doesn’t do comforting either.

“Do not call me that! Didn’t you petition for an annulment?” And how had you found out about that? While he had not been exactly secretive with his correspondence, he didn’t believe you to be proficient in High Valyrian. He has no time to ponder on it because you intend to go further. “Well, you are in luck! I will make my own request!”

“Viserys will not allow it.” Even if Daemon has to go beg him on his knees to not grant it, you are not annulling this marriage. Not when he is just starting to see the real you.

“Fine! Then I am going back to Claw Island. Stay here.” You scream, and you look so determined it scares him. For a second, he actually thinks you have the power to ban him from the island and force him to stay, giving you plenty of time to receive visitors. Male visitors, all surrounding you, courting you, as if he were already dead and not just exiled.

“Look. I’m sorry. Can we start over?” Daemon offers, in his most pleading tone. He has not apologized since… Gods. He barely remembers how to do it.

“You made me forget I deserved more than scraps.” You laugh at him, as his first apology to someone in more than ten years is the funniest joke existing. Then, enraged. “It will be a cold day in the Seven Hells, when I give you another chance.”

Hurt. He realizes, as you throw the flower crown at his feet and slam the door. Hurt. You are hurt, not angry. He has done the worst thing a man can do to a woman. Damage her pride.

Lust lʌst/

very strong sexual desire, especially when love is not involved.

Much to your dismay, every time you try to speak alone to the King, you are swiftly intercepted. If it’s not Corlys Velaryon asking you to help him pick a book in the library, it’s your Lord Father summoning you to his chambers. It seems like the whole palace is in it because even Princess Rhaenys asks you to stroll with her through the gardens when you lurk too close to Viserys’s chambers.

Daemon was smarter than you thought. He had taken to using your own weapons against you. The need to be polite kept you from rejecting all these new invitations, and so, you often ended up stuck an entire afternoon with nonsensical plans.

As time passes, your rage starts to subside. Much to your disgust, it morphs into shame. You cannot believe how you lost control in front of Daemon. Everything you have worked so hard on could vanish for a single afternoon pf foolishness.

You would rather not be his enemy. When the time comes for the two of you to go back to Claw Island, Gwayne Hightower is still bedridden, despite it already being days. Daemon is a dangerous man to cross.

Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem angry, or even resentful. In fact, your husband has never been more attentive. With the talent of existing just at the right moment, Daemon appears at your side each time there is a door to be opened or a chair to be pulled.

“No one has ever seen him like this.” Queen Alicent marvels, as he watches him go fetch you a blanket in case the room is too cold for your liking. “Whatever you did to him…”

“Nothing, I assure you.” You answer, sternly. You don’t want her getting funny ideas, like that you are dabbling in witchery or the Seven knows what. It’s not something you can afford. Already balancing on a tightrope after the fight, any accusation could be your ruin. You do not trust Daemon’s change of heart. He is probably just biding his time.

Noticing something is amiss, Daemon comes back with the blanket, wrapping it around you. Alicent falls quiet.

Daemon stares at you, his hands lingering on your back more than necessary. He seems to be taking you in. His eyes fixate on your bosom a tad too long before you realize what he is doing, and you cover yourself more with the blanket.

Your cheeks heat up. You cough. Alicent’s brows raise.

“You are so beautiful, wife.” Daemon says, a bit dumbly.

“And you are a fool.” Your response is heated, and stupid, too. But you feel too embarrassed to care. Alicent is still sitting there, with a scandalized look on her face. Anyone would be ashamed to be the object of such obvious ogling, much less when they have never been exposed to it.

You are unused to this side of your husband. At most, when trying to consummate, Daemon would glance at you with disdain and proclaim it was all your fault. His eyes would never watch the heaving of your chest as you breathed, or the sway of your skirts when you walked. Were you superstitious, you would have thought him a man possessed.

Daemon laughs, either at your comment or your expression. It’s good, you suppose. At least he has not taken offense. You would have thought he would be angered, never one to suffer affronts to his pride without reacting.

“Your fool.” He leans down and places a kiss on your forehead, before walking away.

You stare at him. Alicent stares at you. Neither says anything. You are not sure what to make of it. It’s strange. It’s him now, who serves you dinner. The choicest cuts of meat, the sweetest of wines and meads, never asking for anything in exchange.

He has gotten unusually affectionate. Or possessive. Whatever it’s going through his mind, you don’t know. Daemon has never been open about his thoughts and feelings with you, unless they stem from displeasure.

Perhaps it’s a burst of boastfulness. He flaunts you, a hand on your waist, lower arm, whatever he can get away with. He is suddenly interested in the dresses you wear, commenting on them and gifting you new ones just because he thinks they would suit you. You do not miss the fact that the dresses are always in his house’s colors or styles he personally favors, with intricate needlework and embroidery.

It’s interesting. Once again, his testing of boundaries seems to come back. His hands are always playing with the curls at the nape of your neck, or the folds of your skirt. You have even caught him toying with the buttons of your bodice. It borders on the inappropriate.

“You are pushing it.” You say to him when his hands curls around yours as you dance. He is supposed to keep his hand extended for this step. He doesn’t seem to care. The other guests give him amused looks. No one is about to chide a Prince for his lovesick behavior towards his wife. Especially in a goodbye feast for the couple.

In truth, you are starting to think most of the fathers at court are relieved. If the Rogue Prince is chasing after his wife, then he is not chasing their daughters.

“Holding your hand is pushing it?” Daemon holds your hand more securely, as he makes you spin. This is another new and unexpected development. Now, he only dances with you. No heated looks at Rhaenyra, no longing glances towards Laena. You are not sure how you feel about it.

“It is. You are inconveniencing everyone.” You say, as he spins you again with a flourish. Despite wanting so badly to keep being cross with him, you cannot help but laugh with childish delight. What girl doesn’t want to be twirled around and made to feel special? “You are supposed to exchange partners.”

The balance of the dance has been thrown off by his refusal to let go of you. Any time there needs to be a switch, the couples flounder around the two of you. It’s childish on his part, but he seems unwilling to let you dance with another man.

“Oh, you haven’t seen me pushing it yet.” Daemon laughs, and pulls you in until your body is flush against his. It’s improper and probably not allowed. Scandalous, even. Yet again, no one is about to say anything.

Much less you, suddenly realizing that being pressed so close to Daemon is quite enjoyable. He smells surprisingly clean this evening. No trace of alcohol on his skin, or other women’s perfumes. Instead, he smells of the soap he usually favors and some sort of aromatic oil.

“Will you push further, then?” You raise your brows. It’s sort of amusing that Daemon is trying so hard. You would have not taken him for the seducing type, not when he had been so keen on dissolving your marriage.

“I will.” Daemon leans in, to whisper in your ear. His voice is low, thick with desire. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I want you. I burn for you. I need you in my bed, on top of me, under me, any way you will let me have you.”

You give a scandalized little gasp, softly hitting his shoulder. Daemon grins, pulling you in even more. The two of you are so close, you imagine you can feel his heart beating against yours.

“I’m not done.” He chuckles, leaning in to kiss your jaw. Daemon’s lips trail kisses towards your ear, teasingly blowing some air against it. “I want to spend the nights feasting between your thighs, on the valley of your breasts…”

“Stop it! We are in public.” You squeak, yet you look up at him like a flower searching for the sun. The attention he bestows on you is flattering, and you can't help but want to hear more.

“Do you want to hear a secret, wife? Every time you walk, I find myself lost in the sway of your hips. I want to drown on it. Drown on you. Until no trace of another remains, until the taste of your lips is the only thing I know.”

By this point, your skin feels so hot you worry you are about to combust. You gape at him. Not only has he dared to make a bold declaration, but he has done so in a room full of people.

You take a moment to gather yourself. Daemon could be bluffing for all you know, and so, you decide to match him. You brush your thumb against his cheekbone, feather-light.

“Then do it. No one is stopping you. Come to bed. Drown on me. Drink me, take me, ravish me.” You are trembling, and you only realize it when Daemon holds you tighter against him. You feel feverish, voice lowered to an urgent whisper. “Give me Valyrian sons, to hold my island when we are both gone.”

“No. No.” He says, against the curve of your neck, embraced much closer than the dance requires, making a spectacle. “I want them to have your smile and your eyes, and that infuriating curve of your shoulder. Give me daughters with your smart mouth, and your even temper. I want them to be proof of the love I had for you.”

You tremble more. Love. He really said… Oh, by the Seven.

“You are shaking.” Daemon kisses your brow. “Don’t. Unless it is from pleasure.”

Laughter rings in your ears. It's yours, but it feels foreign. You are too stunned to think clearly. Daemon tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Are you still there, Lady Wife?” He taps at your lower lip with his thumb. There is a teasing tilt to his smile, but his eyes are nervous. Vulnerable. Daemon was clearly not planning on confessing tonight. “Or have I broken you?”

“Prove it.” You say, still caught up on the love part. His declaration has sent your mind reeling, and shown you all of your latest interactions in a new light. You don’t know if Daemon knows what he is doing. He is a deeply passionate creature, much like his house’s sigil. Daemon doesn’t do infatuations, nor does he do dislikes. He loves or hates, and there is no in between.

“I will.” He promises, playing with a stray piece of hair that has fallen out of your up do. “Our whole lives. But perhaps I can start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You frown, puzzled. You even pull back from his embrace to be able to look at his face. What an odd thing to say. Despite it, you admire the utter shamelessness he has about it. Were it you the one accidentally confessing, you would be a bundle of nerves.

Daemon doesn’t even blush. Of course, there is the small fact that he believes himself to be the Seven’s gift to humankind. You suppose if you believed yourself to be irresistible, you wouldn’t be nervous either. Cockiness wasn’t something you thought did it for you, but it seemed like you were learning new things every day.

“You will see.” Daemon smiles. You let him keep his secret, figuring it can’t be anything that bad.

You discover what he means when you arrive at Claw Island. A dragon egg waits for you, the fireplace clearly modified in a hurry, judging by the new stones and bricks that were added to the hearth.

“Even if it never hatches, I want you to have it. For you are as Valyrian as we are, and I was a fool not to see it sooner. You are worthy. It should have been on your cradle as a child.”

Greed /ɡriːd/

​a strong desire for more wealth, possessions, power, etc. than a person needs.

The way his eyes trail after you now, it’s quite unfamiliar. Not lust, nor disdain. Something entirely new. Heavier.

Your afternoons have been filled with new entertainment. You coo at the egg, holding it over the fire. Sometimes, Daemon kneels beside you and helps you hold it, making a game of it. How long before either of you gets burned? How long can you endure, hands so close to the fire, before you are yelping and giving it to him?

When you think he is not looking, you speak to it in High Valyrian, whispering soft promises of how loved him or her will be once it hatches. There is no doubt in your mind it will. Perhaps not in weeks, or even months. Yet, your heart tells you there will be a dragon before your life ends.

Every night, you place the egg in the bed next to you. On your side, you curl around it, trying to share your warmth. Daemon reaches forward, sometimes. When he thinks you are asleep, his hand will curl over your waist and touch the egg, pressing it more against your stomach. You wonder what he means by it.

Does he know what he is doing? The low lullabies he half sings, half mutters under his breath indicate a yes. The way his lips curl into a soft smile against your nape show a longing that’s very much not subconscious.

Just as a pot of boiling water, the egg hatches a night no one it’s looking at it. Both Daemon and you are curled in a love seat, engrossed in a book. He is reading something about the doom of Valyria, your legs over his lap. You are submerged in a text about a man’s travels around the Free Cities.

One of his hands is wrapped around your ankle, in the sweetest of chains. Each time he flips a page, he will brush it with his thumb, softly. While not unwelcome, it’s strange. You are not used to being comforted in the same way you did for him during the first months of marriage. While Daemon doesn’t expect any kind of retribution, you find yourself granting it anyway.

The domesticity is quickly broken, however, when a strange noise fills the halls of your home. At first, you are unable to hear it through the background noise, but if you strain your ears, you can just make it out. It’s a shrill cross between a bird’s chirps and someone crying.

“Daemon?” You close your book and stare at him. Unable to help it, you get a little sidetracked, watching his face. His mouth is pursed in concentration, the candlelight giving his features a golden glow. Despite him being several years older than you, you cannot help but find him terribly handsome. Age has only turned him more distinguished. You betted he was dashing when younger, but unlike his brother, he has aged like a fine wine.

Sensing your eyes on him, he gives you a lazy smile.

“Little wife.” His voice comes out in a pleased rumble at having caught you looking. Your face heats up. Daemon's eyes shift from yours, to your mouth, then back to your eyes. You squirm under his gaze, trying to focus.

“Do you hear that?” You force yourself to utter.

“Hear what?” Daemon leans more towards you, his hand squeezing your knee. You give a small, delighted shiver. Good gods, what is it about him that gets you to turn into a puddle of want with the simplest touch?

“Some sort of animal crying.”

Daemon frowns. He tilts his head to the side, as if to listen better. You keep quiet, hoping to aid him. Then, his face breaks out in the biggest grin.

“It hatched! You amazing, wonderful woman.” He praises, pulling you into him. The hug is awkward, but it doesn’t last because you are too eager to see the baby dragon. Your dragon. You squirm out of his hold and rush out of the room, not even bothering to put on shoes, Daemon hot on your heels.

When you open the door to your chambers, you find the cutest thing ever. A baby dragon, slimy and confused, sits in the middle of his egg in the fireplace. It’s all big, dark eyes and long limbs, much like a baby horse. Unable to resist the temptation, you reach towards them.

“I do not…” Daemon tries to stop you, but the baby dragon climbs right up into your arms, curling close to your chest. Eager to touch it, you let it climb over your shoulder and nuzzle you, even if the sudden weight makes you stagger a little.

“That was really dangerous.” Your husband reprimands, trying to lift it away from you. The baby dragon snorts towards his direction, as if attempting to breathe fire. It only manages to give a cute little sneeze. Daemon glares.

“Aw, you are just like a baby.” You coo at the dragon, petting its head. Daemon looks even more disgruntled.

“Your dragon tried to burn me.” He complains.

“It’s a baby, husband. They don’t know any better.” You rub the scales on its back, soothingly. Unwilling to let go, you find yourself looking around your bedroom. “Let it stay here? Just for tonight.”

Daemon glares. You give him your biggest, most pleading eyes. He relents.

“Fine. But it’s not sleeping on the bed with us. And only for tonight.”

“Only for tonight.”

A month after, and the baby dragon is still sleeping in your bed. He has taken to laying between Daemon and you, leeching off your warmth. Daemon complains of having to sleep on the edge of the bed and his back being sore, but despite it, never once asks you to send the dragon outside with Caraxes.

The trouble starts, how not, with a trip to King’s Landing. This time, you ride with him, as a passenger to Caraxes, while the baby dragon follows. When Daemon lands, the dragon keepers fret around your baby, unsure of what to do with the unexpected visitor.

You command him to stay by your side, despite the protests of the dragon keepers. You are arguing and complaining and shielding your baby while Daemon only watches, amused.

Perhaps the commotion attracts more people, or someone calls for them, but you end up cornered as King Viserys makes his way to the dragon pit.

“What do we have here?” He asks, smiling at you. You give him a nervous look. Your dragon has gotten bigger, and so, you can not pick him up gracefully, but you usher him behind you regardless.

“Nothing, your grace.” You say, lacking your usual charm. You feel nervous about leaving the baby dragon on his own in the dragon pit. What if the other dragons don’t like him? What if he gets lonely?

With one hand, you reach for Daemon. His fingers meet yours halfway, squeezing reassuringly. More often than not, being a woman, your orders were not taken seriously. But if your husband gave an order, people would rush to obey. You hope he intercedes in your favor.

“Daemon, please.” You say, under your breath. “Don’t let them send him away. He will behave.”

“What do I gain, little wife?” He asks, interlocking your fingers together. Daemon gives his most charming grin to his brother, before pulling you into him. You go willingly, body lax and pliant for him. “A kiss, perhaps?”

“Please.” You turn to look at him, hoping to move him. This close, once again, you feel slightly distracted. Your husband smells so nice, and his hands feel so good around your waist, it’s no hardship at all. You press a kiss to his cheek.

“Must you always arrive with such a ruckus?” Viserys frowns. Daemon gives him a small smile.

“You know me.” Slowly, he starts to lead you towards the Red Keep, a hand placed protectively on your lower back. The message is clear. Daemon wants you to make your dragon follow you. You don’t even need to order it because your baby, smart as it is, is already following. The dragon keepers step back, muttering unhappily.

“Is it going inside?” Viserys point at your dragon. Foolishly, you had been hoping he didn’t notice, and so, your stomach drops. But Daemon doesn’t falter, strolling confidently inside as if he owned the place.

“He will behave. As long as no one touches her.” Normally, you despise when people talk about you as if you are not there. Currently, though, you can only feel relief that your dragon is not getting sent to sleep outside in the cold. He is just too little for it.

Viserys walks you towards his private dining room. A blonde child runs around, playing. The Princess and Ser Laenor are already there. And Alicent is even more heavily pregnant than before.

“How have you been?” You ask Alicent, sitting next to her. You half expect to be left out of the conversation as you were a few months before, and so, choose to sit next to someone who has been kind to you. The baby dragon hops on your lap when you take your seat.

Alicent looks absolutely horrified.

“Good enough.” She speaks, blinking slowly. It’s clear she cannot believe her eyes. She stares at the dragon in a mix of awe and fear.

“He is harmless.” You explain, petting it as if it were a small dog and not a baby dragon. “Do you want to pet him?”

Alicent reaches forward with a trembling hand. The dragon sniffs her, and curls to sleep again.

“… And I was thinking of changing the layout of the hall, to make sure he fits…” You hear Daemon complain, and your ears immediately perk up. Is he talking about your baby?

“So you keep it inside?” Viserys asks, sounding disbelieving.

“I have never seen such a close bond.” Daemon boasts. He sounds as if he is proud of you, you realize. It makes something warm flutter in your stomach. No longer are you the wife he never wanted and tried to get rid of. “Damn thing sleeps on the bed with us. It’s better trained than a dog, seriously. We should have given Celtigars dragons a long time away.”

“Why not leave it outside?” From where you are seated, you can’t see his face, but you imagine by his tone, Viserys is smiling.

“She will riot. She loves him as her own son.” Daemon explains. You keep your eyes trained on the nervous Alicent, who has managed to lay her hand on top of your dragon’s head. She looks about to bolt.

“Isn’t he the nicest thing?” You say to Alicent, excited. “He thinks I am his mom, or something. Isn’t it great?”

Alicent does not look as impressed as you hoped for, but she gives you a kind smile. She seems willing to tolerate your eccentricities if for the sake of not having to make conversation with Rhaenyra.

“Very nice.” She compliments. “Pretty colors. Prince Daemon was very kind, giving it to you.”

“He is.” You smile, softly. “Although he complains all the time.”

Alicent shrugs. This time, both of you tune in the conversation between Daemon and Viserys.

“Perhaps, as you build him something outside, you can distract her with an actual baby.” Viserys says. Alicent looks torn at the comment, and you can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by the topic.

It’s not something you had thought about before. Well, you had. Never with him, though. As a girl, you dreamed of being a mother, and as a woman, Daemon and you had discussed the issue of heirs already. You had spoken about it during your last goodbye feast, in this same castle. But those words had been spoken in the height of passion, and neither of you had done anything about it.

“Trust me. Next time she holds a babe, it will be a proper human one.” Daemon says, and his hand finds yours over the table. You look up at him, meeting his purple eyes. He looks hungry. Starved, even.

You lower your eyes demurely. Viserys laughs. And Daemon, greedy as he is, lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

Sloth /sləʊθ/

the bad habit of being lazy and unwilling to work.

The light filters in through the open curtains, giving the room a soft glow. Daemon’s face scrunches up, bothered by the sunlight in his eyes. He has tried to convince you to sleep with them drawn, but you are unwilling. To you, the best way to wake up is slowly, with the sun. Or so you say. He is not very convinced.

Daemon stretches. You reach for him in your sleep. He gives himself a moment to savor it, the fact that he can finally pull you closer. The dragon is finally gone from his bed, although he is no way near distracting you with a babe.

Dragons are not pets. Daemon had been taught that since the cradle, even before he had a dragon of his own. Their control over them was only an illusion, and so, they should be trusted but feared. He had lived by that rule, never once questioning it. Until you.

Watching you raise yours as if it were your own child had proven interesting. You lacked his education about them, but you made up for it by sheer enthusiasm. The fact that your dragon had not bitten your hand off yet or burned you to a crisp could only mean two things: You were some sort of forest nymph, or they were mistaken about their approach to dragons. He knew which one he thought was true.

How much was nature, and how much was nurture in their relationship with dragons? Trying to answer that question would occupy his entire lifetime. Daemon hoped that watching you gave him some insight. Even if he ended up discovering you were a nymph in disguise or some sort of goddess of the hunt. He wouldn’t regret it, fascinating as you were.

No matter how much food for thought you gave him, Daemon had been enjoying the joys of marriage. Perhaps, a little too much. Seeing you with the baby dragon had awoken some unexpected feelings. Targaryens were dragons, after all. When the time came, you would make a good mother. Not only were your instincts well-developed, but you seemed to thrive on having something to nurture.

Ah, the joys of domesticity. Daemon loves that you trust him enough now to allow him to witness you at your most fragile. Asleep and wearing a soft white night shift, you are deliciously innocent. Giving, too. You do not complain when his hands find your hips or when he pulls you flush against him. Nor do you move away when his face hides in your lovely locks, mussed with sleep.

Your expression is open and vulnerable in ways you are never when truly awake. Your eyes open just the tiniest sliver, before you hide your face on your pillow, rubbing against it like the sweetest kitten.

He adores you like this. Worships you, even. Obsessed with the curve of your hip, or the soft flesh above your womb. Daemon can’t help but rub it, hoping to manifest a child into existence without actually fucking you.

If he believed in such a thing, as so many fools in this realm did, Daemon would say this was the Seven Heavens. But he knew the truth. Just like you, who worshiped the Old Gods of Valyria, Daemon did too. How could he not when he had a tiny goddess sharing his bed?

Your nose scrunches up. You twitch. Worshiping a little nymph, now that was hard work. Especially when the nymph in question does her best to escape his personal worshiping time.

If Daemon could spend all day in bed, just like this, he would. He would trace your features with his mouth, peppering your face with soft kisses. He would feast on the soft curve of your neck, drink up all your sweet little noises. Trace a path down your soft limbs, draw nonsensical patterns on your stomach. But you are an energetic little thing, always jumping out of bed, no matter the pleasure he tempts you with.

Convincing you to stay is hard, but Daemon likes to think it’s an art he has perfected. It’s not a ritual, by any means. Each morning goes differently. Sometimes, you need to be kissed silly. Sometimes, you need to be gently worshiped and coaxed back to sleep. But his favorite mornings are the ones that go like this.

“I have to go check on the tenants, down by the shore. The rain season just started.” You complain, as he noses along your hairline. Suddenly, Daemon’s arms are empty. He opens his eyes to find you sitting up and pulling your robe over your night shift.

You look delectable in red. He should buy you more robes like that one. Especially because he is about to ruin it.

“Did you say at what hour you are going?” Daemon sits up as well, toying with the edge of your robe. You bat his hands away, playfully.

“No.” You are hurriedly standing up, perhaps knowing what comes next. Daemon grabs your robe, and pulls you back in, using all his strength.

No matter how much you try to keep your feet planted on the floor, you end up tumbling back into bed. You give a girlish shriek, a smile already forming on your face. You struggle, kicking the blankets off the bed.

“Come back here, you little minx.” He tugs you by the ankle, making you laugh. Your hair is sticking up in all directions and your chest heaves up and down with the exertion of putting up a fight.

Daemon secretly loves it. He would never tell you because you would be outraged, but he enjoys the idea of overpowering you. Perhaps, once you fully trust him, he could ask you to play like that. But for now, he takes what he can get.

“Or else what Lord husband?” You tease, still trying to escape him. More blankets and furs are sent flying off the bed. You give a mean little tug to his hair.

“That was it!” Daemon complains, and starts tickling you. The night shift rides tantalizingly up your hips, giving him an unintentional show. He feels his blood warming, arousal turning into a dull throb in his loins. Your legs kick wildly, you squirm on the bed, and your eyes fill with tears from laughing so much.

It’s only when your poor body can’t take it anymore, and you are crying from laughter that he stops. He thinks of how it would feel, to overwhelm you in a different context, make your body take and take until tears ran freely down your temples. A different sort of crown for his forest nymph, one made from her own silver tears. The visual is too much for him to take without giving himself away.

Daemon lies on top of you, smothering you with his weight. He licks a few stray drops of sweat from your neck, making you flay once again. There will be a day when play wrestling will turn into something much less sweet. That day, though, it’s not today.

“Get off!” You complain. “That’s disgusting.”

“I could eat you up.” He teases, nuzzling into your neck. It's the truth. Daemon loves the taste of your skin and your smell. If he thought he could get away with it, he would crawl between your thighs and feast on you. “You are delicious, wife.”

“Daemon.” You push lightly at him, trying to get up. Again. But your words lack their previous conviction. Daemon can tell he is getting to you. “It’s getting late.”

“The tenants can wait. Let us hide from the world a little longer.” He pleads, clinging to you. Under him, exhausted after the play wrestling, you go limp. He knows he has won then.

You spend the whole day in bed. The tenants end up being visited closer to sundown. Daemon does not regret it one bit.

[allkordelia]

Keep Me in Your Thoughts (57)

Rhaelle haven't been to dragonstone in years, the last time she was there was when viserys invited her and her family to celebrate helaena's fifth nameday. A week long celebration ended up being a three day stay after daemon got into a argument with viserys, daemon wouldn't tell rhaelle or laena what it was about so they ended up not bringing it up again.

Rhaelle held gaemon and gaela's hand while baby daena slept soundly in the baby wrap carrier on her chest, they walk behind as daemon walk ahead with their other children. Before coming here rhaelle had to tell maekar and baelon that they had to apologize to rhaenyra and her sons for the words they said in the tunnels weeks ago, they werent happy about it but rhaelle didn't want any sensation between the children and beside jacerys and lucerys didn't deserve to be call such words, they are actually sweet children. But, their mother on they other hand is a different story, she is how old and still acting like she is in her younger years.

"Mama..." rhaelle was pull out her thought by gaela making her look down at her daughter in question as they stop in the chamber of the painted table, "....I don't like it here, it's scary." Gaela said glancing around the room uncomforable making Rhaelle frown and look around the room too, yes the place is a bit gloomy especially with the dark colors and the odd paintings on the wall. 

"I know darling but all it needs is a bit of sunshine and a touch of love, and it will be like living in pentos again." Gaela look over at her brother, gaemon, who was burying in his face in rhaelle's side not liking the scary dragon paintings around.

"Okay, mama." Gaela said softly making rhaelle give a small smile as her hand rub gaela's back before she pull the girl close to her.

As daemon left to summon the servants to get their things, rhaenyra and her children walk in the chamber of the painted table.

"Princess Rhaelle." Rhaenyra acknowledged softly with her hand clasp together and front of her, she look over at her younger cousins, "Princesses and princes." She greeted with a head bow, rhaelle's children look back at her with blank looks while aemon gave a small smile and greeted her back.

"Princess Rhaenyra," rhaelle said monotone before looking at her nephews and neice, "Hello, prince jacerys, lucerys, and princess jaenara." Jacerys and lucerys greeted rhaelle back but jaenara stayed quiet as she stood by her mother.

"Where is our husband, princess." Rhaenyra ask as her eyes glancing around the room before coming closer making rhaelle look her up and down. 

"I believe to summon the servants." Rhaenyra hmm with a nod before the room was filled with silence, rhaelle look over at vaelon and maekar to see them looking at the table with aemon in awe.

"Maekar. Baelon." The three boys look over at their mother as they take a step back from the table, "Do you have something you would like to say to your cousins." The boys scowl softly at their mother who raised a brow at them as she gave them a hard look.

Maekar sigh as he walk from the table to stand a few feet away from rhaenyra and her children with baelon following behind.

"Luke. Jace. I'm sorry." Maekar said as he look at his younger cousins before looking at rhaenyra, "I am sorry to you too, princess rhaenyra." Rhaenyra nod her head.

"Your apology is accepted, young prince." Rhaenyra says as jace and luke nod in agreement of their mother, maekar elbow baelon making the toung boy huff with a eyeroll.

"I'm sorry too." He said montone as he stare at rhaenyra blankly, rhaenyra narrow her eyes at the young boy before rethinking and giving him a small smile.

"Thank you, young princes." Rhaenyra look at rhaelle as if waiting for her to say something, rhaelle quirk a brow at the princess making her look away from her, she should knew better to think that rhaelle was going to apologize for hitting her.

Daemon walked in the room with several servants behind him, they went over to their things as daemon came up to rhaelle passing rhaenyra.

"Your rooms in the Sea Dragon Tower are already setup, after dinner I'll show the children to their rooms and you to mines." He said low as his hand went to rest on rhaelle's hip.

"Sounds good, my love." Rhaelle smile at her husband who smile back at her before kissing her cheek, daemon pull back to face the rest of their family.

"Come along, everyone. Dinner is ready." Gaela walk to her father and tug on his robes making him look down at her as she held up her arms asking him to pick her up, daemon gave a smile and bend picking up their daughter.

Rhaelle smile at daemon putting in the effort in trying to form an relationship with gaela, gaemon tug on rhaelle's hand making her chuckle as her son pull her along to follow his father and siblings.

Dinner was silent and tensed. No one said a word as they all ate in silence, not even rhaelle and daemon, they sensed the tension and thought since it was the first day there it was going to be a bit awkward so they didn't want to get the children to talk to one another. So, after dinner, daemon showed the children where they will be staying before daemon brought rhaelle to his chamber.

As they get ready for bed, rhaelle and daemon talked about dinner.

"I can't say I didn't expect it." Daemon said mentioning the quiet dinner.

"Me either." Rhaelle replied tired as she got under the covers, "I just hope in time they will get along again." Daemon blew out the candles and  crawl into bed next to rhaelle.

"They will. They are children after all, and the strong boys do not hold grudges." Rhaelle glare at daemon in the dark for referring to jacerys and lucerys as "strong boys", "Goodnight, my love." Daemon kiss his wife on the cheek before he laid on his back, rhaelle stayed laid up against the bed thinking.

"Goodnight," she whispered back.

She wanted the children to get along, especially since they were going ro be living together for here on out. The idea of staying at Driftmark castle while rhaenyra and her children stay at dragonstone cross her mind, but she didn't want daemon to spend all his time with her not when he must also do his duties as a father not rhaenyra's children now that they loss their father. She had to remember to discuss being a father figure for rhaenyra's children especially to jacerys since he needs a man to show him how to be a good leader once he is older, she also has to work on rebuilding some ground between her and rhaenyra.

She knows if the children see rhaenyra and rhaelle acting bitter to one another, the children will think it's okay to do it to one another and rhaelle can't make that happen. So, she has to swallow her pride and try to make it work with rhaenyra, for the sake of the children.

—

Rhaelle was on the couch reading a book in the great chamber, it was dark only the fireplace composing light for her to read. Daemon was with the boys training them, while the others were scattered around the castle. Daena was taking her afternoon nap, gaemon and gaela were in their rooms with their handmaid drawing, alys was outside with baela watching the boys train, and rhaena and alyssa were gone visiting their grandmother. She had no idea where jaenara was (probably with her mother) rhaelle has been trying not to think too much about the young velaryon girl, she doesn't know how but she sense Alys doesn't like jaenara anymore and she fears it because of what rhaenyra said that night.

"Yes, my daughter. Mine. Not yours." Rhaenys look rhaelle up and down with sneer, "No matter how much you want her to be she is not your daughter..."

Rhaelle took in a deep breathe before exhaling at the memory, she never felt so embarrassed or ashamed. Her children had to hear rhaenyra say that, alys had to hear that, the little girl has been acting very cold towards rhaelle for the pass few days. It seems every time she sees rhaelle interacting with jaenara, the girl begins to get into a bad mood and take it out on jaenara.

Rhaelle tried to talk to alys about her behavior towards jaenara, but once jaenara's name leaves rhaelle's mouth. The young girl burst into tears and cries until rhaelle comforts her and gets her to calm down, once calm rhaelle would forget the subject and take alys for a walk along the shoreline. Alys have also taken to clinging to rhaelle's side, she haven't seen her daughter like this since rhaelle had to give all her attention to baelon when he fall badly ill. She thinks her daughter might have a problem with sharing her mother, rhaelle was not use to having a child who was so possessive over her.

The only person she knew who was like that was daemon, and usually it didn't end well with his contant hovering and lack of consideration.

The doors to the great chamber was open making rhaelle's squint her eyes as she look at the door that brought in so much light, a female servant walk in with her hands clasp in front of her with a concern look.

"M'lady. You are needed in the chamber of the painted table." Rhaelle frown before she put her book aside for later, as the servant turn on her feet and guided rhaelle to the familiar chamber.

After three full moons, rhaelle didn't need her cane anymore now that her broken hip was finally healed, she still felt a dull pain in her left hip but she was happy that she didn't have to carry around her cane anymore. It made her feel old.

Rhaelle walked into the room to find Daemon staring down at baelon who had his arms cross over his face and a scowl on his young face along with a busted lip, while rhaenyra was standing next to jacerys who also had a scowl on his face along with a bruise on his cheek.

"What did you do." Rhaelle ask knowingly it was her son who started it as she walk up to her son, baelon didn't look at her as he kept scowling the ground, daemon smack baelon in the back of his head.

"Your mother ask you a question, baelon." Daemon hiss making rhaelle give daemon a look before looking at her son who finally glance up at his mother before looking away.

"It...was a misunderstanding, mother." Rhaelle furrow her brows and look over at jacerys and rhaenyra.

"A misunderstanding, huh? If it was a misunderstanding than you can explain why your cousin has a bruise cheek and you a busted lip." Rhaelle cross her arms and look at her child, baelon let out a low groan making rhaelle narrow her eyes at him.

"It was nothing." He stated under his breathe making rhaelle sigh and rub her eyes.

"Baelon. What happened....and the truth, please." Baelon huff and look at his mother.

"He...went into my chamber without asking, and took something that belong to me." Daemon and rhaelle shared a look, they didn't believe what their son said was true, "You don't believe me?" They look back at their son.

"What did he take from you?" Daemon ask, baelon swallow taking a moment before answering.

"My...My sword. My wooden sword that you made me, he took it." Daemon narrow his eyes at his son still not convinced.

"You hurt my son over a toy sword." Rhaenyra said angry, the two parents and the child ignore rhaenyra.

"Baelon, we use our words not our fist, you should have came to your father or me to tell us before taking things into your own hands." Rhaelle said sternly, "You will apologize and return to your chamber and stay there until dinner is ready." A flicker of relief pass through baelon's lavender eyes before he look away making rhaelle furrow her brows at her son's odd reaction to his punishment.

"Okay, mother." Rhaelle watch as baelon turn to jacerys to apologize, jacerys gave a nod forgiving baelon.

"I'll escort baelon to his chamber, and jacerys to hiss lesson." Daemon told rhaelle making her turn to him, he kiss her cheek making her give him a small smile, "See you at dinner, my belove." Daemon smile at his wife before he look at baelon who march ahead of his father toward the door with jacerys close behind, daemon gave rhaelle one more smile before following after the children.

Rhaenyra watch as her husbsnd completely ignore her as he stalk pass her to catch up with thr boys, rhaelle could see the defeat in rhaenyra's shoulder and sadness on her face. When rhaenyra sense someone watching her she turn her eyes to look at rhaelle, the older princess looks away from her second wife to the table, her finders drag along the carvings as she thinks.

"He really loves you." Rhaelle lifted her head up quickly taken back as she looks at rhaenyra.

"I'm sorry?" Rhaelle thinking about baelon so she didn't properly listen to what rhaenyra said, rhaenyra walks towards the table.

"When I was younger I...never believe my uncle could ever love anyone but himself," rhaenyra stood to parallel to rhaelle, "It was who he was, he was the rogue prince, the heathen who took what he wanted no matter the consequences and damn to all he hurt, but yet you changed him." Rhaelle glance away from rhaenyra.

"I didn't change him, he changed himself."

"Yes, but for you, he made himself better for you." Rhaelle look back at rhaenyra, "But, what I can't understand is why you, your not special, he knows that you shared a child with my father and otto, but yet he still wants to be with you. Why is that?" Rhaelle stare at rhaenyra in disbelief, the woman who is suppose to be their future queen could not for the life of her stop being a bitch towards rhaelle.

"Must you always be a cunt, rhaenyra." Rhaenyra shrug her shoulders unfaze.

"I'm just asking a question." Rhaelle gave the young woman an eyeroll.

"No, your looking for a fight and I won't give it to you."

"I just want to know what it is about you that makes daemon act like a bastard towards me,"

"Did you ever think maybe it's because your such a horrible woman towards his wife." It was rhaenyra turn to give a eyeroll inconceivable at the thought, "I'm being serious maybe try being a little nicer to me and maybe daemon won't treat you like a nuisance."

"Why should I be nice to you, when all you ever done is be unkind to me." Rhaelle let out an unbelievable scoff.

"Let's be honest, rhaenyra. All I ever done to you is give your father a son and married daemon, it is you who is the problem and it is you who will continue to push daemon further away." Rhaelle watch as rhaenyra's jaw slant before she right herself and look away.

"It's not fair." She muttered but rhaelle heard her.

"What's not fair, rhaenyra. That I get daemon and you don't."

"No." Rhaenyra look back at rhaelle with misty eyes, "You still have someone who loves you while I am here left with no one," rhaelle frown at the young woman, rhaenyra cast her eyes down, "I thought I could use daemon to fill the hole in my heart with sex, if it keeps me from thinking about my own loneliness and fallen love." Rhaelle looks at rhaenyra with a hint of pity, she couldn't imagine how devastating rhaenyra was when she heard about ser strong.

"You could always take another...as your own." Rhaelle suggest.

"Too risky. It's hard to find someone to trust these days," rhaenyra sighs, "And I don't know what's worse having a husband who won't consummate his marriage with me or always being worried that my love would betrayal me and my children."

Rhaelle was taken by surpise by rhaenyra's confession, she never knew that daemon didn't consummate his marriage, in all honesty, she didn't want to think about it. But, now hearing that rhaenyra couldn't get daemon to even consummate their marriage made her smile a little.

"I'm happy my pain can bring you some sick joy," rhaelle blinks as she focus on rhaenyra who wipe at her eye with her hand making rhaelle purse her lips.

"I wasn't...forget it, look rhaenyra." Rhaelle started making rhaenyra look at her, "If fucking daemon gets you to be a bit nicer around my children and bearable, I'll talk to daemon about visiting your chamber tonight." Rhaenyra furrow her brows as she look at rhaelle unsure and confuse.

"You...will so that...for me?" She ask making rhaelle nod.

"No, I'm doing it for my sake, and besides woman have needs. I for one can understand that, but if I do this we must come to an agreement." Rhaenyra look at rhaelle curiously.

"What sort of agreement." She ask.

"It have come to my understanding that our children do as we do, they see us arguing or fighting, it will make them argue and fight. I propose that we put our differences aside and be kinder to one another and help each other out."

"And in return, daemon visits my chamber every night before he comes to see you." Rhaelle laugh looking away from the spoiled princess.

"That's if he agrees to this and even if he does, you will be either seeing my husband after me or two times a week not every night." Rhaenyra poke her cheek with her tongue in thought, "Or another alternative." Rhaenyra quirk her brow at rhaelle, "If you want daemon every night you will have to share him with me in our chamber." Rhaelle said with smirk as she watch rhaenyra look at her with wide eyes in disbelief, she knows that rhaenyra will never go for that so...

"I'll rather see fortnightly." Rhaelle hmms in victory.

"I knew you chose the right choice." Rhaenyra watch rhaelle with a sour look as the woman once called queen turns her back to her to walk away, "I'll be in the garden if you need me." Rhaelle said over shoulder before walking out of the chamber.

@beggarsnotchoosey @cleverzonkwombatsludge @avidreader73 @green-lxght @spderm4nnnn @supermassiveblackhope @watercolorskyy @stargaryenx

[dried-mushroom]

My Queen

Aemond 'one-eyed' Targaryen x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, incest (uncle & niece), oral sex (m receiving), public handjob, fingering, missionary sex, porn with plot, short slow burn, Aemond is head over heels for you, soft! Aemond

Enjoy!!!!!

You were the firstborn daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Harwin Strong. No stark resemblance to the knight as do your siblings, as you were the only one born with silver Targaryen hair. This made you stand out compared to your brothers, as their heritage was a common topic for gossip, and they did not have a single feature from Ser Laenor, your mother's betrothed. You were still considered a true Targaryen and not a bastard child nonetheless.

It had been years since your family had been back to Kings landing, years since you'd seen your uncles, Aegon and Aemond. You had less than fond memories of the older prince as a teen, he was always trying to get you alone and mentioning how he could satisfy you better than any other lord or knight. You often ignored his words but sometimes he was just too vile to bare.

His brother on the other hand intrigued you. He was much quieter than Aegon, but he spoke to you often. Usually, it was only small talk when you ran into the prince. You honestly didn't mind, as you may have developed a liking for the younger prince. What you weren't expecting was he already wanted you for himself.

The clearest memories between you and Aemond were when your brothers and your uncle decided to tease him about his lack of claiming a dragon. You knew how cruel Jace and Luke could be, as they enjoyed making your life harder so to speak. You lectured them both when you found out what they did to Aemond and searched for the young prince.

When you found him perched against an old oak tree, with his head in his hands, you sat next to him. As he turned to face you, you could see how red and raw his eyes were, obviously from crying. You tried to apologize for your brother's behaviour but he didn't want your pity, instead, he told you not to worry, and that he would make sure he gained a dragon. He didn't enjoy being harsh towards you and apologized later that day by gifting you a book with a note inside.

Another less fond memory of your prince was the night of Lady Laena's funeral. The entire day had an aura of gloom, and you could tell the tension was tightening between your family and Aemond's. Rhaenyra and Alicent were clawing at each other's throats every time they were close and the rumour that your mother had birthed four bastards was certainly a rumour that the HighTowers were eager to entertain, just so that your mother was seen as an untrustworthily whore.

Yet you remained close to Aemond, usually strolling around the grounds of the castle together or watching him train to duel with his brother and Ser Criston. But that dreadful night something changed, that night he finally got one of the two things he always wanted; to claim a dragon. Vhagar, Laena's dragon was sleeping peacefully until Aemond woke her, and through his bravery and her compliance, He successfully bonded with her by commanding her to calm herself and serve him in High Valyrian.

He quickly got the hang of it and rides the dragon around High Tide before landing. Vhagar was the biggest dragon in Westeros and the most powerful of any dragons the Targaryen's had. Whilst his little flying escapade, Laena's daughters noticed his absence and could hear the familiar roar coming from their mother's dragon, so they rushed over to Jace and Luke to help them find who had stolen the dragon, which was meant for the eldest Velarylon girl, Rhaena.

You were resting against a cold stone wall, seemingly fazed, when your younger brothers and cousins rushed up to you and told you about your uncle. You suddenly recalled hearing the familiar noise of the dragon and Aemond had excused himself from you as he 'felt ill' earlier. You trailed behind the four as they went to inside the castle searching for Aemond. When they spotted the young prince, they all started arguing over who had a claim to the dragon. You stayed behind them, not entirely wanting to be there.

Without a second thought, Rhaena hit Aemond for an insult he had said to her about her mother, but the latter was stronger and threw her to the ground. Your brothers quickly joined in the fight. Jace pushed Aemond to the ground and he broke Luke's nose somehow. You felt conflicted, about who to defend; either your brothers or the boy you've liked for what seemingly felt like eons.

You tried to get in between Luke and Aemond to break them up. Aemond wasn't thinking straight and accidentally hit you with a rock he had in his hand, to use on Luke. As soon as he realised what he did he dropped the rock and started apologising profusely, but Jace thought it was the perfect time to get revenge on the prince for hurting his big sister and stealing their cousin's dragon, as he threw sand into the boy's eyes and Luke slashed the boy in the right eye, blinding him.

You quickly snapped out of your pain haze and quickly rushed over to the wailing boy, whose face was now covered in blood. You couldn't believe what your brothers had done. Everything became a blur after that moment, you remember blood soaking your light-coloured dress and guiding Aemond through the castle to his mother. Him clutching you tightly, still muttering apologies to you, your relatives spewing their disgust at you for aiding the prince.

The last time you and the prince spent time was the most memorable. It was the day your mother remarried to her uncle, Daemon. You, Jace, and Luke were told by your mother that you all would be leaving for dragonstone and to say your goodbyes, the handmaidens would pack your belongings but be ready to leave King's landing before noon. This sudden news upset you heavily as you would be separated from Aemond and your friends for God knows how long. You wandered around the castle soaking in each and every detail as if it were the last. You made your way to Aemond's chambers, worried about his reaction to your leaving.

The both of you got incredibly closer ever since that fight, seemingly you both were joined at the hip, always sharing longing glances that teetered on the border of platonic. Once you reached the door and knocked, the familiar face of your blonde prince greeted you, eagerly letting you inside his room. You picked at your cuticles, not wanting to share the news with Aemond. He noticed the disdain on your face, and spoke "What's wrong, Princess Y/N?" you sighed, "Mother wants me and my brothers to travel to dragon stone for some time, she told us to say our goodbyes and to be ready to leave at midday. I'm so sorry." His smile faulted, as he took in your words.

He felt almost ill, his beloved was leaving so abruptly, he didn't know what to say, as he knew he couldn't sway Rhaenyra. Without a thought, he closed the gap between you both, slowly pressing his lips to yours, in a tender kiss. He gripped the fabric of your dress, either in a plea to hold you even closer or to keep you with him even longer. You couldn't help but feel something hard pressing into your thigh, your cheeks were ablaze when you realised what that something was.

You broke the kiss, knowing you didn't have much time left. He must have realised and quickly retrieved something from one of his drawers. It was a small bracelet, decorated in emeralds, the Hightower colour. You couldn't help but smile a little as he slipped it around your wrist. You gave him one last peck before saying the last words you'd say to him for the next six years. "Please write to me, or maybe even visit, I won't forget you, I beg you to do the same, goodbye my prince." "I will my princess, don't doubt it. Goodbye y/n." You left his chambers, not realising his brother was waiting outside his door.

Aegon grabbed your arm tightly and whispered in your ear. "You're leaving? fuck sake, why can't Rhaenyra just send the twats you call brothers away, she really wants to torture me. " You tried wiggling out of his harsh grip, but he wouldn't let go, "You know, I get so fucking hard when you cross my mind, I can't stop thinking about you swollen with my seed, being my little whore and no one el-" Aegon's perverted wishes were quickly diminished as your younger brother called out your name from the entrance of the corridor. Aegon released your arm but said one last thing, "Goodbye my betrothed." You knew that was a sick joke, Aemond had already told you that Aegon and Helena were already betrothed. He just really wanted to fuck with you. You muttered a goodbye with gritted teeth and rushed towards your brother and out of the castle.

Six Years Later:

Your mother and Daemon had decided that it would be best to visit Kings Landing once again, for your ill grandsire and to reaffirm Jace as the heir to the driftwood throne. You wouldn't mind being back at King's landing once again, this time as an 18-year-old woman, you were soon destined to be betrothed to some lord or knight. Another reason would be to see familar faces, such as Helaena, both of you were close. The Velayron girls you missed as well, as they were always sweet to you.

The two men you were dreading to see were Aegon and Aemond. Aegon for the most obvious reasons, he is a fucking pervert. As for Aemond, he in a way broke your heart. He promised to write to you but never acted on that promise, you had written three letters to the prince but he never wrote back. All those years, not one fucking word to you.

At first, you were deeply hurt but you came to understand that you could not let such a foolish thing belittle you as you were to be heir to the iron throne once your mother became Queen, you could not be seen as weak. You begged your mother to let you ride dragon back to the castle but she insisted to take a carriage, to your disappointment. Later that morning you all set off.

When the sight of the familiar castle came into your vision, you became an internal puddle of emotions, relief for finally being back home, happiness for finally being able to reunite with old friends and uneasiness for seeing the boy you loved, a man. Once the carriage abruptly stopped, you all stepped out and you let out a sharp exhale as all the Targaryen decorations that you remembered had been replaced by religious symbols.

Your stepfather made a few comments about Queen Alicent and her father was behind that, humourous but wasn't appropriate. You all were greeted and You, Jace and Luke were allowed to wander the grounds for a while. You found yourself walking near where the duelling practice was taking place and heard the smooth familiar voice belonging to Aemond.

"Nephews, You've come to train?"

You couldn't help but sigh gently when you saw how attractive Aemond had become. His hair was twice as long (more to pull on), and he was more toned and adorned with a black eye patch from the accident between him and your brother. As you walked closer to Aemond and ser Criston, you took in how skilful Aemond had become with a sword.

You joined your brothers and when Aemond saw you for the first time in years he almost forgot what he was even doing. That's how mesmerizing you are to him. Once he managed to make the Knight yield he strode towards you three. Aemond hadn't seen you in six years and he couldn't tear his eyes away from you, how your beautiful blonde hair framed your face, how your eyes were just as vibrant as they were and he couldn't help but let his eyes linger over your figure in your black & red dress, how he could get a glimpse of your cleavage as he towered over you.

"My niece, how I have missed you."

His tone was sultry and he gave your hand a quick kiss before giving your brothers a nasty look.

"Jace. Luke. Can you give me and your sister a moment alone?"

They raised their eyebrows but walked away leaving the both of you alone. He sighed before grabbing both of your hands into his.

"My dear y/n, Before you speak, listen to me. I never wanted to break that promise I made to you all those years ago. Alas, my mother had other thoughts, she forbade me from any contact with you."

"But-But why? I never did anything to offend her?"

He knew how you felt, his mother was a confusing bitch. Wanting to place Aegon, a drunk who regularly commits infidelity, as King on the iron throne. Instead, he believed he himself should have a claim to the throne. He was the one who studied history and philosophy. He was the one who trained with a sword. Oh, what he would truly do to be King and have you by his side as his Queen.

"Her reasoning seemed uncouth, as it was since you were the daughter of Rhaenyra and bare no resemblance to Ser Laenor. My mother decided that you would be unfit for me. But I couldn't go one day all those years without a thought of you trickling into my mind. Hm, you're still wearing that?"

You looked down at your wrist and couldn't help it as the blush rose to your cheeks at his words, it was the gift he left you on your last day spent together, he felt an odd sense of pride knowing you still cherished that simple bracelet. He pulled you into a tight embrace with your hands still in his grip. His large arms wrapped around you almost lovingly, and he rested his head upon yours. He murmured into your hair but before you could ask what he had said you both were interrupted by a sharp feminine voice.

"Aemond! come here. We need to talk"

And with that, Aemond sighed before releasing you to follow his cunt of a mother. You turned around to find Daemon smirking at you and laughing as he walked away, and you could tell that today would be interesting, to say the least.

Once the clock struck midday, most of everyone had made their way to the throne room to start their petitions for the heir to drift mark. Your grandsire was too sick to sit on the throne so Otto and Alicent were the ones listening. You followed your family and stood with your younger brothers. Once Vaemond, your technical uncle had proposed he be the heir to the driftwood throne which had made your entire family worry as you all knew that the Hightowers were going to do anything in their power to weaken your family. But you couldn't help but smile when you noticed how Aemond was looking at you from across the room.

When it was finally time for Rhaenyra to speak for your brother and as soon as she started the doors opened to the throne. You all turned and saw your grandfather, struggling to walk down the stairs to his place on the throne. Daemon helped his brother onto the iron throne before letting him speak. The king had reaffirmed your brother's place on the driftwood throne and you were extremely happy for him. You placed a hand on his shoulder, telling him how happy you were for him. You couldn't see how Aemond balled his hands into tight fists of jealousy, he didn't enjoy seeing you touching any other males, nonetheless, the boy who took his eye when they were younger.

After that gruesome turn of events, you were expected to go to a family dinner, your family and the Hightowers together how could that possibly go wrong? That evening you had walked into the dining room, lit up by numerous glowing candles. You noticed how almost everyone had been seated and there was an empty chair beside Aemond. Once you sat down, you saw how he looked at you, abashedly adoringly. He leaned down and whispered in your ear.

"I can't wait for tonight, I have something special planned for you. I know you'll like it."

You shivered as his warm breath trickled down your neck. You both shot back up once you heard Alicent cough loudly. You both noticed how Luke was staring almost disgustedly at the scene in front of him, but Aemond just smirked at him knowingly. In the middle of Alicunt saying grace, you felt a warm hand on your skirts. Your eyes flicked open to meet Aemond's closed ones, he seemed awfully proud of himself. What he wasn't expecting was to feel your hand gently brush against his growing erection. You watched how his breath hitched as his mother finished saying grace. As each family member conversed with one another you were trying not to concentrate on the hand trailing up your inner thigh to your arousal.

"So y/n have you been betrothed yet? I have just never seen you with a suitor yet."

Helaena's words broke you out of your haze, you stumbled around your words.

"Uh, not yet haven't. I feel as if men just are not so attracted to me."

You didn't notice Aemond's slight disappointment at your words, as you knew how much he adored you, inside and out.

"Well I'm sure you'll find someone soon, don't worry marriage isn't so appealing as it seems"

The subtle insult to Aegon made you laugh, a sound Aemond treasured. He truly enjoyed seeing you happy, he also wanted to see the noises of pleasure you'd make, squirming on his cock. He took his middle finger and trailed it over your underwear, just over your wet slit. You let out a quiet mewl but contained yourself quickly as you remembered where you were, you glared at Aemond but found him already looking at you. As food was brought out one plate by one, you took the opportunity to seek a small sliver of revenge. When a servant placed a whole roasted pig in front of the both of you, bad taste in your opinion. You popped open Aemond's pants and slipped your hand inside and into his undergarments to pull out his already leaking cock. You both were concealed by the meal in front of you and the large white tablecloth.

You lazily stroked his cock, every so often you'd spread the pre-cum gathered on his tip, making him grip your thigh hard in desperation. He honestly didn't think you'd do this to him, he only had imagined you doing such things to him in his more...personal fantasies. What he was planning to do under the table would have to wait but he'd repay you back generously. After some looming stares, your grandfather spoke for one last thing before he passed, to have one evening with his family with their grievances put aside. Your mother had commended Alicent on her loyalty to her father and her devotion to her husband and Alicent had returned her graciousness, saying she would make a fine queen. Everyone drank from their cup. You kept your pace while everyone seemed finally happy to be in each other's presence, everyone was smiling and laughing with one another, unknowingly witnessing you jerk off your uncle under the table.

Aemond knew he wasn't going to last long as you were so good for him. He loved how you were pleasuring him, and he honestly loved how no one even noticed the debauched action you both were doing. You stroked him one more time before he let out an extremely loud groan and he came, warm spurts all over your hand. You sighed internally and meet the disturbed faces of your family. They all knew what you had just done to Aemond and how Aemond fully enjoyed it. Without a second thought he put himself away, dragged you out of your chair and out of the room. The entire room was silent until Aegon laughed loudly and congratulated his brother earning multiple stares of disapproval.

You and Aemond ran out out of earshot and leant against the cold wall of a stairwell, breathless. You couldn't help but laugh about the situation you both put yourselves in, rightfully you both just scarred your entire family and knew the lectures you were bound to receive the next day. The first one to speak was Aemond, stumbling around, trying to figure what he would say until what he had spend all day planning popped into his head.

"Thank you my princess. I truly enjoyed that, shall I repay the favor?"

"What are you offering my prince?"

Aemond took your hand in his, gently rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. He met your soft gaze before leading you up the stairs into his chambers. When he opened the door, you saw a simple (choice of flower) on the edge of the bed next to a small wrapping of parchment paper. You wondered how in all of kings landing how he knew your favourite flower. He guided you towards the bed and sat down, you subconsciously played with the petals of the flower now in your lap. Aemond places the small wrapped into your hand,

"Open it, I know you'll like it."

You took Aemond's words and carefully unwrapped the gift. You couldn't believe it, it was a beautiful ring, gold with small emeralds engraved on the sides.

"My dear y/n, Will you take me? be my Queen?"

You nodded eagerly as you pressed your lips to his.

"Of course my King."

He pulled you into his lap, his hands wrapped around you deliciously. You couldn't help but moan as he slid his tongue into your mouth. He had a tight grip on your skirts, pulling you closer to the hardness in his pants. He broke the kiss to trial small bites over your neck, leaving a purple trail in his wake. He couldn't help himself but grind you down on his lap, trying to get as much friction as he could. You were more than happy to reprociate. He mumbled curses under his breath as he layed you down onto the soft sheets, taking in your debauched beauty. He slowly unzipped your dress, pulling it off completely, leaving you only in a pair of undergarments. He could feel his cock twitch just looking at you, and he was on his knees infront of you, and lazily stroked himself through his trousers, tempting himself.

He quickly made work of his vest and the white shirt underneath. He was about to get rid of his pants but before he could even reach the button, he felt your mouth against his bulge, his hips bucked against you at the warm feeling. He squeezed his eyes shut as you pulled out his cock once again and this time wrapped your mouth around his tip. He moaned in ecstasy at foreign feeling, he couldn't help but thrust into your mouth, trying to chase more. You braced both your hands onto his thighs as you took more of his dick. He absolutely loved you like this; you were so beautiful it hurt. You could tell by his stuttering hips that it wouldn't be long until he came, you gave him one more long lick up his shaft and pulled his weeping cock out of your mouth. You could see the slight disappointment on his face but you reassured him.

"I want you to cum in me."

He groaned when he heard those debauched words leave your pretty mouth. He couldn't wait to ruin you. You laid back down, and he laid himself above you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. He slowly rubbed the tip of his cock languidly over your glistening slit, teasingly.

You whimpered, already too stimulated for his teasing, "please"

"Please what? You need to use your words."

"Please. I need you to fuck me."

Without a second thought, he slowly pushed his hips forward, entering you, you let out a gasp at the feeling of absolute fullness. Aemond let out a shaky breath, finally getting to feel you after longing for you for years. Aemond begun to thrust his hips quickly, You arched your back, as lewd sounds erupted from your mouth and cunt as the pleasure increased.

Groans escaped Aemond as he could feel your cunt squeezing him so tight, his platinum locks framed your face as he continued his ministrations. You could feel the tip of his cock bumping your cervix with every thrust, he tantalizingly dragged his cock out and in, pressing deeper and Aemond let one of his hands wander to your clit, fumbling the bundle of nerves in delicate circles

Aemond ducked his head between your tits, licking the mounds and swirling around your bouncing nipples. They grew more sensitive. He pinched one nipple and took the other in his toothy mouth, nibbling and sucking at your flesh.

"Oh fuck Aem, I think I'm going to cum."

Aemond practically whimpered against you, a beautiful sound, he broke away from your chest,

"Cum on my cock, my Queen."

The combination of the abuse on your pussy and tits, that tight coil in your stomach finally fucking snapped and you gushed, all over Aemond's cock and naval. It didn't take a minute more for Aemond to fill you up with his seed, you felt the warm spurts of his cum inside you and couldn't describe the feeling you felt, was it adoration? Was it love? you couldn't tell as he slipped out of you, leaving your pussy clenching at nothing and he laid beside you. You rested your head on his chest and gazed up into his eye, he whispered lovingly;

"I cannot wait until we are married on Dragonstone and you swell with our children."

You let yourself fall asleep unaware of the arguments that you and Aemond will deal with in the morrow.

The end

This was a draft from last year but since Hotd season 2 will be released I knew I NEEDED to post this. Hope y'all like it.

[ladyempty]

Yandere Maegor, Daemon and Aegon I reaction to Reader running away and marrying someone else and having children?? Please 😭😭

° | This is a yandere work and may contain triggering behavior. I'm not in favor of that in real life. |

Aegon I

Aegon Targaryen I is the definition of a conqueror, courageous, intelligent and ambitious, with a friendly and captivating personality, easily lovable and admirable, but with few close friends. A certain air of enigma surrounded his figure, making people try to unravel him, attracted like moths by his light of monarchical dignity.

The king was comfortable and accustomed to sycophants, women dragging themselves for crumbs, or simply a single night in his bed. He was unfamiliar with something denied to him. He had "conqueror" in his name for a reason that went far beyond the submission of the other lords.

So it came as a complete shock when he was so bluntly denied when he approached you at one of the numerous banquets hosted by the royal family. At first, Aegon couldn't even process it, the features remained the same with a gentle smile and analyzing eyes and no words uttered. Like a person who was suddenly punched and in the first few seconds didn't understand or simply didn't know how to react. He just narrowed his purple eyes and watched you leave in an elegant bow.

The first time he was seriously denied, you hadn't done it to pique his interest, but rather to preserve your own honor, not wanting to be just another king's case knowing that he would return to Rhaenys at the end of the day. He admired this. If his plans were to push him away, you were not successful, you only made a dangerous obsession settle in your being.

He began to pursue you subtly, with gallant and courteous gestures, he urgently wanted to erase the first impression you had of him. Forcing the Targaryen to reveal his personality beyond the superficial, rambling for countless hours about some common interest and constantly summoning his presence, whether to read to him while I work or simply enjoy his warm presence.

And when his barriers were still not lowered, the king had to resort to more drastic measures, asking for her hand in marriage and making it clear that he would not accept being denied.

You would be softer when you were a wife and had duties towards him. The conqueror thought wrongly. Never in a thousand lifetimes did he expect you to run away. As soon as he found out, Aegon simply went crazy, the image made up of himself falling down the moment he threatened to destroy the entire seven kingdoms again if he didn't get you back.

Stone by stone, leaf by leaf. Everything was meticulously investigated by the countless guards spreading even through the most forgotten places by the gods. The Targaryen king became somewhat paranoid and easily irritated by his disappearance, not even Rhaenys could calm him down or change his mind. It was two years of pure torment.

Ah... When he finally found you in a small house in pentos... Married and obviously pregnant... It was like the world was open beneath your feet again. A loving feeling of betrayal. How dare you? Did you think that pathetic man could love you more than him?! How stupid.

He coldly killed her husband and none of her tears and pleas could change his mind. His heart was partially darkened by his betrayal. He won't forget anytime soon, you'll have to regain his trust to have the slightest amount of freedom. Countless guards will follow you closely, if you are even allowed to leave your quarters.

And your son? Don't worry, Aegon will assume paternity of the child even if it comes with rumors about having deflowered you before the wedding. It didn't matter. He just wouldn't let you mother a bastard or have that other man as a part of your life. Aenys was his heir anyway.

Maegor, The Cruel

You were certainly a very unlucky person to have caught the attention of the Targaryen king who was called cruel. You probably met at an event organized by him to celebrate one of his conquests, reaffirming his power and sovereignty as king, or you were one of his wives' ladies-in-waiting.

Whether you were from a big house, small house or even a commoner. It didn't matter. You were his the moment the king laid eyes on your enchanting figure.

Maegor was a man of few feelings, he didn't truly love any of his wives, it was lust mixed with the rational thought of creating heirs. But you were different, there was something special that made Maegor feel a bubbling sensation in his chest, a pleasant and addictive warmth like he had never felt before. It was something unfamiliar, one that he felt slightly hesitant to demonstrate or how to handle. But he just knew he wanted you and he would have you. At any cost.

Maegor was far from the definition of courteous, he knew little about the gallant arts or gentle love. Therefore, he had little knowledge about the courtship, the little he knew was from his mother's advice, who only knew about these things from the poets who surrounded Rhaenys.

Either way, he is not discreet. He doesn't even make an effort to appear less intimidating than he is. His eyes are fixed on you no matter the moment, his intimidating and darkening presence looming over you like a shadow. Once he even gave him a white fur coat, an animal he himself killed. It was his way of showing his interest. Something raw and rustic, without words, just proves to be worthy of you.

Either way, he wouldn't wait long. The moment he gets tired of waiting and the itch that grows in him is not relieved, he will attack. Demanding her hand in marriage from her, leaving no room for disagreement. He didn't expect you to run away in the middle of the night... Stupid little bird. Did you think he wouldn't come after you?

The man flew into a rage the moment he found out, destroying everything and everyone in his path, no matter if they were his wives, servants or important masters. Everyone should pay for his blinding rage. He turned the seven kingdoms into hell looking for you. A thick layer of blood, smoke, ash and corpse covering every corner of the kingdom.

And when he found you... Ah, dumb little bird, did he think he could hide for another year? Never.

He killed her husband the moment he saw the man, not even bothering to give him a painful death to pay for his crimes. He was as furious as a bull at the sight of any trace of red. He never thought about seriously hurting you, but he would have to punish you in a certain way to put you in your place. But his angry thoughts strayed the moment he caught sight of her swollen belly with a child.

A baby, that could and should be his. It was someone else's... It was an unforgivable betrayal. He could never fully forgive you. He would never forget or leave you alone for even a second.

He wouldn't kill the child, he would keep you away until you gave birth and then pretend that the child belonged to his lady-in-waiting, even if it was his child behind closed doors. It was a good way to keep tabs on you. Do you love your child? So better obey, you don't want something bad to happen, right?

Do not worry, dear. If you want to be a mother and wife so much, who would Maegor be to deny you that? You would be two things very soon.

Daemon Targaryen

Daemon was never a man to love madly, he fell in love a few times. He rolled from bed to bed without a fixed commitment, just looking for momentary fun and vague pleasures. He indulged in his desires without shame. Bad luck for you to have been so captivating. He was hooked on you the moment their eyes met his.

Any slight affection he ever had for other women and men was forgotten. For you he felt love. Real love that went beyond lust. After all, he had never touched you intimately and he already had such overwhelming feelings.What was it if not love? You were his only thought.The first thought when waking up and the last when going to bed.

And Daemon had no intention of hiding his affection. His hands constantly find their way to your shoulders or start from your waist, a touch that lingers on a simple handshake and a look so intense that it would make anyone else tremble in fear.

As expected, rumors were created questioning his honor and how terrible the prince was. When his father went to confront him, Daemon just smiled mischievously and just said he would marry you. To everyone's great surprise, after all, the Targaryen had demonstrated his unhappiness during his first marriage.

But you weren't like that woman uglier than a sheep. You were perfect in every aspect and in the very definition of the word. Something to be admired every day.

It was a strong, stunning blow when you disappeared during the night, your maids only finding cold, wrinkled sheets when they went to wake you up that morning.

Where in the seven hell were you? He would find you... You couldn't run away.

He destroyed, killed, tortured and threatened. He spent days flying with Caraxes to every corner of the seven kingdoms just to find you. Unsuccessfully. A long year without having your favorite addiction... You.

He drowned himself in e wine while you were gone, nursing a bubbling rage and constantly exploding at everyone, scaring even Viserys, who thought he had seen the worst side of his brother.

But nothing lasts forever. He found you. He invaded your home in Essos without hesitation. He didn't kill your husband at first because his stunned mind simply refused to understand that you had betrayed him in such a disgusting way.

But the moment she saw the little newborn baby in her arms. He understood everything.The black sister ran through her pathetic husband without mercy, blood spatter staining his robes in small crimson droplets.The cold, darkened eyes like never before were directed at you.

For a moment you feared for the baby's life, placing the small bundle against your chest to protect it.

"Don't worry, I would never hurt our son." He smiles as he says each word slowly. He would legitimize that child as his and didn't care what he would say. A good way to keep you behaved and not tarnish his bloodline with bastards. Obviously he would love his own children more with you, but he wouldn't show it so openly. You're lucky the child looks so much like you…

[jamespotterismydaddy]

the Birth of Venus

daemon x reader smut

A/N: reader is mentioned to be Valyrain but I don't think I really describe features. This is based off a request here. hope you like it!!

word count: 1,106 words

TW: smut, allusions to possible incest, breeding kink, pussy slapping, pushing down on the tummy hehe

Is this the third or fourth time he’s been exiled? Daemon can’t seem to keep up. His own sweet niece was the cause of it this time. He couldn’t, or rather wouldn’t, keep his hands off of her. He heads to Lys this time. He enjoys Lys, mainly taking pleasure from the appearance of Lyseni whores. That’s what draws him to you. You sit in the pleasure house, surrounded by the other girls who all try to look desirable. The madam has you posing as the Birth of Venus. She gave you the honour of portraying the love goddess herself, encircled by the nymphs. His eyes fill with lust at the sight of you. Who better to play as Venus than a girl who looks so inherently… Valyrian. 

“I want her.” He says to your madam as he looks directly at you, his gaze piercing.

“My Lord, I am afraid I am reserved.” You say with a little smirk on your face. You were told to speak these words every time you were asked for until a bid for your virginity is accepted.

“No she’s not.” The madam says quickly. “But she is a virgin… a very expensive one, my prince.” You bristle at the title. A prince?

“No price is too great for such a pretty little nymphet.” He says, dropping a bag of gold coins into her hand.

“I am no nymph. I am Venus.” You say, putting yourself on a pedestal for him.

He looks amused. “I’m sure you are.” He says and holds up a hand for you to take, leading you off your watery throne.

“You are a prince?” You ask innocently.

“The Rogue Prince.” You nearly gasp.

“You’re Daemon Targaryen.”

“Who else would I be?” He holds open a door for you, letting you enter first.

“Some rich Lyseni lord who has enough money to call himself ‘prince’.” You say a bit snippily.

“I can prove it to you, show you my dragon, Caraxes.” He says as he walks up behind you, brushing your hair off your shoulder.

“Is that what you call your cock?” You ask playfully. He laughs.

“You’re quick… for a harlot.” He presses a light kiss to your neck.

“I’m no harlot yet. Not while I am still a maiden.” You whisper.

“I can fix that.” He doesn’t take the time to untie your chemise, he instead tears it down the middle and lets the shreds slip off of you, causing you to gasp. He is clearly pleased by your lack of smallclothes. You can tell by the way his fingers trace around your breasts. “Such a pretty girl. You’re no common Lyseni whore. There’s Valyrian blood in you. I can feel it.” He turns you and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. You gaze up at him. “Tell me of your parents.” 

You shrug. “My mother washes clothes.” 

“And your father?”

You shrug again.

“Hmm…” He hums. The prince clearly thinks that you’re dragonseed. He just is trying to figure out who’s you are, deciding that you are perhaps a little too old to be his.

“Is it a matter of importance, my prince?” You ask, your tone a little too disrespectful for the fact that you are speaking to royalty.

“Should you be speaking to a man who has you, naked in a bedchamber, like that?” He speaks, always with that air of amusement. He enjoys your temper. It’s the same Targaryen temper that he has.

“I have been reserving it for you, your grace.”

He chuckles. “Little seductress.” He grabs you by the chin, gently as first before swiftly tilting your head up and to the side. “Get on the bed.”  You scurry over, quickly lying on the bed. His eyes are dark as he looks over you. He pulls his trousers down slightly so he can pump his cock as he watches you. It makes you nervous, how domineering he is, how… large certain parts of him are. “Don’t be scared. I’m going to make a woman out of you.”

“I can’t imagine, with all that confidence, that some of it isn’t misplaced.” You tease because you can see how he likes it.

“Spread your legs.” Is all that he says in response. You do as he bids and are surprised when a harsh slap comes down between your thighs.

“Ah!” You wince and curl in on yourself.

“I didn’t say to close them.” He says sternly so you spread your legs again and take the following two smacks without complaint. Your eyes are watering at this point. “Not so bratty now, are you?” He gives you one of those wolfish smirks and you pout.

“Are you toying with me or fucking me? It must be hard to get it up at your age.” Now, you’ve given him something to prove. Just after you get the words out, he sheaths himself inside of you, right to the hilt.

“I was going to be gentle with you, Venus, but now I don’t think you deserve it.”

“I didn’t think that dragons were meant to be gentle.” He can see a similar fire burning in your eyes, a twinflame to himself. He brings his lips down to yours for a hungry kiss before he begins to pound into you. It hurts from his size but that only makes it better. You want him, desperately.

“Do I… please you, my prince?” You put on an innocent face for him.

“I think your tight cunt would please any man, zaldrītsos.” He says as he fucks into you ruthlessly.

“zaldrītsos?” You ask him.

“It means you’re my little dragon, my zaldrītsos.” He nibbles at your neck and you whimper, his thrusts continue quickly and deeply. “I’m going to put a baby in you. You’ll carry my heir, Venus.” He places his hand on your tummy. “Right in here.” He presses down and the action pushes you over the edge as you tightly squeeze around him, your peak washing over you in full force. “Fuck.” He murmurs. “So tight.” The way you contract around his cock has him spilling his seed deep inside of you.

He pulls himself out but quickly replaces his cock with his fingers so none of his cum spills out. “Can’t have you wasting my seed now.”

“I’ll have a baby now, my prince?” You look at him from beneath your lashes. You’ve never yearned for someone so. It is like your blood calls for his.

“If I breed you regularly, you will.” He runs his thumb over your lips. “Then… then I think that I just might make you my wife.”

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy

[darilarostarg]

In The Middle Of The Night

Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

Words: 1.5K

Warnings: SMUT, smut with no plot (my speciality!), fingering (f receiving) , sex w/o a condom, breeding kink 

Summary: A sleepy Prince of Dragonstone has needs after a long day.

The warmth of the arms enveloping you wakes you up enough to see that the once roaring fire is now in decay, and the room is now plunged in darkness. You moan softly in content in the warmth radiating from his body, pushing yourself back into him. Daemon positions his head, chin nestling into the curve of your shoulder, lips chaste against your neck.

“Ñuha jorrāelagon?” He mutters as he settles himself next to you. You know what he wants. You have followed this same route for moons now, ever since his appointment and your arrival at Dragonstone. Daemon being named heir had shocked you, both of you happy to live in Viserys' shadows, reaping the benefits of being a second son of the realm and his lady wife. But with Viserys and Aemma struggling to conceive, and the arrival of your sweet son, the pressure to name your husband heir had increased, and for the stability of the realm, Viserys had no choice. 

So Daemon took his place at Dragonstone, spending his days over seeing the running of the castle, preparing to become King, and when the hour of the ghost hit, he would slip into bed beside you, with wandering hands and his hard length pressed up against your ass. 

“Mm?” You hum back to him. Sleep is still lingering in your body, just about to pull you back into the darkness. But you know deep down, if you’re being completely honest with yourself, no matter how tired you might be when he slips in beside you late each night– you’ll ever be too tired to feel him…to be used by him. You were his. Whenever and wherever he wanted.

Daemon's arms dip beneath you, pulling you closer to him, his nose running along the side of your shoulder, his hand softly pushing at your upper thighs parting your legs. His fingers run up your inner thighs, pushing up under your gown, fingers edging up to find the growing wetness between them. A small whine escapes past your lips, and suddenly he is delving his middle and pointer fingers between your folds, spreading your wetness, causing you to clench softly around nothing. His breath is hot against your neck and shoulder, his lips leaving wet kisses sporadically along it. 

“My perfect little wife, hm? Getting herself ready for me.” He breathes out as he mouths your neck, amusement dripping from the low words. His free hand moves from your stomach, reaching to your knees and pulling up the soft cotton gown up ensuring you were entirely available to him. “Getting herself all ready for her husband, hm?” 

You gasp when one fingers that had been circling your hole finally dips in. In your still slightly sleepy state, your body reacts involuntarily, instantly overstimulated. Your legs are moving to clench together and jerk away, but Daemon knows your body better than you do. He quickly slots his large knee between your legs so he still has access to your increasingly fluttering pussy. His free hand moving back to your stomach to keep you in place.

“Mm, Dae,” The movement is involuntary once again, your hand shooting to his wrist as your thighs squeeze his knee, trying to shut at the feeling of him pressing another thick finger into your slick hole, pumping them at slow steady pace, hitting the spot inside you that has you beginning to clamp tightly down on his thick fingers. 

“Come on, don’t you wanna be good for me? Be a good wife for your future King?” He is teasing you, and loving every second. Daemon’s teeth graze against your earlobe, nipping softly at it. Before you can respond, all words die in the back of your throat when a third digit makes its way inside of you, and he begins pressing the ball of his palm to your small bundle of nerves.

The added pleasure causes a whine dies in your throat and your eye to squeeze shut, falling over the edge quickly. Your body tensing, pussy spasming, as he makes sure you ride out the high on his hand. His hand stills, kissing in between your shoulders tenderly as he removes his fingers, letting his hand slot out from between your thighs. His hand raises to your lips, three wet fingers gently pushing past your lips, making you taste yourself as you lick and suck them clean. 

Once his hand is clean, he pulls it from you. You shuffle to turn over to face him, get a good look at him, having missed his face all day, missing your typical super together for an emergency meeting about the merchants that were illegally docking on the shores of Dragonstone. But he stops you, hand landing on your upper arm, gently pushing you forward slightly, keeping you turned away from him and on your side.

“Want you like this tonight.” He mutters lowly, and you’re unable to tell if he’s talking to you or more so himself.

He presses his chest against your back, settling himself against your back, hands fixing your thighs into position so that he has full access to your weeping pussy. You moan at the feeling of him rubbing his thick cock between your swollen, glistening folds. He grunts softly as he lets his tip dip into your hole, before removing it and allowing it to catch on your throbbing clit, making you push yourself towards him, desperate for more of him.  

“I know, I know.” He murmurs, and your eyes roll back and moan escapes your lips when he slides into you, mixing with the sound of his deep groan that emits from him behind you, as he softly trusts into you, stretching you nicely. 

“There you go….gods, you take me so well.” 

The adjustment period ends quickly, the stress of the day quickly surfacing and suddenly Daemon is trying to split you open on his cock. His thrusts somehow tread the line of both sleepy and deliberate, soft yet rough, the pace causing your head to bury itself into the pillow below you, teeth biting down to drown out your moans. 

“D-Dae, fuck.” You mewl, feeling his tip run against that soft, spongy part inside of you over and over again just as his fingers had just done. Subconsciously, once again, your body jerks away from him, the intense pleasure becoming too much. However, Daemon has other plans for you, hands  tightly wrapping around your waist, fingers digging so deeply that bruises will litter them in the morning.

“No-no, stay on my cock pretty one. take. my. fucking. cock.”

Your body tries to move from him again, causing Daemon to grunt in displeasure, hand running down to your thigh and hooking your leg over his, locking you in place. A high pitched moan leaves you, the new angle allowing him to reach impossibly deeper within your warm, wet heat. Your arm moves up to his hair, gripping tightly at the roots long silver locks, your other other hand moving to gripping between his large thighs and ass. 

Your walls flutter, throat now dry and raw, you can already feel the coil in the pit of your stomach tighten. You’re so close and Daemon knows it; the hand not keeping your leg in place finds the space between your thighs, playing with your, now very swollen, clit.

“Fuck– please, I–,” You can’t form a coherent sentence, only mumbles of pleases leaving your mouth, not with the amount of stimulation you’re receiving, and the filth that he’s spewing in your ear. Him telling you he’s going to breed again you like you deserve? Because you’ve been so good to him? Let you carry his babe? Make you nice and swollen? Swollen with another heir? 

His filthy mouth is stopped by the sound of him letting out a guttural moan as his hips smack against the flesh of your ass. You're so far gone at this point, you can barely register the sound of your squelching pussy echoing throughout the silence of the dark room, but Daemon can. Daemon can hear it, and all it does is make his balls tighten.

Daemon loudly groans as your pussy clamps down on him,which only eggs him on to pound into you harder. He can’t stop fucking you because it feels too good. You feel too good. He continues to fuck you through your orgasm, trusting quickly, telling you he is going to fill you up, as your pussy clamps in waves around him, back arches and whines die in your throat. 

Your eyes are so glazed over that you can’t even see properly anymore. You’re too focused on the post-coital high you’re riding, that you barely register Daemon grunts and moans as he coats your walls and begins to still within you.  

Daemon keeps himself buried inside of you, the mix of your essences most certainly leaking out from your hole and along his cock. His hands run gently along your thighs up to your waist, before softly landing on your stomach, thumbs softly rubbing the skin, his head position itself behind yours. You shuffle back into him, head finally turning to look at him, leaving sweet kisses along his jaw. 

“Goodnight, Ñuha jorrāelagon.” 

Authors Note:

A little soft, sleepy smut in honour of Matt’s perfect lil dilf belly that I got to see in person this week, and now I will never stop thinking about the fact that it’s under all that Daemon armour ✨

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